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tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44844543655590457262014-12-08T06:00:01.995-08:00Pages from the Ancestry BindersI like telling stories - and true stories are the best kind. That's why I like genealogy.Susan W. firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4484454365559045726.post-16343794161859869962014-12-08T06:00:00.000-08:002014-12-08T06:00:02.005-08:00Military Monday: A Young Soldier's "Personal Affairs"

After my father's death in 1993, my sister and I sat on the floor of the living room one evening, going through boxes and drawers of his military papers, deciding what to keep. We found a booklet entitled "Personal Affairs of Military Personnel and Dependents"—this is the front cover. There are some notes in my father's handwriting, which read as follows:

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"Note: In [the] event of my untimely demise, Be sure to collect these 4:<o:p></o:p>

1. Insurance,<o:p></o:p>

2. 6 months gratuity ($900) lump sum;<o:p></o:p>

3. My back accrued pay. (2. and 3. Not automatic—action must be initiated by you. See inside of book for details.)<o:p></o:p>

4. Grab my money out of the bank (using enclosed power of attorney) before they freeze it. The enclosed Power of Attorney lasts no longer than I do, but if you get it out before they know I'm gone, it will save trouble. Otherwise file my will and they will come across.<o:p></o:p>

This book will answer a lot of questions."<o:p></o:p>

I guess this is consistent with the fact that Dad was a business major in college before the war! <o:p></o:p>

The booklet had three pages of information about his final wishes and was meant to be left with his next of kin—in his case, his mother. In my imagination I am picturing a roomful of recruits, headed for overseas, sitting at tables and filling in this booklet, thinking about their own deaths possibly for the first time, as it sunk in that yes, they were headed for the front lines of what we now call World War Two and might never return.<o:p></o:p>

Page 1 gives basic information, including that he is 21 years old. He carries $10,000 of life insurance, payable to his mother Sara, with his father as Contingent Beneficiary. (That's the equivalent of about $133,000 today.) This optional insurance cost him $6.50 a month out of his pay—but his parents were not well off financially, and that money would have meant a lot to them—a chance to buy their own farm instead of renting, for example. <o:p></o:p>

From his army pay of $150 per month (about $2,000 today), he had $50 a month sent to his bank at home, and another $18.75 taken out to buy War Bonds. The booklet said, "If I am reported missing, missing in action, interned in a neutral country, or captured or besieged by enemy forces, the allotments out of my pay for insurance and support of my relatives will be paid by the government for 12 months."<o:p></o:p>

Page 1 of the form goes on to say that Dad had executed a will and Power of Attorney and mailed them to his father in Big Rock, Illinois.<o:p></o:p>

Page 2 has blanks to fill in where he might have a Safe Deposit Box, where he left personal papers, and what debts he owed (none). Then it says, "If I die in the line of duty, from wounds, or illness, or other causes, I have designated [here he filled in his mother's name] as a dependent to receive the six months' gratuity pay awarded by the government." Dad hand-write off to the side, "$900." It then had a place for the soldier to list where they had bank accounts. <o:p></o:p>

Page 3 gets even more "real." It says, "I desire that my permanent place of burial be at ________." (Dad wrote in, "No Preference.") It goes on to say, "If I die abroad, my remains will be returned to the United States by the Government after the War, but not earlier." It goes on to give other instructions to the family as to how to retrieve the body and receive funds for burial expenses and a possible pension. Copies of any marriage records and birth certificates of children are then asked for.<o:p></o:p>

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In the photo, taken at his parents' new home in Big Rock, Illinois before he went overseas, Dad (far right) is posing with his father, little brother Richard, little sister Janet, and mother. Perhaps his sister Helen is the one taking the picture. He was just twenty years old when he was drafted—barely out of his teens—but forced to think about "the event of his untimely demise."

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Susan W. Moseyhttps://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4484454365559045726.post-29129220163870162422014-12-01T06:00:00.000-08:002014-12-01T06:00:01.299-08:00Military Monday: Forgiveness and Friendship
I have written quite a bit about my father and his service in the U.S. Army in World War II. This story took place a few years later.<o:p></o:p>

After the war, my father was required to be in the U.S. Army Reserves for a number of years, and go to training camp for a few weeks in the summer. In fact, he once told me that he very nearly ended up in the Korean War—but his card didn't get chosen during the random drawing of one in three cards in the file. <o:p></o:p>

In the late 1940s he met my mother, Adra, and they were married in 1950. They moved into an apartment at 620 Archer Avenue in Aurora—the downstairs of an old white frame house which has since been torn down. (The first photo shows Robert and Adra on the front porch.) Both had jobs within walking distance—Dad at a steel storage company called Equipto, and Mom at another steel storage company down the street called All-Steel.

Into the upstairs apartment moved a young married couple very much like themselves—but yet so different. Hartwig and Frieda were recent immigrants; they had arrived in the U.S. from Austria in 1952. The 1930s had been a bad time to be a young man in Austria. Hartwig, being five years younger than my father and therefore too young to be drafted into Hitler's Army, ended up in an organization called the Hitler Youth. He would have been 15 years old when Hitler invaded Poland in 1939.

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I wanted to find out more about being a young person in Nazi Germany and Austria. I found this quote from Adolf Hitler on the History Learning Site. He said this of German schoolchildren: "The weak must be chiselled away. I want young men and women who can suffer pain. A young German must be as swift as a greyhound, as tough as leather, and as hard as Krupp's steel."<o:p></o:p>

The U.S. Holocaust Museum website had this quote: <o:p></o:p>

"These boys and girls enter our organizations at ten years of age, and often for the first time get a little fresh air; after four years of the Young Folk they go on to the Hitler Youth, where we have them for another four years… And even if they are still not complete National Socialists [Nazis], they go to Labor Service and are smoothed out there for another six, seven months… And whatever class consciousness or social status might still be left… the Wehrmacht [German armed forces] will take care of that."—Adolf Hitler (1938)<o:p></o:p>

But back to my story: Hartwig and Frieda moved into the apartment above my parents. This would have been in the early 1950s. Even in my childhood in the 1960s, my father still referred to the Germans as "Krauts"—an old habit that died hard, after spending a year of his life on the front lines shooting Germans at every opportunity and in nearly continual fear for his life. Dad continued to have nightmares about the war for twenty years after he came home.<o:p></o:p>

But somehow, the two couples ended up friends. I wonder if they ever talked about the war, or Hitler, or what it was like in Austria in the 1940s? I don't know. I do know that Hartwig worked as a night watchman in a nearby factory, while he taught himself English and studied engineering books. Eventually he got a better job there as a spot welder, then a maintenance electrician, then a mechanic, and then an engineer. He and Frieda had four children and had a good life in America.<o:p></o:p>

But more importantly to this story—Hartwig and Frieda wanted to put their past behind them and become American citizens. To do that, they needed American citizens to be their sponsors. And who were the sponsors for Hartwig and Frieda? My parents.<o:p></o:p>

I remember, even after each couple purchased their own home in the later 1950s, my father and I dropping by their home or Hartwig dropping by ours. I am so very glad that those two young couples, in their own small way, were a part of the healing, friendship, and forgiveness that needed to take place after one of the worst wars in modern history. <o:p></o:p>

Susan W. Moseyhttps://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4484454365559045726.post-46986188653536798912014-11-26T09:28:00.004-08:002014-11-26T09:28:57.634-08:00Remembering NormanIt was on the day before Thanksgiving in 2008 that something happened that, a few years later, inspired my very first blog post... Read about it here -

"For the Love of Norman."

Susan W. Moseyhttps://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4484454365559045726.post-19038213348220777582014-11-20T06:00:00.000-08:002014-11-20T06:00:01.519-08:00Thankful Thursday: Year Two

I realized the other day that I've been writing down and posting my genealogy stories for two years now. It prompted me to recall my favorites from year two…<o:p></o:p>

Some stories caused me to learn new things…<o:p></o:p>

» In Ezra Alger, I learned more about the Civil War's infamous Andersonville Prison, while doing research for a friend of my husband's.<o:p></o:p>

» Writing Typhoid Fever and Tuberculosiscaused me to learn more about two diseases that carried away many of your ancestors and mine, even into the 1900s.<o:p></o:p>

Some stories were about the Amish research I've done for friends and clients in Indiana…<o:p></o:p>

» Jonas Stutzman, Amish Eccentric was about a very "colorful" character who was also a significant figure in the history of the Amish in the United States—"White Jonas," the first Amish settler in Holmes County, Ohio.<o:p></o:p>

» An Amish Tragedy told the story of Jacob Lambright, an ancestor of many present-day Northern Indiana Amish, who met a tragic end.<o:p></o:p>

Some stories were about my own family...<o:p></o:p>

» Otto & Elsie told the story of one of my aunts and how she came to be raised by relatives.<o:p></o:p>

» Josephine Carriveau was about my favorite branch of my husband's family—the Carriveaus. The stories just keep on coming from that branch of the family! Josephine was my husband's great-aunt—his grandmother's older sister.<o:p></o:p>

» A Civil War Widow Applies for a Pensionwas about my husband's Alwood great-great-grandparents, what I learned about them from his Civil War Pension file, and how I came to love fold3.com again.<o:p></o:p>

» Hazel's Quilt told the story of a quilt that I have the privilege to own, handed down to me from my mother-in-law, who told me its story when I visited her recently at her nursing home.<o:p></o:p>

Some stories were especially close to my own heart…<o:p></o:p>

» The Telegram was one of my numerous stories about my father's World War II experiences—this one about the injury that almost killed him and how his mother first found out about it.<o:p></o:p>

» West View Farm was about a place very dear to me in childhood—my Grandpa and Grandma Erickson's Illinois farm, and the shocking change I encountered the last time I visited it.<o:p></o:p>

"Remember me in the family tree
My name, my days, my strife;
Then I'll ride upon the wings of time
And live an endless life."<o:p></o:p>

—Linda Goetsch<o:p></o:p>

Susan W. Moseyhttps://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4484454365559045726.post-36834916825810955922014-11-10T06:00:00.000-08:002014-11-10T06:00:00.983-08:00Military Monday: The Fire

This photograph shows one of the papers from my father's WWII military file. I include it here not because of its great importance in the story of his military career—but rather, for the burn marks around the edges. Anyone who has done (or tried to do) research on a WWI or WWII military ancestor may know where those burn marks came from.

