First Word #8 - How Could That Record Be So Wrong?

Have you ever wondered how records could ever be incorrect? How could they get so full of the “wrong” information? Have you ever come across a census that was so full of errors you wondered where they came up with it? I have some examples of this and some ideas on how it could have happened.

While researching my great-great grandmother, Martha (Meeker) Dimick, who died in Nashville, Tennessee, I located my standard starting records: obituary and death certificate. Martha Dimick was born in Wood County, Ohio on 27 May 1872 and died 23 September 1970. Both her obituary and her death certificate state that her parents were Mahlon and Mary (Baughman) Meeker. After spending unsuccessful hours searching the 1880 census to find her with her parents, I finally changed tactics and found her birth registration. Her parents were actually Lafayette and Philinda (Baughman) Meeker.

The informant for her death certificate, and most likely her obituary as well, was her son, Gerald Dimick. He was only 2 months old when his grandfather died and his grandmother died 22 years before his birth! Needless to say, he didn’t know his grandparents and, if his mother never really talked about them, he maybe didn’t even know their names or confused them––Mahlon Meeker was his great-grandfather. Or, at times of distress, such as the loss of a loved one, our minds are not as sharp as they usually are, which could have been the case with Gerald.

On a more recent note, my genealogical buddy Birdie Holsclaw and I met each other for dinner a few months ago. At that particular restaurant they take your name and and order, then call you when your food is ready. Birdie and I ordered and then sat down to wait. During our meal, I noticed that her receipt said “Bertie.” I immediately imagined all those poor census takers who did the best they could recording names, sometimes in a short amount of time, with language barriers or uncooperative families. They were trying to get through hundreds and thousands of households on a deadline, just like the cashiers at restaurants who are trying to get to as many customers as possible.

Another modern incident of incorrect information comes to mind. My brother got married 25 June 2005 in Estes Park, Colorado, which is in Larimer County. I was there. My husband, children, mom, grandma and aunt were there too. We all witnessed the event, we even have video and pictures to document the marriage. However, the Colorado marriage records state that he was married 25 August in Adams County. Why? Because he forgot to file the appropriate papers in time. So they held the ceremony and were married but the license wasn’t filed with the state until August. If you are familiar with Colorado, you would not mistake the mountainous backdrop of Estes Park in those pictures with the sweeping plains of Adams County as the recorded “truth” claims.

My brother’s story could be similar to that of my ancestor Thomas Mitchell who married Angeline Higdon around 1848-1849. They are in the 1850 Barren County, Kentucky census, married, no children. However, every attempt to locate a marriage record in that county––and about 10 of the closest surrounding counties––has turned up nothing. It could have been that they were married by a traveling minister who never turned in his records to the county. Or they eloped to some other state, maybe even changing their names. Or they never actually married.

When evaluating the records that have been left for us to interpret, (or perhaps not left, as the case may be), it is important to try to imagine what obstacles the record taker may have been dealing with such as language barriers, or the stress the informants may have been under. There are any number of factors to consider. If that doesn’t work, I try to imagine a scenario for the unknowns that helps me sleep at night. At least until I find that record…

First Word #7 - How I'm Related to Roy Rogers and How I'm Not

I am related to Roy Rogers. I was practically born with this knowledge. It is a part of who my family is, part of how we define ourselves. Ever since I was a little kid, I was told about this fact. I have often heard stories about “Cousin Roy” who moved from Ohio to California and I have even watched some of his movies. Any time he was in the news or mentioned on TV my relatives would say “There’s cousin Roy.” It often came up in conversations with our friends. “Hey, we’re related to Roy Rogers!” The usual response being something like “Who’s Roy Rogers?” This bit of information is what got me to actually begin researching my family history. I wanted to know how we were related. (You notice I didn’t say “if.”)

We’ve all heard these claims and rumors when researching our families. If you share a surname with someone famous, chances are it’s been postulated, if not claimed as true, that you’re related. It is such a common phenomenon that genealogists even make jokes about it.

I wanted to know how exactly how I was related to Roy Rogers, I was bored and had access to a high speed internet connection before such access was common. I had grown up knowing that his name was not Roy Rogers, but Leonard Slye. My mom’s mother was Helen Sly. (Therefore, we are related!)

