family research

Missing In Action…

Posted on by dvn ms kmz time travel

There’s an attention grabber, if I ever saw one, huh? Well, maybe it isn’t such a grab for attention as one would think… Especially since this is a blog about time traveling to the past and meeting members of my family.

Except, the person whom we are all about to meet isn’t long dead and didn’t get lost in a war or anything like that. In fact, today’s story is about a real live person.

WAIT! Don’t leave! I promise I am not violating any HIPPA or other laws. I also promise that we’ll meet some dead people next time.

So, without further adieu, the MIA person is…

ME.

That’s right. The author of this time traveling blog has been missing (at least in the space of these adventures), however, she is back! And quite ready to jump into her time traveling spaceship to bring you stories of the past.

But before we can take that deep dive and start climbing out on branches I wanted to give you a little explanation of what’s been happening these last 4+ years-

The short of it all is that I stopped listening to dead people, stopped trying to find them and lost interest in their stories. The long of it is that I am human with other aspects of my life growing and being crazy and consuming my attention. I did things with my living family, I accomplished things I hadn’t ever been bold enough to believe I could do and I spent a ton of time re-establishing a relationship and love affair with me.

Cue the shameless plug or you can just consider this a word from our sponsors- where you learn that I am actually an undercover Spoken Word Artist and Entertainer and I have released an album…

This is not the kind of Spoken Word hidden away in a Speak Easy, under the cover of cello strings. This is Spoken Word that speaks to your soul, stirs the air and tickles your ear. This is Spoken Word that demands to be heard. Wordspiration AWAKENS by Special K is available NOW for digital download!

Oddly, during our separation, I never canceled my ancestry membership… it was an unplanned break up after all, and I still needed that little string of attachment. Don’t judge me- we’ve all been there.

I’m sure you have heard of this not so pesky thing that happened and shut the world down in 2020, but even in that time of quiet, I was pursuing other interests (see commercial break above or visit our sponsor for a quick listen) and really didn’t think about or miss this passion. Growth, I guess.

Fast forward to January 2, 2022… Sheer boredom combined with the realization that Ancestry had just robbed me again lead me through its doors. And, I stumbled upon a thing. I have been on the site and numerous others every day since. I still have my other passions, but I’ve learned balance. Sort-of. The wheels of creativity have started their engines and they are a turning full speed ahead.

I can’t wait to bring you the story of B.A.J. (the one that pulled me back in) as well as the stories of the dead living with us- IN OUR HOUSE and so much more.

I don’t even know if you are still there. I hope you are and I hope you are well. Let’s catch up. Who, where, when are you all researching? How’s it going? How has life been? Tell me all the things. I am here in the comments, ready to listen.

The Music Machine

Posted on by dvn ms kmz time travel

A few weeks ago, I made an amazing discovery, while helping my S.O. go through his mom’s belongings. Okay, technically, I didn’t ‘discover’ anything. Everyone knew it was there, except for me… I can’t even really say I found it, because, again- everyone knew it was there, collecting dust- except for me. Hmmm. At any rate, I was estatic over this piece of history.

It was an 8 track player and a box of 8 track tapes!

I don’t know about you, but for me, this was like finding evidence of an urban myth. I’d heard about these players, but never actually seen or touched one.

My giddiness quadrupled when I finally figured out how it worked and was able to hear a few measures of song.

Immediately, I knew I would write about this piece of ancient technology, but as this is a blog about traveling back in time to meet people, not find things, I had to wait for someoneto start talking.

I didn’t have to wait long before I kept getting images of someone dancing in a kitchen. She had a beautiful afro and a gorgeous, invigorating smile, yet I had no idea who she was.

When a cousin posted some pictures of her mom on social media, I knew I’d found my mystery afro-wearing kitchen dancer.

Allow me to introduce you all to my cousin, Joy Elizabeth Jackson, whom I’m absolutely positive was FABULOUS in life.

Joy was born in 1958 and sadly passed away in 2001, from a massive heart attack. She was 43 years old.

Unfortunately, I have no recollection of ever meeting her, though I am told she attended my dad’s funeral in 1997 and that she was extremely close to my Glory-Glory, who I am also partial to, so it stands to reason I would have met her at least once, but alas I’ve no memory of her. I wish I did, because she sounds like a character and very much like my dad. I’m sure I would have instantly loved and gravitated toward her.

Joy loved her music. Perhaps this is why she showed up dancing in a kitchen. When I talked to her daughter, she told me that she still had Joy’s 8 tracks and records, another sign that I had found the right ancestor for this story.

But apart from dancing and enjoying music, what else was there to tell the world about Joy? For starters, she loved being a mom and a grandmother… Her family was her heart in every sense of the word.

In fact, she loved her kids so much, that in her last year’s, she hid her problems with her heart from her children, so as not to worry them and she dealt with it quietly by herself. Her strength was a recognizable trait and she continues to this day to be remembered by it.

As I was trying to get to know Joy, I was constantly reminded of my father… Like him, Joy was always smiling and loved to play. She would often gather her children (and any others around) into the car (I picture her driving a station wagon, but there’s no evidence of this) and going for a drive to destination no where. This was also one of my dad’s favorite pastime. It is becoming easier and easier to understand why they would have been fond of each other.

