Sunday Search: Local Resources

One of the first resources, beyond that of family members, pictures, and documents, which we all use when we begin our genealogical journey consists of numerous memberships to various websites. Websites like Ancestry.com are great resources and powerful tools to build the basic framework of your family tree but they are by no means the only resource out there and, in fact, there will be numerous holes still remaining once those databases are exhausted. Where the real work begins is when there are still questions to be answered. This is when the local and offline digging begins.

Too often, local resources are overlooked in recreating the lives of ancestors. It may seem obvious to many of us that have been researching for years but these museums, schools, societies, groups, associations, libraries, and local records offices are frequently forgotten by many. It is a sad reality of the current state of genealogical research as most people starting out and many that have been working on their families for some time often fall into the trap of marketing and instant gratification. This is particularly astounding when you consider the fact that these local resources were once the foundation of countless family histories.

And I must admit that there are many times when I too have overlooked these tremendous resources. Sometimes the most obvious places are overlooked, sometimes they are places that we frequent every week or every month. A great example of this is my local masonic lodge where I have access to all of the records. Knowing that my family has at least a little history with this building and fraternity has made it possible to find some supplementary information that added to the lives of many in my tree. Taking the search to grand lodge widened that group of ancestors even further.

When my family and I traveled to Virginia last summer some of the stops we made we to these local places unavailable online. And, of course, sometime just being in the places, the communities, where my family lived proved valuable to offer perspective to the stories that have been passed down and in adding dimension to the lives of ancestors. Sometimes local depositories are also the only place where the information will be found as has been the case for me with some of the cemetery records near me.

The other important factor is that sometimes when I business closes or moves out of the area, much of the company history is left with the local government, library, or historical society. If you know that an ancestor spent their life working for that company it is certainly worth the time to talk to those local resources. However, the most important aspects to all of this are the simple truths that local resources have local experts who are usually willing to assist you with your research without the exorbitant costs that can sometimes be charged by general sites and/or firms and this research can serve to strengthen your ties with that community whether or not it is the place you call home. After all, those communities are also part of your family history.

Sometimes You Can Feel A Place

 

The winding roads through the mountains and into Amherst County gave me the time to reflect on both all that we have seen thus far in our trip and also prepare for our next experience at the Monacan Indian Museum. I had called the museum during our drive through Lynchburg earlier in the morning so they knew that we were on our way… the most recent, as it turns out when looking at the sign in log, of a long list of family members that made the drive over the past week. Driving up to the small collection of buildings on Bear Mountain I could feel the connection with the place and the people there… it really is an indescribable feeling.

We were greeted warmly upon our arrival and after paying the modest admission fee we were shown to the next room where we watched a brief video about the history of our people. Given her recent passing, hearing Chief Sharon Bryant’s voice was both soothing knowing that her legacy lives on and also heartbreaking knowing all that she would have been able to accomplish if given more time. For those of you who have yet to view the video I have included it below and I encourage you to watch.

Upon the conclusion of the movie, we all got up and walked into the next room to learn as much as we could during our visit. Holding my son as I walked in, I was motivated even more to find the documents and information needed to become a member of the Monacan Nation. While looking around I was able to find a few more pieces of information for my research and I was able to speak with the woman who originally greeted us about what needed to be done (again, more about that later). Here are some of the pictured some the small but significant museum.
 

 

 

Even though the museum only consisted of three rooms we spent well over an hour looking around, talking, and learning about this part of our family history and heritage. After making sure it was okay to walk around and take pictures, we went next door to the Indian Mission School.
 

Given the years that it was used there is a good possibility that there were a few ancestors that received their education within those walls. It is amazing to think that the school was used until the 1960’s.
 

From within that small school house, one can look out the window and see the Episcopal Church just across a small creek.
 

A central part of the community, we walked over to the church to take a closer look…
 

…and when we turned the corner and approached the front entrance, a kaleidoscope of butterflies floated across the bridge laced clearing between the buildings…

 

…and converged on the flowering bushed in front of us.

 

As we walked away, the butterflies scattered into the wind. I am not usually one to think along these lines but I felt at that moment that was the way our ancestors were welcoming us back. It didn’t look or feel as though it was just a coincidence.  

Feeling both drained and energized, we got back in the car and drove up the road to another place I had only seen in pictures. Thankfully, we noticed the small sign along the side of the road and just a few minutes later I found myself standing in front of the final resting place for many of my ancestors. Within the lines of the single headstone at the front of the cemetery, many of my family surnames can be found… Redcross, Terry, Beverly, and Johns.

 

Behind this headstone are the graves marked with anonymous stones. All recognized as individuals but buried as a people.

