tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56010845365083180122024-03-18T19:54:27.599-04:00Karen About GenealogyKaren LeSueur Packard Rhodes's musings about genealogy, including recent developments, methods and sources, her own family history, and whatever is and can be related to them.Karen Packard Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07641711434283636830noreply@blogger.comBlogger302125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5601084536508318012.post-78348890967556481612024-03-18T16:33:00.000-04:002024-03-18T16:33:10.635-04:00Military Monday -- a Deserter in the Family? Or a POW?<p> I found out that my 2x great grandfather, John P. Taylor, deserted from
Union forces on 24 December 1864, leaving his unit, Company I, 8th
Tennessee Cavalry.</p><p>Deserted? At the end of this file, which is his compiled service record, there is a form regarding prisoners of war.
Problem is, it doesn't mention him having been a prisoner of war. The
only comment is that he was formerly enrolled in Company K, 10th
Tennessee Cavalry. No date for the change of unit is given, but it may
have been on the expiration of his original enlistment and the beginning
of re-enlistment. </p><p>On other pages, there are notations that he had not
been paid for several months. Having been through something similar as a
Coast Guard reservist on special active duty, I can tell you it gets
you pretty crazy when the bills keep coming in, there's little food in
the house, and your pay is fouled up. I, for one, would not blame him
if that's why he deserted. If he did. Finally, there is in the file a notation
dated about twenty years after the end of the Civil War that his charge
of desertion had been removed by order of the Secretary of War. Yes,
indeed -- military efficiency!</p><p>When I have time, I'll have to order great-great grandpa Taylor's full service record. I hope there will be more information that will answer this research question: Did John P. Taylor desert, or was he a prisoner of war? <br /></p>Karen Packard Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07641711434283636830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5601084536508318012.post-758414357646658572024-03-14T11:59:00.009-04:002024-03-14T12:04:55.059-04:00A to Z Challenge: Theme Reveal<p><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/"><img alt="AtoZChallenge theme reveal 2024 #atozchallenge" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKUCCyRxgpSQnVJaLOokIXDPjr8RwuSkXl8JB8j74ECAzZzWRy61oyEzHU4HijXCspw_5fd8auT2vox_8SAJyixoIwX_R86-vS-0OJkjrNvq3fNEqheXjilGvCM9nVKs4lwxxxM4fYSJGTahwVNucXC_W5pspHrRSDmyqoALu4OPrPvVZaAsPI1EDIB6aD/s320/theme%20reveal.jpg" width="400" height="175"/></a></p><p> I have been looking for a blog carnival or challenge to participate in, as a means of helping resurrect this tired old blog that has been neglected for the past several years. I found it.</p><p>Each April comes the A to Z Challenge for genealogy bloggers. Posting a Theme Reveal post is not required; we aren't even required to have a theme. But it helps focus the mind. So my theme for the 2024 A to Z Challenge is:</p><p>Professionally Speaking.</p><p>In this series of blog entries, I'll talk about the occupations and professions of my ancestors. I have one line stretching all the way back to 1638, so there should be a goodly amount of fodder for this theme in that bunch, my father's line. I haven't got my mother's line back that far yet, but it was a pretty big family, so there should be a selection of occupations and professions to write about. I'm just wondering how I'm going to handle the letters Q, X, and Z!</p><p><br /></p><p>Karen Packard Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07641711434283636830noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5601084536508318012.post-33168864000570183052024-03-14T10:08:00.000-04:002024-03-14T10:08:15.901-04:00Throwback Thursday -- A Matter of Opinion<p> The jaunty fellow in the photo below is my father, Lieutenant Arden Packard, USN, about 1941 or 1942. I don't know where it was taken. It looks like his attendance had been required, in full dress uniform, at some hoity-toity event or ceremony, and the uniform being a fussy thing, he was not subtle about expressing his opinion of it. My mother probably took the photo.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX6XVYxB2qi8duhuBiOvJqMtMYooJytQ-2xLeMuKr7HcP1SSPbh3jlWN1qhwO0kCaHHJl-JGvsTE7csR8LfrT8jQig-oeAarPt_a2A7eOR2rsN0iyMxhLJHKDx71K8e3Fp9hNnJgWYCvXPrHEs_gCTrdVvPVXjxtgeIsEu7ipMb0KQ764_URjBGb8ILyw/s1027/Trash%20uniform.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="784" data-original-width="1027" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX6XVYxB2qi8duhuBiOvJqMtMYooJytQ-2xLeMuKr7HcP1SSPbh3jlWN1qhwO0kCaHHJl-JGvsTE7csR8LfrT8jQig-oeAarPt_a2A7eOR2rsN0iyMxhLJHKDx71K8e3Fp9hNnJgWYCvXPrHEs_gCTrdVvPVXjxtgeIsEu7ipMb0KQ764_URjBGb8ILyw/s320/Trash%20uniform.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Karen Packard Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07641711434283636830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5601084536508318012.post-59289981682615188932024-03-05T23:17:00.125-05:002024-03-06T00:45:40.767-05:00LAND, HO! Or, Give Me that Old-Fashioned Research . . . sort of<p>I have had contact with a couple of people showing, through DNA, something along the line of 4th cousinship with me. Nice! They are both, oddly enough, related through an affiliated family of my mother's Nave lineage from East Tennessee, of the surname Taylor. So to help all three of us, I am delving deep into Tennessee Land Records from the late 1700s and the early 1800s. It is a good thing I am trained as a paleographer, that is, a reader of old handwriting. </p><p>I went to Ancestry (okay, so this isn't totally old-fashioned genealogical research, but slogging through old land records and transcribing them is -- so there!) and typed in an ancestral name and came up with a very long list of records of East Tennessee land pertaining to John Nave, a brother of my 4th great-grandfather Abraham Nave. I'm reasonably sure it is my particular ancestor, as the area was rather sparsely settled in the late 1700s, and Nave was not a common surname at all, the family having emigrated a generation earlier from Switzerland. They settled in Pennsylvania, then Abraham and John's father, Teter Dietrich Nave, moved on to Tennessee.</p><p>So now I'm in the throes of transcribing a huge number of land records so I can go through them and gather what gems there may be in them, and then the same for the surname Taylor, to see who of that surname may have intersected with John Nave or his brother Abraham, or any of Abraham's descendants. Then I will be off in search of any wills that may exist. There I hope to find names of children, siblings, and spouses, to further investigate through whom my new cousins and I are related.<br /></p><p>These land records are reminding me once again what a confounding sort of land recording metes and bounds is, to my thinking. This is the sort of land record where you read something along the lines of "Beginning at a gum tree [which could live 150 to 300 years, but your ancestor's survey was done in 1677 . . .] south N poles [or rods; 16.5 feet, or one-fourth of a chain] to a stake [which could rot in a few years or be otherwise dislodged], then west N poles to a rock [which may erode or wash away in a flood] where John Doe's line begins [Well, where did John Doe's line begin? There are more land records to slog through . . . ], then north along Whatsisname Creek [which may have dried up decades or a century ago] . . ." In other words, a system that depended on quirky landmarks the existence of which into the 21st Century was chancy, at best.</p><p>My oldest line in the United States, that of my father's family, settled in Massachusetts in 1638. Massachusetts uses the metes and bounds system. I'm not sure where my mother's line came in, sometime probably in the 1700s, but both lines ended up in Indiana and Illinois, thence both headed to California. Illinois, Indiana, and California are federal-land states (also known as public-land states), which use the much more rational, to my mind, system of township and range for measurement of land. This system results in, as far as is possible, rectangular measurement that depends on a grid imposed on the land map, rather than on ephemeral landmarks on the land itself, or in it. I live in Florida, which, unlike the rest of the states on the Eastern seaboard is also a federal-land state (Virginia uses both; that's got to be confusing). Illinois, Indiana, and Florida are perfect for the federal-land system: they're flat. Imagine having to deal, in metes and bounds, not only with landmarks that are not there anymore and haven't been for quite a long time, but also with mountainous terrain, such as in Tennessee. </p><p>One part of a land parcel description in one of these records, a parcel belonging to John Nave, mentions that it is "lying in the County of Carter in said district on the north side of Stony Creek on the south side of the mountain. Beginning at a stake near a gum tree . . . " My question is: "Which mountain? There are many mountains to the north of Stony Creek. One could go slogging to and fro along Stony Creek for a goodly distance looking for a gum tree that may or may not be there, and it's a fair bet the stake isn't there, either. Of course, what happens is you end up following this parcel of land through the years, the decades, the centuries until it was last sold, and hope the land description was somehow updated. </p><p>I have found two software packages designed to plot land parcels from metes-and-bounds descriptions. There are other packages, but they are mainly for surveyors, real estate offices, and other land-related professionals, and are priced as such. The two I'm discussing are aimed at a more general sort of customer, including homeowners and genealogists. One package is reasonably priced, and even has a free version. Information about its features and its price are all on one page. However, if you want to keep it updated, there is an annual fee for that, though the website says that updating the software is not absolutely necessary. They will both plot rectangular (federal-land) parcels, too. The one thing I did not see on any of the second package's descriptions was the price. They are not up-front with the price anywhere on the website, unlike the first package. You can download this one for a 30-day trial, but may not find out how much it is until you've done that. You might want to brace yourself for sticker shock, but I'm not sure if that is necessary, because, of course, I have no idea what the price is, since it isn't mentioned if you're just browsing to find out information about this software. To find information about the features of this software, you have to go to another page of the site. I am not mentioning the names; but if you Google "deed plotter," you'll find them. <br /></p><p><i>Caveat emptor.</i> And good luck if you have ancestors who lived in a metes-and-bounds state.