Thanksgiving ...

Today, in the States is Thanksgiving I will not be posting a typical blog today, just going to wish everyone well and safe. I'm going to exercise my butt off so I have room for more turkey. See you tomorrow!

Dad's Military History

My father did something that very few people have done in their lifetime, with so many years in between … he retired, once in 1965 and again in 1988 or 1989 (forgive my lack of memory on the second). And he was kind enough to give me a copy of the press release that went to the local paper in honor of his first retirement.

This letter is fascinating, because the second page details his military history. Although, throughout life he has spoken to us about his military history, the importance of this didn’t sink in until I saw it in writing. This letter is addressed to my paternal grandmother, and she kept it, it was then given to my Dad.

Aside from the military he worked at Shop-Rite in Burlington, NJ for a short time, he also worked at Purex, and eventually ended up working at Rohm and Haus (a chemical plant) in the Bridesburg section of Philadelphia for twenty-three years before retiring a second time.

My only recollection of his work was Rohm and Haus, where he worked extremely long hours of swing shifts, and only had one weekend a month off. That was the weekend that he took us camping, every month, rain, shine, or blizzard.

It is this work ethic that helped him and Mom to be able to afford to raise a slightly large family of 5 children. It is also this work ethic that made us all aware of how special our Dad really is, early on.

Bah-Humbug I tell you!

As the holiday season quickly approaches I feel a bit bah humbug-ish. Everywhere that I’ve been today people have politely told me to “have a Happy Thanksgiving.” I want to yell out, “What’s so happy about it?” Instead I give the old standby answer, “Thanks, you too.”

The winter holiday always get me down … or at the very least frustrated and angry, because I want my children to have a perfect holiday, but it never works that way. If it isn’t because they didn’t get the perfect gift then it is because I am so tense (as I seek that perfection) that I’m yelling at everyone. The cold, dark winter days bring on depression for me, and the holidays is just one more reminder of my illness.

You may be asking, “What in the world does this have to do with genealogy?”

I’m sitting here, at my desk wondering what the holidays were like for my ancestors. Did they worry about perfection? Where does my depression come from? Were they worried about the perfect gift, or did their children just take what they got and appreciate it? Did they spend holidays together, or were there too many squabbles to handle a holiday together? What was it like in the late 1800s, early 1900s.

I do know that my maternal grandmother’s family must have had it tough as there are several federal censuses that list them as living together. Their widowed father and adult children, doubled, tripled, and sometimes quadrupled up in the same home. They probably spent a lot of time together, especially holidays, but, were they prosperous holidays, or just another day!?

What was a celebration like? Was it traditional … or did they form their own traditions? Was Uncle so and so a happy holiday drunk, or did he start fights? What, exactly, was life like for them? Were they Scrooges?

Before the 1950s holidays weren’t quite so commercialized, but now … we have expectations. Back in the day, the holiday was what people made of it. What are you going to make of your holiday season?

I’ve left more questions than answers, but I wanted you to think about this when you are with your family over the holiday season, ask the elders about their early holiday lives.

Thanks to Medical Science

Giving thanks to medical science seems a strange topic, but I bring to you a death certificate for my Great-Grandmother, Lillian May (Saxton) Crosland. Unfortunately, prior to really being “into” genealogy I saw a newspaper article for Lillian that stated she was diagnosed with Tuberculosis (TB). Furthermore, it stated that Lillian is the daughter of Bristol Police Chief Charles Saxton.

This was an interesting find … and apparently as rare as TB is today. I know it was in the Bristol Gazette, in the society page, but I’ll be darned if I can locate it now. Yet, I bring it up to you because as you can see if you have looked at the death record, Lillian died from Pulmonary Infarctions, presumably from TB. This left her children with no mother, and back then a single father wasn’t supposed to raise children, it was common for the father to remarry quickly, or to give his children to family members to raise.

Thornton B. Crosland gave his younger children (including my grandmother, Sarah B. (Crosland) Keckler) to other family members to raise. Although it is believed that Thornton may have paid some form of child support for Sarah.

Huh, I seem to have gone off on a bit of a tangent. Anyway, at this time we have many medicines, vaccinations, and other preventative measures to eradicate the population of many illnesses that long ago had taken lives of the young, the old, and the in-between. These illnesses were wiping out families, and spreading panic in the streets. Yet today, we are much more educated and protected from these sorts of illnesses.