 

It was the most moving part of the journey and gave me a lot to think about as we drove back through the mountains. Hopefully the next time I am able to visit will be as a member of the tribe and not just as a visitor.

Lost Memorials

Picture taken while searching for family in Leverington Cemetery...
there shouldn't be any open spaces in a full cemetery. 

Over the past few years, I have visited a few cemeteries trying to find the names of family members in the vast seas of grass and stone. Sometimes I have been successful while other times it has proven to be a harder task than expected. However, during each of those visits, I remember walking by the graves of countless veterans many of whom passed away long after their service but some who were killed in action.

There were a few resting places that were well maintained and the grounds were easy to access. Others have become far from the idyllic resting place that they once were and now seem to have been forgotten. These are the places that need our attention on this day not the grills, parks, and festivities to which we have all grown accustom. In one of the more run down cemeteries that I have come across, those graves were of soldiers who died while fighting in the Civil War. It seems ironic that these resting places are the ones forgotten on this day when these graves were the original impetus for the holiday.

It makes me wonder how many parades have walked past these resting places in recent years without the participants thinking twice about those who lay, unrecognized, a few yards from their feet. I have been asked to participate in countless parades but I have never once been asked to place flags on the graves of soldiers. Maybe I should be the one who changes this lack of tradition next year.

While I enjoy the time that I am able to spend with my family, the purpose of the day seems to have been lost. The focus now seems to be on not having to go to work (different than focusing on spending time with family) and sales… the holiday itself seems to have been sold. All the while, we forget those for whom this day was meant to honor. And there is no other more visceral reminder of this change in priority than the decrepit state of many cemeteries around us especially within the city limits.

There are too many places out there that need our help not just for those for whom this day recognizes but all the families that are represented in many of these forgotten resting places. After all, you never know when you might go looking for your family and not be able to find them because their headstone has long since crumbled, sunken, or fallen to the ground. All you need to do is walk in one of these cemeteries and see the open field of grass to realize that there are countless people who will now remain nameless to realize the importance of this situation. And on this day, think about the possibility of someone buried there who gave the ultimate sacrifice who will never be recognized for their service again.

When The Surreal Becomes Reality

Chapel of Peace at West Laurel Hill Cemetery

My wife and I (my wife more than I) have spent the last week trying to prepare ourselves for today. Throughout the week, my wife was fielding daily texts and phone calls from family asking for her opinion on how things should be arranged. I was asked on one occasion but, being that I didn’t feel it was appropriate for me to decide anything, I respectfully declined to offer my opinion. With everything going on and all preparations being made there was still nothing that we could have prepared us for this moment this morning.

We arrived at the cemetery a few minutes after 10 finding one of the last remaining spots near the entrance to the chapel. The baby was quiet the entire ride over and we were expecting him to get a little fussy when we finally made it inside and found a few seats. The room was already beginning to fill up with family, friends, and former coworkers so we found a place off to the side and prepared for the noise to erupt from below the car seat cover.

While I was sitting watching the baby my wife was greeting those who walked over to offer their condolences and congratulations while I just kept thinking about this whole surreal experience. The people and memories kept coming... I can’t imagine what it was like for my wife. By the time the service started there were well over 100 people there listening to my wife’s uncle conduct the service… a role his is very familiar with even if this was not the kind of conducting with which he was familiar.

Throughout the service, I couldn’t help but think about all the times that we would meet somewhere for dinner or stop by the house and she would be ranting about something or someone. There were times when the two of us would argue about things but with each of us always ending up coming to the conclusion that we simply had slightly different views. She was someone that I always respected for both her opinionated nature and intelligence. This was something that was reciprocated time and again.

It is hard to think that those times are but memories at this point and that our son will only know her through pictures and stories. But he will know who she was and the family from which she came. And while she may not be able to hold him like his other grandparents, there is no doubt that she is looking over him… maybe that is why he was so quiet and calm throughout the morning. Quiet and calm despite some of the things I am sure she was saying about the service and some of the people there. I am sure she had a few things to say about the snow which began to fall shortly before the service ended as well. 

Finding Family

Friday was a different kind of road trip for me and my wife as I took her to visit some of my family members whom she had never met before. In fact, I had never been there either as my family isn’t one that visits cemeteries. As I had no idea of where we were going it was time to call for backup so I had my mom join us for the four hour trip that took us to Roxborough (Philadelphia), Lafayette Hill, and Conshohocken.