From doing some basic Internet research and accessing the census, I determined that Leonard Slye was born 5 November 1911 in Cincinnati, Hamilton County, Ohio.1 His family owned a farm in Duck Run, Ohio where he lived and worked until about 1929. His line has been traced back to colonial Maryland.2 I have also seen some charts showing this Slye line back to Warwickshire, England.

My late grandmother Helen Francis Sly (no ‘e’ on the end) was born in Rudolph, Wood County, Ohio, 10 April 1914. I have researched her Sly line in the U.S. back to the late 1840s or early 1850s when they immigrated from Wiltshire, England. It’s the old story of three brothers in England, two of whom came to America, James and William Sly. I believe I have found them on ships’ lists but haven’t confirmed it. The Slys are found in the 1841 Wiltshire census3, then are found in Sandusky County, Ohio in 1856 when James Sly was married in Erie County.4 The other brother, William, was married in 1858 in Huron County, Ohio.5

I have found no connection between my line and the Slyes in Hamilton County. One obvious difference, but not the most important, is the spelling with and without the ‘e’. Also, Wood County is in the northwest corner of the state, near Michigan and Indiana, while Hamilton County is in the southwest corner of the state on the Kentucky and Indiana borders. Geographically, these two lines were not close. I have traced almost all of the descendants of my Sly line from William and James and have found none that have had connections to the Slyes in Hamilton County.

I had to go and spoil all the fun for my family with the pesky truth. Maybe it’s OK sometimes for a family to have a myth to talk about. There’s some history to that in and of itself. My brother now has conversations with people along the lines of “We used to be related to Roy Rogers, but my sister had to go and ruin that!” So I’ve sort of gotten a reputation as the “Confounder of Fantasy” or the “Assassin of Overstatement.” Honestly, I’m also saddened that I have debunked this myth in our family. It was a part of how we defined ourselves. My heart breaks a little because I can tell my family misses being “related” to Roy Rogers. It’s like I popped someone’s balloon just to hear it pop. Don’t get me wrong, I am interested in proof and finding out the truth just like the next dedicated genealogist. But maybe I don’t have to burst bubbles just to highlight my skills. Roy Rogers will always be a part of my family’s history and in that way we are related to him.

The next myth I’m going to tackle is that we are “direct descendants of William Henry Harrison.” My other grandmother’s grandmother’s maiden name was Harrison. Maybe I won’t share my conclusions with them this time.

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1. “Roy Rogers Tribute” on the Womack Family News website: http://www.womacknet.net/features/royrogers/roy.htm. Viewed 6 June 2007.
2. Research of Viettia Newcomb, of Ukiah, UT. Pedigree charts sent to author August 2000.
3. James Sly household, 1841 Census returns of England and Wales, Wiltshire, Heytesbury Hundred (Warminster), Horninsham Parish, Piece #1177. FHL film 464196.
4. Erie County Marriage Records volume 2, page 183, Probate Court, Sandusky, Ohio. (Marriage of James Sly and Catherine R[einner?])
5. Huron County Record of Marriages, page 180, Court of Common Pleas, Probate Division, Norwalk, Ohio. (Marriage of William Sly and Harriet Callin)

The First Word #6: Roadside Stops: Rest Areas, McDonald’s® and Cemeteries

Last summer, my family and I visited relatives, as we do every year. All of my ancestors, all four lines, converged in Wood County, Ohio for several generations, so there is a lot of information to find each time we go back for a visit. I always make a list of new things I want to search for, such as obituaries, church records, land records, and so forth, but probably my favorite is searching for the cemeteries and tombstones of my ancestors.

Often I am visiting “easy” cemeteries such as Fort Meigs Cemetery in Perrysburg, Ohio. It is quite large but very well indexed and mapped and only a few miles from my grandma’s house. Another “easy” cemetery is Maple Grove Cemetery, in Findlay, Ohio located one block from my dad’s house. On nice days, we just take walks in the cemetery even if I’m not looking for tombstones.