And, for that I would like to thank medical science for preserving our present to increase the likelihood of a future.

Sentimental Sunday

When my mom, Elizabeth Jane (Keckler) Leary, passed away her personal possessions were divided among our Dad and the five living children. For those of you that knew my mother you know that she had plenty of possessions, jewelry, bathroom towel sets, kitchen towel sets, Pyrex pans, and much more. The interesting thing about all of this is that it was never used, and I don’t mean she opened her gifts and purchases, leaving them to collect dust. No, she left them in the package that they were purchased in, and if it was a gift it was not uncommon to find the original wrapping paper folded up and neatly saved so she could remember who gave her what gift.

When Mom passed I got a lot of her jewelry, most, if not all of it never worn by her and it was heartbreaking. There really was very little that Mom used that would give us a sentimental sense when holding it, or wearing it, or even using it. It was all just stuff … stuff to take up space, but much like Mom, I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it. Sometimes I would hold it, hoping to feel some sentimental emotion, some … nostalgia of a Mom that loved all of us, but I often felt nothing more than this is her stuff, never used, and never seen by others.

My daughter, Caitlin has very few memories of Mom, because Caitlin was only about two and a half years old when Mom passed. Also, we live 800 miles from Mom and Dad, so visiting was difficult. Yet, it is she that helped me to see the value of Mom’s belongings, and it was just recently that this transformation occurred.

“Mom,” Caitlin said, “can I wear some of Grammy’s jewelry to school?”

“I don’t know, let’s go through and see what you want to wear and I will tell you if it is okay or not.” I don’t know what made me respond this way, I could have just as easily said, “sure, go for it.” Something made me hesitate; maybe it was an opening of my mind and heart to the true value of the things I had acquired.

Together we went through the bag and box of jewelry that I had and she narrowed her option down to three different necklaces. I did not approve of two of her choices, so I allowed her to wear a string of imitation pearls, and she was proud as could be to wear Grammy’s necklace. She left me sitting on my bed surrounded by “stuff” so that she could pick out the perfect outfit to go with Grammy’s necklace.

It was there, that it finally dawned on me, why I couldn’t part with Mom’s belongings, the newness of said belongings were and are very sentimental. Each piece represents Mom’s habits, the special kindness she thought of others, and her need to not waste anything. They are all a symbol of Mom’s need to have things just so, to keep a certain item, or many items intact. For all intents and purposes, Mom’s belongings hold more sentimentality that I have realized until just a couple of weeks ago. Thanks to Caitlin.

Silly Saturday

The year was 1937, my father, Raymond Leary was just ten years old. It was a chilly morning when Pop (Daniel T. Leary born: 1900) prepared to head off to work as a truck driver. As he walked to the car he realized that he had a flat tire. Returning to the warmth of the house he woke my father to make him change the tire.

(For those young’un’s reading this and thinking that this was inappropriate, it was common for ten-year-olds to do man’s labor at this time in history.)

Blurry eyed and hardly awake Dad stumbled his way to the driveway to change the flat. The more he worked, the more awake he became, and when he was done he returned to the house full of pride for his accomplishment.

Pop went to the car to head to work and realized his son had changed the wrong tire, and he still had a flat.

About fifty years later, Dad’s four-year-old son would make a similar mistake. When our Dad went to go to work one day he opened the garage door and something shiny and red caught the sun and the reflection caught Dad’s eye. Looking down he discovered that Dan had taken the tail light off the old Volkswagen Beetle and placed it behind the wheel so that the car wouldn’t roll. Lucky for Dad, he saw it before running it over.

And, this is why Family History is so important, if we don’t learn from the past we are bound to repeat it in the present and future.

Happy Birthday to my Father-in-law

November 22, 1937, the day an amazing baby was born, and that baby would grow to become my father-in-law, Patrick Eitniear. If Dad could have one thing in this entire world, I believe it would be to remain at his childhood home for all eternity, and if that’s not possible in the spirit world, then I got a glimpse of his view of said home last night.

I contacted Vintage Aerial a few days ago, and last night one of their librarians called me. Together we went through two rolls of aerial photos from 1990 before finding Dad’s childhood home. Though it was difficult to see, unless you were looking for an overhead view of trees and shadows, it was fascinating to spy the open field with a single tree signifying that this was in fact the correct property.  

