The Search

As I continue examining this collection of Agnes Tully Stevens’ personal papers, my hope is to obtain a better understanding of her as a person. Perhaps that’s why I’ve moved away from dubbing my endeavor as “genealogy” and instead prefer the more open and descriptive “family history” label. I want to make the acquaintance of these people I will never get the chance to meet—at least in this world—and see them morph from static dates on archival records to flesh-and-blood beings. I want to engage them in ways not possible through mere genealogical records. To allow these statistics to blossom into real, live people, I need something much more tangential than duly footnoted, date-filled research. I need a 360 degree view of what went into inspiring the development of each ancestor’s character. I crave the stories—not of when or where they lived—but of how they lived.

Because of that, I don’t see what I do as research. I see it as The Search.

Reviewing the letter posted yesterday—including the finds mentioned in the comments revealing more of the possible identity of the letter writer—I realize how important collateral information is to The Search. If we see our discoveries as each creating a mosaic that eventually, filled in, gives us a composite picture of who our ancestor was, we look much farther than just to vital statistics, or census or church records. We broaden our circle of inquiry to include a greater personal sphere of influence.

Finding Family Through Friends and Neighbors 

In sifting through the many letters in the Agnes Tully Stevens collection, I’ve begun to piece together a sense of who this Chicago woman was. She was no celebrity, but her life had meaning, purpose, and achievement. Of course, she is important to those who descended from her—she was, after all, my husband’s grandmother—and to those cousins in both the United States and Canada with whom she kept in contact over the decades. Though in the greater scheme of things she is relatively obscure, I see within her life’s story the impact of the lives of others who, similarly unknown, became the obscurely significant in her life’s circle.

I’ve already written the stories of some who were tangentially important in influencing Agnes’ life, such as the pastor of her neighborhood parish, Father P. M. Flannigan—and those of his family members who, in turn, exerted their influence through him. I’ve noted the many letters from ailing priests recuperating in sanitaria in the southwest—not well known, perhaps, but sharing a formative role as she ministers to them in their sickness and isolation, and as they comment on the ups and downs of her own young life. Then, too, there have been the former-classmates-done-well from her Chicago parochial school who moved on to business accomplishments in the South, or region-wide renown in the legal profession of the Northeast.

Agnes’ relationship with each of these disparate players in her life’s story provides me with a glimpse of what she was like, how she saw life, who she personally valued as an important influence in her life.

A Friend and Neighbor Network

I see this type of research more as a diagram of a network than the grid of a family tree. The picture it draws looks more like a mind map than a descendants chart. It becomes a sketch of a network of the social relationships that held meaning for those particular people in the circles of my ancestry for whom I seek more details.

The little slip of paper I’m posting at the bottom of this page gives an example. This scan is of the first page of a simple recital program, printed on a standard sized sheet of paper. Folded in half, with the contents of the program displayed inside, the cover announces:

Mr. Herbert Butler

Presents

DONNA GRESCOE

Child Violinist

(Winner Morris B. Sachs’ Amateur Hour Dec. 4, 1938)

in her

FAREWELL RECITAL

Sunday, March 19, 1939

3:30 P.M.

At Hackman Hall

96^th and Throop Streets

This plain paper program was kept among Agnes Tully Stevens’ possessions ever since that date. Why would that program be important to her?

I scoured the four pages of this document to see if Agnes' name was mentioned anywhere. After all, Agnes was, at one point, a touring violinist, herself. But there was no trace of Agnes’ involvement in this program—not as sponsor, not as performer, nor mentor—if the many names listed were to give any indication.

I know from reading family letters that there were a few mentions of someone by that same name—Donna Grescoe. My father-in-law, in his letters home while serving in the Navy during World War II, mentioned that he was “surprised” that Donna Grescoe had written him from New York.

Why surprise?

To uncover such little details of life, I have to take a detour from genealogical research to The Search. I have to explore the intersecting spheres of influence that connect Donna Grescoe with Agnes Tully Stevens to see if there is anything edifying to be extracted from what I find. Once I discover the story of that other person’s life—as I’ll begin recounting tomorrow—I can see how it fits into the story of Agnes' own family’s history. At the nexus of those two, I can begin to flesh out the kind of details that will lift a mere name on paper, stand that name up and breathe some life into it.

Inspiration for a Namesake

Among the many letters that Agnes Tully Stevens saved over the years has been a number from local church-affiliated leaders who made a difference in her life. One such role model for Agnes in her younger years was a woman whom she called Sister Mary Patricia. Whatever the relationship was between them, or how it began, I don’t know for sure. I can only glean impressions from what has been left behind.

The fact that, once married and a mother, Agnes chose to name her only daughter after this woman is a significant statement of the older woman’s importance in her life.

