All My Ancestors

I’m writing this as a response to Bill West’s invitation to a Geneablogger’s Picnic.  Bill blogs at West in New England. 

He provided these questions as starters:

• *What food does your family serve at picnics?
• *Are there traditional foods or family recipes?
• *Is there one particular relative’s specialty you wish you could taste again or one perfect picnic day you wish you could go back and relive?

At the risk of being as welcome as a herd of ants at the picnic, I have to say there really weren’t any picnics in my family. 

I passed up writing on Miriam’s AnceStories2 prompt about summer because I didn’t want to be too negative.  Summer is my least favorite season because I don’t like being hot.  As my brother says, “We come from a family that doesn’t like to sweat.” 

I think the root of this “problem” derives from the part of the country we’re from and the fact that our livelihood came from working outdoors.  It is just too hot in the Texas panhandle to enjoy a meal out of doors.  Most years, it gets hot in April and stays hot through October.  Here’s picture I have of some of my family making the attempt–doesn’t it look like fun? 

NOT.

The woman in the white dress on the right is my grandmother Rachel Cooper Osborne.  I believe the man just behind her whose face is hidden may be my grandfather–I’m basing my guess on the way he’s wearing his hat.  It looks familiar.  The women are her sisters-in-law–married to my granddad’s brothers, some of whom are in the background nearer the cars. 

I just don’t think this looks like a good time.  I don’t know the circumstances of this gathering–my guess is that it’s near Pampa since that’s where these couples lived at this time in their marriages.  It looks like they’re maybe getting ready to roast some marshmallows–can’t believe this crew would roast weiners.  I don’t know, but you can see how the surroundings just aren’t conducive to picnicking.

My dad wasn’t really a grouch, and he didn’t insist on many things, but he was adamant about not eating out of doors.  His view was that he worked outside all day and when he came home for a meal, he did not want to go back outside.  And don’t get me started on what he thought about picnic fare such as wieners or bologna.  He was a farmer to the core–he didn’t mind being outside dawn to dusk to do that work, but he certainly didn’t want to have a meal out of doors.  And his view of meat definitely didn’t include anything other than the standard cuts of beef he’d learned from his stock-raising relatives and his own experience.  We always had beef in the freezer and that’s what we ate.  (Those were the days before we were aware of the health and social consequences of raising and eating so much beef.)  My mom, with her German roots, occasionally sneaked some bologna into the house but trust me, it never appeared on my dad’s plate.

So my theory is that this is an important piece of info to record about my family.  I think we didn’t picnic because we didn’t live in a part of the country where picnicking was a part of the culture–the outdoors were part of our work life but not a big part of our recreational life. 

We had long hot summers–the closest to a picnic we had was when my mom and I would take dinner to the field during wheat harvest.  That was usually early June and it was often 100 degrees–we had the hot meal we’d spent the morning cooking loaded into the trunk of the car, we parked into the wind so the car wouldn’t overheat, and the men came in on their combines and trucks and used the shade the vehicles cast to eat.  (My mom had on gloves and wore long sleeves because she was so fair-skinned.)  My Uncle Pete always requested my mom’s smothered steak and there was always a lot of iced tea.  We served it unsweetened though nearly everyone put in varyig degrees of sugar.  There was always dessert–usually a cake or a cobbler.  It was too hot for ice cream–it wouldn’t have lasted a minute under those circumstances.  The men were grateful for the break and the meal and they put their dirty dishes back into the trunk and we were off, back to the house to clean up.  No paper plates or plastic utensils for us.  :-)  And, in response to Bill’s prompts, I’d only like to repeat this experience if I could be with my family for the event. 

In South Dakota, my grandmother usually fixed lunch at home for Granddad to come in for–which he didn’t need much of because Gran had fixed eggs, fried potatoes and pork chops for breakfast.  His fields were closer to the house than my dad’s were back in Texas.  The one thing I remember, too, about my South Dakota grandmother is that she had sewed some layers of fabric around some quart jars that she used for a “thermos” when she took tea or water out to Granddad in the field.  I don’t remember any of us ever having any official ice chests or picnic baskets. 

It really was a different world. 

I thought I’d take this “53rd Carnival of Genealogy, Carousel Edition” to invite interested folks to participate in this great project–

Do you have a World War I vet in your family who served from Oklahoma?  The Oklahoma Genealogical Society is working on an index to honor these persons.  Some records already exist, many of which were gathered for the Veteran’s Memorial at the state capital.  A list of those killed in action exists, but not a list of all those who served.

