Creating a Personal Finding Aid for Local Research

One thing I learned from growing up at the far reaches of one of the world's largest cities is that cities have really neat historical resources. Like libraries. And museums.

It took me a little longer than my childhood years in the New York City metro to realize there were other repositories that come in handy for research, as well. Words like "archives" had to get added to my growing lexicon as my interest in family history expanded. The coming of digitized records seemed to flood me with additional resources, but sometimes blinded me to the possibility of finding tucked-away gems in real life.

Now that I'm living in a much smaller city—our town's population ranks us just above Saint Louis, Missouri, in size—it seems I've forgotten how much can be found locally to help with local research. In my own town, for instance, I've known about the private collection at the Haggin Museum, our local art and history museum, and, of course, the county's record collection at the county historical society's museum.

But how many other things do we know because they got lodged in our brain seemingly by osmosis? The drip-by-drip learning that comes with living in a community for decades is a type of learning we take so much for granted that we dismiss the value of it. And yet, it took me a visit to the bank our genealogical society uses for our financial business to get my memory jogged about their hundred and fifty year history, despite being aware for who knows how long that this bank has a phenomenal archive of local photographs and other memorabilia. I just didn't think to put two and two together.

There are several such research gems tucked away in our county—the kinds of places you just gotta know about. They aren't places with a world-class public relations program; in fact, they often operate on a shoe-string budget powered by true believers who provide the energy and determination to kick-start a noble mission. Sometimes, the only way people find out about such places is to stumble upon them.

Over the course of the years I've worked with my local genealogical society, for instance, I've been introduced to our city's chapter of the Filipino American National Historical Society, and the Chicano Research Center. I've learned about the history and heritage-preserving missions of several other local organizations, as well. That's what comes from living in the same community for so many years.

But let's suppose we need to learn about such tucked-away gems in another community. Say, what about researching in a place where we've never tried our genealogical hand before? Like Council Bluffs, Iowa, home of the Sherradan photography studio where the portrait of our mystery Mr. and Mrs. Albert Roberts was taken, well over one hundred years ago.

To proceed in searching for my answer on the identity of the right Albert Roberts, it would help if I knew more about the research resources tucked away in the Council Bluffs area. Of course, I can contact the local library's reference librarian, scope out the local genealogical society, determine whether there is a historical society with a photography archives—and all that, I have done.

But we can push beyond those usual first stops on the research circuit. I've had excellent success, in working on research projects in other regions, by just posting an inquiry on those old-fashioned online genealogy bulletin boards, where some kind soul has mentioned a local research gem not generally known by outsiders. I've also learned, once finding an answer, to also ask, at that location, where else I can find more stuff just like what I've just found. After evaluating all the tips myself and eliminating those which really didn't pan out as useful leads, I've added the useful discoveries to my own list of finding aids, just in case my family history questions lead me back along that path again in the future.

You may hear the term "finding aid" used by archivists, and it may sound like a far-reaching notion for the "little ol' me" researcher. But don't put yourself in that box. The family history questions you are tackling are just as informative as any other researcher's history quest. Despite perhaps having a more limited sphere of influence, the information you find on the actions taken by your ancestors still can be discoveries that make a significant difference for you and your generation of their descendants.

Creating your own personal finding aid for new locations you are researching doesn't have to be as complex as this example from the Society of American Archivists, but the format can give you an idea of what people generally find helpful in such a researcher's guide. While places such as the United States' own National Archives consider finding aids as indispensable tools, even the National Archives acknowledges that finding aids can be created by "private organizations and parties." Why not us?

So, as I struggle with this research roadblock in identifying just which Albert Roberts is the right identity for the antique photograph I found, I may as well lay a foundation for return trips for further research in Council Bluffs. One never knows when such a tool will come in handy again.

Besides, in the making of it for this first attempt, it will enable me to broaden my horizons and reach out to people with pockets of specialized knowledge that I may never otherwise have encountered. I'll be out there, asking questions about where I can go to find answers about my specific research question. The path may take a few twists and turns, but at the end of the process, if I keep both my research journal and a record of the resources I've discovered, I'll be better prepared to tackle such a problem again. Better yet, I'll also be able to pass along the advice to others who could use the help. 

Research as if you lived there all your life. Then share, when you finally stumble upon the answers.

Since Everyone's on Facebook

Well...maybe not everyone. But enough people to help put that six degrees of separation idea to work, at least for reuniting antique photographs with their family members.

Before I ever started puzzling over which of three potential candidates were the true contestants for the likeness of Mr. and Mrs. Albert Roberts of Council Bluffs, Iowa—will the real ones please stand up?—I had been working on an adorable picture of a toddler whose family likely had lived in the Reno, Nevada, area. Stuck once again, I decided to see what would happen if I posted the photo on the Facebook page for the local genealogical society.