Like most families of the time, Joy made sure her children understood Saturday morning chores. She also ensured her kids were in church. Values were an important part in raising her children and she imparted many wisdoms into her babies. Treating others how you want to be treated, without being a fool and remembering that everyone’s heart is different from yours, so as long as you do the right thing, your blessings will come are still living on in the form of her daughter and granddaughter.

Also evident in her offspring, is a hard work ethic. For most of her children’s lives, she worked in the dryer cleaning industry. Her children and grandchildren may not work in dry cleaning, but they do work and they follow Joy’s example- you can have whatever you like out of this life, you just have to work for it.

I know Joy lived a full life, even if it seems cut short to us. So, today, I think I will turn up my Temptations Christmas album and do some dancing in the kitchen- a salute to Joy and the special lady she was.

I’d love to hear from you! Have you made any interesting or remarkable finds? Did they remind you of someone in your tree? Who? Leave me a comment telling me all about it or them or both! As always, the like, share and follow buttons are your friends!!!

The Last Pair of Shoes

Posted on by dvn ms kmz time travel

Happy New Year! I hope you all have had a wonderful first few weeks of 2018. Holidays bring so much excitement into our home that it seems to take the first half of the new month to get adjusted and back into the swing of things.

Honestly, I would have happily taken another few days off, but I couldn’t.

For the last week, my uncle has been begging me to talk to him. Incessantly pestering me. Do you know how annoying that is? He showed up in my dreams. When I should have been concentrating or working on something else, he would pop in and disrupt whatever train had been chugging along.

The last straw was a few nights ago, when I found myself dreaming of him, once again. It was time to do some super sleuthing. Well, not that much, because how hard can it be to gather information on a 7 year old boy?

Apparently, getting to know a 7 year old boy, whom several of your immediate family members knew, is actually pretty difficult.

Ancestry, of who I have come to rely on to pick up the sent, kept coming back to me empty-handed. I swear she just walked to the doors of her cavernous rooms, glanced around and then came back and said, “I didn’t see it.” I sent her back three or four times to double check and each time, it was the same, unapologetic response…

Family Search wasn’t much help, either, though it did return with a headstone picture. This would have been fantastic, if I hadn’t taken the picture.

Mom and Nana were of minimal help. When asked to tell me about him, both immediately began to describe for me his last months- the hospital stay, what he looked like at the time and his and their reactions to seeing him thusly.

 

Born on April 3, 1954, Edward Lothario Jackson was a happy boy. He loved running and playing outside, especially with his wagon. He probably played the most with my mom, because they were closest in age among all the children. He learned his recitations (poems Nana and Granddaddy selected for the children to memorize and then recite on request) fairly quickly and loved to recite those poems for anyone who would ask. Though he went to school very briefly- a single semester- he did very well and made good marks. He smiled a lot and was very loving. He was given the nick name (which is was only used by the family and surely would have faded away by the time he reached 10) of Turdy Boy- though no one could recall how he came to acquire such a name. Perhaps, as Nana suggested, it was because Lothario was so hard to pronounce or maybe they were teasing him because of his habit of thumb sucking.

According to mom, he resembled my brother a bit (an interesting tid-bit, because when he visited with me in my dreams, he had a cherub face-  mixture between my brother and the baby)

One morning, in March of 1961, he fell over as he got out of the bed. When Nana tried to help him stand up, he could not. He was taken to the only hospital in the area, Mary Washington, located in Fredericksburg, Virginia. There was only one pediatrician in the area and he called MCV, a bigger hospital, an hour south in Richmond. The consulting doctor came and the two concluded he was being affected by encephalitis or lead poisoning. It was suggested that he be transferred to the big hospital for treatment. This was not to be, as Nana and Granddaddy didn’t know anyone in Richmond, who they could stay with for the duration of his hospital stay. Instead, he went north to Children’s Hospital in Washington, DC.

Lothario's Shoes.jpg

These are Lothario’s last pair of shoes. Shoes, he would never outgrow and never wear again.

Almost immediately upon his arrival, doctors discovered he was afflicted by neither of the aforementioned illnesses. Little Lothario had a tumor on his brain. After two surgeries, doctors would know that his cancer would lead to a fast approaching death. There was no mass of cancer for them to operate on, as it had latched on and spread throughout his brain, like a spider web.

One week before the arrival of death, his brother and sisters, as well as other family members gathered in his hospital room to say good bye to a brother, son, nephew  and cousin. This is the traumatic memory that has stuck with his survivors… In sharing his story, I hope to erase this vision, which has cemented itself in the minds of those who remember him and replace it with the delightful boy he was.

I imagine his imminent death would be painful and stressful, as he would loose his faculties… First his speech and then his sight, it is unclear if he lost the ability to feel, but doctors assured Nana that he could hear them up until the end.

Having so little to share about him, I have to wonder why he has so persistently been at me to visit with him…

Lothario

 

A few months ago, just before my children’s father left this land of the living, my father came and visited with me. He didn’t speak, didn’t present a story or nugget of information- he just sat with me a moment in my dreams and then disappeared leaving two butterflies behind. When my father died, a group of butterflies flew up into the sky as they were bringing him out of the church… From that moment on, every sighting of a butterfly has brought with it a peaceful understanding and remembrance of him. And so, I knew deep within the recesses of my brain that my former husband would soon be taking his last breath…

Earlier this week, doctors said that there was nothing left they could do for a family member- who has a brain tumor, which from my understanding has spread out so much cannot be operated on or removed… Could little Lothario be coming to prepare me for yet another death?