None of the locations are very far from our apartment but each stop was a completely different world in comparison to our previous excursions. Getting to the different places was a breeze as my mom knew exactly where to go but, after that, the specific locations of the graves had been lost in the twenty to forty years since her last visit. It made for an interesting afternoon of searching but that wasn’t what held us up and took the most time.

Our first stop was to Leverington Cemetery on Ridge Avenue in Roxborough. No longer active, graves there date back to the mid 1700’s and serve as a microcosm of the history of Philadelphia and, in broader terms, the evolution of our country. Unfortunately, curiosity and a sense of history were not the dominant feelings that washed over us as we entered through the old iron gate. Instead I was overwhelmed by shocked sadness as I guided the car along the ruts that ran down the middle and looked out the window at the broken, tipped over, and unmarked graves that litter the cemetery.

One of the few legible markers still remaining. Notice the empty spaces between headstones that shouldn't exist in a full cemetery (there are maybe one or two flush markers in this picture).

 

While I did come across one family marker…

We found the Uttley's... we think. The original stone had the names of John and Adah Uttley on it. we don't know when it was replaced or who had it done.

…and another potential relative (still working on the surname in our tree)…

Family plot of the Hansell family... I have traced back to the surname and this location but I have yet to locate the grave of anyone in my direct bloodline.

…we were unable to locate one of the other headstones that I know is on those grounds or any with the Wirth surname for that matter. With nearly 50% of the headstones missing, broken, sunken, tipped over, or illegible I am not surprised. As if there wasn’t enough on the genealogical research list I am now going to have to see who owns / runs the cemetery (the church no longer does), find the burial records, and get in touch with both the Grand Lodge of Pennsylvania (many of the unkempt graves are those of Masons) as well as the Philadelphia Police Department to see if they are willing to mark my family’s grave (John Uttley was a Philadelphia Police Officer in Roxborough (Ward 5)). I guess we will just have to see what happens.

After an exhaustive search for headstones no longer at Leverington we made our way to Barren Hill Cemetery in Lafayette Hill. Many of the family names found in Leverington can also be found in Barren Hill as, over the generations, families slowly moved further away from the city / Roxborough and into the suburbs / Lafayette Hill. Of course, there was also the fact that city cemeteries tend to become full after about 150-200 years and people need to look into alternatives.

Barren hill was a much quicker and more pleasant experience as the grounds were well maintained (just a few tilting headstones which is to be expected) and everything, at least in the section we were in, was legible. What made it exceptionally easy was that the family plot could be seen from the small, but paved, road that ran through the middle.

This is the view from the paved road that goes down the middle of the cemetery. Makes the family easy to find.

And on the headstone was 2 ½ generations of my mom’s family from the first born in the United States in 1868 after the family came over from Ireland (along with his wife and her brother)…

This is the first generation McKannan to be born in the United States. While born under the name McKenna by the time William McKannan died the family name had been changed to McKannan (newspaper articles mentioning him during his time with the Pennsylvania Railroad also refer to him as McKannan).

…to my great grandfather along with his two wives (his first wife died when she was 30) along with the unused plots (marked but not updated since his death in 1981) for my grandfather and his brother (unfortunately his sisters are in the family plot as they passed away when they were three and four years old). As you can see there are many different families represented and many different people listed on both sides of the headstone.

William Jacob McKannan was buried along side both of his wive and his two daughters. My grandfather, William Reuben, and his brother, Robert, were etched on the stone but never joined their parents in the cemetery.

From Lafayette Hill we made our way to Gulph Christian Cemetery in Conshohocken. Here we found two generations of my dad’s family. Again, this is a cemetery that is very easy to get to and our family plots are actually visible from the main road if you know where to look.

The Hallman headstones are further away than the Teaford graves but can still be seen from the road. Makes it really easy to visit if you know where to look.

Even being so close this was still my first time to the cemetery. These graves represent my family’s move up from Virginia and into Pennsylvania as both my grandparents and great grandparents are buried there.

I never had the chance to get to know my grandparents but that doesn't mean I can't still visit them. My grandfather is the reason why the family is in Pennsylvania. His parents are buried beside him along with his sister who passed away from cancer when she was a teenager.

It is also the only marked veteran’s grave that we came across during our afternoon travels as my great grandfather’s headstone marks his participation in World War I.

John Lewis Hallman served, along with his brother, in World War I. The flag that was in the holder was only briefly removed so that this picture was taken and it was immediately put back. The family is in the process of getting the same holder put on my grandfather's headstone.

I specifically used the word marked because my uncle is working on getting a flag holder on my grandfather’s headstone to mark his service in World War II. Graves previously found, and missing, also need to be marked in such a fashion.