As things turned out, there was no local genealogical society from northern Nevada with a Facebook page (or group). But there was the Nevada state society. So that was where this adorable, lost cherub made her appearance last November.

In response, I discovered another researcher after my own heart, who has been reuniting lost photographs with family members for the past twenty years. Naturally, I used the opportunity of bumping into her online to ask for tips. After all, she'd been at it for far longer than I have.

Her suggestion? In a private message, she advised: "try posting on some of the FaceBook pages dedicated to lost treasures.''

I started searching for that term on Facebook, and pulled up several such groups. Hey, there are a lot of people doing this very same thing. I found Lost and Found Genealogy Pictures, a group started in 2018 which now has over seven thousand members. A similarly named, but much older group, Genealogy: Lost and Found, has grown to five thousand from their start in 2013. Not to confuse things, another group, founded two months before the previously-named group, sports the name Genealogy: LOST and FOUND—and a follower base of seventeen thousand.

As it turned out, there are several such groups on Facebook, dedicated to offering a stage for people who do what I do: rescue abandoned family photos and find a way to send them back to descendants. Once I found them, I did the only reasonable thing I could: I joined them all.

At about the same time I met this researcher with the twenty year track record of rescuing old photos, someone else—turns out, one of the group admins—posted a comment below the picture I had shared, suggesting that I check out another Facebook group called From Shrubs to Trees, an appropriate moniker.

Then came the holidays. Not much of genealogical progress is made then. But with life after New Year's, the Facebook queries are rolling out. While each post becomes only another drop in a churning ocean of—who are we kidding here? Let's make that another needle in a mile-high haystack—at least it's one more attempt at a miracle reunion than we've had before this point. Maybe someone, somewhere...

The more I talk, the more I think I'm talking myself out of confidence. What did that song say? I have confidence in... Well, maybe, sometimes, I don't. And in cases like that, it's back to the drawing board and more research tactics again. There are still other ways to find our answer.

Now, Where Was I ?

It's Plough Monday. Time to get back to work!

It took some revisiting of old posts to remind myself of where we left off before the holidays. It was on the Friday before Christmas that I had reviewed the third possibility for the true identity of a man named Albert Roberts—a man who stopped in at a photography studio in Council Bluffs, Iowa, to have his portrait taken with his wife.

I'm still trying to figure out just who that "Mr. and Mrs. Albert Roberts" might have been, so I can return that hundred year old photograph to family. We have one possibility of a man born about 1869, and another of a man with the same name, who was about ten years younger than our first candidate. A third Albert Roberts, partially by virtue of his later birth in 1896, seems most likely to be eliminated from the roundup. So we are now left with a fifty-fifty chance at making the right guess.

Guessing, however, is not what we are here to do, of course. So now what?

For one thing, despite all the holiday festivities, I did manage to check out a few potential routes to right answers. I did a thorough search for family trees on Ancestry.com which contained either of these two couples, to see if any were maintained by close relatives of either of the Alberts in question. One of these has, thankfully, responded to indicate willingness to help us explore this puzzle further. The other trees, unfortunately, were not posted by descendants or close relatives, so I didn't even contact them.

Another route I am taking is to contact the county libraries, as well as genealogical and historical societies, to see if there is any photograph collections there which could help with comparisons. Thankfully, one helpful person—who happens to be connected to such photograph repositories—has indicated willingness to help, as well.

And so, the search grinds onward. Besides reaching out to these organizations and individuals, however, I've learned that there are a few other ways to seek potential answers. For one thing—and I have been reminded of this in past searches—not everyone keeps their tree on Ancestry. Witness one of my first photo-sleuthing stories about Penrose Hawkes and the mystery photo album that turned out to come from County Cork, Ireland: that answer came, initially, through a family tree posted on Geni.com. (Though the person didn't reply to my posted message—which I had to join Geni.com in order to even send—the discovery was of the right descendant, and I did eventually send the album to her, though it was through the Cork Genealogical Society's Facebook group that the nexus was successfully made.)

And again, most recently, I was reminded to look for answers in places like the universal tree kept on FamilySearch.org, where the researcher who discovered the unburied cremains of the Civil War veteran we discussed prefers to post her discoveries.

There is one other way I can circumvent this research brick wall. I can try seeking people who might have more knowledge of the unnamed Mrs. Albert Roberts. Though I don't have her given name—or this search would have been over by now, wouldn't it?!—I do have candidates for each of those names. If anyone is researching any family lines for those two maiden names, perhaps they might have access to photos of the young Mrs. Roberts to help us evaluate which one is the right candidate.