The tree that helped me locate vintage aerial photos
of the childhood home of Patrick Eitniear.

Granted, I was sort of bummed at first, because I wanted vintage photos, which to me would be something like 1970, but then again 1990 was over 20 years ago. The shadows darkened the home, making it barely visible, but still, this is the view that Dad has from Heaven. Once I realized that, I was thrilled with the find … and the best part is that it was free!

I didn’t ask for a copy of the picture, nor did I save it, because it didn’t hit me until after I closed the window what a find it truly was. I have to say, if the aerial photos are any insight to the view from Heaven, then the view is breath-taking.

Sure, I can get on Google Maps or even Google Earth and see much the same thing, but there is something special about seeing it the way it once was, rather than the way it is now. The fact that these pictures are of a rural community, makes them an extra special find. If you haven’t already, I invite you to go to Vintage Aerial and request a look up of your childhood home.

P.S. My slideshow was completely free, and I do not get any money for recommending this site to you, it is just a neat experience I want to share with others.

Calling all Family Members, Near and Far

Who is this?

I've asked this question before, but since then I have developed a few obvious clues that might help you to determine who is this mystery woman?

First, if you look in the lower right corner you can see a signature, it says, "JM Elliott." Some research tells me that JM Elliott was the photographer and the JM Elliott Photography Studio was in Columbus, Ohio around the late 1800s, early 1900s.

Second, judging from the hairstyle, my guess is that this picture was taken circa 1920.

This image came from my father's home, and no one is certain who it is. If we were of the thought that this picture is a direct ancestor, then our guesses are very limited. By the 1920s most of my ancestor's were living in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. I would think Columbus, Ohio, would be quite the excursion for a portrait studio.

Geographically, the closest family member to the studio would be my Great Grandmother, Elizabeth Missouri (Noll) Keckler. In 1918, she married and became Elizabeth Missouri Seilhamer, her approximate age would have been between 32 and 42 in the 1920s. Although, even she lived about 320 miles from the photographer's studio (using Google Maps and modern day interstates to navigate the distance).

Do you know who this is? Do you have any suggestions for me to research further to find out who this is?

Thrifty Home Building

Daniel T. Leary (born: 4 Jan 1900) in loving memory of my grandfather, whom passed away long before I was born (5 May 1953), I would like to tell you a story about how he was a thrifty gentleman.

Grandpop was not a rich man, and with seven children to care for, money was tight, lucky for him, though, six of those children were boys. Why does gender matter? Well, because Grandpop had a brilliant plan and he needed all hands on deck.

Just down the road a house burned down, a two-story home, burnt completely to the ground. All of the debris was in the basement, there was nothing more to the property, just the burnt out house. Grandpop bought the property for dirt cheap, and the boys shoveled the basement out until it was clean. Once the basement floor was found they built a roof over the basement and moved into the “hole in the ground” as they fondly called this home.

Grandpop wasn’t done yet; he bought a cinderblock maker and taught the boys how to make cinderblocks. The boys made those blocks for what seemed to them an eternity. Then, together they jacked up the roof and laid a layer of blocks around the house.

The boys thought they were done, but not yet, Grandpop had them make more blocks and lift the roof again, this continued until the hole in the ground had a basement and one additional story. Finally, they were done and everyone loved their new home, except my dad (Raymond Leary).

When the roof was close to the ground, Dad would climb to the peak of the roof, lie down, and roll to the bottom. He found this to be great fun, and it was painless, but he often questioned why none of his siblings joined in the fun. Maybe they just couldn’t imagine telling their grandchildren, in the years to come, that they used to roll off the roof. 

A Researcher's Nightmare ...

Wisdom Wednesday

The Holmesburg Prison, located on Torresdale Avenue in Philadelphia, Pennsylvana, was in operation from 1896 to 1995[i]. When interstate 95 was put through the city of Philadelphia, it ran right next to the walls of Holmesburg Prison.

What does a prison have to do with genealogy? No, I have not located a Black Sheep … yet, rather it is something to show the logic and humor interwoven into my father’s every day conversations.

