Some Goals are Stickier Than Others

 

If a family historian's research goals start with finding the names, dates, and locations of each direct line ancestor, you'd think it would be an across-the-board equal effort for any given relative. But no, as it turns out: some research goals are stickier than others. They contain prickles and barbs and ooey-gooey sticky messes that get us snarled up in the paperwork. They include the lions, tigers, and bears along the research path which make us take wrong turns, run from evidence we can't access, or simply chicken out at the immense effort. And it all comes with no guarantee of success, no matter how hard we work.

Don't say you haven't been forewarned.

Take this past month, for instance. Searching for Theresa Blaising's roots, despite her relatively recent acquaintance with my father-in-law's family during his childhood, required me to slow down and immerse myself in the general history of French immigration to the midwest. I won't say the detour wasn't valuable;  I'm just disappointed I couldn't make more progress in the thirty one days I tackled the topic.

All that to say I wasn't surprised to see my progress in growing my in-laws' family tree was much slower than any usual biweekly period for my customary tally. In the last two weeks, the rate slowed to only 151 new individuals added to that family tree—and most of those additions were due to a secondary, behind-the-scenes goal of continuing to work on some DNA matches for my mother-in-law's Snider and Snyder line. Still, I can't complain: in the aggregate, this step-by-step work over the years has yielded a tree which now stands at 36,660 individuals.

For my own tree, progress has drawn to a standstill, but that is part of the plan. When I outlined my Twelve Most Wanted for this year, I set aside the third quarter of 2024 to devote to my father-in-law's family. We have one more month to focus on that before we return to working on my own family's tree. While my tree has 38,421 documented individuals right now, that number only budges upward during the summer on the rare chances that I stumble across news of an addition to the family, or a loss of an elder. Unless prompted by birth announcements or obituaries, I won't return to that side of the family until October.

Yet September may turn out to be another month with a sticky goal. I have been stuck on the roots of the lines of James and Mary Kelly—from Ireland, of course, during those tragic famine years. If I can't find any further documentation on them, we'll take that detour to examine the more generic overview of the local history and occurrences of that time period, both in Ireland where they once lived, and in Tippecanoe County, Indiana, where they spent their last days after their immigration.

The Cat Ate my Homework

 

Why is it that no woebegone child told any teacher that the homework wasn't turned in on time because the cat ate it? Yet, here I am sitting at my work table after having cleaned up the mess left by our geriatric cat who, against all house rules, spent the night camped up on the table—on top of my notes for an upcoming seminar, mind you—leaving her mark wherever she sat.

Sigh. It's not that I can blame her. She's having a rough time lately. Actually, we all are having a tough time in this house lately, both cat and human population. After having lost my senior editor Luke earlier this summer, the oldest cat in our household finally came face to face with her outsized tumor and tried to do something about it herself. It was not a beautiful sight.

This is the kitten who, as the offspring of a feral farm cat, somehow beguiled her way indoors at the request of our daughter, who wanted a pet.

"You already have pets," my husband reminded her. "They're all outside."

Guess who won that round.

We named her Button, as in "cute as a...." Now, well into her teens, she isn't quite so cute. Cat years can put a lot of wear on a body. And I'm afraid her number's almost up.

On that pile of papers on the table was my roadmap of the Twelve Most Wanted ancestors from the past three years and projections onward through the end of this year. Somehow, that form escaped the camp-out catastrophe unscathed. I looked over the page to make sure I hadn't missed any spots requiring copying and disposal—and that's when my eyes fell on one particular detail I had missed.

You guessed it: I got something wrong with my homework for this month. But unlike the homework eaten by the dog, the cat's vice was getting the homework turned in early. Yep, my month's work on Theresa Blaising and her family was supposed to be my research project for September, not August.

Thankfully, we still have one more month to focus on goals for my father-in-law's ancestors, so we'll just switch positions and pick up with the August goal in September. Taking a look on the bright side, perhaps the month's delay will mean more resources appearing online for us now. Though we're heading back to Ireland for the coming month's research—a tough go for anyone seeking records before the famine years—perhaps that brief break from Irish research will bring us the fresh eyes needed to spot significant leads. After all, if cats can have nine lives, maybe the homework they mess with can gain the same benefit.

Frames of Reference

 

We may bemoan the fact that, despite our best efforts at research, we still don't really know that much about our ancestors—even our closer ancestors. In the case of the only grandmother my father-in-law ever knew, despite the personal connection, there still wasn't much to pass to the next generation about her family's story.

I gave that realization some thought today. Not that I'm the only one to face that difficulty—in the resources we've found this month, it appears I am in good company in my complaints about lack of detailed information. In a 2019 presentation to the Besancon Historical Society, the speaker discussed the "problem"—a sparse supply of "sketchy" stories. Over the generations, that bare-bones story of immigration was "either forgotten or more often simplified."