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My father, Robert Wallin, told me many stories about his time in WWII, and I have his letters home to tell me more. Like countless aging baby boomers with fathers who fought in the war, I wish I had asked him so much more—and written it all down or recorded it. So a few years back, I decided to order his military records from the National Archives.<o:p></o:p>

My father was in the Army, so his records are found at the National Personnel Records Center (NPRC) in St. Louis, Missouri. (Navy records are stored elsewhere.) Unfortunately, the NPRC had a catastrophic fire on July 12, 1973. The National Archives website says that 80% of the records were destroyed for Army personnel discharged between 1912 and 1960. That covers World War One, World War Two, and the Korean War—what an extensive and devastating loss! (Many Air Force records were also destroyed.) No duplicates, microfilm, or other backups were kept. And since there were no indexes, there isn't even a good listing of what was lost.<o:p></o:p>

<o:p> </o:p>I found out more on the Stars and Stripes website. The fire started on the sixth floor of the building in the middle of the night; no cause was ever determined. It burned out of control for 22 hours as 43 fire departments battled it. It took 4½ days and millions of gallons of water before the fire department declared the fire extinguished. The sixth floor was destroyed, and the records on the floors below were soaked with water. The records of 18 million veterans were lost.

About 6.5 million partially burned, water-soaked personnel files were salvaged. Over forty years later, preservation specialists are still working on restoring them. It takes the equivalent of 30 full-time employees to respond to the requests of those, like me, who are looking for records from the damaged collection. Of the 5,000 requests per day that the NPRC receives, they estimate that about 200-300 are for those damaged records. Those requests go to the specialists at the Paper Treatment Lab, who call the burned records the "B-Files." <o:p></o:p>

After the fire, the B-Files were taken to the vacuum-drying chamber at the nearby McDonnell-Douglas aircraft facilities. The vacuum chamber, which was built to train Mercury and Gemini space program astronauts, was now put into service in taking 8 tons of water out of each 2,000 milk-crate-sized containers of wet documents which the chamber could handle per drying session. The files were then indexed and stored, to be handled again only if a document request is received.<o:p></o:p>

I was fortunate that my father's military and medical records (which were extensive) survived the fire—although barely, as the photo shows. Some had burn marks and some had water damage stains, but at least I received the file. The records for my grandfather, Sture Wallin, who served in World War One, are entirely gone, so I was told in a letter from the NPRC. To my knowledge, no one in the family recorded any details whatsoever of Grandpa Wallin's service, and no papers have survived. Gone forever.<o:p></o:p>

The MissouriNet website says that, incredibly, the NPRC continued to use the old building until 2012! The NPRC "now has a new state-of-the-art building with some serious ways to prevent a fire from destroying national records." Thank goodness for that.<o:p></o:p>

NPRC building photo: National Archives<o:p></o:p>

Susan W. Moseyhttps://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4484454365559045726.post-40781956159032638842014-11-03T06:37:00.000-08:002014-11-03T16:49:40.470-08:00Military Monday: A Dad and a Hero

This paper from my father's military file tells the story of something he did in March 1945. (I will tell the story of the burn marks on his records in another post.)<o:p></o:p>

The paper reads as follows:<o:p></o:p>

"First Lieutenant Robert M. Wallin, 0538229, 120th Infantry Regiment, United States Army, is awarded the Bronze Star for heroic achievement in action on 26 March 1945, in Germany. Although enemy fire was so intense that it killed one man and wounded eight others, Lieutenant Wallin and his comrades left their sheltered positions and exposed themselves to enemy fire to evacuate three of the men to the rear where they received medical attention. By his heroic action, Lieutenant Wallin aided in saving the lives of his comrades. <o:p></o:p>

[Entered military service from Illinois.]<o:p></o:p>

L.S. Hobbs, Major General – U.S. Army Commanding"<o:p></o:p>

The amazing thing is this: Dad had just spent five months in a military hospital recovering from serious injuries sustained on the front lines the previous October. So it's certainly not like he thought he was invincible… And how could he? He had seen more horror and death by this time than anyone should have to see—stories he told me late at night when I was growing up… Stories of comrades dying in ways I can only hope their families never knew. Dad's very first day in combat, his closest friend in the unit was blown up and dismembered, and Dad had to gather the pieces and lay them with the man's dog tags.<o:p></o:p>

According to my father, stories like what happened the day he got the Bronze Star weren't that rare. What was rare was having a superior officer see or find out what happened, and then take the time to write it up. Just from the few stories Dad told me late at night, I know of at least two other times where he was in this much danger.<o:p></o:p>

One of them was a situation similar to this one. Dad (a platoon leader) told me that one of his men was badly wounded during a battle. Dad crawled across a field to the man, and realized right away that if he had run across the field standing up, he probably wouldn't have lived to tell the story. He had a struggle of conscience as to what to do… The man had both a broken arm and a broken leg, so he would have to be carried back across the field, through enemy fire—and it looked like the man outweighed Dad by fifty pounds.<o:p></o:p>

Dad asked the man, "Do you have a family?" and the man answered, "Yeah, a wife and three kids." Dad told me he remembered saying to himself something like, "Oh, crap!"—knowing what it was he thought he should do, but not wanting to do it. But he hoisted the man onto his shoulders and staggered back across the field. Both of them made it back alive.<o:p></o:p>

In the case of the Bronze Star story, it was Dad and several comrades who evacuated three men. We've all heard the motto of "no man left behind," but it's still incredible that young soldiers can summon up such courage in the face of such danger. <o:p></o:p>

If my father and his comrades hadn't made it back to their "sheltered positions" alive that day, I wouldn't be here today. But because they did, three other men went home to quite possibly have children of their own as well—perhaps even someone who is reading this story today. <o:p></o:p>

Susan W. Moseyhttps://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4484454365559045726.post-78719805092139678902014-10-29T06:00:00.000-07:002014-10-29T06:00:01.942-07:00Skeletons in the Closet, Revisited

The other day I was thinking about a client for whom I did two ancestry binders in the last couple of years… I discovered something in her family tree that no one looks forward to finding—slave owners. It reminded me of other skeletons I've found in people's closets (including my own)—which brought to mind a post I did last fall on the topic.<o:p></o:p>

Follow this link to see the post.
Susan W. Moseyhttps://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4484454365559045726.post-39799489766788595832014-10-16T06:00:00.000-07:002014-10-16T06:00:01.731-07:00Treasure Chest Thursday: Hazel's Quilt

When Hazel Garver made this quilt in the 1940s, she couldn't have known that one of her descendants would be writing about it 70 years later. For Hazel, it was just another household task—but for me, it's a piece of art and a treasure.

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Several years ago my mother-in-law, Donna, gave me this very special quilt, and when we visited Donna recently in Jenison, Michigan, I took the opportunity to find out more about it.<o:p></o:p>

Donna's mother, Hazel Alwood Garver (shown here with husband Walter), raised fourteen children in a tiny farmhouse in Clare County, Michigan. (I have written about Hazel and her family before.) Hazel made quilts out of necessity, as a way to keep her children warm in the beds they shared. But she also put thought into her designs, Donna told me; the fabric choices weren't just random. The quilt tops were made from pieces of old clothing that were too worn out to be handed down one more time. The backing was a piece of cotton or flannel—pink in this case. The batting layer in the middle (added for warmth) was usually an old, worn blanket.

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Donna remembered some of the pieces in this quilt, which she guessed that her mother made in the 1940s. A blue plaid piece came from an apron belonging to Hazel. Another plaid piece of red and gray came from one of Hazel's dresses. Donna said that her mother would share and exchange fabric scraps with her friends and neighbors, so they all would have a nicer variety to work with. The other women, especially her good friend Lois Denno, were generous in sharing their scraps with Hazel, knowing she had fourteen children to keep warm. <o:p></o:p>

Hazel would have sewn the pieces together using her Singer treadle sewing machine; there was no electricity in the farmhouse. The three layers would then be layered together, and the underneath layer was turned up around the edges onto the top layer and machine-stitched in place all around. After that, the ties (which can be seen in the close-up photographs) were added, to keep the layers in place. Donna said that the children would help with that part.

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Some women had a full quilt-sized wooden frame in which to stretch the three layers, but not Hazel; there wasn't room for a big frame in their tiny home. Hazel had a smaller frame that rolled up the quilt like a scroll, with one long strip exposed at a time so that it could be hand-tied. After the knots were in place all over the quilt, all the ends were cut to a uniform length.<o:p></o:p>

I asked Donna if her mother would work on the quilts in the evening after her children were in bed. She said that wasn't possible, because the kerosene lamps weren't bright enough. Hazel had to work on her quilts while the children were in school. As soon as one quilt came off the rack, another one was started—there was always a need. <o:p></o:p>

I wondered if Hazel kept making quilts even after her children were grown. Donna told me that wasn't the case—in fact, the quilt I was holding was the last one Hazel ever made. Hazel had a stroke one day in her friends the Dennos' orchard, and one arm and hand were never strong again. She slowed down after that, and wasn't able to sew very much.<o:p></o:p>

I promised Donna I would take good care of her mother's quilt. I am glad to own a piece of Garver history and to know a little more about the woman who created it.<o:p></o:p>

Susan W. Moseyhttps://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4484454365559045726.post-44550820989756235352014-08-24T10:34:00.001-07:002014-08-24T10:34:11.531-07:00Annie Oakley, a/k/a Phoebe Ann Mosey

Annie Oakley - born Phoebe Ann Mosey. (Older info says Moses, but the best recent research proves that it was Mosey. She never talked about her childhood.) I'm still trying to find a connection between Annie and my husband's Mosey ancestors.

