An Enigma Begins Taking Shape

As much as I don’t know about Leona Bean Grant’s husband, I think an idea starts taking shape in my mind as I begin to find other photographs of the man. All it took was that one key, identifying the face and linking it to a name, and now I’m equipped to start putting the photographic puzzle pieces together.

A secondary theme also begins to emerge in this family puzzle: the family’s love affair with that newfangled contraption, the automobile. I’d be tempted to say it’s the men’s domain, but Leona has her fair share of photographs next to some impressive vehicles through the years, too. Perhaps, thinking of my own sister-in-law, Leona’s grand-niece, this trait is genetic…

This fascination with cars spanned the generations, too, judging by a couple old photographs I found of the once-unknown Bob and a young companion. Both photos are labeled, “Bob and Sammie” and bear the date, 1923. Each of them also spells out the address where the Grants lived at that time: 48 Joice Terrace. No city is included, but I assume it was Alameda, California, where Leona’s brothers and mother also lived. One photo includes the note, “nr Fairmont Hotel.” Another photo states, “Amos + Andy Ford 1919.” (Whether that designates a particular version or car model, or the name of a specific shop, I don’t know.)

The “Sammie” referred to in each of the photos—at least I’m assuming as much—is Leona’s brother Sam’s oldest boy. Sammie junior was born in 1921, which fits right in with the appearance of the little tyke in the pictures. Looks like he and his uncle make great companions, whether at work or at play.

Actually, for this family, when it comes to cars, even work becomes play.

I Should Have Guessed It

One of the things most frustrating about researching Leona Bean Grant is the source of her married name. Well, yes, I realize one gets one’s married name from one’s husband.

What I mean to say is that I’ve never come upon any information about just who Leona’s husband might have been. Other than the obvious—yes, his last name was Grant—I have come up empty-handed from any plunges into data-rich online environments.

Until, of course, I encountered one slip of a photo in the trash-collection-turned-treasure-box that contained all those unmarked Bean family photos.

I nearly missed the photograph. The face was one I didn’t recognize, and I must have passed it over in the several other times I’ve been through this box. But this time, I didn’t miss the note on the back, despite the faded ink.

The photo was marked:

Bob Grant, 1914.

The photo itself was cut up at odd angles, as if to fit in some sort of ancient scrap book.

I’m not even sure I’d want to find out what the story behind this photo might have been—or what the man was holding in his left hand. Knowing Leona’s strong personality, though, whoever she chose as husband would have had to be either bland as vanilla, or a real character in his own right.

Even though I was now armed with the man’s actual name, I haven’t made any further progress in discovering more about his identity than I had in searching for “First Name Unknown” Grant. None of the “Bob”—or even “Robert”—entries in all the usual databases seem to be a viable match.

It doesn’t help that “Grant” happens to be a fairly common surname. This quest has certainly tried my patience. Sometimes I’m inclined to give up the search because, after all, Leona never had any children of her own. There’s not really anyone left who might care about this line.

One day, however—and you knew this would have to happen—I stumbled upon a hint. I’m not sure I even remember where I saw this note. It was something I found while catching a spare moment’s look online. One of those snatched moments that vaporizes when a more pressing matter (read crisis) pops up.

The hint was: try “Bob” as a middle name.

Of course! Hadn’t my own family been rife with those middle name issues? I should have thought of that.

But what to do with “Bob”? Was it short for Robert? Or assumed as a nickname to substitute for another, less popular name.

I played around with what I could find online. It didn’t take long to do what the online social media crowd now calls “head desk.” Yep, *slams palm to forehead*—why did I not think of this?

As a first name for Mr. Grant: try Ulysses.

Like Mother, Like Daughter?

As I sift through the photographs left to me by the Bean family, I have to keep in mind that not all the labels I find on the reverse were written at the time the pictures were taken. Case in point: the photos I’m going to share with you today.

I admit: at first glance, I thought these were two pictures of the same person. I also thought that each photograph was taken at the same time. After all, both bear the legend:

ENGLE, Redwood City, Cal.

The one photo, showing three young girls, has a date handwritten on the reverse: 1900. I’m pretty sure one of these three girls is Leona Bean, so that date would make her about nine years of age.

The other photo, bearing the same photographer’s imprint on cardstock slightly varied from the first, seems to also include Leona as one of the subjects.

I used to think these were photographs of Leona and her various cousins. I also thought the square-cornered portrait was of an older Leona and possibly one of the very cousins featured in the rounded-corner photograph.