Whenever we would pass the prison Dad would say, “Oh, look, there’s the college.” I was fascinated by the ancient walls separating the “college” from the community; it reminded me of a princess’s castle. I wanted to go to school there, I would work hard and get scholarships to attend the school of my dreams.

One day, as we drove on I-95, passed the prison I said to Mom and Grandmom Keckler, “I want to go to college there!”

Grandmom responded with, “That’s not a college it’s a prison! Who told you it’s a college?”

I closed my mouth, embarrassed by this interaction, and somehow knowing that Dad would be in trouble for this. Yet, Mom spoke up, “Her father did.”

Grandmom was not at all enthused by his sense of humor, but she never said a word to him. She didn’t need to, because the next time we passed the prison with Dad in the car, he pointed out the “college.” At which time I happened to see a police car in the northbound lanes, and I said, “Yup, and look, there’s a professor driving the other way.”

And so Dad laughed and realized he’d been found out, but Dad wasn’t completely wrong, and this realization came to me just today, when I read a Wikipedia article about the prison. It seems the prison was wrought with controversy over the unethical experimentation on prisoners. So, it may not have been a college, but it was certainly a research center.

Dad wasn’t so far off in his humor, and his knowledge of the controversial studies was built up in his humor. Funny, how it took me thirty years to learn I wasn’t being duped after all, I was learning the truth without being told the truth.

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[i] Wikipedia- Holmesburg Prison: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holmesburg_Prison accessed November 20, 2013.

Four Score and Seven Years Ago

It was 150 years ago today that those words were spoken by one Abraham Lincoln on the battlefield of Gettysburg. Have you ever read this passage? What an amazing impact it had on our nation.

Since it is an important anniversary I will step aside from genealogy today and discuss a trip that I made with three of my children about a year and a half ago. It was on this day that we took a driving tour of the battlefield, occasionally exiting the vehicle to stand among the monuments, the breaths of many lost soldiers seemed to permeate the air as chills ran down our spines. Fascination over the stories of fighting and lost lives. One story in particular stands out in my mind, a son, fighting for the South stopped his fire long enough to visit his family in the home he grew up in at Gettysburg. As the son stepped out to leave the home he was killed by the North ... in his childhood yard. The wrath of war right here, death, loss, bullet holes in furniture, homes ... and bodies.

Caitlin, Michael, and Skyler at Gettysburg, PA

And now, here I am, supporting my children as they are willing to defend the same great nation that became because of that war. And I remember the feelings of standing on the battlefield, even visiting it when my boys were young and being lost from my husband in the chaos and voices that are said to walk the fields daily, in spirit. I keep coming to the word chills as I write this piece, goosebumps pacing up and down the spine a cold reminder of what things were 150 years ago.

If you ever have the chance, I strongly encourage you to visit Gettysburg, and feel the loss that strengthened our nation.

Marriage Monday

In all fairness I have been trying to post from each branch of our family tree, but that isn’t always easy as some information is more readily available, and some people more willing to discuss ancestors. Today, I made an amazing find (actually it was yesterday, but who’s counting). Quite some time ago I discovered information for the marriage of Jacob Edgar PEASE to Grace A WINELAND, but all I remember seeing were the dates, names and dates, that’s all genealogy really is, right!?

Wrong, our ancestors had lives as well. They were farmers, laborers, carpenters, housewives, wool makers, and the list goes on. They had stories to tell, and it is my job to discover those stories. So, today when I found the marriage information of Jacob and Grace on FamilySearch.org today I clicked on the link that said, “View Image” and waalah! It was as if I had waved a magic wand and traveled into the past.

Though I have yet to uncover the story of how Jacob and Grace met, I did learn a lot of information from this simple image. Such as Jacob was born in Jennings, Indiana and was a common laborer at the time of applying for a marriage license. He lived in Warsaw, Indiana at that time; his father was a farmer and his mother a housewife. Both of Jacob’s parents, Levi Pease and Ellen (Poole) Pease were born in Indiana and he reports this to be his first marriage.

Grace was born in Noble County, Indiana, and lived in Atwood, Indiana at time of marriage application. Her parents, Richard and Sarah (Scott) Wineland were also born in Indiana. This is also Grace’s first marriage.