<br /></p>Karen Packard Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07641711434283636830noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5601084536508318012.post-59969133220420800952024-02-20T14:15:00.000-05:002024-02-20T14:15:20.496-05:00A Rose by any Other Name<p> <span style="font-size: medium;">I subscribe to Family History Daily, which has articles about all kinds of aspects of genealogical research. Today's article is about naming patterns, telling us that there are clues in first names regarding our ancestors, based on the naming patterns of their native region, influenced by factors such as religion.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">They left out middle names. I have found that middle names often have more of the story than first names. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Example: My first name, Karen, has no connection to any ancestors. I was given that name in honor of a character in a novel my mother was reading during her pregnancy with me. I was saddled with the middle name LeSueur, and that name and I suffered greatly in my childhood from the cruelty of other children. I was called "sewer rat" and likened to a can of a particular brand of peas (which I love). Yeah, I love the peas. I didn't love the comparison. But, as often happens in genealogy, learning the story behind the name will often soften any negative feelings about it. My middle name was also the middle name of a granduncle of mine, Wilmer LeSueur Reed. Wilmer died in infancy, of an acute gastritis, according to his death certificate. One of the items in my grandmother's cedar chest, which I inherited, was a photo of little Wilmer. I have it on one of my bookcases. Knowing that sad story, as told to me by my grandma, made me feel more agreeable toward the name.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">My husband's first name and middle name have reference to ancestors. His first name is Marshall. Marshall was the surname of his great-grandfather, who fought on the Confederate side in the Civil War. That puts my husband on the other side from me, as I have two great grandfathers who fought on the Union side. Marshall became a middle name for my father-in-law, Leonard Marshall Rhodes. The name Leonard also has significance, though not a family connection. My husband's great grandfather's physician was named Leonard Henley, and was so close to the family he is buried in the Marshall family plot. Marshall became my husband's first name, and has since migrated back to being a middle name, that of our grandson. My husband's middle name is Keys, a name that came from his father's favorite uncle, Richard Keys Russell. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">One may not find a family-name connection to an ancestor's name, but a connection, perhaps, to a parent's or an ancestor's occupation. My father was named Arden Packard. He had no middle name. The name Arden was intended as a placeholder, because his father wanted to bestow his own name on my father. His name was Walter Hetherington Packard. Grandma Packard put the kibosh on that, as they already had a son named Walter, my father's older brother. Young Walter's middle name had a family connection, by the way. His middle name was Reynolds, which was Grandma Packard's maiden name. So, no more Walters in the Packard family at that time. My grandfather agreed to a renegotiation of the name at a future date, and wrote a temporary name on the birth certificate: Arden, naming his new son after the city-owned dairy at which he was the superintendent. The name Arden has remained in the family, with namesakes both male and female, including my brother, the son of a nephew, and a granddaughter of a cousin.<br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdXplN8AdYgw_qQ9T9Ac0XCLFXgOC3GJG0DBjRftuAeQRuP5ZN6ZZH-I4gILRNH1QnVT0-5POqYoLIk-3ksug7SXil8JRDZ_EtB1EFssvc_2zfOEekx3ulzXt9qRriVcnRnmirrurs7XazzugYFVpOoD9zrQ8p3KZqXDUxK4ZuAzVPIS75vJBhLKpKNx8/s1151/Wilmer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1151" data-original-width="846" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdXplN8AdYgw_qQ9T9Ac0XCLFXgOC3GJG0DBjRftuAeQRuP5ZN6ZZH-I4gILRNH1QnVT0-5POqYoLIk-3ksug7SXil8JRDZ_EtB1EFssvc_2zfOEekx3ulzXt9qRriVcnRnmirrurs7XazzugYFVpOoD9zrQ8p3KZqXDUxK4ZuAzVPIS75vJBhLKpKNx8/s320/Wilmer.jpg" width="235" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="margin-left: 240px; text-align: left;"> Wilmer LeSueur Reed<br /></p>Karen Packard Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07641711434283636830noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5601084536508318012.post-38457125264342095732024-02-17T19:38:00.003-05:002024-02-17T19:42:43.758-05:00The Governor in the Document Pile<p> <span style="font-size: medium;">I was poking about in my husband's family line the other day, filling in some siblings of his direct ancestors, and I came across an interesting marriage in southwest Florida, an apparently very high-society wedding. It was described in the elegant terms of the day when one closely minded one's p's and q's.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">A famous surname popped up: Chiles. Here in Florida, among those of us who have interest in and some knowledge of the state's 20th century history, that name is quite recognizable as the surname of one of our best governors: Lawton Chiles. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">So I dug around. In one lengthy newspaper coverage of this society wedding I had found, there was the groom, bearing that surname, and down about three-fourths of the way into the article, there was the name Lawton Chiles, identified as the brother of the groom. But this wedding took place in 1921, as published in the Lakeland Evening Telegram on 4 June of that year. It turns out that this Lawton Chiles was the father of the man who became governor.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">So I dug further and I found the connection. It is a distant relationship, but it is always wonderful to find a famous person in your family's history, especially when that person is someone you admired. I gathered censuses from 1900 to 1950. I found World War 1 and World War II draft registrations. I found marriage records, birth and death information, and more. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">My husband's grandaunt Annabelle married Robert L. Mayes, Jr. His sister, Annie C. Mayes, married Alfred B. Chiles. Alfred's brother was Lawton Chiles, Sr., the man mentioned in the article about the wedding of his brother and Miss Mayes. Lawton Chiles, Sr. married Margaret Patterson. And they were the parents of Governor Lawton Chiles.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Thus the relationship is: Lawton Chiles, former governor of Florida, was the nephew of the husband of the sister-in-law of my husband's grandaunt. <br /></span></p>Karen Packard Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07641711434283636830noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5601084536508318012.post-76604477071377977392023-12-11T16:13:00.000-05:002023-12-11T16:13:19.387-05:00<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">Accenting the Positive</span></p><p>In an old song, we're urged to "accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative, latch on to the affirmative, and don't mess with Mr. In-Between."</p><p> As we approach the year-end period when we traditionally take stock, Jill Ballau, blogging as GENIAUS, has posted an annual meme urging us to review the past twelve months of genealogy and <a href="http://geniaus.blogspot.com/2023/12/accentuate-positive-geneameme-2023.html">"Accent the Positive"</a>. Tip o' the hat to Jennifer Jones, who responded to Jill's challenge in her blog <a href="https://tinyurl.com/457parnn">"Tracking Down the Family"</a>. It was through Jennifer's post that I became aware of Jill's meme.<br /></p><p>So here are my positives for the year. One note: I've been experiencing increasing levels of stress over the past several years, from events outside and inside the family. I'm in therapy. One part of my therapy I have come up with and applied, as a means of inserting more positive perspectives, is to finally get back to investigating the family histories of myself and my husband, and to revive this poor neglected blog. In this entry, I have left out many of the items Jill suggests we answer because they don't apply to me. I've renumbered the remaining ones.</p><div dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18.48px;"><span style="line-height: 19.0909px;">1. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>On revisiting some old research I found</b> some wonderful information about my grandmother's third husband, and I finally identified her second husband. Her first husband was my grandfather. </span></div><div dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18.48px;"><span style="line-height: 19.0909px;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18.48px;"><span style="line-height: 19.0909px;">2. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>I was the recipient of <a href="https://geneadictionary.wordpress.com/2015/01/22/genearosity/" target="_blank">genearosity</a> from</b> my cousin John, who lives near our ancestral stomping ground in Indiana, and who has offered to do research lookups for me. I plan to take him up on that offer. </span></div><div dir="ltr"><br /></div><div dir="ltr">3. <span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>I am pleased that I am a member of</b> the General Society of Mayflower Descendants, in which I was voted membership last year, along with our older daughter. </span></div><div dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18.48px;"><span style="line-height: 19.0909px;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18.48px;"><span style="line-height: 19.0909px;">4. </span><b>I made a new DNA discovery</b>, that my aunt (my mother's biological sister) had not been accurate when she maintained that their mother was adopted. DNA shows that my connection to grandmother's family is intact, and that she was not adopted at all. </span></span></div><div dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18.48px;"> <br /></span></span></div><div dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18.48px;"><span style="line-height: 19.0909px;">5. </span><b>AI was a mystery to me but I learnt</b> that I can do just about anything better than AI can at this stage of its development. I am a thoroughgoing skeptic when it comes to AI; I've read Karel Capek's <i>R.U.R</i>. With two books under my belt, with glowing reviews for each, I know I am a better writer than any AI or computer genealogy program. Believe it or not, you are, too. We humans write our family histories from the heart. AI has no heart. </span></span></div><div dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18.48px;"><br /></span></span></div><div dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18.48px;">6. <b>The best value I got for my genealogy dollars was</b> the recent sale by the New England Historic Genealogical Society. They gave good discounts on books about New England genealogy, where my paternal roots lie. </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18.48px;"><br style="line-height: 19.0909px;" /><br />7. <span style="line-height: 19.0909px;"><b>I wouldn't be without this technology:</b> The computer, what else? And the internet. I have done genealogy the old-fashioned way, and still do from time to time. But as I have gotten older, and my options for travel and just getting out and about have become limited, I do appreciate having so much wonderful information available from reliable websites and databases. </span></span></span></div><div dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18.48px;"><span style="line-height: 19.0909px;"> </span><br style="line-height: 19.0909px;" /><span style="line-height: 19.0909px;">9. </span></span></span><span style="line-height: 18.48px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Another positive I would like to share is</b> that genealogy <b><i>is</i></b> good therapy! It makes you aware that you are not the only one who has suffered tragedies and hard times. It assures us that we, too, can survive these times. Seeing the thread of life down through the decades, and for some of us, the centuries, puts it all in perspective.