Susan W. Moseyhttps://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4484454365559045726.post-70407215304782545032014-06-02T06:00:00.000-07:002014-06-02T06:00:01.718-07:00Military Monday: James Edward Larkin, Delayed Casualty of War

Not all casualties of war are immediately apparent. My father, for instance, began smoking in the front lines at Normandy to steady his nerves, and the habit stuck with him, killing him 49 years later. Another example is my friend Suzanne's great-great-grandfather.<o:p></o:p>

James Edward Larkin of Concord, New Hampshire was an officer in Company A of the 5th New Hampshire Infantry. He enlisted on September 28, 1861 and was mustered out on October 12, 1864. During that time he and his unit were in the thick of many battles, including Antietam, Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, and Cold Harbor. He wrote this on December 13, 1862, two days after the Battle of Fredericksburg:

"Saturday morning I thought there was little prospect of my ever writing to you again. I wrote a few lines on a card and left it with Calvin to send you in case I should fall—and what saved me but kind Providence. We advanced for a half mile in the face of Batterie and Infantry where it was almost impossible for a mouse to live, yet I came off safe. We lost three Captains killed and two Lieutenants—every commissioned officer was killed or wounded except three—Capt. Pierce, Lieut. Sanborn, and myself. The night after the battle I was in command of the regiment or all there was now of them. We expect a fight tomorrow. All the regiment we have now is 72 men and if we have to go in again we shall do the best we can… I am in an old house tonight and have but a small piece of candle, so you must excuse me for not writing more. Yours in life and death, J.E. Larkin"

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<o:p> </o:p>Two years later, he wrote this:

"I write you tonight with great anxiety and feelings you can never know and I could not describe them should I try. I am confident that the great struggle for Richmond is at hand, and a desperate battle is about to be fought… It has just been decided by orders to proceed to Deep Bottom and that means Richmond. I think sure if we take it, it will be a glorious thing, but if we fail I cannot tell the results. I don't know what force besides our corps is to be engaged. I trust I shall come out safe but should I fall, you must do the best you can. I am conscious of the charge and responsibility you have and I feel your great loss should I fall—but the Great Dispenser of Events does all things well and we must be governed by His will; our destinies are in His hands. I have made arrangements with Doctor Weber to sell my horse and furnish you with the money should you need it and he said he would do it, until you can get the insurance and my back pay. I shall leave this with the Doctor to send you in case I fall. God bless you all. How I long to embrace you and our little darlings once again. James E. Larkin"

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James survived the war to come home to his wife and son and daughter and worked as a painter and then a postmaster. He wrote this to his daughter in 1872:

"Fourteen years ago today, you came to us to gladden our life. It seems but a short time, but in the brief space you have lived, has transpired the most important events of our history. You can never know what it cost me in feelings to leave you for those three long years of war, every day feeling you might be left fatherless. But I thank God I was spared to come back and see you develop into womanhood... You can never know until you have children of your own how closely your life and happiness is interwoven with ours. I send you this ring. May you live long to wear it and may it remind you of the never ending love of your affectionate father. James E. Larkin."

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Sadly, his beloved daughter died in 1884. His wife followed in 1907. Who knows what pain he carried? When he had to bear it alone, it apparently became too much for him. In 1911 James' life ended at age 79, at his own hand.

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I suppose only a soldier can understand the pain of a soldier. My father would tell us stories, terrible stories sometimes, usually late in the evening when his guard was down. I always sensed that what he told us was just the tip of the iceberg. It makes my little problems and disappointments and so-called hardships seem so trivial... God bless our soldiers, one and all.<o:p></o:p>

Susan W. Moseyhttps://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4484454365559045726.post-80254156691116054832014-05-24T06:00:00.000-07:002014-05-24T06:00:00.552-07:00Sibling Saturday: The Children of Charles and Emma Garver

Previously I wrote about Charles and Emma Heilman Garver, my husband's great-grandparents. They had nine children, all of whom survived to adulthood, and all but one of whom remained in Michigan for most or all of their lives. They are shown in this 1930 photo, standing behind their parents: Alta, John, Bea, Forest, Florence, Roy, Mabel, Walter, and Ray. I love to trace all the children in a family, not just one. It's called "cluster research," and it gives me a better understanding of the family if I step back and look at the bigger picture...

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Walter Garver dug ditches for his father-in-law as a young man—a photo survives. He and his wife Hazel (Alwood) Garver had fifteen children, fourteen of whom survived to adulthood—one is my mother-in-law. Walter was a farmer, raising hogs and milking dairy cows, but he also worked for the WPA during the Great Depression on a road-building crew. He died at age 80, marrying a second time shortly before his death in 1971.<o:p></o:p>

Clara Mabel Garver married Andrew McClellan Leeth when she was 17. They moved to Colorado at the suggestion of Mac's doctor, due to Mac's tuberculosis, but eventually they returned to Michigan. They had three daughters and a son, and she died in 1969 at age 76.<o:p></o:p>

Forest Garver (pictured below) served in Europe in World War I. Several photos survive. On the back of one picture, he calls his flat standard-issue helmet "my little tin lid." He later married Aletha Allen and they had three children. He worked as a repairman in a Flint, Michigan auto factory in 1920, but was a farmer by 1930. He died in 1978 at age 82.<o:p></o:p>

Florence Garver married Arthur Kever in 1916. They were dairy farmers and had three daughters. She died at age 79 in 1976.<o:p></o:p>

John Jacob Garvermarried Naomi Burton and they had a daughter and a son. John was a factory worker, and died young—compared to most of his siblings—at age 60, following a heart attack.<o:p></o:p>

Ray Lester Garverdrove his sister Clara and brother-in-law Mac to Colorado. Ray remained there, marrying a Michigan girl named Martha Hutchinson. He died in Colorado in 1986 at age 84.<o:p></o:p>

Beatrice Garver married John Acre in 1904 when she was 16. John worked as an auto mechanic. She and John had two daughters and four sons. She died in Michigan in 1981 at age 77.<o:p></o:p>

Roy Russell Garver, the youngest son, helped his widowed mother run the farm after his father died in 1931. But he contracted measles, and the complications that followed took his life. After he died at age 26 in 1933, his mother was forced to give up the family farm.<o:p></o:p>

Alta Garver, the baby of the family, married James Beattie; it was said in the family that it was love at first sight. The marriage lasted 63 years. They had eight children, two of whom died young. They spent most of their lives in Michigan, where they had a grocery store called Beattie's IGA Market in Marine City. Alta was a member of the Order of the Eastern Star, a Masonic organization, serving as "Worthy Matron" (presiding officer). She and James eventually retired to Florida, where Alta died at age 94 in 2009. <o:p></o:p>

Susan W. Moseyhttps://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4484454365559045726.post-84812532633001022742014-05-20T06:00:00.000-07:002014-05-20T06:00:00.894-07:00Howard

Howard (not his real name) first contacted me late one spring a few years ago. He was 70 years old; he had found me via my website; and he wanted to hire me, by the hour, for a twofold project he had in mind.

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Howard's father had died when he was fourteen; he wanted to learn more about him, and have something to pass on to his grown children about their roots. He also wanted help in putting his memoirs together. "I'm not good at expressing myself—I can't untangle my thoughts and make them flow together coherently!" he told me. And so we started.<o:p></o:p>

Howard seemed brilliantly intelligent, but quirky. I soon learned he had two PhDs and a number of patents to his credit, and his father and grandfather each had a number of patents as well. They were all mechanically gifted, but not so gifted at human relationships, I discovered, as is often true of the highly intelligent. <o:p></o:p>

Over the months that we worked together, I got to know Howard. His memoirs were a pouring out of the great pain and losses of his childhood and youth. Many of the stories that he told me, he had never told anyone. He emailed them to me, randomly and as the spirit moved him; and I edited them and worked them into a cohesive memoir of his early years. At the same time, we explored the German-Polish roots of his father and the French-Canadian roots of his mother. He lived halfway across the country, so we never met, and spoke on the phone only once, briefly. <o:p></o:p>

I said to my husband one day, "There seems to be such an urgency to Howard's efforts… I wonder if he's sick?" Sad was the day that I got the answer to that question: Howard told me he had Alzheimer's. He wrote to me in an email, "I figure I have maybe two good years left, so if there's anything else I want to do, I'd better move pretty darn fast." I cried in the car on the way to work that day.<o:p></o:p>

The months passed, and one research project led to another, and the memoirs kept growing—but the tone was changing. Gone was the pain and bitterness. Now Howard was remembering the happier times, the better things. The original plan was to write a memoir of his entire life—but when the early years had been brought out into the light and written about, it became clear that this was going to be the story of his childhood and youth. And as it turned out, Howard wasn't doing this for his children as much as he was doing it for himself—to let go, and to heal.<o:p></o:p>

Besides, Howard was becoming exhausted. After working through the spring and summer and into the fall, his emails became less frequent and more labored and off-task. By the time I mailed three copies the finished binder (almost 300 pages) six months after we started, he rarely responded at all. But we had done it—accomplished our goals. Howard's story, and that of his ancestors, were preserved for future generations. <o:p></o:p>

Susan W. Moseyhttps://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4484454365559045726.post-85554502608806082872014-05-12T06:00:00.000-07:002014-09-07T17:26:40.747-07:00An Amish Settlement That Didn't Last
Recently I did an ancestry binder for a young Amish dairy farmer who is a friend of mine. I discovered that one of his great-grandfathers founded an Amish settlement.<o:p></o:p>

My research for this binder coincided with my reading of a wonderful book called The Amish in America: Settlements That Failed, 1840-1960 by Amish historian David Luthy. The book, published by an Amish publishing house in Aylmer, Ontario called Pathway Publishers in 1986, turned out to be more than the story of 100 Amish settlements that didn't last; it was also the most useful Amish genealogy book I've ever come across—a real keeper. And lo and behold, there on page 36 was the story of the Amish settlement at Stuttgart, Arkansas, which was begun by my friend's great-grandfather, a man named Noah Bontrager. <o:p></o:p>

I used to think that the Amish lived in Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Indiana, with smaller settlements in a few nearby states like Michigan and Illinois. But in truth, there are—or have been—Amish settlements in nearly every state in the union, as well as several countries in Central and South America. Some lasted, but many didn't, for various reasons—mostly because of cheap land that turned out to be poor for farming, or good, productive land with no economical way to transport their produce to market. Or sometimes it was due to squabbles within the settlement, or just as often, the lack of leadership—which for the Amish, means a bishop, two ministers, and a deacon. Without a minister, no church services could be held; and without a bishop, no baptisms or marriages. A visiting bishop could do only so much for so long. Without a ministry team, a young settlement would soon die.