No one knows and certainly, only God can determine the time when someone’s dash is at an end. I find comfort in knowing that sometime’s the stories the dead tell me help to make be better prepared to accept things happening today.

Have you ever had an experience where an ancestor’s story seemed to mimic a story of a living family member? Did it bring you comfort and/or peace or some other feeling? Leave me a comment and let me know. And you know, I’ll never turn down a like or a share- so be free with those, too!

There’s A Mystery Afoot

Posted on by dvn ms kmz time travel

magnifying glass     Had to break out the magnifying glass on this one, folks! I recently decided to revisit my relatives in my Jackson/Hamn tree on Ancestry, because you kow, that’s what I do. Plus, the dead really have been quite silent these last few weeks.

Anywho, there I was excited because there were a ton of NEW LEAVES!!! I love new leaves, they make it so easy for the dead to start coversations with me- or maybe, they make my ears more in tune to their chattering. Whatever the case may be, it is safe to say I was estatic and I happily began checking out the leaves, not even caring if anyone talked to me or not.

And wouldn’t you know it? Someone started talkig to me almost immediately! Roxanne Tyler flagged me down with her death cerificate. Roxy, as she was called while living, was born in 1859 to Gabriel and Martha Tyler and she is my third great aunt. The Tyler name may sound familiar to you because, they’ve been rather chatty this year ad her brother and nephew were featured earlier in He Was The Son of a Preacher Man…

This is all mundane information and I am sure you are wondering why I was calling the mystery squad, right? Well, here is the thing… She was 51 years old when she died in 1933.

Here’s a copy of her death certificate and a copy of the 1870 Census- I’ll wait while you do the math…

 

It didn’t add up for me either. At first, I was confused as how someone could just magically drop twenty-three years off with no one noticing- I mean if that’s the case, then I would like to be 25, please and thank you.

But that isn’t how life works, is it?

I started meticulously reviewing all of the information I had on Ms. Roxy, trying to identify the point in her life when she shaved all those years off. I figured this woud be done most easily in the census records, because they were notorious for errors or jotting down whatever they felt like… No such luck. Each subsequent census shows her age with only a slight variance in her age, ranging from a year to three year difference, but not the twenty plus, I was looking for. Not to mention that the final census she is found in, has her at seventy years old.

Her marriage record indicates she was twenty-three when she married Mr. James Morton on July 25, 1883. Here, her birth year is 1860. So, again, not enough of a difference to cause any alarm or concern.

This is about the time that Roxy stopped talking to me and I was really wishing the Mystery Squad would hurry up and answer the call I had put out.

While I was waiting, I began to ponder how a body would behave if it was twenty years older than what you were telling people it was… I mean mind over matter goes a long way, but is it really possible to convince a body to act and behave as a younger body- if you just convince your mind to believe it? Again, if that’s the case, then I believe with all my might that I am twenty-five… I wonder how long it will be before everything else falls into place? 😉

This was getting me absolutely no where and my brain was starting to hurt from all the work of thinking… I decided to take one more look at the death certificate. Naturally, Roxxy started whispering sweet nothings in my ear, again. I looked over and over the death certification looking for clues and I was continuously drawn to the informant; Ada Morton Mercer, aka, the daughter of Roxy Tyler Morton. How in he world does an adult child not know how old her parent is? This was difficult to fathom, because my own children, excepting the toddler, know how old I am and have known this information since they were in elementary school. Am I the lone parent that encourages her children to know things about her other than ‘I am called mom’? I hardly think I am.

Ada Mercer. Why did Roxy keep directing me to her? I could not figure it out. I guess Roxy was getting frustrated with me, because the next thing I know, she was seemingly screaming at me, “do the math dummy!” (Yeah, my dead people can be a bit harsh when you aren’t moving fast enough to their liking…)

I can imagine that Ada was very distraught over loosing her mother and may have even been a bit tired, exhausted or even depressed, which is why when the form asked for the age of the deceased, she listed her own age, 51, in response.

Yep. Roxy was getting me all worked up over her daughter. I haven’t had a chance to dig in and see what’s going on over there, but when I do, I will be sure to let you all know!

Have you come across a for or other document that contained wrong information? How did you go about finding the correct info? Once you found the right stuff, did you make any effort to get the wrong things changed? Why or why not? For me, I think I will just make a note on Roxanne in my tree and leave it at that. I don’t think it would be worth it to get the information changed anywhere else.

I can’t wait to hear about how the wrong info has affected you in your searching! And like always, please share, share, share! I’m not picky, so I won’t tur away your likes and comments, either!

Who’s Sitting at Your Table?

Posted on by dvn ms kmz time travel

Well, we’ve wrapped up yet another Thanksgiving… 

 and   some of us may be already moving with warp speed into Christmas festivities. Admittedly, I will be joining the Christmas-ers in just a few short hours, but first, an important question- who has been lucky enough to have been given a seat at your table? 