An interesting note, this document was witnessed by George and Hattie Hefner.  I find this interesting because it appears that Grace signed her last name as “Hefner” on the application document, though everywhere else her last name is clearly “Wineland.” Baffled, I just sat and studied the document for several minutes before I realized that all of the signatures on the document match. Jacob and Grace never signed their marriage license or certificate. So the court clerk may have accidently written “Grace Hefner” rather than the correct “Grace Wineland.”

Having placed this document through my genealogy wringer, I think it only fair that I give you the most important bit of information. Jacob and Grace were married on 28 June 1919, by Rev. S. U. Hill.

Source:

"Indiana, Marriages, 1811-1959," index and images, FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/pal:/MM9.3.1/TH-1942-21135-12656-94?cc=1410397&wc=M944-944:2078596199 : accessed 17 Nov 2013), Kosciusko > 1919-1920 Volume Z > image 77 of 320.

Richard L. Haines (1940-2006)

Today I should be writing about an obituary from an ancestor, but as I searched for such I came across a prayer card that flooded me with memories. Forgive me for my rebel ways, but I need to see this one through. :-)

Prayer Card for Richard L. Haines.

The year was 2006, and the last time we had seen Uncle Dick he was raising a beer Heavenward in a friendly goodbye to his younger brother. The news of his loss had us reeling between my family and my husband's we had lost so many this year, my mother, Uncle John, and so many more. It just seemed a bad year to sustain life and the ceremonies were wearing on us. Trips to Pennsylvania and Indiana had us begging for reprieve. Yet, God would have it His way, no matter how much we prayed for the safety of those we love.

I have never been to a firefighter's funeral, and the ceremony quickly brought me to tears, yet swelled my heart with pride and love for all that Uncle Dick had done for his community. As the preacher wrapped up his portion of the ceremony someone held a radio, which crackled to life. It was dispatch informing all that Richard Haines had answered his final call. Tears sprang to my eyes and my heart beat a nervous rhythm as I realized that Uncle Dick was an angel on Earth and was now an angel in Heaven. He would be fine, he was used to the responsibility of such a position, but would the rest of us be okay? It was a question that had me pondering the process of grief. His wife, his children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews, uncles, aunts ... would we all be okay?

Of course, we are okay, but not without an occasional intervention from above. After all, what would life be if we didn't sometimes need a little help from a guardian angel or two.

We miss Uncle John and Uncle Dick all the time, but pride in both of them helps us to understand why God needed them a little sooner than we were prepared to see them leave.

Surname Saturday

Eitniear is a very uncommon last name in most places, but where we live it is as common as Smith or Jones. I decided to do a bit of research of “Eitniear” as a surname just to see where we likely came from and this is what I learned:

One hundred percent of all individuals with the surname of Eitniear live in the United States.[i] With this in mind, it is hard to decipher where we actually came from, as white man did not originate in America. So, I read a bit further to learn that our last name is probably a alteration of the German name of Eitner.[ii] At this point I learn that 14% of Eitner’s live in Argentina, 29% in Germany, and 57% in United States.[iii]

Now I seem to be getting somewhere, with so many Eitniear’s in my family tree we had to begin somewhere and Argentina, once being a place for War Criminals seems unlikely. I would say guess that our roots begin in Germany. Even the American derivative of the name Eitniear seems German, many people unfamiliar with the name pronounce it Eit-nower, it certainly sounds German when you say it that way.

So how did the name get changed? Spelling variations over the years? I know, I know, Ellis Island changed the name. No, no, no! It is most likely the way that someone from Germany spelled the name, possibly in an effort to be Americanized. But, that’s just my guess.

At any rate, the name, “Eitner” is a form of “Eite,” the German form of Agatha.[iv] So, my daughter’s name now means “Pure Angel Agatha” ugh, we thought Eitniear meant Angel, so her name meant Pure Angel Angel. We were trying to make her extra special sweet and loving when we named her.

My daughter is now having a meltdown because our last name means Agatha. In interest of keeping her together I will research Agatha: to make a long story short, Agatha means good.[v] When telling my daughter our last name means good I got a thumb up. Score for mom! I have saved the day!

I will now rest my weary fingers, and hang up my cape until tomorrow when I post another blog entry. J

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[i] My Heritage: http://lastnames.myheritage.com/last-name/Eitniear accessed on 16 November 2013.

[ii] My Heritage: http://lastnames.myheritage.com/last-name/Eitniear accessed on 16 November 2013.