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But getting back to my story: Noah E. Bontrager was born in 1874 in Lagrange County, Indiana and married Anna M. Yoder there in 1896. They had seven sons and three daughters. By 1916 he was a bishop in the Amish church. By 1918 the family was living at the Amish settlement in Centerville, Michigan, where his WWI draft card says he is medium height and build with brown eyes and black hair.<o:p></o:p>

Luthy's book tells the rest of Noah's story. In 1927 Noah, age 53, led a group of seven families who left their homes and families in Centerville to start a new settlement in Stuttgart, Arkansas—most likely looking for cheaper land and milder winters. The other six families were those of his son, Samuel; his brother, Eli; his nephew, Jacob, who was a minster; his son-in-law, Lawrence Yoder; and two families named Schwartz.

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Luthy says that their first winter in the south was mild, and their first spring was beautiful. By May they had strawberries in their gardens, the roses were blooming, and peaches hung from the trees. But this was followed by summer which were much hotter than they were used to—hard on the men, and even harder on the draft horses—and unlike Michigan, with its cool summer evenings, there was little relief at night. Rain was sparse—until autumn, when dry weather was needed to harvest their rice crop—at which time the rain wouldn't stop. As the weeks went by and they waited for weather dry enough for threshing, more and more of their grain was lost to migrating birds.<o:p></o:p>

In 1928, Lawrence Yoder lost five of his horses from sickness. Then his wife had a baby who died, and the mother died soon afterwards. When his young son Ervin died a few months later, Lawrence returned to Michigan.<o:p></o:p>

In 1930, the settlement's founder and bishop, Noah Bontrager, had a fatal heart attack; he was just 56 years old. The following year, his widow returned to Indiana, where her beloved husband was brought by train and reinterred. <o:p></o:p>

The settlement didn't last. ("Failed" seems like such a harsh word!) As Luthy tells it, the other five families struggled on, but as the Great Depression got worse, the local bank in Stuttgart closed its doors—taking the settlers' money with it. The five remaining families had not been joined by any new ones since they came 1927, and when their minister, Eli Bontrager, left in 1932, that was the death knell for the colony. By 1938, the last holdout, Jacob Bontrager, had left Arkansas.<o:p></o:p>

[Image credit: www.123rf.com – George Burba – used with permission.]<o:p></o:p>
Susan W. Moseyhttps://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4484454365559045726.post-42513220183761093422014-04-17T06:00:00.000-07:002014-04-17T06:00:00.223-07:00Those Places Thursday: Charles and Emma Garver—From Ohio to Michigan
My husband's mother was a Garver, and it's a big family full of lots of good stories—always has been. Charles and Emma Heilman Garver were my husband's great-grandparents. <o:p></o:p>

Charles Garver and Emma Heilman married in 1889 in Defiance County, Ohio, and had six children there. In 1902 they moved to Clare County, Michigan, where the land was cheaper. Daughter Alta talked about the move with researcher Dale Garver some years ago:

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"There was some sort of government assistance program to help people move about the country. Charles and Emma Garver in order to capitalize on this had the choice of moving to either Virginia or Michigan… They took the train with all their possessions, including livestock. Son Forest, however, never had a ticket. He tended to livestock, always on the move and avoiding the conductors. Upon arrival for a short time they lived with friends before moving into their home on Adams Road in Arthur Township. Since there are few loose stones in northern Ohio, Emma brought the stone with her that she used to weigh the lid down on the crock with making sauerkraut. She never lived this down, as their new home in Michigan had rocks galore lying all over the place."<o:p></o:p>

Their last three children—Beatrice, Roy, and Alta—were born in Michigan, joining six older siblings—Walter, Clara Mabel, Forest, Florence, John, and Ray. They settled on a 40-acre farm on Adams Road in the Browns Corner area of Arthur Township, soon buying another 20 acres. Emma's widowed sister Ellen Garver (the sisters had married brothers) bought the 44-acre farm to the west of them. Soon Charles was a pillar of the nearby Brethren church.<o:p></o:p>

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<o:p> </o:p>Dale Garver goes on to say this about Charles:

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"More than a farmer, Charles ("Charlie" to his friends) also served as moderator of the local school district. He played the fiddle at square dances along with son Ray on guitar or zither. Charles valued his livestock and took good care of them. Workhorses always got their hour-long rest at noon, and never worked after supper. In the evening he would sit back and read the Clare Sentinel, often dozing off while doing so. He and Emma often spoke German when discussing things they didn't want the children to hear, but after World War I they ceased this practice. Their daughter Alta wanted to learn German, but Emma wouldn't allow it."<o:p></o:p>

Charles died in 1931. Emma continued to run the farm with the help of 24-year-old son Roy, but it was not to last. Roy contracted measles, which led to abscesses on his lungs and then his brain. He died in 1933 at age 26, on the second anniversary of his father's death.<o:p></o:p>

Emma tried to keep the farm going after Roy's death, but it was sold to her oldest son Walter and his family before long. Emma died in 1943, and she and Charles are buried at Cherry Grove Cemetery in Clare County, near their son Roy.<o:p></o:p>
Susan W. Moseyhttps://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4484454365559045726.post-30463992874859815742014-04-12T06:00:00.000-07:002014-04-12T06:00:00.554-07:00Sibling Saturday: The Children of Jacob & Mary Heilman
Recently I wrote about Jacob Heilman, Civil War veteran. This piece is about his children.<o:p></o:p>

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Jacob Heilman (1819-1907) was born in Bavaria, as was his wife Maria Baker (1832-1912). He and Maria (pictured above) were married in Ohio in 1850 and they spent the rest of their married lives there, first in Defiance County and then in Henry County. Twelve children were born between 1852 and 1879. Two died in childhood—Jacob at age two in 1861 and Minnie at age two in 1878. Ten more survived to adulthood:

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Sarah married George Patten and died at age 23 in 1875, a few weeks after the death of her baby daughter Jenora.<o:p></o:p>

Mary Ann married Thomas Garver, a preacher. After the birth of three sons (who predeceased her) and two daughters (who survived her), she died at age 31, of "consumption" (tuberculosis). Thomas later married her sister Ellen.<o:p></o:p>

Martha (known as "Matt" all her life, and pictured above) was said to be very short. She never married and worked as a servant in several households, later living with her widowed mother until her mother's death. After that she lived on her own, and then with brother William, until her death at age 88 in 1943.<o:p></o:p>

Elizabeth, called "Lib," married John Overly and they had six children. They lived a quiet life, and she died in 1932 at age 74.<o:p></o:p>

Ellen married Thomas Garver after her sister Mary Ann's death left him a widow. She and Thomas had five children before Thomas' death left her a widow at age forty. When Ellen died in Michigan in 1941, her body was returned to Ohio and buried next to Thomas, with her sister Mary Ann buried nearby.<o:p></o:p>

John never married. He lived with his older sister Elizabeth Overly as a young man; then with his parents; then with his widowed mother and sister Martha; the with his nephew Jacob Overly and family. He died at age 73 of cirrhosis of the liver and was buried near his parents.<o:p></o:p>

Kathryn married George Brubaker and they had seven children; the first two predeceased her. Like nearly all the Heilman siblings, she lived all her life in Ohio. She was the last of the Heilman siblings to die, in 1961 at age 94.<o:p></o:p>

Emma married a Garver, like her sisters Mary Ann and Ellen—Thomas Garver's brother Charles. She and Charles had nine children and they settled in Michigan. It is said in the family that she liked to quilt, and would say "By cracky," "Oh, Lordy," or "Oh, catshit!" when her thread would break. She kept the family farm going after her husband's death with the help of her son Roy, until his death two years later at age 26. After that she lived with one or another of her children until her death at age 73 in 1943. She is my husband's great-grandmother.<o:p></o:p>

Ernest (pictured above) married Alta Mae Brubaker and they had four children. He died in 1916 at age 43. The notice in the Northwest News said, "Mr. Ernest Heilman dropped dead Sunday while riding in his automobile. Heart trouble was the cause."

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William, the youngest, married Leah Blanche Siford and they had eight children. According to family historian Dale Garver, William worked in the mills and made canal boats until those businesses closed up shop. From there he worked clearing land and settled with his family on a farm in Henry County, Ohio. He died in 1955 at age 76.<o:p></o:p>
Susan W. Moseyhttps://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4484454365559045726.post-71845570252089657292014-03-31T06:00:00.000-07:002014-11-20T15:52:41.247-08:00Military Monday: The Telegram

I was recently given a box of family papers by an aunt who was cleaning out her closets. This telegram, sent on October 27, 1944 to my grandmother, was among the papers. I am certain it was a day she never forgot.<o:p></o:p>

The telegram informed her that her son, Second Lt. Robert M. Wallin, had been injured in action in Germany. Since she knew that he was a front-line infantryman and platoon leader, she was aware that he was risking his life on a regular basis—and indeed, he had already earned one Purple Heart by this time. But this was different; this was bad. But I wonder—was she at some level relieved that he was, at least for the time being, headed to a hospital of some kind and out of harm's way?<o:p></o:p>

I heard my father talk about the day he was injured, and I have the letters he wrote home when he was able to write. I also saw that, for the rest of his life, he didn't walk quite straight, and his back sometimes bothered him. But all Grandma Wallin knew that day was that her beloved son was hurt.<o:p></o:p>

Here's how Dad told it in an understated letter home, written on October 19, 1944:<o:p></o:p>

"Now don't get excited, I ain't hurt. They got tired of having me at one hospital, and shipped me back to this one, so you can quit worrying about me for a while... All that is the matter is that my back hurts, and they taped me up and won't let me walk around... It has been released and published in the papers, so I can tell you I was in the Battle of Mortain in France August 4-10 (approx.)... That was really quite a fight. I have been in so many others since that it would take a book to tell about them. Now that I am back where it's safe, I don't see how my luck ever held out. <o:p></o:p>