Understand I don’t mean your literal table, though… I’m wanting to know about your table of life. How does someone get a prized spot, if you will, (who isn’t blood related) in your family?

Would you ever consider having non blood or genetically tied people in your tree? Why or why not?

I used to think my answer to that question was simply, “no” because those people do not have a place in the piece of history-documenting I’m doing, otherwise known as my family tree- no matter how special they were or are.

Upon closer thought though, my answer seems to be changing… 

It started with the passing of Anthony… Throughout the entire process of his illness and death, we were received and treated as his family, even though I was just the ex wife and my youngest daughter was just my child… I was even more surprised to find that my youngest, as well as four other children, who shared an immensely close bond with him, were included and listed as his own in the obituary. (The sentence read something like, ‘he leaves behind several children by blood and love’…) Yet, there was no distinction between those four and his two natural born children.

This little tid bit may have enraged some, but I was warmed by the thought that my youngest child would be included with her older siblings, though I must say, I did take approximately two seconds to ponder the havoc this would wreak for future historians or genealogists. In the end, I determined that I didn’t much care, as there will be other records to tell the story and eventually, I will be able to include it as a side note in my own tree.

The changing of my thoughts were further solidified during yesterday’s dinner. As I looked around at the people who had gathered in my home, to celebrate a day of being thankful and among friends and family, I realized I wasn’t with just friends. These folks had become my family. (In the last two years, I’ve gained an unofficially adopted daughter, three brothers (in love), a nephew (in love), a spouse and more… Except, I’m not married and I might not ever be (that institution works for some and not others, which is where I will leave that conversation). 

Does having a piece of paper mean that these people get to be included in my tree, while not having a piece of paper means they should be excluded? I don’t think so. 

This morning, when I was considering who in my tree I would write about or what topic I might explore in this week’s time traveling adventure, I kept coming back to my present day family. I want history to know they existed; that they were more than close friends, boarders or other random people you may find on a census or in some worker’s notes.

 I wonder if this prompting to write about the present was pushed by someone from the past, who didn’t get to formally recognize their unique family? Hmmm. Maybe the dead have been talking to me more today than I realized…

What about you all? Where do you stand? Leave a comment letting me know and if this post made you have any kind of reaction, hit the ‘like’ button… And since we’re entering the season of giving, you should go ahead and give me a share as well! 

Until next time, my friends!

Thank you Bell Atlantic!!!

Posted on by dvn ms kmz time travel

It all started when the telephone rang… and I took Bell Atlantic’s advice and let my fingers do the walking.

I don’t know who was on the other end of the line, but I’d like to shake their hand, for sure!

There I was sitting between Nana and Granddaddy during what was supposed to be a ‘quick’ in and out visit. Yes. I really made the 60+ mile journey with every intention of saying hi, give a hug and head back home. Stop being judgemental. I wasn’t making good on the leaving front, though. Nana wanted to know about EVERYONE… so, I had to give her the details of each of the children. I was nearly finished dispensing with all the required information, when, as I said previously, the phone rang.

I’m not sure how things work in the homes of your grandparents, but in Nana’s house- you don’t dare leave whilst she’s on the phone. So there I was sitting on the couch, twiddling my thumbs.

I think I might have reached for a magazine (always handy) on the coffee table in front of me. That’s when I saw it.

You know I had to pick it up. The first thing I noticed was that Nana had written her name in it, but that’s not unusual, as she does it with all her books. Then I began flipping, nonchalantly, through the book.

I was just about ready to close the book and put it back on the table, when I noticed this:

 The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I knew those names. I have been researching them for two and a half years. I looked to my Nana for explanation, but she was still on the phone, grabbing away. My Granddaddy was no help, either, so engrossed in the football game was he.

I flipped through again and found a section of pictures. I won’t share them here, but just know, their stories are coming.

When Nana finally got off the phone, we had a FABULOUS discussion about our family history and the people in the book. And look and behold, Granddaddy even chimed in! He told me out of his own mouth that Rev. Tyler, who’ve I’ve long believed was an important Pastor in an area church (during the years of inception) was indeed the person I believed him to be. Nana also agreed with this. Though, it’s odd that two years ago, when I was going down this rabbit hole, Nana vehemently disagreed with my findings and Granddaddy was silent on the matter- only chiming in to tell me to look into his brother’s death, because they always believed something happened other than what they were told in regards to his WWII death.

I also learned that a particular set of relatives were steered clear of because they were crazy… I’m sure if you asked those relatives about Nana, they’d say she was uppity- so, you know take it with a grain of salt.

Oh and Nana let this book come home with me- a most shocking thing. Though she admonished me to return it in the same manner she gave it to me, no less than 10 times. I have a mind to copy all 100 pages. Is that wrong or illegal?

Well, it has been two days and I have finished the first read through of the book. I’m sure there will be at least three or four more reads, each time learning and grasping more of the stories to be told.

Until then, let me leave you with a few things I have already learned…

*The area where my family lives in Stafford, VA, is called Brooke (unofficial, but recognized by everyone who is a resident). But why is it called Brooke? Well apparently, there was a man by the name of Brooke, who owned obscenely amounts of land in Stafford and Fredericksburg. As was the custom of the day, Brooke was permitted to name his lands. Surprise, surprise, he named them after hisself.