[iii] My Heritage: http://lastnames.myheritage.com/last-name/Eitner accessed on 16 November 2013.

[iv] My Heritage: http://lastnames.myheritage.com/last-name/Eitner accessed on 16 November 2013.

[v] Behind the Name: http://www.behindthename.com/name/agatha accessed on 16 November 2013.

Faces from the Past

It hangs on the wall in my living room. It is a daily reminder of the power of intuition and of unsung love. It is a picture of a man I never met, but who knew I existed, and a woman I have missed for years. The picture resides in a collage frame where, in our home past generations meet present and our children come face to face with those that loved them before they were even thought of.

This picture, in particular, gives me chills, see the story goes like this:

Charles Raymond & Sarah Beatrice (Crosland) Keckler

Grandpop Charles Raymond Keckler was born to William Eline and Elizabeth Missouri (Noll) Keckler on 9 Sep 1908, in Waynesboro, Pennsylvania. Grandpop’s father passed away in 1916, leaving his mother to send him out to live with another family. In the 1920 Federal Census Charles Kackler (note the misspelling) is found living with a family in Maryland, and listed as an orphan.

At about the same time Sarah Beatrice Crosland (formerly Lillian May Crosland) is being raised by an aunt due to Sarah’s mother’s death when Sarah was young. Both young children, in a world foreign to them, were being raised to work, work, work for everything. From the stories I have heard, they didn’t have much time for kid stuff, toys, playing, or silly things of that sort that today we consider important for growth.

Now I’m going to take you on a jaunt, through several decades and forward to 1973. Here, on 22 April 1973, Grandpop takes his last breath. In the days prior to his death he told his daughter Elizabeth Jane (Keckler) Leary that she was pregnant.

“I am not,” she responded, though it wasn’t often she stood up to her father she was positive that she wasn’t and assumed she was headed to early menopause.  Yet, they didn’t discuss these things, how in the world could Dad know if I’m menstruating or not, she wondered.

“Don’t tell me,” her Dad said, “I know when one of my daughter’s is expecting!”

She had no way of knowing that he would be leaving everyone to go to Heaven, before she would learn that she was in fact expecting. On Easter Sunday of 1973 she said goodbye to her father and on 8 December 1973 she said hello to the bundle of nervous energy her father had warned her about.

Treasure Chest Thursday

Today is “Treasure Chest Thursday” so, I have dug deep into a chest of memories, pictures, and what-not’s to find something to write about. The item most nagging to be written about is a penny. A penny? Yes, a penny. Over time I have often heard the phrase “a penny from Heaven” but I never really comprehended its meaning until I experienced it for myself.

Mom and Dad c. 2001

On January 3, 2006, my mother, Elizabeth Jane (Keckler) Leary took her final breath on this Earth. It was at that time that all five of her living children began to find brand new pennies, shiny and new, like they had never been in circulation, yet their years defied this thought. I found a penny that was marked “1979” I thought hard, what made this year so special to my mother. It took me about a day before I realized that was the year she became a grandmother for the first time, not once, but twice, fifteen days apart.

There was another penny that was significant … one day I was cleaning in the kitchen while everyone was in the living room watching television. I turned from one counter and took two steps to the trash can, as I turned to go back to the counter I saw a penny fall from our skylight (which is sealed closed). Stepping back in shock I quickly regained composure and picked up the penny. Yes, it was shiny and new, and it was from the year “1993” the year both of my boys were born, my first children.

It has been almost eight years now, since I started finding pennies from Heaven, and still, each has the significance of the first one that I found. On a bad day a penny may be all that I need to pull me out of the doldrums of the day and remember I have the best parents in the world, even if one of them left us too soon.

I often tell my children that parents’ shouldn’t have favorites, but we all knew that Mom loved Dan (the only living boy) in a special way, though we never held it against Mom or Dan. This special relationship became more evident when Dan began finding dimes from Heaven. With odds like that, I sort of wish I were the favorite and finding dollars from Heaven!

Ora Franklin Haines

With a middle name like “Ora” it’s no wonder my husband has spent a lifetime questioning where this name came from. Though he is well aware that he is named after his grandfather, Ora Franklin Haines (b: 16 Sep 1914 d: 1 Aug 1984). The question is where did Grandfather’s name come from?