That’s what I thought, that is, until I considered what was written on the reverse of the photo of the “older girls.”

Admittedly, the explanation written on that photograph was most likely added much later—if not all of the note, at least part of it. The handwriting seems to get a bit more shaky, and the ink appears to be of a different color on some of the notes. Besides, there is the obvious slip of the date—indicating 1965 when what was most likely meant was 1865.

Otherwise, if the memory of the inscriber is to be trusted, here’s what we can learn from these two similar photographs from the legend on the reverse:

Born Peoria Ill. 1965 Apr 22, Ella Shields later Bean with cousin Mabel Dorland El Centro. Born California (Alice the oldest Shields daughter was mother—Mabel oldest, Marie Ross + Lilly McD. Died 1976—94 yrs.

Trying desperately to race some sort of Life’s Clock, someone—I suspect Leona—wanted to pass along, in writing, everything she knew about her family links. Gushing out like an enormous data dump, the names, dates and details all scrambled onto the page in disarray.

I’m quite sure, when I take the time to verify—or disprove—what Leona had to say about her relations in other parts of the state of California, that this scrawl will somehow convert into a treasure map on my hunt for family gems.

In the meantime, as I gaze at the faces in each of these photographs, I’m still not convinced that a picture that looks so much like the young Leona in 1900 could resemble so closely her very own mother.

Leona’s Mystery Cousin

Seeming like a mystery relative, herself, Leona Bean Grant hasn’t left much of a trail for me to follow in pursuit of her family history. Although I cherish the sweet photograph of Leona as a young girl, its torn condition—wrenched from a black-paged scrapbook, I suspect, by the ailing elderly Leona herself, in her near-blind condition years later, to label as “Leona, 7 years”—requires observers to, quite literally, fill in the blanks.

I have precious little else with which to define who Leona was in her younger years. But I do have one other photo—two copies, actually—representing her childhood. Unfortunately, that very picture introduces yet another mystery about this woman.

The photo, taken with a “glaze finish” according to the card to which the print was affixed, was the work of P. F. Adelsback, 1822 Mariposa Street, in Fresno, California. The paper version of the print was labeled “Ethel and Leona.” The card version bore the note, “Leona + Ethel.” Two mothers labeled two pictures, I assume. How did both copies make their way back to Leona?

The card also bore the legend, “long clothes,” which, I thought, was rather redundant. Aggravating, also, was the age, written in ink as either “3” or “5”—the one precisely overwriting the other in such a manner as to disguise which of the two numbers should be correctly heeded.

All that, however, is superseded by one question: Who’s Ethel?

I am presuming that Ethel represents one of Leona’s cousins. I’m not sure why I think so. Redwood City is worlds apart—at least in California topography—from the central valley city of Fresno. However, I do know that Leona’s mother, the former Ella May Shields, had family connections in Fresno—the very street name there of Shields Avenue being named after her own father.

I haven’t yet, however, been able to trace that branch of the family tree. I had, over the months after re-discovering this box of photos in the far corner of my closet, attempted to find any sign of a cousin Ethel. With no luck.

Now armed with several online resources, I thought I’d try my hand at finding Ethel once again. However, one glance at Ancestry.com and I knew I’d not have any quick finds. The complicating factor is that the two girls were born after 1890—which, as you know, became the black hole decade, as far as census records go.

Two additional problems complicate things further. First, none of the Shields family had arrived yet in Fresno county for the preceding census, keeping me from quickly confirming who all the players in this Shields mystery might be. And second, Ella’s father had the rather common given name of William—that’s who the twins got one part of their own names from—and he met a rather tragic end just two years after the 1900 census. At any rate, by then, Ella’s siblings, now also married adults, would more than likely be in their own households for that census and beyond.

I left my pursuit at Ancestry.com—there were other family trees displaying, but one quick glance was enough of a hint that maybe data wasn’t totally complete there—and headed to FamilySearch.org.

I have a trick that I use at that website when I’m uncertain about the full name of the person I’m pursuing: I leave out a lot of the data I already know. In this case, I searched for Ethel with no surname. Instead, I added “Shields” as a surname of one of the parents—I opted to start with a mother’s maiden name as Shields—and searched for death records. I was hoping that one of the Shields cousins—all of whom are now surely gone—would surface with information on a parent’s surname.