The author, a cousin of mine, not only verified this information through traditional documentation in 1980, but also through the first hand account of her grandfather, who was a SLAVE on the premises when it all went down.

This book also talks about the one and only Pocahontas AND John Smith. Guess what? That encounter took place in Stafford, County and not near James Town as I  and others had grown up believing.

I am so in awe of this find and I can’t wait til I can flesh out the stories to share them with you all. Have you ever come across a unique find or discovery that opened a door into the daily lives of those before you? What did you find? What did you learn from it? I definitely want to hear all about it! Leave me a comment and tell me everything! Of course, I’d love it if you could hit the like/share/follow buttons too?

The Revolution Won’t Be Televised

Posted on by dvn ms kmz time travel

A big part of my life has been spent as an advocate. Whether advocating for more funding for schools, equality in schools, with local government on behalf of the minority, or any number of other ‘hot topics’- I have been there. Front and Center, tirelessly working to make where I live and what affects me better.

Kim is an activist

Here I am sitting with other community activists and advocates, during a press conference   (circa 2013). From left to right, I am the 6th person.

 

As I have worked on my tree, I have hoped that I would be fortunate to come across a revolutionary, like me. I dreamed of finding an ancestor that some how thwarted the efforts of the South during and after the Civil War. I longed to discover someone who participated in Freedom Marches, sit-ins and if I were extremely lucky- a Black Panther. Alas, the revolution will not be televised and the revolutionaries living within my many branches have not come forward with any of these harrowing stories- YET.

Even without any direct ancestors coming forward, I felt compelled to tell this story. Especially in light of recent events very near to the place I call home…

When D.T. came to the White House, I did not join the throngs of people who protested his presence- even though I wholeheartedly disagree with a great majority of things he says and does. When the Black Lives Matter marches came to my front door, I stayed home; regardless if how much of the outcries resounded within my soul. And when the debates started over statues became angry debates and cause for rallying cries- I stayed home and what’s more is that I kept my mouth shut and my opinions- of which there are many- to myself.

***Let me interject here to make it perfectly clear that this is not an invitation to debate anything and this post certainly is not designed to be a political pot stirrer- OF ANY KIND. You are entitled to your opinion and I, mine. The point isn’t what you or I support.***

Then came “the petition”. In my hometown, there sits a stone block on the corner of a well traversed street. People, some in my own immediate family, are trying to have this stone block removed. I still am not sure where I stand on the removal of this particular block. I have talked with people on both sides and living where I do now, I can see how each side’s argument, if you will, has the potential to be beneficial or detrimental. Being the social media savvy girl that I am, I posed the following inquiry to the social media world…

When we drive by that stone, I tell my kids what happened there. I want them to know real history and I think this block makes it real. I haven’t taken a stance on any of the monuments, publicly- and I won’t… But, I think this petition is misguided and not in the best interest of people of color… What do you think?

For the most part, interesting conversation ensued, even with people not agreeing with each other. We didn’t have to agree with each other to have great dialogue. It was a pretty terrific experience- especially given the temperament of people today and even more especially as current events unfold all around us.

But then, it wasn’t. I received the following response…

Literally standing with some of the least educated and morally disgusting people I’ve ever known in my life. Just think about that. Out of a thousand “friends” you stand with the legit worse.

This lovely statement was parlayed from an IMMEDIATE family member. I was shocked and unprepared. As an activist and advocate, I have been on the front lines of countless ‘battle grounds’ and this person, who has never involved or availed their self to anything not solely focused on themselves was attacking me so vehemently over a QUESTION? The nerve. The audacity.

But then it hit me. The revolution won’t be televised. There very well could be a slew of revolutionary branches in my tree, but over the years, those that maintain the gardens, have done their darndest to prune the tree of these unsightly and maybe even rogue branches. It is possible that these ancestors were attacked and felt it best to keep their part in the revolution hidden; not telling a soul of their involvement or perhaps the looks and conversations of disdain and disapproval were so weighty (especially from immediate family members) that the revolutionary was silenced before he or she even knew they had a voice.

Whatever the case, I am more encouraged in my hunt to find the disruptors. I picture them sitting on their respective branches in a Tom Sawyer kind of relaxed way, just waiting on me to come along and tell the world their stories.

The revolution won’t be televised… At least not until I uncover their identities!

Have you ever hoped to find something in your tree? Have you found things you wish you hadn’t? I’d love to hear about your experiences! Please leave me a comment and tell me your woes! If this resounded with you in any way, I would love for you to hit the like and share buttons!

  • Many thanks to Gil Scott- Heron for the creation of “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised”, which gave me the title of this little diddy… You can hear it here, if you’d like.
  • Additionally, as this post was not meant to stir the pot on any side of any argument, I did not include a picture of the ‘stone’. You can see the stone block here, if you wish.

I’ve Got an Uncle

Posted on by dvn ms kmz time travel

You might recall, a few weeks ago- scratch that. You might recall a few months ago, I hit a gold mine buried in my Glory-Glory’s closet that gave me all kinds of new leads and pictures to explore. I can’t believe it has been months since we last talked! It isn’t you. It’s me. I have been enjoying life and ignoring dead. Ahh, but I’ve gotten off topic.

