The Party's Over - Almost

If you don’t read blogs religiously like I do, then you may have missed the hoopla earlier today when Ancestry.com and FamilySearch announced their collaboration on US, English and Welsh Census records.

You can read the full press release with all the juicy details at, FamilySearch and Ancestry.com Team to Publish New Images and Enhanced Indexes to the U.S. Censuses. 

Let me quote in part from the release: 

The first census exchanged is the 1900 U.S. Census. FamilySearch completed a 1900 index in addition to Ancestry.com’s original. In the new index, FamilySearch added several new fields of searchable data, such as birth month and birth year, so individuals can search for ancestors more easily. The two indexes will be merged into an enhanced index, available on both sites. The new 1900 census images are now available on Ancestry.com. The enhanced 1900 index will be available for free for a limited time at Ancestry.com and ongoing at FamilySearch.org. 

Did you see – the INDEX will be available for free “ongoing” at FamilySearch.org, NOT the images. This was an index worked on by Family Search volunteers – you know, volunteers, as in I’m doing this for free out of the goodness of my heart volunteers. Randy Seaver at Genea-Musings has concerns about issues as well as some interesting observations in his blog post, Ancestry and FamilySearch to work together on Census Records.

Randy asks several good questions about the fate of other census indexes and images that FamilySearch has been working on. Randy also links to a post by Diane Haddad at the Genealogy Insider who says, 

The census indexes on Ancestry.com and FamilySearch will link to record images on Ancestry.com. If someone without an Ancestry.com subscription clicks the image link, he’ll be prompted to join. Subscriptions cost $155.40 per year or $19.95 for a month.

Well, the other shoe finally fell. My question is what will happen to the other images currently available for view at the Family Search website. Images like the Ohio Death Certificates, Texas Death Records, West Virginia Marriages – well you get the idea. Maybe I’m just a confirmed cynic, but I’ve always suspected having these free images available online was a temporary aberration. Of course, I could be wrong. We'll just have to wait and see how this plays out. I think, however, if FamilySearch is planning on turning over all or part of their image and index collection to Ancestry, they should inform their volunteers, so they can decide if they want to continue with the indexing project. 

Hey, wonder what happened to Ancestry’s own volunteer indexing program? 

Until Next Time!

© 21 July 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teressa L. Snyder 

The Kindness of Stangers

“I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.” What was true for Blanche Dubois is doubly true for me as a researcher of my German roots. For one thing, I don’t speak a word of German, (Verstehen?). For another, many of the records were lost during World War II. And finally, even if the first two issues could be overcome, there is a loss of collective identity for the place my family once called home. That home no longer exists and the inhabitants and their descendents have been scattered to the winds. (For a better idea of what I’m talking about you can read two previous posts – Pomerania - An Introduction and Part II: Pomerania - War and Consequences.) I was lucky to have started my research on this part of my family in the Age of the Internet. If I had attempted this twenty years ago, I wouldn’t have been able to make much headway. I was also very fortunate that my great grandparents had kept documents and letters that pointed the way to begin my search.

 A website, called Kartenmeister, lets you search for the names of German villages. My great grandmother Emma, for example, was born in the village of Klein Gansen. Here’s what my search told me about the village:

 

From this, I learned the province and county where she was born. A website dedicated to preserving the history of the county, Stolp, was extremely helpful. They also had a mailing list, which of course is in German, and I joined. With the mailing list, I use Google to do a quick and dirty translation, and while I am occasionally lost during some discussions, the members of this mailing list have helped me find a couple of key pieces of information. They found the baptismal record for my great grandmother and the marriage date for one set of great great grandparents. I won’t tell you how long I labored writing my query in German, but the point is I can communicate with other German researchers, and they can communicate with me. As long I get over the fear of looking stupid in another language, I am all set. 