</span></span></div><div dir="ltr"><span style="line-height: 18.48px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></div><p></p>Karen Packard Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07641711434283636830noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5601084536508318012.post-31508837853291528862023-12-09T03:31:00.001-05:002023-12-09T03:31:54.326-05:00<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">Throwback Thursday: Small Town Indiana, 1890s</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">My grandma Mary LeSourd Reed grew up in a small town called Sleeth, Indiana. It had been named for the family of her mother, Rachel Anna Sleeth, who married Levi Curtis LeSourd in 1868. Sleeth is not much more than a ghost town today, so I'm told. It is in Carroll County, northwest of Delphi. My grandma told me some tales about the area, including her mother's thrift one Sunday ride. Rachel Anna Sleeth would go on buggy rides with her husband Levi. They stopped one day at a roadside stand where the farmer was selling corn for 2 cents an ear. These days, that would be an unheard-of opportunity. But the ears of corn were snug in their shucks, so Rachel turned up her nose, saying, "Corns not shucked. Drive on." In my grandma's family down to my own life, that became a way of saying that something had not met your standards and you were going to keep searching until you found an example that did measure up. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">One feature of small-town life in the late 19th century, all the way up until the mid 20th century was the general store, whether it was located in an Indiana town or one in Georgia, like the general store in Darien, Georgia that my husband's step-grandfather owned. The photo below is of the I. G. Wilson General Store, which may have been in Sleeth, but I don't remember what grandma told me about it. I also don't know the meaning of "Lest We Forget" written in pen at the bottom of the photo. Grandma told me that, among the children, I. G. was not well-liked, and the children would taunt him with, "I. G. Wilson. Nut! Nut! Nut! Nut! Nut!" </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXBzRH4dg0LdMt7R_c8jgH5QadGL8OB01E15BDSmCck7JsprPBDuBhnrXJAhmaUt9ZDwv0suiQUiQCxbjb7epxgHxsxWiBPdil-EJoAeWHdVyrtEIZnY8Nc5UD-aU0Xfwk4_PEjlbAkAxTmiv2Ufih78lLCWmRKdyvGJyEXMIDMLjVOCKRpUW7ErhECWs/s1223/I.%20G.%20Wilson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="722" data-original-width="1223" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXBzRH4dg0LdMt7R_c8jgH5QadGL8OB01E15BDSmCck7JsprPBDuBhnrXJAhmaUt9ZDwv0suiQUiQCxbjb7epxgHxsxWiBPdil-EJoAeWHdVyrtEIZnY8Nc5UD-aU0Xfwk4_PEjlbAkAxTmiv2Ufih78lLCWmRKdyvGJyEXMIDMLjVOCKRpUW7ErhECWs/w529-h303/I.%20G.%20Wilson.jpg" width="529" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span> <br /></p>Karen Packard Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07641711434283636830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5601084536508318012.post-91819127911344567832023-12-05T13:48:00.000-05:002023-12-05T13:48:36.627-05:00<p> <span style="font-size: x-large;">A Tale of Three Siblings</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My mother, Martha Reed, was, like me, the youngest of three. She was born in 1916, her sister Margaret in 1914, and her brother Donald in 1913. Their father, Benjamin Franklin Reed, died in a railroad accident in 1917, just two months before my mother's first birthday. Mom and Aunt Margaret were taken away from their mother, Ruth Ella Nave,</span><span style="font-size: medium;"> by the Reed family</span><span style="font-size: medium;"> and adopted within the family. Aunt Margaret described it to me as the Reeds having "ganged up on" Ruth Nave and taken the two girls away. Mom was adopted by the oldest brother, Perry Wilmer Reed, and his wife Mary LeSourd. Aunt Margaret was adopted by Don Francis Reed and his wife, Grace McElroy. Mom's brother Donald remained with his mother.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Somehow, probably through family connections, the three siblings stayed in touch, and in their middle years, all ended up in Florida. Uncle Donald was in the Tampa Bay area. Aunt Margaret was in Orlando. Mom was in Jacksonville.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The photo on top, below, shows my grandmother Ruth Nave with Donald and Margaret, about 1920. Mom had already been picked up by Perry and Mary Reed, who lived in Pensacola, Florida. The photo on the bottom is the siblings reunited in the 1950s, in Florida.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0dgU4_eg0Oy-Xvx-4I34faq0_uLHi_tooM_VNAPhHLEbukixaCgltX1cOahId8ZoGC7_47nCt7Eq09n3VrHLP-f01QOIcv4Izq71VtNEWIb1y0I93CmrtRnDppFl_iuhUUjmM5x5y3_f81qkt6Pi9HZFOKQIac54s2Uy73_Kvnl8RicCyLrgVWXeIEfE/s1632/Ruth%20Nave%20Reed%20with%20Donald%20and%20Margaret.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1632" data-original-width="1224" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0dgU4_eg0Oy-Xvx-4I34faq0_uLHi_tooM_VNAPhHLEbukixaCgltX1cOahId8ZoGC7_47nCt7Eq09n3VrHLP-f01QOIcv4Izq71VtNEWIb1y0I93CmrtRnDppFl_iuhUUjmM5x5y3_f81qkt6Pi9HZFOKQIac54s2Uy73_Kvnl8RicCyLrgVWXeIEfE/w240-h319/Ruth%20Nave%20Reed%20with%20Donald%20and%20Margaret.jpg" width="240" /></a></div></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ruth Nave with Donald and Margaret, abt. 1920<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0U77qThd-ipdF6qac2soak9lnXcfAR7KV8fmQqCtTInRy8ngIdzrU3IwGSFUMpm0MprjXIF9I1gdePDs4RFzZ4PNSOWTUUq40ONWx1rddq7fbiSgsu8EttAGJyF4bnbXDYQrOn-DObJHb9319jFsoVYqWv3JQly6mqhyphenhyphenkmXiitzbg5lu_fmnLS0LIDtc/s713/Reed%20siblings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="713" data-original-width="697" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0U77qThd-ipdF6qac2soak9lnXcfAR7KV8fmQqCtTInRy8ngIdzrU3IwGSFUMpm0MprjXIF9I1gdePDs4RFzZ4PNSOWTUUq40ONWx1rddq7fbiSgsu8EttAGJyF4bnbXDYQrOn-DObJHb9319jFsoVYqWv3JQly6mqhyphenhyphenkmXiitzbg5lu_fmnLS0LIDtc/s320/Reed%20siblings.jpg" width="313" /></a></div></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Martha Reed, Donald Reed, Margaret Reed abt. 1955</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></div>Karen Packard Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07641711434283636830noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5601084536508318012.post-30611307005529479222023-12-03T23:09:00.000-05:002023-12-03T23:09:15.343-05:00<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">Close as Family</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">One topic in genealogy today is the FAN network. For those who haven't run into this, FAN stands for Friends, Associates, and Neighbors. It is a way to use the investigation of close friends, co-workers and other associates, and neighbors to possibly find clues to one's own ancestors' activities. Sometimes it is worth the time, and sometimes it's not.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I have not done a great deal of this sort of research myself, but I have ideas as to who might bear looking at. One of my father's Naval Academy classmates is one possibility. Though he and his wife have since passed on, I remember my mother talking about this fellow and his wife as having been very close friends with her and my father. I think it was the summer after my freshman year in college that my mom and I drove up to Norfolk, Virginia, to visit them. I'm not sure what looking into this man would possibly reveal about my father, but there could be a clue there somewhere.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">When we moved from California to Florida after my father died, my mother developed a close friendship with a couple who lived nearby. Later, they moved out to the northern end of another county. It was a drive, but we went out there often. Again, I'm not sure what research into this couple might reveal about my mother, but there may be clues there, too. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">This couple who were such good friends with my mother served as adjunct aunt and uncle to me. They joked with me. They called me "Monster," which led me to call them "Mr. Monster" and "Mrs. Monster." Their daughters, several years older than I was, served as additional big sisters. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">A group of women with whom I attended Florida State University has been held together by a semi-annual newsletter. One of our number has, for more than fifty years, gathered news from us and published this newsletter. In it, we have recounted our joys and sorrows, told tales of our families, mention the books we've read, and kept up with each other. That newsletter has a good deal of information about me in it, that my daughters and grandson might possibly find interesting.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">A FAN network may bridge generations. Some of our daughters' friends have become close as family not only to them, but to me and my husband, as well. And the parents of these friends of our daughters have also entered our FAN network. The four of us have also latched onto two sisters who live locally, with none of their family anywhere near them. Their parents have passed on, and their sister lives in Massachusetts. These sisters spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with us, as well as always being invited to share in other family celebrations. <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">If nothing else, ferreting out your parents' or grandparents' FAN networks may provide a good look at the social world in which your ancestors lived. Understanding background is a big help to understanding your ancestors.