Now that the holiday season is over, we have a full list of items to attempt in completing this photo puzzle. One by one, we'll check them off, as well as check out another possibility—but I'll save explaining that idea for another day.

A Big Christmas Season, a Little Epiphany

The twelve days of Christmas may (finally) be over, but their inspiration for carols we still (sometimes) sing is not. The arrival of the Magi became the genesis, centuries later, for not only numerous portrayals in art, but two familiar tunes: "We Three Kings" and "As with Gladness Men of Old." (For those who may not recall that second catchy tune, take a listen here.)

That trail of Christmas hits of the 1850s may be some of the few vestiges of that entire partying span of time once packaged together as the Twelve Days of Christmas. That, and the fact that, at this very moment (for those of you who are up, reading this post with your morning coffee somewhere back east), my husband's cousins and their children are eagerly pouncing on their gifts, rather than the event others might have indulged in on December 25.

As for the rest of those twelve days, I imagine only the most devout of Catholic ancestors might have paid any notice to the calendar of feast days closing out the old year and opening up the new. (And perhaps a few hearty party-goers might have dragged the celebration out much farther than when everyone else was ready to call it a night.)

So what can we say is our claim on the roots of this holiday season? Do you recognize anything of your holiday traditions that might point specifically to an ethnic background?

Perhaps that is where I received my personal epiphany about this holiday season. Though my family never celebrated any such event (at least that I can recall), I had always heard of the twelve days of Christmas. I became slightly more sensitized to it when I moved from my childhood home in New York to live in "sunny" California (where, I assure you, the morning temperatures do, indeed, dip below freezing). Here, for instance, it is very obviously the custom to not take down one's Christmas decorations until Epiphany—witness all the holiday lights on the housetops and the still-lit Christmas trees leading up to today—a vestige of a culture more influenced by that Twelve Days custom.

Other than that, though, I knew very little about the custom of these twelve days. So, after all these years, I decided to look it up—to see for myself what this was all about.

What I found was a very far-reaching link back to events of historical significance in the Middle Ages in various countries in Europe, and their outgrowth in some customs which became part of the Christmas season. Though some traditions might have been inspired by a particular day—witness the Boxing Day carol we know as Good King Wenceslas for the second day of Christmas—such surprises linking particular Christmas carols to specific days were some of the only connections I could make to an actual calendar of commemorations for these twelve days. Even the church calendar for the feast day designations seemed not to relate to historic events—or to be hastily-contrived redirections for a nascent church emerging on a continent previously held sway by pagan celebrations.

Perhaps, if it were not for that holiday song about the Twelve Days of Christmas, I'd have never given the phrase any thought. After all this personal inquiry, it seems at best in its current vestiges of whatever the original Middle Ages impetus might have been, that the concept of a Twelve Days of Christmas represents a romanticized version of a season of great cheer and celebration. And that—whether with a saint designated specifically for each day—is indeed what we have managed to do. Only now, we've shifted our holiday cheer to precede the event, rather than letting the main event launch the season.

However you and your family have historically celebrated this season we've just completed, I hope it was one which brought you peace and happiness. As for me, with the last of my holiday decorations tucked safely in their storage boxes for another year, I'm looking to getting back to work on family history research projects, especially in preparation for the class I'll be attending at the Salt Lake Institute of Genealogy in only a short while.

At our home, it won't exactly be "A New Year, a New Me," but I'm looking forward to some research planning, refocusing on specific family history goals for 2019. Holidays are fun, and an extended holiday season at the end of the year comes with its own warm fuzzies, but it's nice to get back to the work of tackling some new research challenges with the energy of a new year.

 

Twelfth Day and Twelfth Night

The twelfth day, much like the seventh day, was celebrated more for the evening it became, rather than the day it was. Just as December 31—the Seventh Day of Christmas—is now known more for its role as New Year's Eve, the Twelfth Day of Christmas becomes the eve of Epiphany. And, in the partying atmosphere of the European middle ages, that same eve became known as Twelfth Night, the culmination of a season of merry-making.

Traditional events for Twelfth Night included playing games (mostly with eggs), going wassailing, and including music played by pipes, especially bagpipes. A typical food during this celebration was known as the king cake—though, unlike the king cake familiar to mardi gras revelers, this rich cake of eggs, butter, fruit, nuts and spices was considered to be more like the Italian panettone than the New Orleans version offered before Lent. Still, it included a hidden token, but unlike the mardi gras version with its baby king, the Twelfth Night cake usually concealed a bean and a pea; those finding the tokens were then crowned the lord and lady of "Misrule" for the night, and dressed like a king and queen.