In the end, it was a day of mixed emotions. I am glad that I was finally able to go visit these cemeteries for the first time but I am also left with a great sadness in the state of Leverington and in the fact that I have not previously gone out and looked for my relatives. At least now I know what needs to be done and I am motivated to do all I can to preserve my family’s history and the memory of those who should still be honored even by those of us who are a part of a generation who never knew them in life.

The Thunder Roared Like Artillery Fire

My wife and I arrived in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania late Friday afternoon looking forward to exploring the town and the battlefield. We had originally planned on visiting earlier this month but given the crowds for the 150^th anniversary we decided to hold off a few weeks. It had been some time since I had visited the site and, to her recollection, it was my wife’s first trip to the Civil War landmark. After checking in at the Gettysburg Hotel we meandered up and down the streets, in and out of shops, and enjoyed the time away as dusk devoured the remaining day light. 

It was a short evening for us as much of our time was spent browsing the book stores, taking a break for a casual dinner, and watching as cars continued to pour in from every direction... 

...converging on the roundabout.

 

It seemed like in every corner of the square there was something different from the others. What caught my attention was the Masonic building just across the street from our hotel.

 

By about 8:30 our energy was gone and it was time to head off to bed so that we could get an early start to our morning. We walked back to our room with the mix of century sounds in the background as the slow clopping of horse hooves accompanied the low grumble of engines and the hum of tires on the asphalt.

The next morning we arose to overcast skies and a forecast for late afternoon rain. Our trip was now on a deadline as we made one more quick stroll through town to grab a quick brunch and pick up a few small souvenirs. 

Back in the car, we turned onto the square where I glanced in the corner at a statue of President Lincoln who seemed to be bidding us farewell as we left the center of town. 

After a quick stop at Lee’s headquarters where pictures were allowed but not easily achieved in the small four room structure, we made our way down Seminary Ridge where we stopped at the old Lutheran Seminary to look around a little before heading off to the maze of battlefield roads.

From Seminary Ridge we continued straight onto Confederate Avenue where we drove across the Southern Line where you can see rows…

…upon rows…

…upon rows of cannons.

Along both lines, north and south, monuments to all the different states that fought in the conflict are staggered to reflect their positions during the conflict. One of the grandest on the southern side is that of Virginia which is topped by a statue of General Lee on his horse surveying the landscape.

 

If you take a closer look at the cannons throughout the national park you can get a sense not only of the open space between the lines but the power that each one of those pieces of artillery had on the lives of those on the other end. This is evident when you look down the barrel and see a monument at the other end such as the Pennsylvania monument off the muzzle of this Virginia cannon. You can also see one of the fence lines that crisscross the fields which played a role in the conflict in their own right.  

Weaving up and down some of the winding roads we made our way to what began the battle as a scouting position for the Union and was later the sight of some of the fiercest fighting during the battle, Little Round Top.

Behind the memorial to the 91^st Pennsylvania Infantry on this peak you can see a location which was a place of human devastation, The Devil’s Den.

Walking down the stairs you can feel the sense of loss and dread build within you.

Throughout the pile of rocks there are little passageways and both offered cover for those taking fire and concealment for those charged with taking lives.

In the middle is the spot which gave this formation its name. It was here that lives were taken by the sharpshooters who occupied this position.

The boulders on top of this strategic piece of topography allow you to understand and appreciate the importance that the cover here provided. You can almost see the imprints made by soldiers perched on these rocks for hours at a time.

By this time, the sky began to darken and rolls of thunder began shaking the earth under our feet giving an altered sense of reality as we scanned the rows of cannons on both sides of the field.

Soon after, the rain came down in sheets and tourists scattered in all directions in search of their cars or other forms of shelter. At this point we knew that our day was nearly over so we made our way to the cemetery in the hope that we might catch a break in the storm. To our surprise, that is exactly what happened.

In the middle of the cemetery is a tribute of particular significance to me. It is known as the “Friend to Friend Memorial”.

As is described on the plaque, this sculpture is one of the best illustrations of the bonds of the Masonic brotherhood.  

All around this tremendous tribute are the graves of Union and Confederate soldiers alike with the only difference between them being the words chiseled in the stone.

Of course, men of all ranks are represented and for some generals, memorials have been erected by the soldiers who served under them such as this remembrance of Major General John Fulton Reynolds who died at Gettysburg within a day ride of his home town of Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

As we left the cemetery I turned around and could see almost black clouds rolling across the sky overtaking the white blanket that had enveloped us all day.

And when I turned to head back toward the car the last vestiges of opaque light made a silhouette that summed up the haunting spirit of these memory laden fields just beyond the town of Gettysburg.