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span> <br /></p>Karen Packard Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07641711434283636830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5601084536508318012.post-16278479572512343982023-11-30T22:34:00.000-05:002023-11-30T22:34:58.680-05:00<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Search for William W. Pennington</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">After my mother died, I wanted to try to get more information on my grandmother Ruth Nave. Her first husband, Benjamin Franklin ("Frank") Reed was my grandfather. After he died in a railroad accident in 1917, my grandmother married again. She later had a third husband, Harold White. To get more information, I visited my aunt Margaret in Orlando. She told me that she and my mother had been adopted by two of Frank Reed's brothers. She had been adopted by Don Francis Reed and his wife Grace McElroy. My mother had been adopted by Perry Wilmer Reed and his wife Mary LeSourd. Aunt Margaret indicated that the Reeds had not been fond of Ruth Nave, and had "ganged up on her" to take the two younger of her children away from her. Her oldest child, her son Donald Reed, was 16 years old at the time, and the family left him with his mother. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">My mother never talked about her mother, except once. After my cousin Dale, Aunt Margaret's daughter, told me when we were both 10 years old that Aunt Margaret and my mother had been adopted, I asked Mom about it. She tersely informed me that it was true, and her parents' names had been Frank Reed and Ruth Nave. After my mother died, I found among her papers a copy of her original birth certificate and a copy of the final decree of adoption, which bore out what she had told me.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> When I talked to aunt Margaret during my visit, she told me that Ruth Nave had been married twice more after my grandfather died. Her second husband had borne the surname Pennington, and her third husband was named Harold White. I had known this latter fact, having obtained a death certificate of my grandmother in 2006 based on what little information Mom told me when I asked her about her being adopted. Ruth Nave had died in 1951 in Logansport, Indiana, under the name Ruth White. The informant on the death certificate was her husband, Harold White. I found my grandmother's grave at the Mount Hope Cemetery in Logansport.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Earlier this year, after I retired and was finally able to work on my own family history once again, I got curious about my grandmother's second husband. I have not yet found a marriage certificate for them. The only other possibility was that he had been buried in the same cemetery where Ruth Nave was buried, Mount Hope. I went to an independent online index of burials and found, among seven graves under the name of Pennington, only two which predated the year of my grandmother's death, 1951. One was a woman, and the other was William W. Pennington, who died in 1927 at the age of 29. I searched for a death certificate, and found the record of the death of William Walter Pennington. The informant was his wife, Ruth Pennington. From there, I found a listing in a Logansport city directory for Ruth Pennington, widow of William. She was living at an address I had previously found for her, which lent credence to her being the informant and William Walter Pennington being her second husband. <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> There is an irony, which I wonder if my grandmother realized. Both Frank Reed and William Pennington were 29 years old when they died.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span> <br /></p>Karen Packard Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07641711434283636830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5601084536508318012.post-42386596722969088102023-11-29T06:16:00.000-05:002023-11-29T06:16:23.391-05:00<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">Country wisdom . . . and humor</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">From our marriage in 1971 to the first decades of the 21st Century, I was exposed to a milieu with which I was totally unfamiliar. That was the yearly Thanksgiving gathering of my husband's mother's family on farmland just outside of Darien, Georgia, that had been in the family since before the Civil War. Their home was a simple dogtrot built about a hundred years before. Modern conveniences had been added through the years. For decades, my husband's grandmother had cooked meals for her large family in a tiny galley. One Christmas, the children all chipped in and gave their mother a gift that kept on giving: they enlarged and modernized the kitchen. These were country folk, descendants of Scots-Irish settlers of Georgia. They had a strong sense of family, and it took time both for me to be accepted by them and for me to get used to their ways. But there were moments when their plain-spoken words made me laugh.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">One of those times was when my husband and I and our two daughters, both adults, were sitting on the porch that ran almost the length of one side of the house, in southern tradition, talking about all sorts of things. One of the things under discussion on that day was a dog my husband's parents had some years before. She was a Black Apple-Headed Chihuahua named Weejee. The aunts were on and on about that "nasty little rat dog." Our daughters defended the little dog's memory. "We loved Weejee; she was a good dog." One of the aunts put her view of the relationship between our daughters and the dog in simple terms that had us laughing. "Of course she was good to you. You was her grandpuppies!"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span> <br /></p>Karen Packard Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07641711434283636830noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5601084536508318012.post-46404966142394787122023-11-28T14:24:00.001-05:002023-11-28T14:24:38.265-05:00<p> <span style="font-size: x-large;">"A rascally Tory"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Captain Josiah Edson, born about 1683, <span class="fontstyle0">married Sarah, daughter of Zaccheus Packard the elder, my seventh great-grandfather. He was in possession a goodly portion of the estate of his uncle Josiah, for whom he was apparently named.(1)</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="fontstyle0">Captain Josiah and Sarah had seven children: Sarah (1705), Abiah (1706), Josiah (24 Jan. 1709), Huldah (1713), Abiezer (1715), Freelove (1718), Elijah (1720).</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="fontstyle0"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="fontstyle0">Their son Josiah, known as Colonel Josiah Edson, was "</span><span class="fontstyle0">a very distinguished man before the Revolution, Justice of the peace, Deacon of the church, and Col. of the regiment of militia and representative of the town."(2) But right before Bunker Hill, he slipped a cog and became "a rascally Tory." He went over to the British, taking refuge in one of their camps. He was with the British at Long Island, and died there in 1776. Under an act of the General Court in 1778, Colonel Josiah's lands were confiscated and he became the only person in Bridgewater whose disloyalty caused his lands to be taken under that act, for his having gone over to the enemy side.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="fontstyle0">He was a black sheep, if ever there was one. I maintain that it is the black sheep of our families who make our genealogical inquiries interesting, however much we may deplore the behavior that earned them that title. </span>
<br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span class="fontstyle0"> </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="fontstyle0">(1) Nahum Mitchell, <i>History of the Settlement of Bridgewater, in Plymouth County, Massachusetts, Including an Extensive Family Register.</i> (Boston: Kidder & Wright, 1840), 152.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="fontstyle0">(2) </span><span class="fontstyle0"></span><span class="fontstyle0">Recopied Bridgewater town record, Massachusetts, U.S., Town and Vital Records, 1620-1988<br />Ancestry.com, </span><span class="fontstyle0" style="color: navy;">https://www.ancestry.com/discoveryuicontent/view/10890485:2495?ssrc=pt&tid=12481845&pid=132366600143 </span><span class="fontstyle0">(accessed 16 March 2022). </span><span class="fontstyle0"> [The quoted entry appears below the list of Captain Josiah's children with Sarah Packard.] </span>
<br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span class="fontstyle0"> </span></span>
<span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p>Karen Packard Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07641711434283636830noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5601084536508318012.post-10121655345639933282023-11-23T10:55:00.000-05:002023-11-23T10:55:26.434-05:00<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">I Joined a Lineage Society Because . . . </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">People have all sorts of motives for doing all sorts of things including joining a lineage society. Last week, on a Facebook page of a group focused on Mayflower descendants, someone asked why those members who had joined lineage societies had done so. I have to confess, one of my reasons was rather silly, but silly is a positive trait in our family. When I was a child, references to Mayflower Descendants and the like usually were associated with the "upper crust," the elite, the rich. My family was anything but. Later on, in adulthood, I had come across the wonderfully hilarious Anna Russell, whose sendups of opera, both grand and comic, as well as of classical music in general, tickled me no end. She has one routine where she instructs her audience how to write their own Gilbert & Sullivan operetta. It centers on the New York City clique during the Gilded Age (the latter part of the 19th Century) known as the Four Hundred. It starts out with a ditty that begins:</span></p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><blockquote><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We are the great Four Hundred,</span></p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">If you want to know who we are.</span></p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And we put on airs 'cause our forefathairs,</span></p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Came over on the Mayflowah!</span></p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And it's veddy, veddy snappy</span></p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">If your mammy or your pappy</span></p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Is descended from the Mayflowah!</span></p></blockquote><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Thus did Anna Russell satirize Mayflower descendants, and I thought it was hilarious, and exercised a bit of what might be called reverse snobbery about it. I got taken down a peg or two -- though I still think the song is funny -- when I discovered my own direct descent from John Alden & Priscilla Mullins of the Mayflower! The line runs from John Alden & Priscilla Mullins through Joseph Alden, Isaac Alden, Mercy Alden (married Zaccheus Packard the younger), Eleazer Packard, Richards Packard, John Alden Packard, Mathew Hale Packard, Oscar Merry Packard, Walter Hetherington Packard, Arden Packard, and me!</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> So, yeah, one joins a lineage society for "bragging rights," though the actual number of descendants of the Mayflower living today constitutes an "exclusive" club of some 35 million people. H'mmm. Those pilgrims and their progeny down the years have been busy!