 Google also helped me find an American family historian who was researching one of my family names. Even in Germany, the last name of Quetschke is not that common, so when I found Shirley Pawlowski’s home page I was ecstatic. Shirley had actually come across my family and she was kind enough to share what she had found with me. We still haven’t figured out the exact connection between our two families but because they came from the same area of Stolp, we are certain they are connected in some manner. 

 One of my other great finds was a German researcher who was researching the surnames, Gliewe and Gleffe. Jörg and I communicated via the Google translator, which created some, um, interesting conversations. He translated into German a number of letters that were done in Plattdeutsch (Low German), so I could get a rough translation from Google. He also was able to find out what happened to some of Emma’s family, and sent me family trees on them. There are people living in Germany today, who descend from Emma’s siblings. All that survived, had lived in East Germany. Jörg interviewed their descendents, and sent me some of the information. I know for example that young Karl who had missed his little nephew, Willi, in a letter that I included in my post, Pomerania - An Introduction, had lost three sons in World War II. His wife, hearing that a third son had died, was so grief stricken that she ran from the house. They found her the next day dead and lying atop the grave of one of her sons. A database search on Volksbund der Deutschekriegsgraberfursorge, the website of the German War Graves Commison, confirmed this information and added more details. 

 Another website, Pommerdatenbank, run by Gunther Stubs, inputs data from local directories into a database so that you can locate family living in the area prior to 1945. This is ongoing project, but has already yielded results for me. Though the information on my German ancestors tends to trickle in drip by drip, it is a wonderful time to be involved in this type of research. With persistence, a good search engine, some translating tools and a lot of help from friends, I continue to make progress – a little at a time. 

 Until Next Time – Happy Ancestral Digging!  

This was written for the Carnival of Central and Eastern European Genealogy

© 16 July 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

A Question of Age

This edition’s topic for the Carnival of Genealogy is age. I’ve been sitting here staring at my Family Tree Maker software, willing it to spit out the ancestor who wins in the longevity department. Sadly, I can no more bend the program to my will than I can use my mental powers to de-calorie Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. (And the world is a much sadder place for my failure.) 

So, I had settled on telling you about my great great grandfather John R. Hoy, who if he did not win the longevity award, came darn close, as he was 99 years, 8 months and 30 days old when he died. Other close but no cigar candidates for the award were my maternal grandmother, Katie Lynch Hoy, who lived to be 91 years, 5 months and 21 days old, and my paternal great grandfather, Leo Schrader who was 91 years and 9 days at the time of his death. The good news for me is that I have some lengthy-life genes swirling around in my genetic stew. 

However, as I was going through my tons of information, I came across the marriage certificate of my paternal grandparents, Walter Sloan and Anna Schrader, and it reminded me of another type of age issue which I already knew about but had forgotten. On June 20, 1930, my grandmother swore before the probate officer that as of January 16, 1930 she was 21 years of age and that her occupation was “seamstress.” My grandfather swore a similar oath – that he was 22 years of age on March 28, 1930 and that his occupation was “farming.” This was fine, except that BOTH of my grandparents had lied!

 

To be fair, in grandpa’s case, he probably didn’t know his actual birth date. Here, in the marriage license application, he gave it as March 28, 1908. On his death certificate, his birth date is listed as January 30, 1909. His actual date of birth was July 23, 1908. Why are there discrepancies? 

Grandpa’s mother died when he was not quite three. His father, Elmer, took Walter and his baby brother George to Lucas County, Ohio where Elmer’s brother Lawson lived. Three years later, Elmer himself was dead. There was nobody left to remember a little boy’s exact birthday. Six years later, at the age of 10, Grandpa shows up as the adopted son of William and Nettie Sloan in Clyde, Ohio. It’s sad to think that I know Grandpa’s exact birth date but he did not. 