On our last excursion, I had a few ancestors to locate in a “new” and as it turns out, not-so-easy cemetery in Hancock County, Ohio. Hancock is one county south of Wood, and the cemetery was near the city of Findlay. I had done some research in advance of our trip, consulted historical maps, checked county history books and looked in Google Maps for a current map of the area. I knew the general location of this cemetery, within a few square miles or so. I knew it would be between a few major roads, but not on which particular county road.

My dad, who I mentioned lives in Findlay, offered to drive us and help us find it. He knew from my maps the general area in the country where this cemetery should be and a few landmarks along the way. My extended family has become curious about my “hobby” and they are interested in the new things I find out about our ancestors every time I come. We had to take two cars because everyone wanted to ride along, six of us in all.

Since my dad knew the area best, we let him lead and followed him in our car. He drove to the general area with no problems, but after a few turns and no sign of a cemetery, we quickly realized that we didn’t know enough to find it ourselves without systematically driving up and down country roads in a grid-like manner.

After some time, we were driving down yet another country lane surrounded by farm land and a few houses nestled next to small wooded groves. My dad spotted a farmer driving his tractor down the road ahead of us. My dad, who has a knack for striking up conversations with perfect strangers, pulled up beside him and waved him down. Since I was in the second car, I couldn’t hear the conversation but I watched my dad get out and lean up against the tractor like he was talking with an old buddy about “this weather we’re having.” I watched the flapping of arms left and right and the pointing “over there.” My dad finally motioned for us to follow him, climbed into his car and we were on our way again.

We turned around and went east just one road. Behind a stand of trees that had been blocking our view, sat a little cemetery. It seemed to be well cared-for and was located a stone’s throw from someone’s house. I suspect that it was originally a family cemetery that expanded to meet the needs of the surrounding community. We had a fun time walking the cemetery and locating the tombstones together. It wasn’t too difficult to locate our ancestors due to the small size of the cemetery.

I think it was a memorable experience for my dad. I also learned one thing about genealogy from my dad during that trip; don’t be afraid to talk to the locals, and if you are, then bring along someone who isn’t. It can also become a fun activity or adventure for your family members to help you out with your research. It will give them a sense of being involved in the process.

I also try to get my children involved with searching for our ancestors. When I take them to cemeteries I use it as an opportunity to work on the alphabet.* (“Ethan, find a tombstone beginning with an M.”) On this trip, involving my kids in the search for our ancestors’ graves had begun to take it’s toll. One day, while taking some time to check out two cemeteries, my son fell asleep in the car in the cemetery. He was confused when he woke up and said “Are we still in the cemetery?” I had to answer, “No, we’re in another cemetery now.” On a different day, while riding in the car with my grandma, Ethan saw a business’s sign made out of a large slab of stone. He said to my grandma with much trepidation, “Grandma! That’s not a tombstone is it? My mom stops at anything that looks like a tombstone!” I guess he’d had enough genealogy for one trip.

*As mentioned in “How Potty Training Can Help Your Genealogy” in BGS Quarterly, Vol. 38, No. 2, May 2006.

The First Word #5: Building Brick Walls Between You and Your Living Relatives

The week of Thanksgiving 2006, I discovered that my great-uncle, William H. “Bill” Sly of Buckeye, Arizona had died 13 January 2005 at the age of 81. That was almost two years ago! No one in my immediate family had even heard of his passing. A cousin (my third cousin once removed) who also works on Sly research, and who coincidentally lives in Phoenix, also had not heard about his death.

I happened upon his obituary while checking out a new subscription-based web site that contains a growing collection of historical newspapers: www.genealogybank.com. I thought I would check Genealogy Bank out to see if anything useful to my research turned up. I searched for "William Sly" intending to locate my great-great grandfather by the same name in Ohio. However, an obituary for "William H. "Bill" Sly" from a Buckeye, Arizona newspaper turned up first on the list. Unfortunately, the obituary turned out to be only one sentence in length and did not have much information.