During my exploration of the greatness I ‘discovered’ on my visit to Glory-Glory’s house, I found an obituary. This obituary was slightly more awesome than other obituaries I have had the pleasure of  browsing (or reading enthusiastically from front page to back page as I am known to actually do), because I learned I had an uncle. If you want to get technical about things, I actually have several uncles on both sides of my lineage… but I only have one uncle that was just newly discovered. And we all know how I love being able to add branches to my ever-expanding tree, right?

Everyone, meet Uncle Vernon.Uncle Vernon Uncle Vernon, meet everyone.

Vernon McIntyre never showed up on any of the census reports I have seen- and I have seen a crap ton of them. When I talked to my cousins, who grew up a generation before me- no one mentioned Uncle Vernon. Glory-Glory has expressed her non interest in my family history/genealogical quest and therefore she wouldn’t have known if I knew about my Uncle Vernon HER BROTHER- or not and Ancestry shook no green leaf in his direction…

So, Uncle Vernon was destined to be forgotten. Until, that is, I went treasure hunting by way of photo albums in Glory-Glory’s closet.

On the front of the program from his funeral, he is listed as Vernon McIntyre. I was tempted to only skim this, as the last name was not any of my last names (Johnson, Harbert, Walker, or Divens), but I held it in my hand and something in the recesses of my mind was trying to remember some detail from too many nights ago to be prominent. Since I couldn’t put my finger on why this name was grabbing hold of me, I opened the program up for a more in-depth look-see.

Imagine my surprise when I found myself staring at the names I was already overly familiar with, BECAUSE IT WAS MY FAMILY!!! As I read through the list of those left behind dearly departed, another name popped out of me- it was practically surrounded by neon lights and blinking a fantastic strobe light! That name was Rebecca. Nearly one year ago, I met Rebeca. In the census, she was listed as the child of Tamah V. Walker and George T Harbert, but her name was Rebeca McIntyre. At the time, I couldn’t crack the mystery of why she had a last name different from her parents. Since this census was dated 1920, I thought perhaps this child was not a family member after all, instead a house servant, who actually belonged to a neighboring family or something. (Knowing what I do now about the wealth Glory-Glory’s family seemingly enjoyed, this doesn’t actually seem all that far-fetched.) At the time, however, I was grasping at slim straws. I thought that perhaps she was named after her grandmother, Rebeca McIntosh and the census taker had just written her name down incorrectly. I debated removing her from my tree. In the end, I couldn’t remove her. We had come to far and I had grown accustomed to her presence and I needed to know who she was…

Truthfully, I had forgotten about her.

Until I found her again with Uncle Vernon. I finally knew who she was! Uncle Vernon and Aunt Rebecca were the children of Tamah V. Walker and Percy McIntyre (Percy being the first husband of Tamah.) Sadly, among all the wonderful information I found that day concerning Vernon and Rebeca McIntyre, I did not find the answer to my at least for that moment one last question: why did Vernon stay with their father while Rebeca stayed with their mother.

The mystery continues…

Because for right now, I don’t have any more answers. I am glad though, to have found my (new) uncle and Rebecca’s rightful place.

I would love to hear about any awesome finds you may have stumbled across in your hunt to find the dead. Leave me a comment and tell me all about your discoveries, where you found them and what they led you to. Thanks for stopping by and like always, I’d appreciate a like and share!

See you next time!

 

He Was The Son of a Preacher Man… Yes He Was…

Posted on by dvn ms kmz time travel

And the only one who could ever reach me, was the son of a preacher man! Man, I am telling you, that is a catchy tune there! It is also a great way to lead into today’s adventures- exploring the wondrous life of Carlton Henry Tyler, established 25 August 1922.

If you didn’t already snatch this bit of info, he was the son of a Preacher man. But not just any preacher man, mind you. His father, the Rev. William Henry Tyler (1868- 1925) was one of the early Pastors of Stafford, Virginia’s FIRST black baptist church- Mount Olive Baptist Church (1818 to present). Through the information gathered, it seems as if his father was the third to Pastor this church- but that is my own personal hearsay. I wonder if the honor or weight and loftiness of such a title was significant even back then… hmmm… If his obituary is any clue, “It has been said that Carlton loved sitting on his dad’s lap as a child when he was in the pulpit.” I think that it was. I would like to think that his father, Rev. Tyler wanted young Carlton to follow in his footsteps and deliver the word of God to the people…

Carlton and his dad did not have much time together, as the Reverend would go on to glory when Carlton was just past the age of three. But all those Sundays of sitting in his lap, must have taken root, because he would live a servants life in the church. He would never see the pulpit as a Pastor, but he would serve in many other areas and capacities within- especially noted as a Deacon.

Before we continue on in my two times great uncle’s life, I think it only fair that I share with you some fascinating information- a pit stop or commercial break- if you will.