The way I got it the other day, my platoon was shelled... I thought they had finished, and went out of my hole to see if anyone was hurt... Then s-s-s-s-s-s I heard it coming, and thought I could make it to a hole just in front of me. I took 2 steps and Blam the thing lit about 20 feet behind me and exploded and blew a hole in the ground 8 feet across and 5 feet deep. It sent me rolling, and I thought I was killed, but the concussion just hit my back. Darn inconsiderate not to give me a little piece of shrapnel for a souvenir."<o:p></o:p>

The Battle of the Bulge happened that winter, and most of the men in Dad's platoon didn't make it. Perhaps being almost killed in October and spending five months in the hospital actually saved his life! At any rate, after he was patched together, he returned to the front lines the following March, and he later wrote this: <o:p></o:p>

"You no doubt read in the papers how we spearheaded the 9th Army drive across the <st1:place w:st="on">Rhine</st1:place>. We came in shooting and they just couldn't hold us... [The papers] probably said "negligible opposition." It was, after we shot or captured everybody in our way... Incidentally, when we crossed the <st1:place w:st="on">Rhine</st1:place>, our mission was to reach and cut off the superhighway (Division objective). It was 6 miles from the Rhine… Our platoon was the first one in the 9th Army to cross the highway, and this bird was the 3rd man across. (The other Lt. and one scout could run faster.)"<o:p></o:p>

It's an honor to have a hero in the family. Thank you, Dad, for all you did for your country and for the cause of freedom in Europe.

Susan W. Moseyhttps://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4484454365559045726.post-77198163446357738212014-03-24T06:00:00.000-07:002014-03-24T06:00:00.316-07:00Motivation Monday (not): The Grumpy Genealogist

I try to be a cheerful and upbeat genealogist—but once in a while, even a real peach of a human being like myself just has to let off some steam. Lately, four old and familiar issues in particular are really getting on my nerves, genealogically speaking…<o:p></o:p>

1. The missing 1890 census. Honestly, nearly an entire census lost? How did this happen? In all the United States of America in 1921, from sea to shining sea, there wasn't one safe and fire-resistant building with a fireproof vault in which they could store the census records? It wasn't worth the price of one night watchman to make sure everything was okay? And the worst part of it is, I've read that most of the records survived the fire (with water damage)—and they were kept for many years, while discussions went on about what to do next, before someone decided one day that the best thing to do was to just throw them all away. Incredible! When I think of all the loose ends I could tie up, all the mysteries I could solve, all the gaps I could fill in… all those missing children… sigh…

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2. Those blurry, badly microfilmed World War I draft cards. I've read that after the cards were microfilmed (obviously by workers who were either legally blind or looking out the window most of the time), the original cards were discarded. They threw them away! Without anyone checking to see if the microfilm images were properly done before destroying the originals? What I would like to know is this: Who was the clueless government bureaucrat who made that decision? I think his/her name should live on in infamy, like the person who threw away the damaged 1890 census. <o:p></o:p>

3. Census takers with bad penmanship. Seriously, who was the genius who came up with the guidelines for selecting these people? Did they not have to give a handwriting sample, perhaps write down a practice family or two? I would think the ability to write legibly would have been a primary requirement for the job of census taker, but apparently no one thought of that during the hiring process. I suppose some of the census takers just got sloppy as time went on and didn't care anymore. Or maybe some of them got hired because they were some politician's nephew—I suppose then as now, when it comes to obtaining gainful employment, it isn't always whatyou know, it's who you know.

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4. Relatives who say "I really don't have anything to share" when it's pretty obvious that they do. In this day and age of cheap Priority Mail and FedEx shipping, and scanners in practically every genealogist's home or office, there's no excuse for not sharing what we've got... (Calm down, Aunt Emma, I'm not asking you to give it to me, just loan it to me!) Yet I've had to ask some relatives five or six times, over a period of years, if I could borrow their box of family photos or papers. Some are just too lazy to take the box down out of the attic or dig it out of the guest room closet, but some seem to be exhibiting strange territorial behavior. Most eventually say yes—but a few hold out, as if "whoever dies with the most stuff wins." But everyone ends up losing that game.

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Well, thanks for letting me vent… What makes you do the "Silent Genealogist Scream"?<o:p></o:p>

Susan W. Moseyhttps://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4484454365559045726.post-42271684802698565332014-03-17T06:00:00.000-07:002014-03-17T06:00:01.617-07:00Military Monday: Jacob Heilman

My husband's mother has three great-grandfathers who served in the Civil War. One died (Charles Alwood, whom I wrote about previously), and two others survived. One of those who survived was Jacob Heilman.<o:p></o:p>

Jacob was born in Bavaria in 1819 and came to the United States in 1844, according to a book of historical sketches published in 1976 by the Henry County, Ohio Historical Society. (A New York Passenger list I found supports this.) He came to Ohio in 1847 with a brother and married Maria Baker there in 1850. They had twelve children—four sons and eight daughters—eight of whom survived him. <o:p></o:p>

According to his service record on ancestry.com, Jacob was a Private in Company F of the Ohio 68th Infantry Regiment, and his grave marker confirms that fact. He would have been in his forties at the time—not a young man! It was said that his unit marched over 7,000 miles and rode trains or steamboats another 6,000 miles, and that his regiment was in every Confederate state except Florida and Texas. <o:p></o:p>

There are good histories of his unit, and they bear this out. I consulted "Dyer's Compendium" online and got some details. The 68thstarted out at the Battle of Fort Donelson and took part in nearly every major battle and siege of the war, including the Battle of Shiloh, the siege of Vicksburg, and Sherman's March to Atlanta. The regiment lost two officers and 48 enlisted men in battle, and another one officer and 249 enlisted men to disease, for a total of 300 deaths.<o:p></o:p>

The actual dates of Jacob's service are sketchy. The 1975 biographical sketch (written by Jacob's great-grandson Lyle Heilman) says that Jacob enlisted in 1861 when the war broke out and served until the war was over. Maria had a daughter in May 1862, but the baby could have been born after Jacob left for the war. Dyer's history shows that his unit had a long furlough in early 1864—but judging by the birth date of Jacob's son John (June 1864), Jacob was home by September 1863. A draft register listing him as "discharged" in June 1863 bears that out. So the extent of action Jacob actually saw is uncertain—but whatever his length of service, it was enough for Jacob to apply for, and receive, an Civil War veteran invalid pension in March 1873. <o:p></o:p>

It is said in the family that he was blind the last twelve years of his life; he died in 1907, with his wife following in 1912.<o:p></o:p>

I found Jacob's grave a few years ago at Florida Cemetery in Henry County, Ohio. My husband and I put a flag on it before taking a photograph. I was pleased to see the G.A.R. marker there. In an original photo of him which survives, and which I was fortunate enough to borrow from my husband's cousin Dale Garver, even in his old age Jacob looks brave and strong—a survivor. <o:p></o:p>

Susan W. Moseyhttps://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4484454365559045726.post-11263562693351647542014-03-10T06:00:00.000-07:002014-03-10T06:00:03.409-07:00Mystery Monday: The Mysterious Dr. Jay
I recently did some work for a client in which the assignment was to find out all I could about a man named Dr. Henry Alfred Jay (1893-1970). I ended up with more questions than answers.<o:p></o:p>

First of all, his birth. The date seems consistent, but the place is a mystery. According to the family, Henry was born and raised in Kenosha, Wisconsin, on February 13, 1893. I wrote to Kenosha County, Wisconsin to obtain his birth record, but they had no one on record by that name. When I obtained his death record, it said he was born in Chicago, Illinois. But Cook County, Illinois didn't have any birth record either. The date of birth seems to be consistent, being found again on his death certificate and SS5 (Application for Social Security).<o:p></o:p>

Secondly, his parents. On his death certificate, his second wife gave his parents' names as Arnold Jay and Catherine O'Conner. But on his SS5, Henry gave his parents' names as Noel Patrick Jay and Catherine O'Conner. I was unable to find any census records for Henry with either set of parents—not in Kenosha, Wisconsin, and not in Cook County, Illinois. Not for 1900, 1910, or 1920.<o:p></o:p>

Thirdly, his so-called military service. Family tradition holds that he went to South Africa "during the war" and liked it there, so he settled there afterwards. But what war would that be? The United States didn't send soldiers to South Africa in World War I, and I found no WWI draft registration for Henry. <o:p></o:p>

Fourthly, his time in Africa. We know he ended up in South Africa, because my client's relative (Henry's daughter) grew up there. A newspaper article says he arrived in 1920, but that article was written in 1938 and may or may not be accurate. How and when he did go to South Africa? All I know for sure is that he married twice, the second time in South Africa. His first wife was Agnes Schweder, who might have been German. I found no marriage record for them. Henry and Agnes had two children, one of whom is related to my client, before she died around 1934. I did find, on familysearch.org, a record for his second marriage, to Winifred Reeve in Durban, South Africa in 1936. Henry and Winifred had two children also. <o:p></o:p>

An alert message board reader found some newspaper articles online that shed a little more light. The articles ran in newspapers all over the United States in 1938. Henry was the inventor of a method of preserving fruit with chemicals. Family tradition says that his "partners" stole his invention and he never made a dime from it. Another intriguing thing: The article says he became a British subject in 1934! What was that all about?<o:p></o:p>

I found some U.K. Passenger Lists on ancestry.com concerning the family. They tell me that Henry arrived in England (from South Africa) in March 1939, with Winnie and the two children from his first marriage arriving in April. They all left together to return to South Africa in February 1940. Winifred had the first of her two children later that year.<o:p></o:p>

Next, his later years in the United States. I'm not sure when or how he returned to the United States, but he (and presumably Winnie) were there by 1962, when he applied for Social Security in Virginia. He died in Virginia in 1970 and was buried there, at National Memorial Cemetery in Falls Church, with second wife Winnie. (This I know thanks to findagrave.com.) National Memorial is a Jewish Cemetery; was he Jewish? The funeral home (Ives) is now out of business, and I was unable to obtain their records.<o:p></o:p>

So, who were Henry's parents? Where was he born? Where did he grow up? Why are there no census records for him? When and where did he get his medical training? (He always avoided the subject, the family says.) How and why did he end up in South Africa? How and why did he become a British subject? When and how and why did he return to the United States? Why was he buried in a Jewish cemetery? Like I said, more questions than answers.<o:p></o:p>

Susan W. Moseyhttps://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4484454365559045726.post-72275326130732917062014-03-06T06:00:00.000-08:002014-11-20T15:53:32.905-08:00Those Places Thursday: West View Farm

Some of the happiest times of my childhood were spent in Minooka, Illinois. <o:p></o:p>

My maternal grandparents were Robert J. Erickson (1888-1968) and Clara Anderson Erickson (1892-1967). They were married in 1913, and before long, they purchased the farm of Robert's father, Charles Erickson. But the Great Depression took its toll on Midwestern farmers like them, and the mortgage didn't get paid, and by the time my mom was in high school they had lost that farm and then lived on two or three rented farms. Grandpa was down, but not out. The same year Mom married Dad—1950—Grandma and Grandpa Erickson bought West View Farm, and paid cash for it. <o:p></o:p>

West View Farm was 120 acres of Illinois clay loam. Many of the buildings were already unneeded in the 1950s, having been built for an earlier time. My grandpa kept a beef steer in the stable, and raised chickens in another barn. Then there was a corn crib used as a repair and maintenance building, a small shed or two, and a huge barn which wasn't used for much of anything, along with three empty silos and an old orchard… and then there was the house.<o:p></o:p>

The view of that farmhouse from Holt Road is something I will carry in my memory forever. It was a magnificent place, especially when seen from the road across the vast expanse of front yard which my grandfather kept in magnificent condition all the years he lived there. <o:p></o:p>

We visited the farm most Sundays, and in the summers I would spend a happy week there, following my beloved grandfather and Uncle Bob around the farm. It was a wonderful place for a child—the windmill, the cistern, the water pump, the corn crib with its souvenirs of my Uncle Bob's plowing championships, the chicken house, the orchard, the garden, the sundial—and that wonderful house. Grandma and Grandpa lived on the main floor, and the second floor had been an apartment for Uncle Bob and Aunt Shirley, until the women quarreled and my aunt and uncle built a house down the road. So now it was unoccupied, with room after room to explore, full of furniture, toys, old clothes, and every kind of thing.
<o:p></o:p>

In the mid 1960s, Grandma Erickson's high blood pressure finally took its toll. The heart went out of Grandpa after that, and within a year or two, he was gone, too. After a protracted legal battle, Uncle Bob bought out his three sisters and carried on with the farm—but the hard feelings lingered, and I didn't see the farm again for nearly twenty years. After that, I made occasional visits there, but as my uncle let the place "go to seed" as he got older (and as he went to seed as well), it was harder and harder to make myself drive out there and witness the farm's slow demise.

<o:p></o:p>

Eight or ten years ago my uncle died. Some time after that my sister and I drove out to Minooka to walk around the old place. Looking up from the road, across the once magnificent lawn, and seeing the house boarded up brought tears to our eyes. We walked around the buildings, marveling at how quickly the now-vacant farm was being reclaimed by nature. We knew it would never be restored to its former glory; if the real estate slump ended and someone bought it, its proximity to Interstate 88 would make it prime property for development.<o:p></o:p>

Last summer my sister and I returned once again. We thought we were prepared for anything we might see, but we were mistaken. Where the farmhouse once stood, there were only charred ruins. I stopped at the farmhouse across the road and was told that it had burned down the previous year—perhaps due to lightning, or squatters who were careless with a cooking fire inside. I grieve the loss of that farm like I would grieve a dearly loved friend. But my childhood is bound up in the memories of that place, and always will be.<o:p></o:p>

<o:p></o:p>

Susan W. Moseyhttps://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4484454365559045726.post-44758207437102864932014-02-24T06:00:00.000-08:002014-02-24T06:00:00.703-08:00Military Monday: Ezra Alger, Prisoner at Andersonville
George, an old friend of my husband's, lost his father when he was just a teenager. He wanted to know more about his father's family history and I offered my help. Going back a few generations, I found the story of Ezra Alger, who fought in the Union Army during the Civil War.<o:p></o:p>

<o:p>
</o:p>

Private Ezra B. Alger was a member of Company I of the 7thNew York Artillery, enlisting on December 16, 1863 in Hudson, New York. According to the New York State Military Museum website, the 7th New York Artillery Regiment fought at Spotsylvania Court House, North Anna River, and Totopotomoy Creek, Virginia in May of 1864, suffering over 200 casualties during that month.

<o:p></o:p>

The 7th then fought at the Battle of Cold Harbor, Virginia from June 1-12, 1864. They suffered 418 casualties there, either killed, wounded, or missing in action—including Ezra Alger. He was captured by the enemy on June 3, 1864 and was sent to the infamous Andersonville Prison at Andersonville, Georgia.<o:p></o:p>

Andersonville is now a National Historic Site with a huge military cemetery. According to wikipedia.com, about 45,000 Union prisoners were kept on its 26.5 acres, and nearly 13,000 of them died of starvation and disease and were buried there. One Union soldier described arriving there like this: "As we entered the place, a spectacle met our eyes that almost froze our blood with horror… Before us were forms that had once been… stalwart men, now nothing but mere walking skeletons, covered with filth and vermin. Many of our men, in the heat and intensity of their feeling, exclaimed, 'Can this be hell?'"<o:p></o:p>

Wikipedia goes on to say that Andersonville was frequently undersupplied with food, and the prisoners suffered from hunger, exposure, and disease. The water supply was polluted due to overcrowding and poor sanitation, and the desperate conditions made some of the men turn to violent infighting. <o:p></o:p>

In the autumn of 1864 after the capture of Atlanta, the surviving prisoners were taken to other, better prison camps, but it was too late for Ezra Alger. He never came home, and was reported to have died at Andersonville.<o:p></o:p>

Ezra, who was a shoemaker, left a widow and ten children. In the 1870 federal census for Cohoes, Albany County, New York, his widow lives with nine of their children, and the six oldest work in a cotton mill—the youngest worker being only eleven years old. In 1880 she is a housekeeper and six of her children still live with her, all working to support the family. She died in 1888 at age sixty.<o:p></o:p>

Historians are still arguing as to whether the high number of deaths at Andersonville were a result of incompetent prison officials, the general food shortages in the Confederate states, deliberate war crimes, or bad Confederate government policies. But at any rate, the commandant of the camp, Henry Wirz, was court-martialed and tried for conspiracy and murder after the war, found guilty, and hanged—the only Confederate official to be tried and convicted for war crimes.<o:p></o:p>

Susan W. Moseyhttps://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4484454365559045726.post-14885188427675397802014-02-17T06:00:00.000-08:002014-02-17T06:00:01.931-08:00Military Monday: Sara's Letters to Her Soldier Boy
A few years ago I was able to borrow my grandma Sara Peterson's letters to her sweetheart and future husband, Sture Wallin, written while he was in the army during WWI and she worked at a bank at home in Nebraska. Here are some excerpts:<o:p></o:p>

<o:p>
</o:p>

"Honestly, Sture, I just can't get to feeling enthusiastic about my job down here—and if one doesn't like your work, what is there to it? I'd be ready to leave tomorrow—if it wasn't war times… Help is so scarce. I ought to be glad I can do something, even if I don't like it."

<o:p></o:p>

"Don't know if we can send a Christmas package. Of course I can see where with between 1-2 million soldiers in <st1:country-region w:st="on">France</st1:country-region>and everybody wanting to send them something they have to have a limit. But I feel you are the only ones that need Christmas presents this year."<o:p></o:p>

"Dear, though I was glad as long as you were in this country, I'm glad you got your chance to go across, when you have been waiting to go for so long. I wonder where you are—somewhere on the <st1:place w:st="on">Atlantic</st1:place>. But you must be almost across by this time..."<o:p></o:p>

"Just as I got through writing the other letter to you, one of the men came in with the mail. "Did I want a letter from overseas?" he asked. Did I! I'd had that letter if I'd had to knock him down to get it. This was the first letter you had written—dated November 3. So you did really get to <st1:country-region w:st="on">France</st1:country-region>. You can think that at least if you can't be home this Christmas, next Christmas we'll be sure to see you back here."<o:p></o:p>

The war ended before Sture saw any action. But it was eight more months before he came home.<o:p></o:p>

"Seems rather quiet in town today after all the excitement of yesterday. The message came over the wires yesterday <st1:time hour="12" minute="0" w:st="on">noon</st1:time> that <st1:country-region w:st="on">Germany</st1:country-region> had surrendered. Of course the town went wild and I guess they did all over the <st1:country-region w:st="on">U.S.</st1:country-region> They had parades and bands and the home guards out…" <o:p></o:p>

"News came this week of the death of Ernest Post. Also James <st1:city w:st="on">Richardson</st1:city>. Also a couple of <st1:city w:st="on">Aurora</st1:city>boys. Seems so terrible at this time. The people here all have been rejoicing at the thought of it all being ended. But so many never gave a thought to that the casualty lists would be coming in for weeks."<o:p></o:p>

"Christmas Eve! And such a way to spend it! My soldier boy way across the <st1:place w:st="on">Atlantic</st1:place> in <st1:country-region w:st="on">France</st1:country-region>. If I could see your dear face tonight, this would be a truly wonderful Christmas after all. I've got your picture up on my dresser where I can look at it all the time... "<o:p></o:p>

"I found the place you were before on the map yesterday. You were quite a way in <st1:country-region w:st="on">France</st1:country-region>, weren't you? And not so far from <st1:city w:st="on">Paris</st1:city>. Perhaps you'll have a chance to go there before you come back."<o:p></o:p>

"Do you think you will be back with the rest of <st1:place w:st="on">Co.</st1:place> H? Each of the boys that write back home seem to have a different opinion as to when they will be sent back. They surely are sending them right along, but 2 some million are quite a few men and it took Uncle Sam several months to send them over and I guess 'twill take just as long to come back."<o:p></o:p>