</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One also joins such a society out of a love of history and a desire to be part of that history. I have been an American history buff since I was a child, and in my teens I had a subscription to American Heritage magazine which lasted long into adulthood. Out of a need to free up some of our scarce storage space, I gave all those years of American Heritage to a high-school teacher friend of mine for the school's library. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So it turned out that I have a close association with Thanksgiving, as some of my family were actually there at the table in 1620.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">However . . . though I am a Mayflower descendant, I also have studied Florida's colonial Spanish history, living as I do only 35 miles or so from St. Augustine, which has seen now over five hundred years of the history of Florida and of the United States. Thus, I know that Plymouth in 1620 was not the first Thanksgiving on these shores. In September of 1565, in gratitude for the safe delivery of himself and his crew, Pedro Menéndez de Avilés and his crew and the Seloy band of Timucuan natives celebrated their own Thanksgiving. It's the grateful thing to do, whoever, wherever, and whenever we are. Happy Thanksgiving!</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span> <br /></p>Karen Packard Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07641711434283636830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5601084536508318012.post-1996893679529920202023-11-23T00:04:00.000-05:002023-11-23T00:04:11.431-05:00<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">Throwback Thursday: Back Home Again in Indiana</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3CmjkQe1WlahXRsKnw8lMCJ1u-ahOKQj1K4vwRROtKCiVrzrkLhlcpd5r-OmhST1psnQWgE2V0C8W4hIYlVOMQgQcOM1DHYYoE5c58Uaxtq4wNyvOOlZVJ0PhwoKQ2Hmlha_XodgUtnK4OY5jYQgQZziGpwYlNHZ4foUZNcd4f_cXD803_CqidbkVQQc/s700/reeds2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="531" data-original-width="700" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3CmjkQe1WlahXRsKnw8lMCJ1u-ahOKQj1K4vwRROtKCiVrzrkLhlcpd5r-OmhST1psnQWgE2V0C8W4hIYlVOMQgQcOM1DHYYoE5c58Uaxtq4wNyvOOlZVJ0PhwoKQ2Hmlha_XodgUtnK4OY5jYQgQZziGpwYlNHZ4foUZNcd4f_cXD803_CqidbkVQQc/w569-h432/reeds2.jpg" width="569" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;">Left to right: Florence Geneva Reed, Florence Elizabeth [McKee] Reed, Mary [LeSourd] Reed, William S. LeSourd.<br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The four people in the photograph are members of my mother's paternal line, the Reed family of Logansport, Indiana. The photograph was taken sometime in the 1930s, judging by the clothing. Florence Geneva Reed was mom's aunt. Florence Elizabeth [McKee] Reed was her grandmother. Mary [LeSourd] Reed was the wife of mom's uncle, Perry Wilmer Reed, the oldest of the eleven children of Francis Harvey Reed and Florence Elizabeth McKee. William S. LeSourd was Mary's brother. When mom's father, Benjamin Franklin Reed, was killed in a railroad accident in 1917, when mom was barely a year old, the Reeds took her and her sister Margaret away from their mother, Ruth [Nave] Reed. Margaret was adopted by Don Francis Reed and his wife, Grace [McElroy] Reed, and mom was adopted by Perry and Mary Reed.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span> <br /></p>Karen Packard Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07641711434283636830noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5601084536508318012.post-42936449942564126202023-11-22T11:33:00.000-05:002023-11-22T11:33:00.565-05:00<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">Wordless Wednesday: Re-enlisting</span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /> </span> <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj62LaZsLOmglCNPVnUsNVDmmM9YFjS5jWD9xGldqBHlu0pmBkCFB7Yp1_hSWow34HCRaHPuAcWWOsowLrx-AoZJn9uUyg3rE-OY10OX5AQP_x-wdLDk5DoZrAcHHL8zDbqnM-gOmiYPrhjSUqe46MmIipnJSs7HM1XG2Ca8B62NCt6_GmH5XmgO40ZYKQ/s1480/Apr2_1980_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="940" data-original-width="1480" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj62LaZsLOmglCNPVnUsNVDmmM9YFjS5jWD9xGldqBHlu0pmBkCFB7Yp1_hSWow34HCRaHPuAcWWOsowLrx-AoZJn9uUyg3rE-OY10OX5AQP_x-wdLDk5DoZrAcHHL8zDbqnM-gOmiYPrhjSUqe46MmIipnJSs7HM1XG2Ca8B62NCt6_GmH5XmgO40ZYKQ/w577-h366/Apr2_1980_01.jpg" width="577" /></a></div><p></p>Karen Packard Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07641711434283636830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5601084536508318012.post-47063141750806301752023-11-21T05:14:00.000-05:002023-11-21T05:14:25.750-05:00<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">Tombstone Tuesday: Daniel & Mildred Marshall</span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNLFEkJjJbeyElNpp0VCxfuT9FbGxCnAJspqjvnNtlJyNw0sV4yhadWsUQ-ZdIvN8qNRrY5vJE4yKO1Trh67gTSZAetIeiXUaD0dzMnTiw84mj1OSOwRmGtR0L8Ag869xtWBQtviPeLgQs378DvJtETn2fgW5vG068lR02XopqaSf4zCCV6X7kvSihrwU/s601/Marshall%20tombstone.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="409" data-original-width="601" height="334" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNLFEkJjJbeyElNpp0VCxfuT9FbGxCnAJspqjvnNtlJyNw0sV4yhadWsUQ-ZdIvN8qNRrY5vJE4yKO1Trh67gTSZAetIeiXUaD0dzMnTiw84mj1OSOwRmGtR0L8Ag869xtWBQtviPeLgQs378DvJtETn2fgW5vG068lR02XopqaSf4zCCV6X7kvSihrwU/w491-h334/Marshall%20tombstone.bmp" width="491" /> </a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> <br /></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;">This is the gravestone of my husband's paternal great-grandparents, Daniel McLeod Marshall and Mildred Eva Hendrix. Daniel fought in the Civil War on the Confederate side, in an Alabama regiment of artillery. Mildred ("Millie") was his third wife. They relocated after the Civil War to Apopka, Florida, then to Lakeland, where Daniel established a farm, where he grew oranges and ran cattle.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">We went down to Lakeland several years ago. We could not find the family plot, so we went to the cemetery office. The kind people there said they'd send someone out to help us find it, along with other family tombstones in the same plot. We followed the cemetery employees to the tombstones, several of them in a curb-bordered family plot. They'd all been turned over. Cemetery workers righted the stones and placed them properly. We took pictures.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">While at the cemetery office, we got a little information from their records, one bit of which sounds like the bones of a horror story told by an old granny to a group of children in a dark old cabin. The record said that Millie Marshall had died in 1930 and been buried in 1929. <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /> </span> <br /></p>Karen Packard Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07641711434283636830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5601084536508318012.post-4641892048731995772023-11-20T20:35:00.000-05:002023-11-20T20:35:01.655-05:00<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">Military Monday: On the Flight Line</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The photo posted here is my father, LT Arden Packard, USN, with his Corsair aircraft. It was taken at Naval Air Station Miami, FL, about 1942. He had been fascinated by flight at least since high school, if not earlier. At his school, he had been a member of the Aero Club in the 1920s. When he graduated in 1929, he enlisted in the Navy and took basic training at San Diego, where he was enumerated in the 1930 census. He was also enumerated in that census at the family home in Pasadena, nobody having told the enumerator that he was in the Navy and stationed elsewhere.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">He qualified to take a competitive exam for an appointment to Annapolis. He passed, and entered the Naval Academy in the summer of 1930, graduating in 1934. He received orders to the aircraft carrier <i>Saratoga</i>, and after that, to the <i>Farragut</i>. In 1936, he was sent to Naval Air Station Pensacola, FL, for flight training. Upon completion, he was ordered to the carrier <i>Yorktown</i>, but this time as a member of a fighter squadron, not as a member of the deck department, as before. From there, he spent time attached to carriers out of Norfolk, VA, and then Coronado, CA.<i><br /></i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Dad was medically retired in February of 1941, but was called back to active duty in October of 1941. Perhaps no solid information was circulating about what was about to happen that December, but there was some sort of build-up going on if the Navy was recalling broken-down old pilots. <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">His next assignment was to Naval Air Station Jacksonville, Florida, as a flight instructor. During that assignment, he was sent to the Empire Central Flying School, a facility of the Royal Air Force in England, to learn the tactics the British were using against the Germans. He brought that knowledge back to NAS Jax to teach his students.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Dad retired from the Navy after World War II was over. He died 25 April 1954.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /> <br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLhIAo7FdmLzg5Hr7JvUnzppZcaOpb7_ItEusg7UyWh8N5Yi5y8ghI8WHeC7hYv9v_cEQrcQVHFBeD3W5WcLnbaZT7rUdxyLXBlCVb3XGCpBmalJAfy7z4ccPXceAr7xjxoes5XTzHbyCjNWUC1vHSMXV8eF2nQnkiDFbTD10SwaXcslKCK7ddKz8U0W0/s945/Corsair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="784" data-original-width="945" height="399" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLhIAo7FdmLzg5Hr7JvUnzppZcaOpb7_ItEusg7UyWh8N5Yi5y8ghI8WHeC7hYv9v_cEQrcQVHFBeD3W5WcLnbaZT7rUdxyLXBlCVb3XGCpBmalJAfy7z4ccPXceAr7xjxoes5XTzHbyCjNWUC1vHSMXV8eF2nQnkiDFbTD10SwaXcslKCK7ddKz8U0W0/w482-h399/Corsair.jpg" width="482" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span> <br /></p>Karen Packard Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07641711434283636830noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5601084536508318012.post-27888379032147541322023-11-19T21:49:00.000-05:002023-11-19T21:49:03.647-05:00<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">Sentimental Sunday: Proud Parent</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Last year, our older daughter earned a doctorate in audiology. Her practice works with military veterans. She enjoys working with them, and feels comfortable with them probably because her father and I are both veterans. We are hugely proud of her.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">After the graduation ceremonies, we celebrated at a favorite New Orleans-style restaurant. The hostess and co-owner of the place is wonderfully imaginative, and in honor of our daughter's accomplishment, she made this sign and placed it next to our table:<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><br /> <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNdQ9NfAjbQz4ZtjN6eJLyaobvXbvwdVVjgx7QsjEFk9SIj6nnE97VPDNnjJUiUY7bf7NWsvtpzzae_omxgqjzLE_-RQEVlAJWYIAVY_dfcO1u5At3dnoCn4Kl1P0YaNruV4KS1cnb19KRxDoFwbpeoc2z8-uRh6b_FyVnuJ0GjsYYB4rJF5erb-MbhGw/s3264/20220428_163131.