  1. as of last summer there was an elderly (very, very much so) Tyler still attending Mount Olive, whom I found out about after reaching out to the church to get information on the Rev. (A trip to the church is still being debated on- as I would truly only be going to look at the pictures on the wall- if there are any and not necessarily to hear the preached word, because the ONLY info the church could give me was the contact info of the aforementioned elderly lady.) When I reached out to said lady, I was told that we were not related because SHE DID NOT REMEMBER ANYONE EVER TALKING ABOUT THE PERSON I WAS TALKING ABOUT. #lesigh. I let it go, especially after members of my family said that it was possible that they had been slaves on the same plantation and taken the same sir name, blah, blah, blah… but then I realized that Carlton was born AFTER slavery had ended and he would have known who his father was and then whomever was working on the lady’s tree had SEVERAL (more than 20) people in her tree of my people… so, obviously, I haven’t gotten any info from the lady or her immediate people… I think I might have even been blocked from her tree. Oh well, such is life sometimes. Keep in mind that neither she nor I have met DNA before- EVER…
  2. Carlton is my grandfather’s uncle. This is no big deal really, except for the fact that he was born only a few years before my grandfather. This, I tell you stressed my mind for more nights than I care to admit right now… (my granddaddy was born in 1928), He does not share the same mother as my grandfather’s mother, however- this information was not revealed to me until after I had spent several of my summer nights agonizing over how this was possible or plausible and thinking up other more sense-making stories…

Alrighty. We are back from our commercial break! I hope you enjoyed all that information I wanted to tell you, but couldn’t really figure out how to fit in anywhere else in this little jaunt we are on together.

Now, where were we?… Oh yes. We had just discovered that his father had died when he was just a bit over three. He was born in Brooke, VA- of this, I am sure. But what happened to him after his father’s death? I am not really sure. More investigative work is required to tell those tales, but let us time hop to 1942. Carlton is now twenty years old and living in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. According to his WWII draft card, he is single and he identifies his next of kin as a Hattie F. Parker. (Who the heck is that? I’m glad you ask… You should probably go find out and let me know, cause I haven’t the foggiest.) It isn’t his mother; not unless she remarried and changed her name and then moved to Philly to be a helicopter mom and remain unidentifiable in every record I have only haphazardly searched as of yet… Point is, I don’t know who she is and honestly I wasn’t all that interested until I decided that we were all going to visit Carlton today… I don’t think it is his wife, as it is not the wife that is listed later in life- but that really doesn’t amount to a hill of beans, you know? Anyway, I shall eventually endeavor to find out who she is or perhaps she shall make it her mission to be known and she shall begin to talk to me- I love it when they do that, makes my life as a writer and a story teller so much easier. This particular draft was kind enough to bless me with some other (even more challenging information)- as if I don’t have enough of that going on in my life…  Carlton’s employment is listed as “Sydney Wortman”. Google was absolutely zero help here. But honestly, with all the ‘confusion’ being brought to light, I didn’t really expect that it would be useful to me, but it was worth a shot, right? Here’s another shot… If you know what it is, please clue me in. I might even reward you handsomely… yeah right, I only pay in smiles and long distance high fives and if you’re truly deserving I’ll record myself doing a happy dance for you and put it on the gram…

One last bit of information that this draft card was charitable enough to leave for me… Carlton, was 5’3. You may read this and think to yourself so what? But, in a world full of people with my granddaddy’s genes, 5’3 is laughable… My granddaddy and ALL of his siblings rest easily and comfortably in the 6 foot plus family. They have strong genes. For some reason, probably subconsciously. my relating them to the proximity of slavery and the ‘Mandingo slave illustration’ that was painted for me throughout my early educational experience, I attributed these features to my grandfather’s grandfather; Carlton’s dad- the Reverend. 5’3 has me wondering if I have been wrong all these years. Has it been Reverend Tyler’s face I see when I look upon the faces of my granddaddy and his brothers and sisters or their pictures and my 2x great grandmother’s height that has teased me all these years? (My brother got it, I did not.)

Carlton Henry Tyler  Deacon Carlton Henry Tyler (1922-2014)

Alas, it has come to the time where we must bid adieu to dear Carlton. However, let us not say goodbye before we say hello to his wife, Doris Louise Hamn. Ahh, yes, my lines have crossed yet again. One must begin to question at least to themselves, if not aloud if all this ‘inbreeding’ is the reason for so much crazy happening  on these twisted and gnarled branches within this tree… Can it even be a tree if nothing ever branches out? Carlton didn’t you know that your brothers had already married into this family??? And produced heirs? Just jokes, folks. Just jokes. But seriously. Were the Hamns and Jacksons and the various roots thereof the only families in Brooke, Virginia??? I am starting to feel like the Montagues and the Capulets here.

Well, at least presumably, you found love and for that you were blessed with at least one son. Master Royce Hamn, where have you run off to?

I hope you enjoyed today’s little stray into yesteryear! Who are you researching right now? I would love to hear an enchanting little story about him or her! Leave me a comment telling me all about them! And as customary, please hit both the like button and share buttons! See you next time!

From Work Horse to Show Horse…

Posted on by dvn ms kmz time travel

This past weekend, I had the pleasure of spending Mother’s day with my Glory-Glory. To every one else in the family, excepting my sister and brother, she is Go-Go and to you, she is my grandmother (on my dad’s side). I had an awesome time. Sadly though, I was so caught up in having a grand ole time that I didn’t capture the moment. Or any of them. And there were several. She saw my son for the first time in ages, as every time I have visited over the years he has been with his dad or working or otherwise caught up in his busy teenager life and she was able to meet the baby (her great great grandson) for the first time.