We’ve been introduced to this namesake before, in the post about Agnes’ daughter (who eventually came to be known simply as “Pat”). There, in that post, we learned that Sister Mary Patricia was involved in the field of education. Perhaps it was during the earlier portion of her tenure in this occupation that she first came to know Agnes. The acquaintance grew into a lifelong relationship, witnessed by the invitation kept among Agnes’ papers to attend Sister Mary Patricia’s Golden Anniversary of her religious profession—a celebration occurring in 1950.

From that invitation, I learned that Sister Mary Patricia’s surname was Dawson. Yet, perhaps owing to the custom of some as they enter religious orders to change their given names, I have not been able to find any genealogical record of her family connections. I did find one article published by someone with that same name—and same field of endeavor—in a 1927 journal. Other than that, Sister Mary Patricia Dawson remains a mystery to me: a woman whose influence meant a great deal to someone in our family.

The undated letter below must have been written either upon hearing Agnes’ news of her approaching marriage, or following the birth of her firstborn son. It is difficult from the context of the letter—and the changes in language usage in the ensuing one hundred years—to determine which is the better guess. This could put the date of the letter some time before mid-June of 1912—in the case of the former celebration—or during May of 1913.

Whichever the case, undoubtedly, Agnes must have brought her “darling boy” by to meet the respected mentor as soon as possible.

 

My own dearest Agnes: —

            Doubtless you have come to the conclusion and justly so, that I have forgotten you and your new found love but I assure you such has not been the case. I have only been unavoidably detained in adding my measure of joy to your cup which must be full to over flowing in the possession of your new treasure. You have been daily in my thoughts and many an aspiration has been breathed to the Sacred Heart. Closing Exercises and Final Exams are in vogue and you can readily imagine my leisure moments.

            Bring your darling boy to see me as soon as you can. Have you heard that Elinor has a dear baby girl—

            Yours same as always—

                        Sister Mary Patricia

More Hats and Bonnets

Along with the photographs of the beach trip found in the papers of Agnes Tully Stevens, there was one more picture. Unlike the others we’ve seen over the past several days, this one does not include the type of background you would expect for beach scenery. And although the outfits worn by those mystery people in the Wrightsville Beach series were extraordinarily formal—at least by today’s standards—for beach attire and summer vacation garb, the outfits do not look much different than those featured in today’s photograph.

 

Although I suppose there is the possibility of a story line of someone taking a photo at the start of the trip—the Tully family was, after all, living in much-chillier Chicago—this picture might have nothing whatsoever to do with the oceanside holiday we’ve been considering. However, it was included along with the others from that 1911 excursion. I consider it a fitting close to the series of unknown faces.

Whether the extended family—that mystery family for whom I’ve found no clues—was linked to Agnes’ sister’s McGonagle family, or to possible Flanagan relatives of Agnes' mother, Catherine Malloy Tully, I don’t know yet. But I can hope—as long as Google keeps searching and as long as Blogspot keeps hosting blogs—that these pictures will continue to be accessible for someone to stumble upon.

Someone, perhaps, who does know.

Sun Bonnets at the Waterfront

A wallet-sized photograph, marked on the back simply with the penciled-in number, “15,” seems to include some of the same people we saw in the group pictures at the Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina, resort.
 

The man with the straw hat seems a constant in this collection. The woman who looks like a young Agnes Tully Stevens seems to be part of this grouping, too. And we also saw the slender lady to the left in those group portraits. I am not sure, but the person to the far right may be the wife in the couple we discussed before, too. Or at least the same one as in the swimsuit pictures.

Regardless of who they are, they’ve insured that they are properly dressed to be out in the summertime sun—at least, proper in the early 1900s version of "proper." No sunscreen for that decade, though. The wide brims of their hats and the long coverings of their outfits served the same purpose.

A Plant Provides a Hint

There they are, in all the pictures I’ve posted over the past few weeks: the mystery family. The extended mystery family, complete with baby, children and even pets. Uncles, cousins, and even grandmother figure prominently.

True, I don’t even know their names, though I can guess.

Though many remain nameless, I spot similarities and try to group some of them together.

All I know is that they are on holiday at the waterfront. I presume, from the handwritten note on the reverse of some snapshots, that the location is Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina. This location is confirmed from the “Abananza Studio” label on the postcards. The date, given on one of the pictures, is 1911. The one thing I know for sure is that these pictures all came from the papers of my husband’s grandmother, Agnes Tully Stevens.

And yet, I find myself so starved for confirmation on the identity of these folks that I grasp at little details. The dog pictures, for instance. And this strange, tropical-looking plant that I found in one under-exposed, wallet-sized photograph.