"Don't think I've changed a great deal as to outward appearances. I know I have otherwise. What the last two years brought certainly would make some difference…" <o:p></o:p>

"The other <st1:place w:st="on">Co.</st1:place> H boys came home 2 weeks ago… Elmer said it took them 12 days to come across. In that case if you left June 20th you would be in NY about July 2nd… Just now all I can think of is that you will soon be here. And I can't tell you in words what that all means to me. I'll be the happiest girl in the world when you come back."<o:p></o:p>

Susan W. Moseyhttps://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4484454365559045726.post-86068728474886185872014-02-10T06:00:00.000-08:002014-02-10T06:00:04.268-08:00Mystery Monday: Otto and Elsie
While researching a relative of mine—we'll call her "Aunt Ann"—I came across the story of Otto and Elsie Iversen (his name changed). They were Ann's birth parents, but they were not the ones who raised her. I figured there was a story there…<o:p></o:p>

<o:p>
</o:p>

Otto Iversen was a sailor. He was born in Bergen, Norway in 1898 and found his calling on the sea. In this photo, Otto is the big man on the right. He visited the port of New York, in 1920, and he must have liked what he saw. In 1921 he came to stay, and in 1927 he became a naturalized citizen in Chicago. It was said in the family that Otto was over six feet tall, big enough to eat a whole pie at a time, and strong enough to lift a cow over his head.  <o:p></o:p>

Elsie was an immigrant, too. She and her sister came from Germany in 1923 when they were in their twenties. The passenger list says their destination was Chicago. <o:p></o:p>

Somehow Otto and Elsie met, and they married around 1923—but it was far from a fairy tale ending. Elsie had a baby who died, then another baby who died, and then a third baby in 1929—a little girl they called "Ann." In the 1930 census little Ann lives in Chicago with her father, mother, and a boarder. But apparently neither Otto nor Elsie wanted to raise a child. According to the family, Elsie tried giving the baby to her sister-in-law in Iowa, but that didn't "stick"—the family just didn't need another mouth to feed. <o:p></o:p>

But Elsie's sister and her husband had no children of their own, and they took Ann into their home and raised her as their own. Ann grew up first in Chicago, then in the suburbs, and then in the country. Her uncle was a successful tailor who provided well for his wife, niece, and a nephew they also took in.

<o:p></o:p>

And what happened to Otto and Elsie? <o:p></o:p>

Elsie ran a boarding house in Chicago for many years and never took much interest in her daughter, although the two of them had a relationship when Ann was older—in fact, Ann actually cared for her mother in her own home as her mother's health failed. Elsie died in 1989 in New Jersey at age 93. <o:p></o:p>

Ann remembers having visits from Otto as a child. She was always rather frightened of her father, due to his size and the fact that he was always rather shaky. By the 1940 census Otto was a resident at the Chicago State Mental Hospital, also known as "Dunning Hospital." According to the family, one Sunday afternoon in 1943, he took a streetcar to visit his wife. As he stepped off the car, he had a massive heart attack and died in the street. He was only 44. Ann had very few positive memories of her father, and mental illness was much misunderstood in those days.<o:p></o:p>

I wondered if he was a drinker; it seemed like that would explain a lot. So I ordered his death certificate—but it told a different tale. It corroborated the heart attack story; the cause of death was "chronic myocarditis" and he died ten minutes after the heart attack. But it also stated that Otto had suffered from post-encephalitis for fifteen years. I looked up the side effects of post-encephalitis, and sure enough—a shakiness that mimics Parkinson's. Also common? Mood disorders, personality changes, and mental deterioration. Otto was the victim of a disease far beyond his control. I was glad to be able to share with Ann a little more about her father that might explain why he couldn't be there for her when she was young... It's never too late to have some closure.<o:p></o:p>

Susan W. Moseyhttps://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4484454365559045726.post-91455404987399713052014-02-03T06:00:00.000-08:002014-03-04T02:46:52.728-08:00Military Monday: A Civil War Widow Applies for a Pension
Recently my fold3.com subscription was about to expire. I rarely used it, finding it hard to navigate and not very useful. But I decided to give it one last chance to prove itself. <o:p></o:p>

I started poking around the Civil War records, since that's their specialty. After a few misses, I had a hit. My husband's great-great-grandfather Charles Alwood, who died in a Civil War camp from typhoid fever, had a wife who applied for a widow's pension just weeks after he died. I downloaded and printed out the 18 pages of records, and it was a gold mine!<o:p></o:p>

I spent the next few hours analyzing what I'd found. It included:

<o:p></o:p>

The Declaration, partially shown in the photo. It was an sworn affidavit which gave a detailed background of Elizabeth and Charles, his service, his death, and their family. Her parents were the sworn witnesses. One thing they had to swear to was that Elizabeth "has not, in any manner, been engaged in, or aided or abetted the rebellion in the United States." Elizabeth had to sign all the documents with an "X"—she couldn't read or write.

As proof of these facts, a letter from the Adjutant General's Office which gave the details of Charles' army service, from enrollment until death. Very handy to have!

A letter from the Surgeon General's Office that is the equivalent of a death certificate for Charles. Priceless! I'd never been able to narrow down exactly when and where he died.

An affidavit from Tuscarawas County, Ohio, stating the details of Charles and Elizabeth's marriage—the equivalent of a marriage certificate, signed by a judge.

An affidavit from Elizabeth's mother, stating that she was present at the birth of all six underage children being listed on the pension application. She gave the details about each birth. A great substitute for official birth records, which the government did not keep in the 1850s!

Paperwork for Elizabeth's later application (and approval) for a pension increase; in addition to her $8 per month, she was entitled to an additional $2 per month for each child under age 16. The children are again listed, with birth dates and dates on which they will turn 16, along with many other details.

A "Drop Pensioner" card which states the details of Elizabeth's death in 1912, at which time she was receiving $12 a month. Not a death record, but pretty darn close. Better than anything I'd been able to find previously.

I found it interesting that, on these forms created in the middle of the Civil War, the conflict is referred to as "The War of 1861." I'd never heard it called that before.

<o:p></o:p>

So, maybe fold3.com had its place in my toolbox after all... I have written for a Civil War pension record before—to the National Archives—and it was an expensive hassle. This was easy and free! So, I did one more thing that day—I renewed my subscription to fold3.com.<o:p></o:p>

Susan W. Moseyhttps://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-4484454365559045726.post-43754929197424344302014-01-27T06:00:00.000-08:002014-01-27T06:00:01.857-08:00Madness Monday: An Amish Tragedy
One of the saddest stories I've come across in my Amish genealogy research is the story of Jacob Lambright (1840-1881). Here's what I know from the census records and the book "An Amish Patchwork" by Thomas Meyers and Steven Nolt:<o:p></o:p>

Jacob was one of eight children of Elizabeth Hupperich and Johann Peter Lembrich, a/k/a Lambrick, a/k/a Lambright. (Those German surnames were often spelled a dozen different ways in the early days.) After Elizabeth's death in 1845, Johann left Germany with the children and settled in Tuscarawas County, Ohio. Jacob and a brother ended up in Lagrange County, Indiana, where Jacob became a member of the Amish church and, in 1862, married Sarah J. Yoder. On the marriage license his surname was spelled "Lambrick." By the 1870 census Jacob and Sarah owned a farm in Newbury Township where they lived with their three children, and by the 1880 census they were living on a farm in Eden Township with seven children at home.

 <o:p></o:p>

<o:p> </o:p>Here's what I know from other online researchers (thanks to Rena Markley via Ron Lambright):

<o:p></o:p>

In the autumn of 1880, Jacob was helping to harvest grain at a nearby farm, bundling it into sheaves. After a thunderstorm came and went, he went back out to set up some sheaves and was bit on the foot by a rattlesnake. He was quite ill for a long time. Eventually his wife brought him to nearby Wolcottville to spend the winter with his brother. He came home in the spring, but continued to be in a deep depression. One evening when it was time to come in for supper, Jacob told the hired men to go on ahead. When he didn't come in, and they went to find him, he was found in the woods, where he had hung himself, his dog waiting nearby.<o:p></o:p>

I hesitated to write about Jacob based only on the stories told by others. What if the suicide story wasn't true? But recently I was contacted by Dalonda Young, who was digitizing old records for Lagrange County. She wondered if I'd be interested in the coroner's report for Jacob Lambright. Of course I was! Here was the documentation I needed, and it meshed with the stories I'd heard:<o:p></o:p>

<o:p> </o:p>"Are you one of the parties who found the deceased?"

<o:p></o:p>

"Yes, I am."<o:p></o:p>

"Where did you find him?"<o:p></o:p>

"…We saw him hanging by the neck in a basswood tree about 2 o'clock this 25 day of April 1881… He was dead when we found him."<o:p></o:p>

"Had his mind been affected immediately before his death?"<o:p></o:p>

"Sickness disturbed his mind, and deranged him and made him do things that gave symptoms of insanity... He would rather die than live… He had been affected similarly during the winter of 1879-1880."<o:p></o:p>

Other witnesses, including his wife, testified to the same, with Sarah saying, "His mind was much affected at times, and then at times he seemed all right and rational. When alone he would be worse… He said he wished he was dead and thought he would kill himself in some way."<o:p></o:p>

What a tragedy!<o:p></o:p>

I visited Jacob's grave recently, in an Amish cemetery in Shipshewana, Indiana, where he is buried with his wife Sarah, who never remarried. His father Johann is buried nearby. Seeing his final resting place made the story seem more real, and even sadder. But Jacob's name is in the history books today as the father and progenitor of all the Amish Lambrights—now a very common Amish name in Northern Indiana. Today, in the Lagrange County area, he has hundreds of descendants, both Amish and "English." His life was short, but his legacy is enduring. <o:p></o:p>