Grandma’s lie, on the other hand, is down right puzzling. I had always assumed she did it so she would not need parental consent. But Anna was 19, and while not the 21 she claimed, it seems certain she would not have needed her parents to sign for her. As far as I can tell, she would have only needed this consent if she were below the age of 18. So why fib? If you knew my grandmother, you’d know she was always a sharp cookie, so there’s no doubt she knew how old she was. Did the clerk, misunderstand? Was she showing some kind of sympathetic support to my grandfather – since his correct date could not be recorded than neither would hers? The answer is I don’t know, but I would love to have been a little mouse sitting in the corner and listening to their answers that day.

Until Next Time – Happy Ancestral Digging!

© 15 January 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

How to EmBADbarrass A Four Year Old!

We’ve coined a new word at our house, “emBADbarrased” Our four-year old grandson is the author. 

Last Friday, he twisted my arm and talked me into going to McDonald’s, that famous haute cuisine establishment for the preschool crowd. While sitting at our booth, he spilled the smallest drop of his orange juice on the tabletop, and proving that I am a smart aleck with all ages, I said something like, “Aaah …, I’m tellin.’” 

Instead of the usual freckled face grin that I was expecting, I was surprised to hear him say in an almost anguished tone, “Don’t, I will be emBADbarrased, and I will never come wiff you to McDonald’s again.”

Oh, break my heart. Never again to know the joy’s of Happy Meals. Don’t tempt me kid! Taking pity on his anguished tone, I let him know that I wouldn’t dream of emBADbarrassing him, at least not for such a meager reason as a drop of orange juice.

But the new word has stuck with me and I have been inserting into all kinds of conversations with my husband. 

It’s like the time, when the grandson was going through some serious potty training and the reward was some nifty Sponge Bob and Cars underwear. Excited by the prospect, and wanting me to know he was coming to my house the next day, the little fellow grabbed the phone away from his father one night and bellowed, “I BRING MY UNDERPANTS!” 

For months after that, I would randomly punctuate my conversations with, “I BRING MY UNDERPANTS!”

Now that I know the little guy has reached the stage of self-consciousness, I will have to take special pains to figure out what kinds of things I need to avoid. I truly love the kid, and I would never purposefully cause him a moment’s unhappiness. 

Walking back to my front steps as he and his mother were backing out of the driveway last Friday, I heard a shout, “Maw T-U!” 

I turned around to see him wildly blowing kisses at me out the passenger car window. Apparently, THAT didn’t embBADbarrass him. 

Until Next Time!

© 14 July 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

To The Aid of Fellow Procrastinators

Okay, let’s be honest. You’re reading this post because you’re putting off doing something you know you SHOULD be doing, but just don’t feel like settling into doing it quite yet. That’s cool. I’m always happy to oblige a fellow procrastinator. 

If you’re looking for some quality material to procrastinate over, might I suggest you go over to the blog, Shades of the Departed and check out the 3rd edition of “Smile for the Camera.” 

There are twenty contributors writing on the topic, A Celebration of Home. 

If the boss catches you reading them, just tell him you’re doing research. No, I’m not going to tell you how to correlate the Celebration of Home posts with your particular job. You’ll figure something out. You are, after all, a smart one aren’t you? I mean you are reading this post – case closed. 

Until Next Yadda Yadda Yadda ...

© 14 July 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

To Bury a Civil War Soldier

On April 11, 1884, the General Assembly for the State of Ohio passed an act that would allow the state to defray funeral expenses for any former Union soldier, sailor or marine whose family did not have sufficient funds to cover the funeral expenses. 

In Vinton County, Ohio, a board was set up to review these cases and decide who would qualify for these benefits. A payment was approved for $28.40 to bury my great great grandfather Henry Smathers, on March 5, 1888.

I have written about both Henry and his wife, Louisa, in previous posts. (An Amputation in Georgia and Pension File Stories: Louisa Ish Smathers, Disappearing Woman.) 

Henry served two tours of duty, reenlisting for the second term on January 23, 1864. Five months later to the day, at Kennesaw Mountain, Georgia, Henry received the wound that resulted in the amputation of his left leg. The pension deposition of Louisa leaves little doubt that the family lived a life of postwar poverty. Below is an itemized accounting of how the $28.40 was spent. 