I am wondering whether that case of the vanishing immigration story might rather be due to the effect of frames of reference. In the speaker's case at the Historical Society, the example was given of simply saying one's ancestors were "from Paris," or even more generally, "from France." I am wondering whether that might be more of a factor of a speaker declining to explain details which would have been beyond the listener's frame of reference. Why go into detail when the detail would be meaningless to the listener?

An example from my own experience resonates. When I first moved to California from the New York City suburbs where I spent my high school years, I never answered the question, "Where are you from?" with a specific answer. I'd generally say New York and leave it at that. Only if I knew the person I was talking to was also from that area would I go into further detail. Otherwise, it would be extraneous information, easily discarded.

How were those ancestors to know that one day, we would have powerful computers with search engines able to ferret out the slightest details, not only of current events and locations, but also of now-nonexistent villages halfway around the world? How could they have even known that generations after them, people would have the time and inclination to dig up those details of the life they had left behind—and good riddance, as far as they were concerned in many cases.

People share information with their audience based on their perception of the listener's frame of reference. Imagine what you'd say to an inquisitive grandchild, after a long day of work in the field, in answer to the question, "Where did you come from?" The answer to Besancon's grandchildren in Indiana might likely be, "Oh, from far, far away, but in a little village much like this one here."

This puts a different spin on the usual complaint about not listening to our elders' stories until it was too late to ask them; if we did ask when we were younger, the answer might be framed for what was seen as appropriate for younger ears.

True, in many cases, we didn't stop and stay to hear any stories when we were younger, but we also might not have had the framework to build upon the references made in the telling of that tale. If all we know about France is that it is across the Atlantic Ocean and has a city named Paris, the clarity of details like "Besancon" might be lost on us. But then, how many of us have taken care to tell our own stories in the detail we wish we had received from our ancestors? Perhaps it is human nature to gloss over the details we think our listener would see as "TMI"—too much information.

In all the letters my father-in-law's family preserved from Theresa Blaising, their grandmother, it is evident that she was writing about happenings very much in the present. Perhaps, by that point as an elderly woman, she was the last one surviving of all her siblings. That immigration story was likely far from her mind—certainly much farther removed than a widow's concerns about living life alone, far from family, during a World War.

Perhaps we need to go more lightly on our ancestors when we complain about their lack of information about where they once lived or any of the other details we crave about our family's history. That doesn't mean we shouldn't try to piece together the story—and sometimes we can be quite successful in such endeavors. It's just that, in Theresa Blaising's case, there wasn't much story to gather.

With the coming week, we'll be into a new month, pursuing a new ancestor. We'll set Theresa's story aside, noting what was gained from this month's search and drawing up a list of what is still needed to reach back to another generation in a future attempt. On Monday, we'll move to another ancestral puzzle from my father-in-law's Irish family.

Passenger Records: Finding the Proof

 

The Blaising brothers may have said they completed their immigrant voyage in New York City, but finding the proof in passenger records may be another question. Granted, dates of travel may have been estimated, but our ability now to search through digitized records using a date range should ease us around that search roadblock. However, I've yet to find any sign of Henry, Lawrence, John, Philip, Louis, or August, let alone their mother Mary or baby sister Theresa. One would think it rather difficult to hide a traveling family of that size.

The detail of their arrival—whether in 1866 or 1868—tells us that, if they did indeed arrive in New York City, their records would be part of the collection from Castle Garden, not Ellis Island. Castle Garden, also known as Castle Clinton—named after then-mayor of New York City and subsequent Governor of the state DeWitt Clinton—served to welcome immigrants on behalf of the state from 1855 until the opening of Ellis Island in 1892. Thus, whether the Blaising family arrived in 1866 or 1868, either way, if they came to New York City, they arrived through Castle Garden.

While we now think of immigration documentation as the domain of the federal government, at that time it was the state government which oversaw such a procedure. Thus, searching for immigrants in that time period depends on the laws of the time and the jurisdiction.

Though there are many resources for checking passenger lists during that time period in New York, unfortunately, I was unable to locate any sign of the Blaising brothers. In the process, I collected a list of spelling variations of that surname which far exceeded my expectations. Immigration officials were indeed quite creative in their spelling prowess. Even searching for the exact spelling of the surname on the Ellis Island Foundation website, which includes records for Castle Garden, didn't produce any promising results, nor did my attempt at MyHeritage.

While searching for the Blaising records may turn out to be a far more exhaustive search than I had originally envisioned, I also need to recall that, as the FamilySearch blog put it, these Castle Garden digitized resources represent the surviving records from that time period. And even if I do find them, it is likely, given that time period, that there might not be any further personal information given on the travelers than what I've been able to learn from the brothers' naturalization records. We can glean great amounts of information on our ancestors from historic records, but only to the extent which officials of that time period deemed necessary to know.