I remember visiting Uncle Bill in Arizona just after I finished kindergarten during the summer of 1980. My parents packed my younger brother and me in a van (the old style, not a comfy mini- van with a DVD player) and we headed out from Weston, Ohio to Buckeye, Arizona. I don't remember much about that trip, but I do remember it was so hot that our crayons melted! I also remember Uncle Bill was a big guy to a 6-year-old, who did a lot of laughing. We visited his mother, my great-grandmother, Lucy Alice (Long) Sly. She was living in a nursing home, was very frail, used a walker, and seemed ancient to me. She would have been ninety-two years old and she passed away that November, just five months after our visit.
Lucy Alice (Long) Sly was my maternal grandmother's mother. She was born in Audrain County, Missouri to Martha Alice “Mattie” (Mitchell) and William Henry “Harvey” Long. Her father, who was born in Ohio, moved to Missouri where he met and married his wife and they had most of their children. In 1900 he moved the family back to Wood County, Ohio. Lucy married Sanford Sly sometime between 1910 and 1915. Their first daughter Alice (who was not Sanford’s biological daughter, but that’s a story for another time), had a lung illness such as asthma or tuberculosis. Sometime between 1930 and 1936 they moved Alice and their youngest child and only son, William H. “Bill”, to Arizona thinking that the dry climate would benefit her health. Their two other daughters, Marie and Helen (my grandmother) were already married and therefore stayed in Ohio.

There are at least three living connections from my family to Uncle Bill. My cousin living in Phoenix (I mentioned earlier) said she remembers visiting my great-aunt Marie but didn't remember visiting my grandmother Helen. Several years before his death she had tried contacting Uncle Bill to see if he was interested in corresponding with her about the family––he was not. However, my mom’s half-sister, who is now the oldest living relative on that side of my family tree, used to visit Uncle Bill quite often. Unfortunately, after his mother (her grandmother) passed away in 1980, she didn’t visit as much and eventually lost touch.
Several times over the past few years I had talked to my mom about getting in touch with Uncle Bill. I especially wished to visit him again after becoming increasingly interested in genealogy. Over the years I checked the SSDI occasionally to see if he showed up and he didn't. As long as he didn’t, I kept my hope that one day we could make the trip, but it was not to be. None of my family’s connections to Uncle Bill knew of his passing for over two years.
This experience has convicted me of the fact that we need to get in touch and stay in touch with our living relatives. I am not sure why my branch of the family lost touch with his branch of the family. Surely the distance had something to do with it. Possibly telephone costs were a hindrance as well. No one has said, but maybe there were some hard feelings between family members. It is sad that he is gone, not only because I never really got to know him personally, but also from a genealogical standpoint. I have SO MANY QUESTIONS for him. He may have been the only one who could have answered them ... like the brick walls surrounding his parents and his sister Alice. I have a feeling those walls may stay there for a while if not forever. My interest in genealogy makes that breaking of a family tree branch all the more poignant.

First Word #4 - Losing at Euchre to Win at Genealogy

The First Word: Losing at Euchre to Win at Genealogy
by Cari A. Taplin

I had the privilege of having my grandma, her sister-in-law Helen “Pinky” Dimick, and her long time friend Wilma Jimison visit my family here in Colorado in February 2006. This was a big deal for several reasons, mainly because they are getting older and because they came all the way from Ohio. The three of them are widowed now and decided to go on an adventure together. I was so excited that they were coming to my house! It is usually the other way around, unless it’s a monumental occasion like a wedding.

First they flew to California where they spent a week visiting my grandma’s sisters, Barb and Elaine, who have lived in California since about the 1940s. Then they flew from California to Colorado. We took a few drives to see the mountains, ate a lot of food, played a lot of Euchre, and did a lot of talking. Since I had the three of them together at my table a lot during those few days, I took the opportunity to ask them about life during the Great Depression in rural northwest Ohio.

All three of them agreed that they didn’t notice the depression much. It didn’t really affect their way of life. The land in Wood County, Ohio is largely made of clay, and was not susceptible the dust bowl effects that occurred in other parts of the county. They all lived on farms that were mainly self-sustaining. They do not recall having many struggles. They just figured out how to live with what they had.

All three of them were school-aged during the Depression. All three of them remembered that they had a “school dress,” usually just one that they would have to change out of when they got home to save it for the next day. They received a lot of hand-me-downs for their clothes and they remember hand-making the blankets they used.

There were big gardens on their farms; all of their food was grown at home. They canned everything to stock up for the winter. They also raised cows and pigs for meat. My grandma remembers her grandmother, Martha (Meeker) Dimick raising chickens for eggs and meat. She also had an uncle, Gerald Dimick, who owned an apple orchard in Wood County.

On Saturdays my grandmother’s mother, Martha (Urban) Dimick, would get groceries in town. These consisted of things such as sugar, salt, and other things they could not make or grow on their farm. The kids would get candy and ice cream as a treat. Saturdays they had spaghetti for dinner, and Martha would usually invite someone over for dinner, typically someone from church.

They heated the house using gas but during the coldest nights, they would heat glass jars filled with water, wrap them in paper, then use them to keep their feet warm in bed. There were times when they were uncomfortable, but they didn’t seem to have too many troubles on the farms in northwest Ohio.

One thing they all agreed on was that they played a lot of cards growing up. And that is something that is still true in my family. Every time we visit we play a lot of cards. I can remember the adults playing Euchre ever since I was very small. It was one of my grandpa’s favorite pastimes. Besides being fun, it is free. I felt like one of the grown-ups when I finally understood Euchre enough to play it! I’ll never be as good at it as Wilma or my grandpa, but it is still fun nonetheless and it always opens the door to some great conversations which will enrich my genealogy for future generations’ enjoyment. If you don’t play Euchre, it’s not too late to learn. It’s for genealogy’s sake after all!

First Word #3 - Ask Grandma First

The First Word:
Ask Grandma First
by Cari A. Taplin

We all know that the first rule of genealogy is to TALK TO YOUR RELATIVES. The second rule of genealogy is to TALK TO YOUR RELATIVES. Every beginning genealogy book, article or class will tell you to first to TALK TO YOUR RELATIVES.

How do you know what to ask? How do you know what information Grandma has in her head? I can never guess what my grandma is going to reveal to me next! I can ask her a question directly about her family and she won’t know the answer. Then she’ll tell me some obscure item about great aunt Betty she’s only met one time 60 years ago–someone I would never have thought to ask her about. If some one has an easier way to figure this out, please let me know. But I digress. . .

I want to share an experience that happened to me this summer. My family and I took a rather long vacation–two weeks in Ohio and another week in Kansas. My main area of research is in northwestern Ohio. Every time we go back, I spend at least a day or two at area libraries seeking and finding more information. And of course, I spend time asking Grandma questions.

This summer I discovered that the public library in Perrysburg, Ohio had just acquired copies of the records of Zoar Lutheran Church covering 1859 through 1930. What luck! My Miller family were all members of Zoar Lutheran Church and had been for as far back as Grandma can remember. This gives me a new source to work with, which is great because I have the wonderful opportunity to research the surname “Miller.” And not just any “Miller” but “unique” names such as William Miller, John Miller, Fred and Mary Miller. (I need to see the cup half full and take this as a way to really hone my genealogical skills, right?)

In researching these newly available church records, I came across a marriage for a possible brother to my ancestor William John Miller, a Fred Miller married to Mary Kopp. I knew from other research that William did indeed have a brother named Fred but I didn’t know much about him. I was excited to find this bit of information but didn’t know exactly how to go about proving that this Fred was my relative. The only bit of information I had on Fred Miller was from William’s obituary which stated that at the time of William’s death his brother Fred lived in Trilby, Ohio.1 It did not mention a wife or any children. I could not tell from the obituary if he had married. I began going over the possible ways to prove the theory in my head. It would involve a lot of work: trips to libraries, time on the internet and so on to connect this Fred and Mary (Kopp) Miller to William Miller.

So the next mental step I took was to locate Trilby. So I asked Grandma “Do you have an atlas I could borrow?” (Not “Do you know where Trilby is?” Duh.) After not finding it on the map my grandma asks me what I’m looking for. So I tell her about William’s obituary and the clue that his brother Fred was in Trilby, Ohio and I was trying to locate it.

Well, her next statement sort of hit me as a “boy, I’m not thinking straight” moment. She said “Oh, you mean Uncle Fred and Aunt Mary.” That clinched it for me. Granted, Fred and Mary Miller are common names, but the fact that they attended this particular small church and Grandma put those names together without my prompting, has led me to believe it is “probably true” that Fred Miller, brother of William, married Mary Kopp. You have some “probably trues” in your own research too, don’t you?

I will be doing other research to verify this, but the “ah-ha” moment of grandma’s simple statement made me realize a few things. First of all, after doing what I consider “serious genealogy” for about 5 years now, I think I’ve gotten tunnel vision. I’ve been doing research in books, newspapers, online and such for so long that I didn’t even think to ask a living, breathing relative. I didn’t even consider it. Genealogy is all about studying dead relatives anyway, right? I should have asked her first if she’d known William’s brother and his wife. Or at the very least I should have asked her if she knew where Trilby was before I broke out the map.

The second and maybe most eye-opening thing I’ve come to realize is that there is no rhyme or reason to the information that people can or cannot remember. You just have to talk to them and find out what knowledge is hidden their heads. Maybe you’ve had similar experiences. Surely it isn’t just me.

1. William J. Miller obituary, The Perrysburg Journal, Perrysburg, Ohio, 29 August 1952, p 1, c 5.

First Word #2 - How Potty Training Can Help Your Genealogy

The First Word:
How Potty Training Can Help Your Genealogy
by Cari A. Taplin

Last summer, my family and I took a trip to visit my extended family in Ohio, driving across the Midwest for two days. On the return trip I had planned to make a couple of genealogical stops in Missouri where I have traced my maternal grandmother’s line. Our first stop was Wellsville, Missouri, which is practically in the middle of the state, not far off of I-70.

After stopping at a local library to look at some old newspapers, I wanted to locate the tombstones of my great-great-great-grandparents, Thomas Carroll and Angeline Mitchell. Thomas Carroll Mitchell died 29 April 1914 and Angeline died 5 March 1913. I had come across a list of tombstone transcriptions several years ago recording their graves, but had never had the time to go and find them. Now I finally had my chance.

I knew the cemetery was located in Wellsville, and prior to our trip I had searched the Internet, located the cemetery on a map, and plotted the course we would take to get there. The surrounding countryside was somewhat hilly and there were small farms everywhere. During the peak of summer, it was a beautiful drive.

Arriving in the small town of Wellsville, population 1400, we passed a gas station and several streets with small houses; there was not much to this town. Finding the cemetery was easy since I had a good map and it was a pretty good-sized cemetery for such a small town.

There were two modern entrances to the cemetery and the remains of what appeared to be the original entrance, a two-wheel rutted path that went under an old metal archway. We took the first drive we came upon which wound through the cemetery in a “U” shape and ended up at the second entrance. There was a shallow gully that bisected the cemetery which was dry when we were there. It appeared that the oldest stones were east of this gully and the newer ones were to the west.

We parked under a nice old shade tree and let the kids out. They had been riding for a long time and needed to stretch their legs. We had a discussion with the children about what to do and not to do in a cemetery, such as where to walk and how to avoid touching the stones lest we knock a loose one over (we’d already had an experience with this when my son was younger, but that’s a whole other topic altogether!)

We started walking up and down the rows, canvassing the stones. This was a great time to practice letters with Ethan, our preschool-age son. I told him to find any tombstones that started with an “M.” We looked and looked and looked. And then we looked some more. There were many stones whose dates and names were so eroded by the elements that they were illegible and I was beginning to think we'd never find my ancestors’ graves.

Seth, my husband and research slave, then realized that the cemetery transcriptions I had brought with me were arranged in order of location, meaning that whoever compiled it probably recorded the list in order as they walked the rows, instead of alphabetizing it. So, next to my Mitchells on this list, there were some common names like Brown but there were also some Branstetters. Being an uncommon name I’d be likely to recognize, I also began looking for “Branstetter.”

I was about half way through the older part of the cemetery when Ethan proudly announced he had to go potty. He had been potty trained for a while now, but when they say they need to go they usually mean five minutes ago. So we thought we'd just have him go on the road next to the car. However he informed us he had to “go poop” and we decided that THAT probably was something to be added to the list of things we don't “do” in a cemetery. Seth quickly loaded him up in the car to drive back to the gas station in town to use the bathroom.