1 Coffin $15.00 

1 Robe $ 5.00 

1 Pair of Slippers and Gloves $ 1.40 

Hearse and Team $ 5.00

Digging Grave and Filling $ 2.00 

As of this moment, I have not found where either Henry or Louisa is buried. Perhaps, for them, it is enough to know where and how they lived. 

Until Next Time . . .

© 13 July 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

Memories of a Childhood Home

When I dream of home, the place my sleeping mind takes me is to the gray shingled house where I lived from the age of two until a few months before my eleventh birthday. The house, built by my Uncle Boo, was a wonderful cozy place that we outgrew with the arrival of my baby brother. Our house was one of the first built on the street, and there were no sidewalks.

For a number of years, a large tree at the corner served as a mail drop, with a variety of mailboxes nailed to its trunk. At the time, it seemed perfectly natural to walk down to the end of the street and get your mail off of a tree. In retrospect, it was a very peculiar arrangement, which today, would probably cause a public out cry and qualify as a crime against nature. 

The one end of the street sat at a higher elevation than the other end of the street, so that it felt like you were walking down a small slope as you progressed down the road. The houses on the opposite side of the road, all had retaining walls in the middle of their backyards, which were handy for jumping off and playing war, unless of course a mom happened to be looking out the back window, admonishing you NOT to jump.

I don’t have in my possession a very good picture of the house itself. Below is a picture that shows the side of our house with the back door, as well as yours truly with my long nose accentuated by mother’s insistence on short, short bangs. My mother and I were constantly at war about the length of my bangs throughout my childhood. I guess we can see by this picture, which one of us was right!

 

Besides my middle sister as a playmate, the neighborhood “gang” consisted of my friend Debbie and her brother Ronnie, Diane and her brother Jerry, Susie and sometimes, when he deigned to grace us with his presence, Susie’s brother Chris, Mary Ellen, and once in awhile, Pony Tail who lived at the farthest end of the street. Other kids from nearby neighborhoods would also play with us, but this was the core group.

Debbie was the one who taught me how to make the sign of the cross, when she was going through catechism classes. Of course, being a Lutheran, my mother frowned upon showing off this new talent when I went to our church the next time. When I found out by accident, that not only did she get to make the sign of the cross, and have a cool set of rosary beads, but that a quick confession absolved Deb for all that particular week’s sins, I was all like – sign me up! 

And what particular sins could a child under ten have that would make the idea of confession sound good? Well, for one, there was a game we played that involved throwing your flip flops at bees who were minding there own business in the clover, and then running like heck, squealing if the bee chased after you. Of course, one bee got revenge for all, when I was running in my front yard one day, and ran out of my flip-flop, stepping squarely on one of those fine creatures. He rewarded me by jabbing his stinger into my instep. I gave bees a wide berth after that.

Another time, instead of playing hide and seek with my friends, as I desperately wanted to do, my mother made me keep an eye on my baby brother and my two-year old sister, while she went inside to start lunch or maybe dinner. My youngest sister was painting on a large piece of paper on the sidewalk, when I looked away, craning my neck to see what my friends were doing across the street. I don’t think I looked away that long, but it was long enough for sis to get bored with the paper, and decide that using my brother’s face for a canvas was a much better idea. When I looked back, there my brother was with big black circles painted around both eyes. He never let out a peep. Was it my fault he was born with bad reflexes? 

In my memory, summers lasted forever, and the days were filled with kick ball games, running through the sprinkler, communal reading of comic books, and plays performed and written by those of us in the neighborhood. It was a great place to spend a childhood, and there are many nights where I am back in that neighborhood, with those friends and that house – even if it is only in my dreams. 

Until Next Time! 

This post written for “Smile for the Camera’s” 3rd edition – a celebration of home.

© 10 July 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder