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.

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 #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.