Susan W. Moseyhttps://firstname.lastname@example.com


text:
|Texans Talk Football talk only please. Keep it to the game, the players, the coaches and management.
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I am thrilled everyone has picked us to finish DEAD LAST (remember "Major League"), they usually are about as right as weatherman on his predictions. How many KNOWLEDGEABLE(?????) groups had Miami as a Super Bowl lock in 2003. I print out ESPN predictions and at end of season look at them, last year they should have stuck to playing jacks instead of picking division and Super Bowl teams.
I live near Dallas and only news we get is about 2nd BEST PRO TEAM IN TEXAS, give me a D.....give me an A...you know what I am spelling. Thank God for Houston Texans website, Houston Chronicle online edition and Fox Sports Southwest and the internet for news on Texans.
I see us getting an 8-8 season in 2004, have we lost 4 games to Titans...YES. However we had the lead going into 4th quarter last game in 2003 with such an injured and tired D that we couldn't hold it. We also held Indy to a close game so should we be ashamed...HECK (for lack of a stronger word) NO.
We are as good as any other team in AFC, will we go 16=0....NO, will we lose games we should win....YES we are a young team, we have a ways to go but we have no reason to hang our heads.
We are 1st expansion team EVER to win back to back season openers
We are 1st expansion team (since Vikings) to win season opener
we are 1st expansion team since Vikings and since no more guarantees (1 player per team to Pro Bowl) to send 2 players to Pro Bowl.
We tied for 2nd best all-time record by an expansion team 4-12 (Jacksonville Jaguars also 1st year 4-12)
We didn't make playoffs 2nd year like last 2 expansion teams....BUT NFL changed rules so that wouldn't happen again. We are good young team going places, playoffs will come in time in the toughest division in AFC
While our team works out in heat and humidity that is Houston, the other team wimped out and ran off to Oxnard, CA average August temperature is 80
Texans are the only pro team working out in Texas, the only team representative of TOUGHNESS and HARD WORK Texas is known for.
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text:
Nursing: Then and Now - page 17
The nursing profession, as a whole, as well as the role of the nurse have evolved dramatically over the past several decades. I personally have witnessed the changing face of nursing during my 30+ years in the profession. Gone... Read More
- 0May 10, '13 by GrnTea, BSN, MSN, RNQuote from sharpeimomOur hospital still puts a copy of our local morning paper on each breakfast tray.
Wow, I wanna be there! Or is that crummy USA Today like you get in the hotels? Well, I never! I gotta follow Mary Worth!
Gomco was the name of the company that made the suction gadgets. They got called gomcos the way Kleenex got called kleenex.
I remember as nurses aide (waaaaaay before certification) I would get half a dozen glass liters of saline, six glass ampules of something or other (can't remember), and a syringe. I would unscrew the tops to the bottles, draw up the stuff, inject one amp into each bottle, and then screw the tops on again. They went to the bedside and got screw-on drip tubing for bladder irrigation. I was a nursing student and I did know about sterile technique, and there was only one RN and me for 26 bedridden old ladies, but still ...
- 2May 10 by tnbutterfly, BSN, RN AdminBumping this up for Nurses Week. It's always fun and interesting to look where've we've been as nurses and think about where we are going.
- 2May 23 by trufflelilyRNDoes anyone else remember cleaning thermometers? After vital signs were taken on the floor thermometers were cleaned of any matter and soaked in alcohol or benzylkonium chloride. In four hours or when vital signs were due again, they were dried, placed in a cute little tray and passed around the floor again. Seems abhorrent looking back from today's world, doesn't it?
- 3May 23 by amoLuciaAnybody remember something called an "ortho prep"? Pts were admitted days before surgery (no such thing as PAT) and on the night before the ortho surgery we had to do the prep on 11-7.
The site, usually a limb, would be shaved and scrubbed and it was sterile technique. After the prep, the limb would be wrapped in sterile linens.
- 2May 23 by amoLuciaAnd I remember HATING Sunday nite/Monday mornings. Major POOP time. All the barium enemas preps were done for Monday morning testing. Pure torture that prep of liquid diets days, mag citrate, dulcolax tabs and then a dulcolax sup in the AM. Code browns and falls!!!
The GI/GB prep for tests was easier, but I HATED working the weekends when I had to because of that prep.
- 4May 23 by Ruby VeeQuote from SherribluI don't know about you worrying about getting sued thirty years ago, but it certainly crossed MY mind. Not only did the schools warn against it, but our employers talked about "suit proofing" your care. We lost respect not when we gave up the white caps and white uniforms, but when we started letting management and "customer service" dictate nursing care. Thirty years ago, I had 15 patients on the day shift and 30 at night on a Med/Surg floor -- the ratios are better now. And I remember hospitals that were clean, but I also remember the housekeepers sitting around smoking pot in the linen rooms while the feces dripped down the walls of the patient bathrooms.Technology has helped nursing progress but the care is not as good as 30 years ago!!! We also lost respect when we stopped with hats n white. We never worried about getting sued. We had less pt so good give better care. Hospitals were clean!!
- 2Aug 3 by Coldncanada35 years . Male nurses where rare. .. Started ward nursing.. Yes "head nurse" usually had tattoos. And smoked unfiltered cigarettes, and butted out in their palms.. Oh god they where tough no nonsense women
- 1Aug 3 by ColdncanadaRetiring next year after critical care, flight nursing. What a career. Not a job.. A career.so proud to have been a nurse


text:
I still have a bumper sticker that declares "Run Andy Run," an effort to convince actor Andy Griffith to enter the U.S. Senate race in 1990 to challenge Republican Sen. Jesse Helms.
Despite the effort, Griffith never considered it. Singer Clay Aiken, on the other hand, says he is giving serious consideration to challenging Republican Rep. Renee Ellmers this year.
North Carolina is, of course, a long way from California, which has turned out quite a few celebrity politicians, including Ronald Reagan and Sonny Bono. But the state has produced a few.
Among them are country singers Lula Belle Wiseman and Charlie Albertson.
Wiseman and her husband, Scotty, were "The Sweethearts of Country Music" during the 1930s and '40s. Their biggest hit was "Have I told You Lately That I Love You?" Scotty Wiseman wrote the song, which more than 10 million copies and was one of the first country songs with crossover pop appeal. They were also among the first country stars to appear in the movies, making seven films, including "Shine on Harvest Moon."
After they quit performing, they settled in the mountains, and Lula Belle Wiseman, who was born in Boone, was elected to two terms in the state House, serving from 1975-77. Although she was a Democrat, her friend Roy Acuff, a staunch Republican who ran for governor of Tennessee, campaigned for her.
Wiseman is best-known in Raleigh for a speech on the House floor describing her rape at gunpoint. She was arguing for the death penalty for rapists.
Albertson, a country and gospel singer from Beulaville, served in the legislature from 1992-2010, where he became known as "The Singing Senator."
GOP courts sports figures
The same year that Democrats were wooing Griffith to challenge Helms, professional wrestler Ric Flair, the "Nature Boy" from Charlotte, considered running for governor as a Republican. He decided against it, and the Republican nomination went to former Charlotte Mayor Richard Vinroot, a 6-foot-7 former Tar Heel basketball player.
The Republicans have more often courted sports figures. Former baseball pitcher Wilmer "Vinegar Bend" Mizell was elected to Congress in 1968 in the 5th District and served three terms. Former Duke and NBA basketball star Jack Marin ran in 1982 for Congress and lost.
The most famous celebrity to run was NASCAR driver Richard Petty, who was also a Randolph County commissioner and businessman. He ran as the GOP candidate for secretary of state in 1996 but lost to Democrat Elaine Marshall after bumping a motorist from behind on Interstate 85 because the driver was going too slow.
"If I had known I wasn't going to win, I wouldn't have run," Petty said.
Aiken would face challenges
Aiken, the Raleigh native, who rose to fame on "American Idol," has ties all over the 2nd District, having performed in Dunn, Garner and Benson, and attended Campbell University before he hit the big time.
But he's no sure bet to win, either. He faces stiff competition in the Democratic primary from former state Commerce Secretary Keith Crisco, an Asheboro businessman, and Durham attorney Houston Barnes. If Aiken should best those two, he must face Ellmers in a district that leans strongly Republican.
The fact that Aiken is openly gay in a socially conservative district also presents challenges.
The state Republican Party has already begun slamming him, although their main beef seems to be that he is not an A-list celebrity. A statement from the party pointed out that Aiken finished second to Ruben Studdard in the 2003 "American Idol" contest, and in 2012 he was runner-up on "Celebrity Apprentice."
The Republicans should be careful. Throwing out such barbs, they could alienate Aiken's key constituency – the Claymates, the largely middle-age women who are part of the middle America the Republicans say they are courting.
Christensen: 919-829-4532 or firstname.lastname@example.com
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text:
Lady swimmers seek state qualifications at invite
Fast water, fast competition expected to help lady swimmers in Arvada
Wednesday, January 23, 2002
The right performance at the right time will be the determining factor in the waters of Myers Pool in Arvada.
Coach Ed Stehlin can't be sure who will qualify, but there is a small army of swimmers who are seconds away from stroking the water in Epic Pool in Ft. Collins Epic during the state meet at the end of February.
Stehlin can be sure that this weekend's Jeffco Invitational is just the place to tally-up qualifications the water is fast and so is the competition.
"Myers is a quick pool, and with 20-25 teams coming to the invite, it will be a big meet atmosphere," Stehlin said. "It's definitely a time for some qualifications."
The Lady Bulldogs are in prime position for success, coming off of three weeks of competition that has been the most competitive swimming the team has seen since winter break.
And, in case there's any doubt, the Lady Bulldogs won the Fruita quadrangular that turned into an invite when an extra team was added last weekend. The Moffat County girls edged Fruita out of first place by three points, and swam 20 personal best times despite having to start from the pool edge, because the Fruita pool doesn't have starting blocks.
The Lady 'Dogs have also qualified most of their events since coming off break.
"The last three weeks have been good for us," Stehlin said. "First meet back we qualify the 100-meter freestyle relay, and then we have a good showing at Grand Junction and Fruita the kids feel good about themselves."
The Jeffco Invitational is no Fruita quadrangular, and starting blocks will certainly be provided. The stress associated with swimming in the season's second biggest invitational is an added challenge.
"There's more and better competition at a meet like Jeffco than we usually see," sophomore Cara Conci said. "It puts more stress on you to preform better, but because everyone there is good you end up performing better."
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