However, in my position as research coordinator at the OHS Research Library, I’ve received at least 3 requests for information about young men who served whose names I did not find in those files.  So I have 3 names I’ll be contributing.  Do you have any info to add?

If so, you can send it to: June Stone, 3601 NW 19th Street, Oklahoma City, OK 73107-2815, by e-mail to JuneCStone@aol.com or fax 942-0546. 

OR you can send it to me and I’ll pass it along to June.  I see her each week.

Requested information includes full name of veteran, date and place of birth, date and place of death, date and place of marriage, name of spouse, names of parents, rank, branch of service, medals earned, obituary, pictures and anything that would contribute to the veteran’s file.  Like Dick Eastman, I’d also recommend that you include the place of burial if you know it. 

I’m excited about this project–I’ve been through those files many times and lamented the shape they were in and wanted to work on making them more accessible.  Now it’s being done! 

My job requires me to do research in old newspapers on occasion.  And I am constantly amazed at what I find printed. 

This week found me researching a murder that took place here in Oklahoma City in the early part of the 20th century.  I found the story in a regular column in the newspaper that reported the court news.  The columnist referred briefly to a couple of men who’d been sentenced to life and 20 years in the state penitentiary for murder.  But the focus of the article was the “Patterson case,” predicted to be the “center of interest for a week or more.“ This convoluted story may be the subject of a later post, involving a young female school teacher named Vernon, Wade, a young man with whom she had been “keeping company,” Wade’s father, with whom Vernon was also evidently simultaneously “keeping company,” and the school teacher’s father, whom Wade had shot and killed the previous year.  The current story told of the young woman’s suicide, and her brother Orban, a local attorney, shooting and killing Wade’s father, probably as retribution for his own father’s murder as well as his sister’s suicide.

That sensational story required that I follow it up for a few weeks, of course, to find the outcome.  I thought it was interesting, though, that the column ended with

Outside of the Patterson murder trial, only a few minor state cases are set to come up for trial this week.  The courts will be closed on Friday.  Saturday is divorce day in in the district court, and twenty-seven divorce suits are set for hearing.

It was almost too big a gap for me to process–going from the murder case to informing the reader that, by the way, court was closed Friday but since Saturday was the day appointed to deal with divorce, and there were 27 cases, court would be held. 

Life, and the search for justice, goes on.

Here’s my response to Miriam’s AnceStories2 prompt for this session, “The Doctor”  

*Who was your doctor or health practitioner when you were growing up?

When I was a child, my doctor was “Dr. Roy.” At that time, there were only 2 doctors in town, I think.  Dr. Kengle had his own hospital and had delivered me, but I found in the county history that he started practicing in 1929, so I think he was probably retired shortly after my birth.  I rdo emember being in that hospital as a child–one of my aunt’s worked there.  I don’t remember why I was there, I don’t think it was for an appointment.  But I remember that it was built more like house.  It had wooden floors.  The building was later the local USDA office–pretty appropriate for the small rural town I grew up in.

Dr. Roy’s hospital was on Main Street and was a 3-story building.  I can still smell what it was like.  One of my brothers now has an office in the basement of that building–a few weeks ago we went up to the first floor.  It really still looked the same–the pharmacy, the waiting room, the two halls that the receptionist sat in front of.  It was all office space now but I could still see the hospital there.  We rode up to the first floor on the elevator–probably the first one I’d ever seen as a child.  I remember going to visit my dad in that hospital–he’d had to have an appendectomy.  Hospital rules prevented me from visiting him, but for some reason, they brought him down on the elevator and I got to see him.  He was in a hospital bed and I don’t remember getting to be very close, but somehow just getting to see him and have him speak to me made me feel better.  It was amazing being in that space again–somewhere in the late 1960s the county built a new hospital on the outskirts of town–probably about the time Dr. Roy retired.

So with that move to a new hospital, we could no longer tell by driving down Main Street whether someone was having a baby.  On the top floor on the north end of the building was the labor and delivery room, according to my mom, who ought to have known.  If the lights were on, we knew there would soon be another citizen of our area.  It was one of those rituals we always went through when we drove down Main Street.

*How often did you go to the doctor? Every year for a check-up, or just when you were ill?

I remember going only when I was sick, which wasn’t very often, and when I had to get vaccinations for school.

*Did you have a lot of illnesses as a child? Or were you fairly healthy?