Gloria JohnsonGloria Johnson, A.K.A. Glory-Glory, A.K.A. Go-Go, A.K.A. my grandmother. Pictured with the late Roland H. Johnson. Picture taken from family collection.

She gushed over how handsome Kyle had gotten and told him how she just knew he was a hit with all the ladies. She told him that she knew he had ‘a little smarts’ and she wanted him to do something with it… and she even went to the back door and watched him play basketball for a quick minute. She said she was too old to be bothered with a baby… BUT. She sat in her room and he went with her. I could hear him getting into EVERYTHING. Yet, whenever I attempted to collect him and let her rest, she told me to ‘scram’ and let them be. I heard him repeatedly pick up the phone and she allow him to talk to the dial tone to his heart’s content. She even dialed her answering machine so he could leave a message and she called one of her many friends and told her to talk to her great great grand baby because he was just to cute. She shared her food with him.

So, yeah. My children and I were making memories with a lady we absolutely adore.

I hardly ever write about her or her family line, though. Finding those stories are hard. She has no desire to help me in this endeavor whatsoever and her one remaining sibling I have never met and only recently met via Facebook… and honestly, I think she and her children may think I am a bit cuckoo with all the questions I ask. So, there is very little information to even go on to begin with.

This visit with Glory-Glory though, I did something I had never thought to do before. I asked if she had any picture books I could look through. Sure enough, she did. As she directed me to where they were all stored, she said over and over again, “I wouldn’t go through all those pictures if someone gave me a million dollars.” or “Kim, you sure you want to go through all those pictures?” I just smiled and told her I just wanted to look at them.

OH MY GOOD LORD. The wealth of treasure that she has for genealogy/family history girl like me. I took pictures of pictures and obituaries and funeral programs and newspaper clippings until my phone died and I didn’t even get half way through her stash. If I didn’t think it were in bad taste, I would lay claim to these treasures now in the event of her time to be with the Lord in heaven…

Anyway, there I was looking at pictures and I remembered that I had some pictures to show her. So, I tore myself away from the distant past to share with her the not that long ago past…

As I began to show her the pictures of Kaira with her horse on the farm and at her competitions, she let this little tidbit of information slip- “we used to have these great big work horses named, Brownie and Bob and we used to ride them across town.”

Kaira and ButtonsKaira on her horse, Buttons. The picture that gave way to conversations about riding workhorses in Muskogee, Oklahoma way back when…

Wait. What??? I knew that I could not press for information or else she would shut down and the conversation would be over before it had even began. So, instead, I said, “so, you used to ride horses, too?” Honestly, I didn’t know what a workhorse was, so this was actually a legitimate question. She said, “no, not like Kaira. These were great big horses that were used to pull the farm machines. We would just ride them to the other side of town. (Muskogee, Oklahoma circa 1930s and 1940s) Except for that Carol (her one remaining sister). I don’t know if she ever climbed up on those horses… She was kind of prissy. Carol is younger than Glory-Glory by six years.

brown work horseThese are obviously NOT the workhorses my great grandfather had. BUT, they could resemble the ones Glory Glory grew up with. As defined by Dictionary.com, a workhorse is a horse used for plowing, hauling, and other heavy labor, as distinguished from a riding horse, racehorse, etc. Wikipedia further explains that in North America draft horse breeds typically consist of these five breeds:  Belgian, Clydesdale, Percheron, Shire, and Suffolk. Photo credit: http://www.theequinest.com/breeds/shire-horse/

Wow. In those few sentences, I had been given such a wonderful glance into what growing up had been like for Glory-Glory and her siblings. I had learned that they grew up on a farm and this farm was large enough to require the use of workhorses. Does that mean the farm was rather large? I am still digging. I also learned that they had two teams of workhorses- the other team was Floral and … (auto correct in my phone changed whatever I had typed, so now I don’t know the fourth horse’s name). And they did not have a car.

Having a conversation with someone can produce such great information- the kind you may not get if you were only to hand them a piece of paper and say, “answer these questions, please.” Conversing with older members of your family can also change how you research things. For example, it wasn’t until I started trying to understand what exactly a workhorse was that I realized my Glory-Glory entered life just as the Great Depression was coming to a close, but the effects- especially in Muskogee, OK where she grew up- were still widely and greatly felt. I would really love to understand how they were able to afford the luxury of owning and feeding four horses throughout the years of the depression. Researching the area of Muskogee, specifically trying to envision what farms would look like during that time, also gave me a more defined and true understanding of where Muskogee is/was in relation to other areas that my family comes from and makes it easier to understand how husbands and wives may have met and weren’t really traveling as far as I had originally thought they were.

Have you ever had a conversation with someone in your tree or a tree you are working on that changed your research in some way? I would love to hear about it- leave me a comment, telling me all the ins and outs of what you learned and how it changed your searching! As always, please be free with the likes and the shares and thanks for stopping by!

Until next time-

dvnmskm!

***update*** I recently started branching out there and participating in a few blog parties, where different bloggers, like me, submit a post or article or whatever you want to call it- to a specific location and then direct their readers to that location.

blogger potluck.jpgThis particular party was a “how to” potluck party! The requirement being your submission had to detail ‘how you did something’. Please take a look and see how others are getting things done at the Bloggers’ Potluck.