Well, my guess of a maternal Shields connection turned out wrong. Handily, the FamilySearch mechanism provided some alternatives—and there she was. Young Ethel turned out to be the daughter of Ella’s older brother Adolphus and his wife, Elsie. Ethel B. Shields was born in May, 1891, just two months shy of her cousin Leona’s own birthday, giving both sets of parents the makings of an adorable portrait of the “twin” cousins just a few years later.

Leona and the Twins

Just as the proverbial iceberg—submerged for the greatest percentage of its mass under water—so is childhood in its ability to camouflage the very essence of what makes the adult.

In reviewing the story of Samuel W. Bean and his twin, William S. Bean, I’ve discovered some things about their big sister that I hadn’t known, even after those few years I knew Leona. I suppose, in visiting Leona in her senior years, I could have asked her, myself. But then, assuming her blood relatives would have said something, I never spoke up to do so.

Come to find out, it may be that Leona’s own niece and nephew didn’t know some of the things I’m discovering about her now.

Leona Bean Grant was born July 28, 1891, which is a good thing—it gave her a nearly five year lead on her twin brothers.

On the other hand, given the mores of the time, I suppose it put her in the position of surrogate mother whenever Ella Shields Bean felt overwhelmed.

Whatever the case may have been, Leona turned out to have a strong personality and snappy temperament. I imagine keeping two kid brothers in line might have helped develop her take-charge affect.

I’ve been fortunate, in receiving the box of a lifetime’s worth of family photographs, to have found the Bean children’s few pictures well-labeled. In some cases, not only were their names affixed to the reverse of the photograph, but often, so were their ages—or at least the date—and occasionally even the location of the picture.

On the other hand, I must give three cheers for the “auto-fix” and “enhance” features on Adobe PhotoShop, which helped my attempts at making these small, torn, scuffed and faded likenesses become just a bit more visible. A bit, I said.

Try your eyes on what I’ve found.

First, what seems like a nondescript snapshot of greenery at water’s edge actually reveals Leona perched on a rock—and reflected in the water below. Above her and to her left, behind some wisps of plant life, are the two bare-legged twins, appearing ready for action. Miraculously, their sun bonnets are still perched on their heads—but, I suspect, not for long.

Thankfully, one of their parents labeled the reverse of the picture. Though there isn’t a date, I’d guess from their sizes that this would be the summer of 1899 or 1900, since the boys were born in March, 1896.

For those who love beautiful nature scenes and want to know the location, someone was thoughtful enough to post that: the picture was taken at Noyo River. Though I’ve lived in California for years, I had never heard of that river, so I had to look it up. It is evidently a northern California river, flowing through Mendocino County out to the Pacific at Fort Bragg. Since that would be quite a distance from the Bean residence in Redwood City, this photograph must have served as a reminder of a relaxing summer vacation.

Back home in Redwood City, another snapshot was taken, supposedly on the front porch of the Bean home there. Leona and the twins, dressed for a special occasion, appear rather somber in this one. A woman off to the shadows on the left may actually be Ella Shields Bean, their mother, but the photo doesn’t provide any names.

Remember my guess for the date of the summertime excursion above? Well, count me wrong on that one, if the date on this second photo is correct. Marked “Redwood City 1898,” it puts Leona at the age of seven, and the twins at two. Somehow, I just don’t buy that scenario. Those boys look taller than two to me. What do you think?

Sam’s Siblings

In order to explain more about the story of Sam and Maud, it will help to first take a step back a generation and introduce you to Samuel Bean’s brother and sister.

Today, I’ll take the opportunity for those first introductions to be made via photographs—albeit photos that include a few unidentified companions. In the following few days, I’ll include some more details to round out these introductions, then jump back into Sam’s own story.

Sam was born to Leon S. Bean and his wife, the former Ella May Shields. You’ve already seen a couple photos of Ella Bean from her grandmotherly years. Sam’s arrival in the Bean family—most likely in or near Redwood City in San Mateo County, California, though I don’t yet have that confirmed—occurred on March 5, 1896.

When Sam joined the family, there was already another child there to welcome him: his older sister, Leona. By now four years of age, herself, Leona was probably beyond the Green-Eyed-Monster stage of new big-sisterhood. Which was a good thing, because Sam did not arrive at this household alone.

He came with his brother. His mother surely would soon be needing an extra set of helping hands.

I’m not sure whether this is owing to a parental form of humor, or some other twinliness of the times, but Samuel William Bean’s brother was given a name which was exactly the reverse: William Samuel Bean.