Seeking through records in Indiana I found a “Guardianship Report” for Ora Franklin Haines. Though the dates didn’t match up, it was from the same sparsely populated county that our Ora was from. I ordered the record just to see what it was all about. I thought maybe, since maternal death was so common in the late 1800s and early 1900s and diseases were rampant possibly, our Ora was an orphan. I considered this assumption to be paper thin, as I’m sure my husband would have had some sort of an inkling of information about this since our Ora did not pass away until 1984 and Chris has many strong memories of his grandfather.

Once I received the report I noticed that Robert was the guardian of Ora Franklin Haines, deceased and three other minor children, but he stated that he was also their father. It lists Edith as deceased, but does not offer her date of death, or any other names of minor children. The way the report reads, Ora Franklin Haines was an adult, with three minor children at the time of his passing. I investigate further to determine if this Ora is actually father to our ancestor’s and a guardianship report proved misleading as it is listed that Robert & Maggie (Justice) Haines are our direct lineage.

Further investigation led me to an obituary for Ora Franklin Haines, son of Robert and Alice Haines was born August 16, 1876 died Wednesday, February 25, 1891. This obituary appeared in the Tri-County Gazette of Westone, Indiana, on Saturday, March 7, 1891.

As it turns out, Alice was Robert’s first wife; having died when Ora was young, then Ora passed away just 14 and a half years after his birth. According to the obituary he did well in his studies and excelled in school, the thought of him having minor children is now a distant whisper in my mind.

Now, I think it more likely that John Oliver Haines, son of Robert and Maggie (Justice) Haines named his son for his half-brother that passed away so young. I’m still left with the question of who is Edith that is listed in the Guardianship Report. Her death date being left blank has me lost.

My husband found comfort in knowing that Ora is a family name, handed down from generation to generation. This is why I have denoted Ora Franklin Haines (1876-1891) as Wednesday’s Child.

Tombstone Tuesday

First things first, let's get something straight, I am not and never will be a fan of walking through cemeteries. Although, due to my love of genealogy it is sometimes unavoidable. In one such instance I was drawn to a cemetery in Trenton, New Jersey, that promised a wealth of information on my maternal grandmother's side of the family.

Since Grandmom Keckler was raised by an aunt, I knew very little of her family history, and my mother knew about as much as I did. Slowly, but surely I processed through an investigation that ultimately named Grandmom's Father as Thornton B. Crosland. His parents are Germaine and Sarah Crosland. There lay my investigation for months, until I happened upon Trenton's Historical Society website with a wealth of information.

From this I was able to learn where the family graves were located, a death certificate from Grandmom's Mom, whom died when Grandmom was very young, and an obituary for Grandmom's paternal grandfather. I was able to order the documents, but my hopes for further information, etched into the tombstones of my ancestor's would have to wait until I went to Pennsylvania.

After many months of waiting I finally managed a trip out there and this is where I made a beginner's mistake, I did not check the cemetery for hours, thus, the sexton's office was closed and I was forced to navigate through this huge cemetery with my sister, in search of the Crosland Family Plot. For some reason we expected a huge tombstone with their names etched to stand the test of time. Instead, we had to rush back to the car before they locked us in overnight. Creepy!

On my next trip to Pennsylvania I carefully checked the office hours of the cemetery, and again, my sister and I were on the hunt. The cemetery sexton verbally gave us the information for the plots and headed us in the vague direction of said plots. We searched and we searched, still looking for the Crosland name displayed proudly, but we couldn't find them at all.

Returning to the sexton's office we were given a document that mapped the location of the family plot. Click here to see that document. As you can see, this gave us little information, but her verbal instructions were slightly better this time around. I guess she spoke slower, understanding that we were new and nervous to be traipsing through a cemetery in Trenton this is not an every day occurrence for us.

Finally, our search paid off when we located this:

Sarah and Germaine Crosland's Burial Plots, Riverview Cemetery, Trenton, NJ.

Though it is difficult to see, they say nothing more than "Mother" and "Father." In fact, I wouldn't have found them if it weren't for the tombstone marked merely, "Milton." I knew Milton was a son based on Germaine's obituary, but my direct ancestor, "Thornton," his grave is unmarked. No wonder they were so hard to find! 

Even though I was looking for more information than I found, locating their resting place was a treasure I won't soon forget.