The picture is of a man holding a baby. Despite the setting of the photograph being outdoors in nice weather—and at the waterfront, too—the man appears to be wearing business attire. Other than missing the suit jacket, he looks very much like the couple at the far right in the group photograph I posted yesterday.

And there, peaking out from behind the couple in yesterday’s shot, is a renegade jumbo-leaf, much the same as those in today’s photo of father and child.

Can a mere leaf—no matter how large—reveal enough information to posit a guess as to location and identity? While I’m no farther ahead in the name game, at least I can feel better than tentative that this dad is at the same place, at the same time, as the group portrait shown yesterday. And if this is still a photo from 1911, the only baby eligible to fill the bill—at least as Tully family relations go—would be Mary Monica Tully McGonagle’s daughter Lillian Angela McGonagle. And yet, if this is so, where are all the other children of Mr. and Mrs. Dennis Austin McGonagle?

The only way to confirm, of course, will launch me on a quest to connect with some distant cousins. This, you realize, may call for another trip back to the old Tully home town: Chicago. Thankfully, that is the kind of thing one might attempt during a summer holiday.

Here’s Looking At Us

Here they all are, for all the world seeming to be looking at us, waiting expectantly for our response. Each set of eyes implores, “You remember me, don’t you?”

And yet, unfortunately, I don’t. I want to scream out in frustration, “If you wanted someone to remember you, why didn’t you make sure your name was written somewhere on that card?”

Obviously, someone wanted to remember these people—this splendid season of life, these special moments to cherish. This card has been kept in our family for just over one hundred years. That must indicate it holds one hundred years’ worth of meaning.

For someone.

But not for me.

How I wish it were for me. I struggle to piece the clues together: the relationships, the relative ages, even the identity of their pets, for crying out loud. I notice all the little details—like the fact that someone decided to slice nearly a half inch off the side of this postcard, for instance. Or the big leaf protruding from the tropical-looking plant obscured by the gentleman standing to the far right (we’ll see that plant—and human—again in a photo tomorrow).

I play around with the names and dates in my Tully family constellation. After all, the matriarch of the family, recently-widowed Catherine Malloy Tully, would by 1911 have been sixty three years of age—just the right age to play the matriarch sitting in the front row of this photograph. Her daughter Agnes, the violinist, the performer, sitting so regally in her feminine outfit with the petite-waisted fashion of such bygone eras, could easily have played the part of the ingénue as the center of attention in this vignette.

From there, though, the comparisons fall apart. The couple to the far right—could they be the ones with the baby in the beach picture?—don’t appear to be the right ages to represent Mary Monica Tully and her husband of the last nine years, Austin McGonagle. Even the comparative ratio of men to women does not match that of my Chicago Tully family; patriarch John Tully—now gone these four years—had brothers, it is true, and a few nephews, too, but not enough to field this lineup of men on the back row. Catherine, herself, was an only child—no help there in contributing to such a robust family structure.

With these considerations, I despair even of ascertaining whether this photograph contains the likeness of Agnes Tully Stevens, herself.

And yet, I would so like to know.

Surprise! There ARE Two Dogs!

Looking at the group photograph displayed on one postcard from Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina, I begin to see familiar faces fall into place, after viewing several others from the collection left behind by Chicago resident Agnes Tully Stevens. In the Abananza Studio postcard shown below, a large group of adults assembles on the veranda of what may well be the same beach resort we’ve already observed.

I am presuming these adults are all from the same extended family. Or perhaps they all belong to one specific group, such as a church group or club.

At any rate, I thought I had seen two boys seated at the front of this picture with their legs dangling over the edge of the decking. I used Photoshop to enlarge the scanned photograph and reveal a bit more of the photo's details. Above the head of the more-hidden young man seated to the right, what should come more clearly into focus but the head of another dog?! Of course, Possum is draped across the lap of the slender young woman seated to the far right. But there as I zoom in on the grouping above that half-hidden boy’s head, I see seated alongside the man who was featured in yesterday’s photo the other dog that had puzzled me yesterday!

And, I presume, the lady-with-the-bonnet in the background of yesterday’s photo now stands behind our gentleman-with-his-dog. Looking closer again, I try to determine if her face resembles that of the young Agnes we were wondering about a few days ago.

I try again and again to figure out which family groupings this vignette might represent. I assume the time period is still July, 1911, based on some other photographs of this location labeled with that information. I know that predates Agnes’ wedding to William Stevens. However, looking through my family database, I cannot come up with any family constellation that would include such a large number of adult male relatives.

While this series of postcards and private photographs still leaves me stumped, at least with the postcard I’ll show tomorrow, some faces are becoming recognizable. While the group may play musical chairs from photo to photo, I’m beginning to construct some relationships between sub-groupings of these folks—whoever they are.