Sharing the same names (though in reverse order) and the same birthday, these two active boys most likely engaged in all the escapades twins of that time period may have devised. It wasn’t until the two brothers arrived in their teens that differences became more marked for anyone just getting to know them.

Both Sam and his older sister Leona can be seen in a casual snapshot taken just in front of their home in Alameda when they were most likely in—or nearing—their twenties.

Sam, with his thick dark glasses, stands on the right, next to a young man I am not yet equipped to identify, and in front of a seated young woman I also don’t know. Diagonally across from him, seated, is his sister Leona. I’m presuming that his brother Bill is taking the photograph.

Because of Sam’s stern and rigid appearance, it’s hard to determine the closeness of the resemblance between these twins by comparing that photograph with one I found of his brother.

Bill, too, is standing in front of their house, but is assuming a much more casual stance in this snapshot.

Once again, I am not able to identify the companion in the photo. This time, though, there is a note on the back of the picture which helps me pin a name to this unknown woman.

The inscription reads:

In front of the house. Love to Leona. Bill + Ginny.

“Ginny” is news to me. Her name does not show up in any Bean family history. All I can do is presume she was a good friend and companion—they made a great couple in the pictures at least, don’t you think?—but not the one to whom Bill eventually promised, “I do.”

There is a lot I don’t know about the family pictures, such as these, which have been passed down to me. There is one thing I do know about this second photo, though: I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Sam who reciprocated to take his brother’s picture.

From Family Then to Family Now

I have to admit: it’s been hard, lately, preparing daily posts for A Family Tapestry. Not that I have lost my zest for writing or anything. I love spending the time it takes to compose the daily review of the family material I’m researching.

The lack of writing verve has been due to something else, however, and I somehow was reminded that I’m really being unfair—to myself as well as others—by not saying anything and yet insisting on silently churning out daily posts.

I was reminded, today, that I went through much the same scenario last year. On the eve of traveling to visit a cousin in her last days, I found myself creating a week’s worth of blog entries ahead of time, so that I wouldn’t miss a beat. It took me several days after my return home—and only with some firm nudges from unknowing bystanders—before I could even write something about it all.

This year, thankfully, I’m not facing such dire circumstances. But I am facing a trip even longer than last year’s journey. And I will be spending quite a bit of time in a hospital. So I thought I’d learn my lesson from last year, and just be transparent this time.

While I’m away, I’ll select some of the mystery photos from the Bean family collection to share. Though I don’t know all the names to link to those faces, I think you’ll enjoy perusing the memories kept by this family from the turn of the last century. I sure do have a lot more research to complete before I feel confident about passing along the stories this family shared informally with me over the years. But this upcoming week’s posts will be a start at chipping away at this project.

In the meantime, I’ll be turning my attention from Family-History-of-the-Long-Past to Family-History-in-the-Making. Remember my aunt—the one I told you about last September? The one who was thinking about caving to public opinion and “acting her age” by capitulating to socially-mandated behavior for the “elderly”? Well, she reconsidered on her adamant stance to move to a “home” when she found out that she could still stay in her own home, cook her own meals, do her own housekeeping, and even drive to her job (yes, she still has a part time job!) and keep up her daily jogging routine. It was all but for the lack of a good set of arm muscles, we found out, that she had been thinking she’d need to kiss it all goodbye. All she needed was someone to shovel the snow for her each winter!

While family wholeheartedly supported her new decision to stay home, things do happen. In this case, that “thing” happened, oh, just two days before Christmas: in a rush to grab her suitcase and drive off with friends for a Christmas visit, she tripped on the door mat, couldn’t catch her balance and fell.

The bad news is that she broke her neck.

The thankful news is that I’m not talking about ancient family history. Family history-in-the-making in this millennium sure beats the outcome our ancestors of even a couple generations past might have faced. Surgery works miracles. Medical attention reverses dire circumstances, and sets us back on the path to recuperation.

So, I’m thankful that this year’s bedside visit will have a very different outcome than that of the past year.

In the meantime, I’ll share with you some stories and photographs of Sam and Maud Bean’s family.

Yet, by necessity, I’ll have my mind elsewhere in the next few days. I’m sure you’ll understand. After all, the importance instilled in the institution of the family is not just for those who lived in past ages. More than that, it is what we value right here and now.


Above right: For the obligatory dance lessons, my mother and aunt strike just the right recital pose.