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="1836" height="405" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNdQ9NfAjbQz4ZtjN6eJLyaobvXbvwdVVjgx7QsjEFk9SIj6nnE97VPDNnjJUiUY7bf7NWsvtpzzae_omxgqjzLE_-RQEVlAJWYIAVY_dfcO1u5At3dnoCn4Kl1P0YaNruV4KS1cnb19KRxDoFwbpeoc2z8-uRh6b_FyVnuJ0GjsYYB4rJF5erb-MbhGw/w228-h405/20220428_163131.jpg" width="228" /></a></div><p></p>Karen Packard Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07641711434283636830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5601084536508318012.post-9520385411538567662023-11-18T06:36:00.002-05:002023-11-18T22:49:27.200-05:00<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">Shopping Saturday: "Do Day"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">My aunt Elizabeth Reed . . . Wait. I need to explain something, briefly. She really was my first cousin once removed. My mother was an intra-family adoption, and Elizabeth Reed became her adoptive sister. So my sister and brother and I knew her as our aunt. We also knew her as "Sissy," because she was our mother's sister.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">"Do Day" is what Sissy called Saturday, when she ran all her errands. During the week, she worked as the Director of Health Information for the State of Florida. At that time, the 1950s and 1960s, the agency for which she worked was known as the State Board of Health. These days, it is the Department of Health and Rehabilitative Services. Its headquarters are in Jacksonville, where we lived.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">When I was in elementary school in the 1950s, I would ride with Sissy on these errands. We enjoyed each other's company, having fun with word plays, silly songs, and jokes. We also sometimes had more serious discussions, and I learned a lot about health and about how Florida was in previous decades, from her experiences as a young nursing student, a public health nurse, and her travels around the state in her job with the Board of Health.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">One of those experiences -- one among many -- brings a smile to my lips now, some 60 years later. She was traveling in central Florida, seeking a small town in which she was to give a presentation on some aspect of public health. She had a car issued to her by the state. It was a 1958 Chevrolet, a big and heavy car, as cars were back then. She stopped at a gas station in a rural area. In those days, the gas station attendant would come out from the station office and fill the gas tank, check the air pressure in the tires, clean the windshield, and open the hood and check the oil level. As the scrawny country man was cleaning the windshield, he kept looking at my aunt. You have to know at this point that she was large, and had been all her life, topping out in adulthood at some 300 pounds. It was a cross she bore all her life, but she came to terms with it and developed a sense of humor about it. The gas station attendant finally said, "I notice you're a large woman." </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">At that point, Sissy began to bristle. Bad enough this man had been staring at her; now he's on about her weight. The attendant continued, "I like large women. My wife's a large woman." He paused, then uttered the line that absolutely broke her up, and got bellylaughs whenever she told the tale: "I always say I never want to have to shake no sheet to find no woman."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">When I reached 14, the age when most Florida teenagers began to learn how to drive, Sissy became my driving instructor. We kids got our "learner's permits," driver's licenses that required a licensed adult to be in the car with us and who taught us how to drive. Sissy's private car was a 1955 Chevy Bel-Air, and it was a bear to drive. I developed arm muscles driving that thing! Once I had mastered the basics and could manage safely, I became Sissy's chauffeur on "Do Day." It was good experience. The Southside of Jacksonville had been a separate town called South Jacksonville early in the 20th century, but it eventually got gobbled up by the larger city. It still had a small-town atmosphere. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Sissy liked to shop in the San Marco shopping area, a two-block length of two parallel streets with a slew of businesses. There was Coley-Walker drugs, one of the owners of which lived in the same block my mom and sister and brother and I did, and around the corner from Sissy's house. There was The Silk Shop, a fabric store, owned by the Barnerts, whose daughter was an elementary-school classmate of mine. Mims Bakery and Marsh-Kornegay photographers were owned by fellow parishoners at the church Sissy and I attended, All Saints Episcopal Church. Kinship, friendship, and other links ran all through the area. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Sissy lived a life of service, and was a great influence that guided me in the same direction. She had a fulfilling life, but part of that was to soothe the wound her weight was to her. On the wall in her bedroom was a poem that I memorized; the author remains Anonymous. It described an outlook that infused her life:</span></p><div style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They who have worn the jester's cap, its bells still ringing</span></div><div style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Fear not to face their destiny with voices singing.</span></div><div style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They will confound a sober world forever after</span></div><div style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Who hide their hearts behind a sleeve of laughter.</span></div><div style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p></div><p></p><p> </p><blockquote><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></blockquote> <br /><p></p>Karen Packard Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07641711434283636830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5601084536508318012.post-72457763775165110602023-11-17T17:21:00.000-05:002023-11-17T17:21:04.921-05:00<p> <span style="font-size: x-large;">The Hive Mind: Eliminating 1880 as Possible Birth Year of Harold Blaine White</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">In a comment on my last post, yesterday, Janice M. Sellers suggested that the possible birth year of 1880 might be eliminated from consideration by assuming that Harold White's second wife, Cora Diamond, did not know of his previous marriage to Blanch Stockmyer. Janice's suggestion works out mathematically, too. Assuming Cora did not know about Harold's first marriage, we take his age of 43 on the 1930 census and subtract 25, his age at first marriage; the result shows he and Cora had been married 18 years. 1930 minus 18 comes out to 1912, the probable year of their marriage. This is consistent with his age of 25 at first marriage being in support of an assumption on Cora's part that his marriage to her was his first. Using Cora's age at first marriage as 18 works out mathematically to the same conclusion: 36, her stated age on the 1930 census, minus her age at first marriage, 18, works out to 18 years of marriage, and again that comes out to 1912. A marriage date of 1912 is inferred from the fact that their first child was born in 1912. The baby might have been a little "early." I now need to seek support for 1912 being their year of marriage in documents such as their marriage license applications (and again, I bless Indiana for taking such thorough information on those documents!) and either a divorce record for Harold and Blanche Stockmyer, or her death certificate.<br /><br />The enumeration date on the sheet of the 1930 census on which Harold White was counted was 19 April, before his birthday. Subtracting 25 from 1912 (on Cora's assumption that their marriage was his first) yields 1887 as Harold's year of birth; the same year results from subtracting his age of 43 on that census from the census year of 1930. But as he was enumerated before his birthday, that makes his age 44 on that birthday in 1930, putting his birth year at 1886. Now we have three documents that lend some support to 1886 as being Harold's year of birth: the 1930 census (assuming Cora did think his marriage to her was his first), the 1930 census (a simple subtraction of 44 from 1930), and their daughter Maxine's birth certificate. This still leaves 1885 as the most probable year of his birth, just by the greater number of documents supporting 1885 over the other years.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">This also greatly lessens the probability of 1880 being his birth year. We may even eliminate 1880 from consideration based on the mathematical proof of 1886 being his birth year, referring to the 1930 census. However, mathematical proof is not genealogical proof, so 1880 can remain marginally possible, but improbable.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The Hive Mind works! Thank you, Janice!<br /></span></p>Karen Packard Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07641711434283636830noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5601084536508318012.post-11550919797209144352023-11-16T00:33:00.002-05:002023-11-16T00:33:50.795-05:00<p> <span style="font-size: x-large;">The Many Birth Years of Harold White (1885?-1960)</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Harold Blaine White, my maternal grandmother's third husband, though not my grandfather, was born in Indiana. The intrigue has been in trying to determine in what year he was born. Sources range from 1880 to 1887. <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I first found Harold White in this investigation in the 1900 census, enumerated at age 15 in his father's household, a farm in Kosciusko County, Indiana.</span><span style="font-size: medium;">[1]</span><span style="font-size: medium;"> His birth month and year are given as April 1885. The enumeration day was 18 June 1900, so his birthday had already passed. This information is internally consistent. <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Next time Harold White shows up is with a stated age of 21 on 24 November 1905, when he took out a marriage license with 18-year-old Blanch Stockmyer in Kosciusko County. [2] He gives his birth date as 26 April 1884. In Indiana at that time, the age for a male to marry without parental consent was 21. The age for a female to marry without consent was 18. If Harold White was actually born in 1885 rather than 1884, he would have been 20 years old rather than 21, and would have had to obtain his father's consent. It is likely that he did not want to, or could not, obtain such consent, so he lied about his age. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">On 13 May 1912, Harold and Cora White (his second wife), were presented with a new son, Eugene, by the noble stork.