Meanwhile, Ellie, my daughter, and I kept walking the cemetery. We were getting hot and tired. I was about to give up assuming that my ancestors’ stones must have been among those that were completely unreadable. By the time Seth and Ethan returned from the gas station (a false alarm I might add) I was done with the older part of the cemetery. I suggested we give up because we were hot and tired and we just couldn’t find the stone.

By happenstance, Seth had driven back through the second cemetery entrance, which was closer to where we were searching. We loaded up, packed the genealogy away and headed out. Because we were turned around, we had to drive back through the “newer” section of the cemetery to leave. As we rolled through the “newer” section, I noticed a tombstone that looked like it said “Branstetter” in the distance. It was just beyond the little gully next to a few other stones. And then I saw one that said “Mitchell” standing right beside it. As we drew closer, I could clearly see it was my ancestors!

They were even within inches of the road where we drove in. The tombstones were facing the “wrong way,” meaning they were not facing the road as we drove in, so I couldn’t see them even though I was scanning for them. If Ethan hadn’t had to go to the bathroom, I would have never found my ancestors. We would have driven right out of that second entrance and never looked back.

I learned many lessons on that trip. First, look for other names that should be buried near your ancestors. Second, don’t forget to check those tombstones that are facing the “wrong direction.” Third, and definitely the most important, taking along a potty-trained tike can be the key to finding your ancestors.

First Word #1 - Keeping the Stories Alive

This was the first “First Word” published in the Boulder Genealogical Society Quarterly in February 2006.

The First Word:
Karl H. Miller, 1922-2005, Keeping the Stories Alive
by Cari A. Taplin

As your new Quarterly editor, it is my duty (or privilege) to tell you a little bit about myself. I want to use this first column to tell you about the beginnings of my interest in genealogy.

When I was growing up I had the best grandpa in the world, Karl Harold Miller. He was kind, hardworking and caring. He was a joker and a story teller. He liked a good laugh; and he liked remembering the things that made him laugh; and he liked sharing them. I heard stories of when he was young, the friends he had, the things he did. It was a magical world so different from the world we live in today. He told of the time he quit high school to start working. He worked on his grandpa’s farm, drove a school bus (without being certified), drove a gasoline truck, was a substitute mail man and later drove a cement truck until he retired in 1983. When he was young he drove a motorcycle, a 1940s Harley-Davidson.

He told of meeting my grandma and how he wouldn’t take her for a ride on his motorcycle because it needed a new tire. This was during “the War” (World War II) and rubber was scarce. So he had to order a tire and wait for a few months. I’m guessing that grandma really wanted a ride for that to be an important memory for him! This story shows his dedication to safety.

My grandpa always taught us safety. Being safe around bonfires, tractors, power tools, boats, on ice, while using knives, how to walk with scissors (carry them by the points with the points aimed away from you). He told of his grandmother Carrie, who tripped while carrying scissors and put out one of her eyes. In every photo of her he showed me, she is wearing dark glasses which he attributed to her eye injury. So we got a lot of lectures about being safe and it has stuck with me.

Probably the most interesting and recognizable feature of my grandpa was his limp. When he was nine years old he broke his hip. That’s all he would tell us about it for the longest time. I was an adult before I got the whole story and even then he was hesitant to tell me about it. But one day I asked him how it happened and he finally relented.

He told me how he and his brother Jim would climb up the corn crib and then race down. He said you could go really fast if you let go of the step you were holding on to and grab the next as you fell, rather than use your feet to go down. Well, one time he missed the next handhold, fell to the bottom, and broke his hip. In that time (early 1930s) the best medical care they could offer was to just straighten it out as best they could and put a half body cast on him until it healed. He had to stay in bed for a long time, many weeks if I remember the story correctly. An x-ray taken later in his life showed that the ball and socket of the hip joint had fused together and had become just one piece of bone. I find that story so interesting because of his talks on safety. Did he get such strong convictions about safety because of this incident? I’m betting so.

I heard all of these stories before I began what I call “serious genealogy.” It was shortly before I began my journey as a genealogist my grandpa suffered the first of several strokes that would eventually end his life. I didn’t realize how important these stories would be to me and to my research until it was too late to ask him even more questions.