In some traditions, this same Twelfth Night equated with what we celebrate as Christmas eve, for in some countries, the tradition of gift-giving was not acknowledged on Christmas day, but on Epiphany. Perhaps your family has memories of such a tradition, despite modern pressures to conform to the commercial representation of Christmas; if so, such a clue may lead you right to your ethnic heritage.

With the close of this evening, the Christmastide celebration all comes to a culmination, following this Twelfth Night, with the arrival of Epiphany tomorrow, January 6. Whether your family's custom was to celebrate the arrival of the Magi with gifts for each other on Epiphany, or simply mark the day as when we can—finally!—put away all our Christmas decorations, we've come to the end of a long stretch of partying. And then—at least during the Middle Ages—back to work!  

Eleventh Day

How is it that the designation for the eleventh day of a holiday commemoration devised in the Middle Ages denotes a saint who not only didn't live back then, but came from a country never heard of in that time period? It all makes me wonder what the historic designation was for the Eleventh Day of Christmas, back when this was all created.

For now, in keeping with the tradition of holding a feast day in memory of a saint upon the date of that person's death, Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton died on January 4, 1821. She wasn't, however, recognized as a saint until 1975, at which point she became the first native-born American to be designated as such.

Founder of the Sisters of Charity, the first American organization of religious sisters, Elizabeth Seton's legacy extended to orphanages, hospitals, and schools in the 1830s as far apart as Cincinnati, New Orleans and Saint Louis. Despite discovering this, I have yet to find any directions on how one was expected to celebrate this Eleventh Day of Christmas.

So, back in the days before Elizabeth Ann Seton became a saint, who was celebrated on the Eleventh Day of Christmas? According to one reference, that honor was previously bestowed upon Saint Simeon Stylites—although other reports say he is commemorated on January 5. Perhaps that's a good thing: after all, how would we celebrate a saint known for his extreme ascetic lifestyle?

I suspect, though, that many European households, at least closer to the time period in which the Twelve Days of Christmas were kept as a holiday season, were busily preparing, at this point, for the culmination of the Christmas season: the arrival of the Magi, or Three Kings from the east, to present their gifts to the Christ child on Epiphany—not to mention the energetic celebrations to be held the night preceding that, on Twelfth Night. While not many of our modern households may keep that tradition of the old holiday calendar, perhaps some family histories may contain a few reminders of that old custom of giving gifts, not on December 25, but on Epiphany, itself.

On the Tenth Day of Christmas . . .

...we lose our way even further.

Oh, dear. It seems, with today's feast, we have yet another moveable designation. Resources explaining the traditions behind the concept of the Twelve Days of Christmas assert that today is celebrated as the Feast of the Holy Name of Jesus. However, the naming of Jesus, if we follow the Jewish tradition—not to mention the Bible explanation—occurred "on the eighth day." That would bring us to January 1, not January 3 (if, indeed, Christ were actually born on December 25).

As it stands now, there already is a Feast of the Circumcision of Christ—technically, circumcision being when a Jewish son was given his name—and that feast day is held on January 1, the Eighth Day of Christmas. But that is already designated as a feast day to Mary. So what has become of the Feast of the Holy Name?

Well, it seems the church calendar has undergone several variations over the years. This feast day is no exception. The Feast of the Holy Name has been celebrated in the Catholic church since at least the late 1400s. Just when it has been celebrated has been a less constant fixture. The day has been celebrated, for instance, on January 14 (by Franciscans, Carmelites, and Augustinians), or on January 15 (by Dominicans), though the Jesuits have always fixed the date as January 3.

Different countries have celebrated this feast on different days, as well, over the centuries. And over time, the different popes have revised the church calendar, too.

Which all makes me wonder about this tradition of the Twelve Days of Christmas. Like the chicken and egg conundrum, I begin to wonder whether we had the saints' days first, or the twelve days—aching to be filled by churchified substitutions for former pagan rites. Perhaps a lack of focus on the purpose for each of these twelve days lies behind the reason why people don't really celebrate the entire season. Or is it that catchy Christmas tune that swayed me into thinking there really were twelve different days, each with its own distinct designation?

After all, I don't really have any family traditions which help me realize this is how my Polish (or Scottish, or Alsatian) forebears celebrated the Tenth Day of Christmas. Perhaps it was just that silly leap of logic: if there really are Twelve Days of Christmas, one of them must be the Tenth Day of Christmas. Right?

Despite this little glitch in my holiday fervor, we do need to persevere through the entire sequence. We still have two more days to celebrate. And around here in my adopted home state, that old holiday tradition demands the Christmas decorations stay put until the proper close of the holiday season.