I must have been fairly healthy.  The only childhood illness I can remember having is the mumps in the second grade–I still have the “get well” cards my class made, drawn on that thick now-crumbling paper we used for art in our classrooms in those days.  Earlier, I know I also had the chickenpox and have the scars to prove it, but I don’t remember having them.  The family story is that I got them from my brother who’d been hospitalized with the croup–he came home with chickenpox.

*Did you have any injuries (broken bones) or surgeries? Have you ever had to be hospitalized?

Not as a child, and it’s a miracle, really.  My brother built tree houses and I would help him and then sort of take them over for my own purposes–usually reading.  And we would walk the top of the corrall fence, which was essentially a 2″ x 4″ several feet in the air.  Grandad’s barn was always fun, too–despite dire warnings, we climbed to the top of the hay bales stacked to the top of the barn.  And if he was in the field for the day, we ventured onto the roof of the barn.  I only had brothers and there were only boys in my neighborhood so playing rough was part of my growing up.  My brothers ended up with stitches but I managed to escape with neither stitches nor broken bones.

*What specialists did you have to see?

I never saw a specialist of any type and I don’t remember anyone else having to see one.  Except maybe my cousins might have seen one because they had to wear special shoes.  I’m not sure that as a child I was aware of specialists.

*Did you have to see an optometrist and/or wear glasses?

We always had health screenings at school.  I remember the year I couldn’t read the eye chart–I was in the fifth grade.  So off to Dr. Nowlin’s.  His son was in my class and the last time I checked, he was the town optometrist, following in his father’s footsteps.  My first glasses were pink cat frames.  So cool.

*Was going to the doctor a pleasant or unpleasant experience? Share both your most unpleasant and your favorite medical memories.

I was always scared when I had to go to the doctor.  Probably because it wasn’t any sort of regular event.  My most unpleasant childhood medical memory is getting my diphtheria vaccination.  Those were the years when they stuck your arm repeatedly and then an awful scab almost the size of a dime appeared.  I still remember thinking the nurse wasn’t ever going to stop sticking me and I find myself checking the upper arms of people about my age for a similar scar.

I don’t remember any particularly pleasant experiences, except I do have this vivid image of sitting in the waiting room at Dr. Roy’s hospital, reading magazines.  I think the floor was those green tiles of linoleum and the chairs were red vinyl–it was the 1950s after all.  In my mind, I think I remember reading an article about Twiggy, but she was hot in 1966 and that was kind of late for me to have been at that hospital.  I don’t know–I just remember there were always lots of interesting reads in the waiting room.  We always had the newspaper at home and we went to the library, but there weren’t the glossy magazines that were in the waiting room.  It was a peek into a world I didn’t have much access to.

*As an adult, how do your current medical experiences compare with those of your childhood?

Probably the biggest difference is that I try to do “preventative maintenance” with fairly regular visits to the doctor.  I’ve had surgeries, including knee replacements and a couple of C-sections, with two healthy sons to show for it.  I use health insurance which is not something my parents dealt with until I insisted.

*Do you still see the same doctor?

Dr. Roy is long deceased and I am long gone from my home town.  About 8 years ago, my physician of 30 years retired–much to my distress.  :-)  He certainly deserved some time with his family without the stress of his practice, but I felt pretty abandoned.  I shopped around until I found a good replacement–I was careful to look for one younger than me (easier and easier to do these days) so I don’t have to go through the retirement trauma again.  

*What kinds of health problems are prevalent in your family? Are there any genetic diseases of which your relatives should be made aware? How have you attempted to avoid these risks or diseases?

The two diseases I know of that may be genetic are arthritis and heart disease.  I was diagnosed with osteoarthritis at a fairly young age (35) when I weighed what I should.  I had to have my first knee replacement 20 years later–again, a bit young for such an intervention.  My weight is more than it should be, but I also know that my dad and many of his cousins had knee and/or hip replacements.  Both of their grandmothers were in wheel chairs because of arthritis.  When I first visited him for my knees, the osteopath asked me if there was some sort of cartilege disease in my family–there very well could be but as far as I know, it has never been diagnosed.

My paternal grandmother’s family has strokes and my paternal grandfather’s family has heart disease.  That said, my grandmother lived to be 83 (she did have a stroke a few years before her death) and my grandfather lived to be 93.  And my grandfather smoked unfiltered Old Gold cigarettes until his late 80s. 

And then there’s my mother who had breast cancer despite there being none in the family.  Her mother lived to be 92!

So I eat healthy and attempt to be active.  I’m not as active as I should be but I’m doing better since my knees no longer hurt.  My weight is more than it should be, but my “numbers” are good–no high blood pressure and decent cholesterol.  I cannot discount fate’s role in my health.