Their need to know and mine may not see eye to eye.

To Trace the Family's Route

 

Where to find pre-1906 American naturalization records? I go online, naturally. In the case of the Blaising family's arrival some time between 1866 and 1868—the two dates reported by some of Theresa Blaising's brothers in census records—their records could have been filed anywhere, as there was no central federal office overseeing the process then. If the Blaising family had traveled directly to Allen County, Indiana, where we have already found them by 1870, their naturalization records could have been filed at the county courthouse there, or at any of five different possible court systems within the state's jurisdiction. If they stopped somewhere else on the way to their ultimate destination in New Haven, Indiana, the paperwork could have been begun at that other location.

In order to trace the family's route from France—my goal in finding naturalization records—I might first have to trace their route after arriving from France. With that uncertainty, rather than hunt through records at FamilySearch.org or any of the genealogical companies with such digitized records, I took my search straight to a search engine, seeking naturalization records at the state level. I entered Indiana as my first choice, held my breath, and pressed enter.

Fortunately, a promising entry popped up at the top of the list at Google. It was a page from the Indiana GenWeb site for Allen County, which provided links for accessing the very items I was seeking. Taking my cue from that information, I followed the link to the Allen County Genealogical Society website, where an alphabetized index of naturalization records from the Indiana Archives and Records Administration provided clickable sub-headings. I clicked on "Bl" for Blaising, and presto, I was there, scrolling past eight entries for "Black" to reach the next surname, Blaising.

There, the record provided the person's name, age at time of filing, and the date of the document. A fourth column was labeled, "link."

I wasted no time getting to that next step.

On that new page, actually hosted on the Indiana Archives site, once again I was asked to enter the immigrant's first name and last name. There were also fields to fill in for keyword and organization name, which I left blank. I discovered that it was best to not enter the requested field for "search by county," as when I did enter Allen County, I'd get zero results, but if left blank, the person I was seeking would be served up, no questions asked.

At that point, if more than one person had filed with that same name, all possible entries would be shown, requiring me to make a selection. This might be helpful for reviewing all possibilities to avoid the risk of following the wrong name twin. In the case of one of the Blaising brothers, John, I ran into that case, though our John did include his middle initial.

Clicking on the name selected then produced a drop-down window with a transcription of the basic information. While I was happy to have found that with relatively little effort, I was disappointed that there wasn't further information. Besides the immigrant's name, age, and county of filing, the record gleaned the date of arrival and document date. In addition, the synopsis listed the country of origin: France.

Of course, I wanted more. Perhaps because of that disappointment, I felt placated to see under that perfunctory listing, a blue link with those welcome words, "More detail."

I clicked.

The result yielded a full page listing of that immigrant's record. In the case of the Blaising brothers, I was able to learn that each of them left from the port at Le Havre in northern France, and sailed to New York City. My next step, then, will be to search for passenger records there, though one interesting discovery was that some of the brothers reported different dates of arrival, suggesting the possibility of serial immigration.

In finding these excerpts from the naturalization records, the good news was that the full page entry included the URL to link with that immigrant's actual document, housed at FamilySearch.org. The bad news was that the accuracy of those links left something to be desired. Not to worry, a little hunt and peck effort quickly located each Blaising brother's own filed record among the Allen County naturalization documents. At least the link brought me to the correct record set.

While I was ecstatic to have so quickly found these particular naturalization records, only four of the brothers were identified in the process: John B. Blaising, who vouched for his sister Theresa's marriage to John Kelly Stevens; oldest brother Henry; and then the two brothers immediately older than Theresa, Louis and August. A fifth Blaising man, also named John, appeared in records, making me wonder whether, with a double given name beginning with "Jean" he might actually have been known in later life only as, say, Phillip or Lawrence. However, at this point, I'm presuming Phillip might have filed after moving to Ohio, and likewise Lawrence at his new home in Albany, New York. That will be a puzzle for another day.

With this information, I'll draw up a chart for easy reference, including each brother's stated date of arrival in New York. Whether that helps guide me to any of those passenger records, I can't say. Whether, upon finding them, they include any mention of the place in France each brother once called home is yet to be determined. But it's worth the look.

 

Wanted: French Immigrants

 

It may come as no surprise to those of us studying our ancestors' immigration to the United States that there were ads beckoning certain ethnic groups to cross the ocean to specific locations. Those businesses behind the organization of huge projects, such as the canals or, later, the railroads, placed ads in foreign newspapers to recruit needed workers. Apparently, we can add French immigrants to that list of wanted settlers.