[3] Harold's age appears as 25, making his birth year 1887. The informant is not named on the birth certificate, but it is likely that the informant was the mother, whose age is listed as 18. She may have been unclear as to her husband's actual age or his birth year. The reporting of Harold's age on this child's birth certificate in 1912 is in direct conflict with his marriage license application in 1905, on which he gave his birth year as 1884, probably so he could present himself as being 21, of legal age to marry without parental consent. It also conflicts with the 1930 census, detailed below, on which he is recorded with an age at first marriage of 25, a figure which is at odds with the 1905 marriage information. [See further discussion below, at 1930 census.]</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">A daughter, Violet, was born to Harold and Cora 13 December 1913.[4] Harold's age is shown to be 27, which would yield a birth year of 1886. Cora's age is given as 20. Again, the mother was probably the informant on this information.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Maxine, the third child of the Whites was born 18 April 1916.[5] On this registration, Harold's age is 30 and Cora's is 23. The birth took place before Harold's birthday that year, making him 31 on that birthday, so his birth year comes out to 1885. Cora may have been the informant.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Harold White did his patriotic duty on 12 September 1918, and registered for the draft.[6] He gave his age as 33, and his birth date as 26 April 1885. He would have been asked by the draft board member to answer the questions on the registration, so the information here came from Harold himself. There is no conflict between the date of the event and Harold's birth year as stated. <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Harold White has not yet been found in the 1910 or 1920 censuses.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The
information in the 1930 census on Harold White's age and the age given for his first
marriage, 25, provides an internal inconsistency, and a conflict with
other records, most notably his 1905 marriage license application.[7] In
the 1930 census, Harold's age is given as 43. The enumeration date was 9 April, before Harold's birthday, so at that birthday, he would have been 44. This leaves us with 1886 as his birth year. This is one of only two documents among those so far found that suggest 1886 as his birth year, though neither of them specifically state that it was. The other document leading to 1886 as Harold's birth year, though not stating it outright, is the birth certificate of the couple's daughter Violet. This might indicate an informant other than Harold himself. Likewise, the calculation of his age at first marriage being 25, subtracted from his marriage year of 1905, draw us to 1880 as his birth year. Compared to all the other documents so far found, this year is an outlier, way out of line with the rest of the information at present known. This, too, seems to indicate that the informant on this census was someone other than Harold White.</span><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">For the 1940 census, enumerators were instructed to place an "X" in a circle next to the name of the informant for a household, if a member of the household was the informant for a particular household or family (as a household could include more than one family). The enumerator for the section of the census in which Harold White was enumerated in 1940 did not place that mark on any of the households he enumerated. It would be a stretch to imagine that, for pages and pages of census information, all the informants had been other than household or family members. Thus, the information recorded by this particular enumerator is no more reliable than that on any other census in any other year.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Harold's age is recorded on the 1940 census as 54.[8] The enumeration day was 9 April, before Harold's birthday that year, so he was 55 on that birthday, 26 April. That would point to 1885 as his birth year. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">On 27 April 1942, Harold White registered for the World War II draft.[9] This registration date was one day after his birthday, 26 April, and he gave his age as 55. The resulting calculation yields a birth year of 1887. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Harold White married my twice-widowed grandmother, Ruth [Nave] Reed Pennington, in August of 1932.[10] On the marriage license, he gives his birth date as 26 April 1885.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">On the 1950 census, the enumerator failed to record the enumeration date.[11] However, moving back through the census sheets taken by this enumerator, Nellie Reed, shows her beginning her enumerations on 23 May. Harold White's age is stated as 65, and as the census was taken on him after his birthday, his birth year comes out to 1885.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Finally, there is his death certificate.[12] Harold died 25 December 1960, in an institutional setting. No informant is named on his death certificate. Only his birth year is given: 1885. He was 75 years old. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">So, in what year was Harold White born?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">1880 - Only one document leads by inference to this outlying year. The 1930 census states his age at first marriage as 25. Subtracting 25 years from the year of first marriage, 1905, yields 1880. However, his first marriage took place on 24 November 1905, and he reported his age at that time as 21, though this may have been a falsification to avoid having to ask for his father's permission to marry. By its direct conflict with the 1905 marriage license and the fact that it is out of the range of the other possible birth years, 1880 does not appear to be a good candidate for Harold's birth year.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">1884 - Harold's stated birth date on the 1905 marriage license application is 26 April 1884. Nowhere else is the year 1884 stated or implied to be his birth year. This single appearance of that possible birth year and the likelihood that Harold lied about his age in 1905 to get around needing parental permission to marry make it unlikely that Harold was born in 1884.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">1885 - If we go by the old standard of "preponderance of evidence," 1885 wins hands down as Harold's birth year. This birth year is supported by the 1900 census, the birth certificate of his daughter Maxine, Harold's World War I draft registration, the 1940 census, his application to marry Ruth Pennington, the 1950 census, and his death certificate, though this last document is of highly questionable reliability. Seven documents out of the twelve so far discovered favor 1885, but that does not yet put the lock on it because the other contenders for Harold's birth year cannot be completely disproven.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">1886 - Support for this possible birth year is found in Harold's daughter Maxine's birth certificate, and the 1930 census. That is only two of the twelve documents surveyed. 1886 is less likely to be Harold's birth year than is 1885.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">1887 - The year 1887 shows up or can be inferred from Harold's son Eugene's birth certificate, and the World War II draft. 1887 is also less likely than 1885 to be Harold's birth year.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">So we are left with no more than the strong possibility that Harold was born in 1885 rather than any of the other suggested birth years. The search continues for more documents, and it is possible that the best we can hope for is to be able to say with a modicum of qualified assurance that Harold White was born in 1885.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">There is one consistent element in this whole confusion: Those documents that make definite birth date statements all agree on one thing: Harold was born on 26 April of whatever year the documents may mention or suggest.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">NOTES: <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">[1] </span><span style="font-size: small;">Census Place: Troy, Whitley, Indiana; Roll: 414; Page: 8;
Enumeration District: 0114; FHL microfilm: 1240414.<span> </span>Twelfth Census of the United States, 1900.
Washington, D.C.: National Archives and Records Administration, 1900. T623, ED
114, Sheet 8, Dwelling 172, Family 174.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">[2] <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; line-height: 115%;">"Indiana
Marriages, 1811-2019," database with images, <i>FamilySearch</i>(https://familysearch.org/ark:/61903/3:1:33SQ-GPXX-938Z?cc=1410397&wc=Q8SH-5TM%3A962985201%2C963051301
: 5 February 2016), Kosciusko > 1905-1906 Volume N > image 86 of 223;
Indiana Commission on Public Records, Indianapolis. (accessed 15 November 2023.)<br /></span></span><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<![endif]--></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; line-height: 115%;">[3] </span>Indiana, Birth Certificates, 1907-1940, Indiana Archives and Records Administration; Indianapolis, Indiana; Birth; Year: 1912; Roll: 002. Ancestry.com, https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/60871/images/40474_358007-01488?pId=155049355. (accessed 15 November 2023.)<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; line-height: 115%;"> [4] </span>Indiana, Birth Certificates, 1907-1940, Indiana Archives and Records Administration; Indianapolis, Indiana; Birth; Year: 1913; Roll: 002. Ancestry.com, https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/60871/images/40474_357402-02175?pId=2058418. (accessed 15 November 2023.)</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; line-height: 115%;"> [5] </span>Indiana, Birth Certificates, 1907-1940, Indiana Archives and Records Administration; Indianapolis, Indiana; Births; Year: 1916; Roll: 003. Ancestry.com, https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/60871/images/40474_357898-00914?pId=3178908. (accessed 15 November 2023.)</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">[6] "United States World War I Draft Registration Cards, 1917-1918", database with images, <i>FamilySearch</i> (https://www.familysearch.org/ark:/61903/1:1:7H1X-W9T2 : 29 December 2021), Harold Blaine White, 1917-1918.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">[7] Ancestry.com, Online publication - Provo, UT, USA: The Generations Network, Inc.,
2002.Original data - United States of America, Bureau of the Census.
Fifteenth Census of the United States, 1930. Washington, D.C.: National
Archives and Records Administration, 1930. T626, ED 9-14, sheet 11B, Dwelling 304, Family 333. https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/6224/images/4584674_00740?pId=117850519. (accessed 15 November 2023.)<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">[8] Ancestry.com, Online publication - Provo, UT, USA: Ancestry.com Operations, Inc.,
2012.Original data - United States of America, Bureau of the Census.