*Are there any doctors, surgeons, specialists, nurses or other health practitioners in your family, or in your ancestry?

I have a sister-in-law and a niece who are nurses–they do not currently practice, but it’s nice to have them available as “resources.”

My fourth great-grandfather was evidently a country doctor.  William Greene Ball was born about 1808 in New York City, trained for his medical career in Clark County, Indiana, and practiced for many years in Warren County, Iowa until his death in 1881.  He’s referred to in the family as “Dr. Ball.”  :-)  I have a couple of his “recipes” for various ailments.

*Are there any stories about certain medical problems or injuries, or about interactions with medical practitioners that have been handed down through the generations?

My dad was always proud to have had Dr. Denton Cooley (whom his staff called “LJ” for “Little Jesus”) do a valve replacement on his heart.  My mother’s family didn’t have much use for “doctoring.”  My grandad on that side had a pacemaker implanted and never went back to the doctor–until about 25 years later when the battery was apparently run down.  And the other family story is of “Ol Doc Smith” who came to the family home in Beaver County, Oklahoma, in the early 1930s when my great-grandmother drank carbolic acid.  He left a signed death certificate there because he didn’t think she’d live until morning but left instructions to try feeding her raw eggs to cause her to throw up the acid.  She lived through that episode but was untimately successful in taking her life.  I don’t know where Doc Smith was based, but I do know my grandparents lived several miles out in the middle of nowhere, so he must have truly been a country doctor who made house calls on those dusty roads.

Thank you again to Miriam Midkiff for her prompt down another memory lane.

Saturday we had a customer who came in, thrilled to have found us because her husband was in town at a meeting and she needed a diversion.  She hadn’t brought her notes because she hadn’t known of our existence.   She knew of some American Indian history in her family and the main name she could recall was John Smith. 

Yikes.

We have challenges every day.  The majority of our customers believe they have American Indian ancestry and we assist them in their search for verification.   This customer was a little different in that she didn’t think her family had ever come west, on the Trail of Tears or other wise, so I wasn’t sure where to begin.  She had the name of one of the many rolls, which we checked.  What we had was a 20th century published version of the roll–she thought she remembered that her family had been rejected, so they would not be included.  She kept saying that she would just work on it another time, that she hadn’t come prepared, and that this was probably hopeless.

We kept talking and trying things.  Finally my much more knowledgeable colleague came back from lunch–we picked her brain for a while.  By this time the customer came up with a few more names.  My colleague went to yet another published roll and looked up one of the collateral names and said, “Well, here’s the XXX name and he was born in (place).”  The customer said, “Oh, my, that’s where my family was from.” 

So we pulled out the microfilm.  One of the first things I read while she was looking at other names in the index, was that this person was applying based on his great grandfather John Smith having been an Indian. It’s a common name, of course, but the story and the name were close enough, I told her about it.  She immediately wanted a copy and then she went through it more carefully.  The places were correct but she wasn’t certain about the names until we came to the name of one John Smith’s daughters–this applicant’s grandmother.  It was a distinctive name and we knew we had the right family.

She said she was going to be very hard to live with because she had found such a treasure.  She was so thrilled.

As I reflected on the experience, I thought about its lessons for the researcher looking for a person with a common name.  What helped with this search was the place and an uncommon first name.  John Smith was not listed in any of the indexes.  But the surname for the son-in-law of one of his daughters was listed.  Did you follow that?  Three generations away from John we found some of his descendants and verified the story that another descendant had heard.  The file said that applicant was applying based on his great-grandfather being an Indian.  He was rejected because John Smith’s name could not be found on any of the earlier tribal censuses.  All that matched the story our customer had heard. 

All in all, it was an interesting search and lesson.  We kept encouraging her not to give up–she was happy to be there and wanted to search but somewhat embarrassed that she had come so unprepared.  We, of course, saw her story as a challenge, and with each bit of information that we pulled out of her, we moved a bit closer to finding what she was looking for. 

The other personally interesting part of this story is that IF I have any American Indian heritage, the part of the country her family was from is the part where mine is from.  I told her that, she asked the name, and  when I told her, she knew many people by that name.  I wasn’t surprised as they appeared to be quite prolific and many with that name are still there.  I also told her that once my part of the family came to Oklahoma, one of them married a person of the same name as her rejected applicant. 

Collaterals, place, collaboration, and persistence seemed to be the keys to this successful search. 

Now, to find details on my own George Jones.  Who married Nancy Jones.  Honest.