In the case of the French who settled in Indiana, they may have been influenced by a specific publication circulated in the French regions of Franche-Comté—home of the original Besancon—and Lorraine. Commissioned in 1835 by a group of businessmen in Louisville, Kentucky, the circular was entitled, "Guide for French Emigrants to the States of Kentucky and Indiana," according to an article by historian Ralph Violette in the December 1996 edition of the Besancon Indiana Chronicles.  

Louisville, while in Kentucky rather than Indiana, was a city with a distinctive French ambience in the 1800s, making affinity with France a logical outreach target. Still, the issue of how those French immigrants would actually find their way to that central part of the United States of the mid-1800s was another question.

According to the Violette article, French immigrants could have arrived in Indiana by several possible routes. One suggestion was by way of Stark County, Ohio, which already boasted a known French settlement. Another possibility was directly crossing over the state line from Louisville, Kentucky. This, of course, meant arriving in Louisville most likely by the river route up from New Orleans on the Mississippi, then up the Ohio River.

While the New Orleans route points us to research passenger records specifically from that city, that may not have been the route our Blaising family members chose. Most immigrants to Indiana through New Orleans settled in the southern portions of the state, not in the more northern Allen County, where the Blaising family lived. And yet, the possible ports of entry for those immigrants headed first to Stark County, Ohio, would mean searching passenger records for multiple cities.

The Violette article did emphasize the role of Catholic priests in encouraging French immigration to the Fort Wayne area, but did not leave any details about just how those priests and their traveling companions—or those who followed in their footsteps afterwards—might have gotten there. While I can now envision so many more possibilities for how the Blaising family arrived in Allen County, I am still in as much of a loss as to explain the route as I was at the first—all the more reason to head next to naturalization records.

Where's John?

 

Digging into naturalization records, then looking further back to corresponding passenger records, can be a chore. That's the process I need to tackle next for the siblings of Theresa Blaising, third wife of John Kelly Stevens, and the only grandmother my father-in-law ever knew.

There is, however, one problem I faced before jumping into that task. When I listed the reported dates of immigration for Theresa and her siblings last week, I noted what I found on her brothers Henry, Lawrence, Phillip, Louis, and August, but where was John? He was clearly part of widow Mary Blaising's family in the 1870 census, but disappeared from enumerations after that point.

I could have assumed that, like many children during that time period, he died young, but there was one detail standing in the way of such an easy answer: his mother's obituary. There, in that June 13, 1907, entry in the Fort Wayne Evening Sentinel, included among Mary's seven surviving children was "John, of this city."

So he didn't die young—not, at least, before his fifty first birthday. Where was he during all those years since the 1870 census?

In a connect-the-dots moment, I found the answer. Using a different approach, I thought I'd go back to records I had found on John Kelly Stevens, Theresa Blaising's husband, to see if there were any mention of her relatives. It is unfortunate that John Kelly Stevens and Theresa Blaising never had any children in common, for I'd be curious to see who they might have named as godparents, which could have yielded a clue. But it turned out there was another document which provided some help: their marriage license.

Thankfully, preceding John and Theresa's June 14, 1887, wedding in Allen County, Indiana, their marriage license indicated that, upon "being duly sworn," another man stated that he was acquainted with both John K. Stevens and "Tresia" Blaising, the couple about to be married. That man was named John B. Blaising.

Even better, looking through the other marriage licenses in that register, the very next one listed the information for another couple married on that same day: none other than John B. Blaising and his bride, Mary Fisher. Reciprocally, John K. Stevens vouched for them.

So why, if John Blaising was there in Allen County all along, did I miss him in other records? I suspect confusion about the Blaising brothers may have been owing to a French naming tradition. While some research guides indicate that at that time, the French might give a child multiple given names, only one of those names would be used in daily life. Also, during that era in the mid-1800s when the Blaising children were born, names were typically drawn from the Roman Catholic Church, making each child the namesake of a Catholic saint. In some cases, those names took the form of compound names, such as Jean-Baptiste (John the Baptist).

I have often spotted examples of compound names as well as multiple given names, especially those beginning with Jean, or in English, John. This may have been the case for the Blaising family, for I've found indications that some of John's brothers actually were listed with an initial "J" in some American records. While that initial "J" would never have been found in the French tradition, I noted, for instance, John's brother Louis' death certificate and headstone listing him as "Louis J. Blaising," and brother Phillip Blaising showing in the 1930 census in Crestline, Ohio, as "John P. Blaising." Could each of these be revealing an original French version as Jean Louis or Jean Phillipe?

If this were the case, perhaps it is no wonder that, awash in a multitude of sons named Jean—or John in English—the American governmental record keepers became confused. And John B.—whatever that initial "B" might have stood for—became lost in the multitude of French given names.

But now, however, he's found, thanks to his inclusion in his brother-in-law's marriage license.