Sixteenth Census of the United States, 1940. Washington, D.C.: National
Archives and Records Administration, 1940. T627, <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; line-height: 115%;">Sheet
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<p><span style="font-size: small;">[9] U.S., World War II Draft Registration Cards, 1942. The National Archives At St. Louis; St. Louis, Missouri; Record Group
Title: Records of the Selective Service System; Record Group Number: 147. Ancestry.com, https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/1002/images/2wwii_2371837-4488?pId=8813559. (accessed 15 November 2023.)</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">[10] Newspapers.com - The South Bend Tribune - 14 Aug 1942 - Page 29. Notice of marriage license application, Harold White and Ruth Pennington. <a href="https://www.newspapers.com/clip/118136363/marriage-of-white-pennln/?xid=637">https://www.newspapers.com/clip/118136363/marriage-of-white-pennln/?xid=637</a> . (accessed 15 November 2023). [Actual marriage record not located yet.]</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">[11] Ancestry.com. United States of America, Bureau of the Census; Washington,
D.C.; Seventeenth Census of the United States, 1950; Record Group: Records of
the Bureau of the Census, 1790-2007; Record Group Number: 29; Residence Date:
1950; Home in 1950: Tippecanoe, Kosciusko.<span>
</span>ED 43-24, Sheet 49 (corrected from 121),<span>
</span>Dwelling # 581, Family 156. https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/62308/images/43290879-Indiana-230908-0051?pId=131170156. (accessed 15 November 2023.)<br /></span></p>
<p> </p><p><span style="font-size: small;">[12] Ancestry.com. Indiana, Death Certificates, 1899-2011, Indiana Archives and Records Administration; Indianapolis, IN, USA; Death Certificates; Year: 1960; Roll: 15. https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/60716/images/44494_350865-00496?pId=1728451. (accessed 15 November 2023.)</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">No calculators were harmed in the creation of this blog. However, one did get a bit testy after the 753rd calculation.<br /></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p>Karen Packard Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07641711434283636830noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5601084536508318012.post-56024457253113196692022-04-22T02:14:00.001-04:002022-04-22T11:24:05.291-04:00<div style="text-align: left;"><h1 style="text-align: left;">The 1950 Census Follies!</h1><div style="text-align: left;"><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">As I indicated in The 1950 Census Blues, in my previous post, I looked forward to looking for and finding myself in the census. 1950 was also the first appearance in a census for my late brother, who passed away in 1996. So both of us in our first census was special to me.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Then the "fun" began. Looking for was one thing. Finding was something else entirely.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">My mother and father never owned a house. While he was alive, he always rented. Part of that habit was due to bouncing from job to job. He had some engineering jobs, opportunities to use his degree in engineering from the U.S. Naval Academy. He had other jobs, as well. But the movements of the family looked like migration on steriods -- or on meth! Between the end of World War II and my father's dischage from the Navy, and 1954 when he died, my dad had the family bouncing between California and Florida nearly every year. And in between, the family didn't stay put within the locality, either. Tracking all this down was a real detective story, and this census is only part of that picture, I have developed a keen empathy with ping-pong balls! I'm also amazed that my mother didn't divorce him for making her pack up and unpack at least once a year, if not more!<br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">So frequent relocation is part of this picture of why it was so doggone difficult to find my family in the 1950 census!</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">The other part has been both frustrating and outrageously entertaining! And both of these diametrically opposed concepts have sprung from the National Archives' experiment in allowing an AI to do the first run of indexing the census. Our younger daughter correctly insists that AI is not the proper term. The proper term, she says, is "machine learing," because the thing may be long on artificial, but it sure is short on intelligence!</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">The machine learning is mangling names most hilariously. I have told relatives about the manglings. A cousin working on a Master of Fine Arts degree is writing a novel, and she took one of the name manglings for a character in her novel. And oh, did it ever do a number on my father's name. My father's name was Arden Packard. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">The machine rendered -- and believe me, rendered is the exact right word -- his name as . . . wait for it . . . Urden Pucbard.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I laughed for a solid hour, partly at the relief of having finally found my family -- and me and my brother -- in the census, but mostly at the utter absurdity of Urden Pucbard!</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Also entertaining is the machine's mangling my brother's name, Ned, as Nee. It put my brother's son (and me) immediately in mind of that immortal Monty Python schtick: the Knights who say Ni! <br /></span></p><span style="font-size: large;">But unfortunately, there is a serious side to the entertainment, sad to say. Not only is the machine learning or AI or whatever you choose to call it mangling names to an absolutely absurd degree, it is also: </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-size: large;">skipping individuals </span></li><li><span style="font-size: large;">skipping entire households</span></li><li><span style="font-size: large;">conflating information on two different lines</span></li></ul><span style="font-size: large;"> Thus, there are some people who, unless the entire census is transcribed by us human beings who are doing so, will have little chance of finding their family in the 1950 census.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Accuracy counts. </span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span> <br /></p></div></div>Karen Packard Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07641711434283636830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5601084536508318012.post-74327761123028773712022-04-02T11:35:00.000-04:002022-04-22T02:24:40.869-04:00<p> Ten years ago, I sang Those 1940 Census Blues. Talk about history -- or genealogy -- repeating itself. Now I'm singing the blues again.</p><h1 style="text-align: left;">The 1950 Census Blues</h1><p style="text-align: left;">Early this morning of April First,</p><p style="text-align: left;">Excited and happy, about to burst,</p><p style="text-align: left;">Up and online before the sun:</p><p style="text-align: left;">It's the 1950 census, gonna have some fun!</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Oh, I'm so blue. I'm walkin' the floor.</p><p style="text-align: left;">The 1950 census blues walked right in that door.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">I've reached an age where I'd appear</p><p style="text-align: left;">In that census of that mid-way year.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Lookin' for that thrill of seeing myself there.</p><p style="text-align: left;">But I can't find my family anywhere!</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Oh, I'm so blue. I'm walkin' the floor.</p><p style="text-align: left;">The 1950 census blues walked right in that door.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">I even had an address out there in old L.A.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Where my parents should have been, if only they had stayed.</p><p style="text-align: left;">But when I found the address on that census sheet,</p><p style="text-align: left;">The people who were there we never did meet.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Oh, I'm so blue. I'm walkin' the floor.</p><p style="text-align: left;">The 1950 census blues walked right in that door.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Can't find ma and pa, maybe my grandma and aunt.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Clear away on the other side of this big continent.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Oh! My heart breaks when those dismal words were shown:</p><p style="text-align: left;">As the census paper tells me there ain't no one at home!</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Oh, I'm so blue. I'm walkin' the floor.</p><p style="text-align: left;">The 1950 census blues walked right in that door.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Looks to me like I have only one sad destiny.</p><p style="text-align: left;">If ever I survive to 85, I know what I will see.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I'll walk the floor enough to wear away my shoes,</p><p style="text-align: left;">'Cause I know I'll be wailin' 1960 census blues!</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>Karen Packard Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07641711434283636830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5601084536508318012.post-41168100418550090132020-04-23T12:09:00.000-04:002020-04-23T12:09:12.092-04:00A to Z Challenge On the Move: G is for Genographic<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Several years ago, the National Geographic Society launched an ambitious program to study the DNA of volunteers more deeply than any other DNA study. They went back hundreds of thousands of years, tracing DNA changes that gave a picture of the proto-migrations of the ancestors of these volunteers, including me.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For some reason, earlier this year, they shut the program down. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But wow -- you wanna talk about migrations?</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My DNA reveals, first of all, that I am 2.1% Neanderthal and 1.1% Denisovan. This led some waggish friend of mine to state that this means I am 3.2% extinct. Sometimes I feel like it.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It also means my ancestors range from France and Germany to Siberia, where the offshoot Denisovan branch was found in a series of caves, the Denisova Caves.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">According to the National Geographic Society's study, the Genographic Project, "Most non-Africans are about 2 percent Neanderthal and slightly less than 2 percent Denisovan." Proof that Homo Sapiens and these cousins of theirs did interbreed.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">These migrations are of my maternal line, since females do not receive the Y chromosome from their fathers; only sons do. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Our DNA carries genetic markers, records in the DNA of mutations that occurred as new DNA was added to the mixture that is us.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Note to White Supremacists: You are not as lily-white as you like to think you are.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The first marker in my DNA is referred to as Branch L3, and originated in East Africa around 67,000 years ago. It is one of two lineages of the first modern humans (homo sapiens) to leave Africa and go north or east. My folks got in early on the migration thing!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Within L3 marker carriers developed Haplogroup N, one of two groups produced by those L3 ancestors. That was about 60,000 years ago. Some ended up in parts of East Asia, others in southern Europe.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Possibly the first family squabble, though a genetic one rather than social, economic, religious, or political in origin, came when Haplogroup R arose out of Haplogroup N, about 55,000 years ago in West Asia. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">These two groups lived and migrated together, and their descendants "dominate the European maternal landscape, making up 75 to 95 percent of the lineages there."</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hi, cousin!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then, about 25,000 years ago, Haplogroup T arose out of R. This is the bunch credited with the development of agriculture in the Fertile Crescent, in the Middle East. These people spread all over, carrying their newly developed agriculture with them. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then came T2, about 19,000 years ago in West Asia. It spread across Anatolia (Turkey and its neighbors) and into Europe. This group is found in such varied places as Iraq (21% of maternal lineage), Croatia (16%), Greece (11%), Belgium (15%), Denmark (13%), and Switzerland (11%), among others. My mother has proven Swiss ancestry.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Finally, there's T2b, arising around 10,000 years ago, again in West Asia. It also went all over Eastern and Western Europe. It constitutes about 5% of the population of the British Isles, where my ancestors on both sides came from in the 1600s and 1700s.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My recent regional ancestry -- between 5,000 and 10,000 years ago -- is an interesting mix indeed.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am:</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">45% Northern European. That's no surprise, really.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">37% Mediterranean. That is a surprise, but it includes Iberia, and maybe explains my fondness for and facility with the Spanish language.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">16% Southwest Asian. Total surprise! This includes the Arabian Peninsula, India, Pakistan, Iran, and Tajikistan. Wow.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2% Northeast Asian. Another surprise. This includes Japan, China, and Mongolia.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Well, there I am. More of a mixture than I would ever have thought. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I used to be impressed by my ancestors' migrations from Europe (mostly English, possibly Scots and/or Irish, and that little bit of Swiss) and across Canada and the United States. This totally blows it away!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Genographic Project came under fire from indigenous peoples as racist, but I don't see it that way. In fact, it has shown me that there is no such thing as a "pure" lineage, or a "pure" race, as we all carry parts of many different peoples within us. I like that. I think it makes us way more interesting. I think it points up what I hold to be true: there is but one race -- the human race. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is a real pity that the NGS cancelled the Genographic Project. I would have loved to know more.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></span>Karen Packard Rhodeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07641711434283636830noreply@blogger.com1