Today would have been my great-grandmother, Bertha Childers, 137th birthday. I always found it interesting when talking to my relatives on my dad’s side of the family about Bertha, each person has always described her the same way – “she was very nice, but she put you in your place”.
However, my dad does add that she may have been a little nicer to him because she didn’t see him all the time, which was the truth. He was born in Indiana and raised in Ohio while Bertha Childers lived in Pennsylvania.
Bertha Childers was born on 14 March 1886 in Bedford County, Pennsylvania to Randall Childers and Sarah Jane Fesler. She was the 7th of 9 children born to this marriage (which from what I have read had “issues”). At the time of Bertha’s birth, Randall was a former Corporal in the Union Army whose occupation was listed as a miner in the 1880 census (they were also living in Huntingdon County so they had moved at some point before Bertha was born).
After the war Randall had chronic ailments so I wonder if that explains some of the “issues” and may explain Bertha Childers no nonsense attitude of life. By the 1900 Census Randall is listed as a farmer, Still living at home at this time, I’m sure she learned the ways of living on a farm. I know my dad told me that Bertha didn’t think anything of going out and killing a chicken and cleaning it up for dinner that same evening.
I don’t know how Bertha Childers met my great-grandfather, Andrew Jackson Blair, and I have yet to find a marriage license for them (don’t worry, I’m still looking) but I did find this newspaper clipping about when they married so at least I have something, 19 March 1906.
Their first child, a son, Darrell, was born 22 September 1906 and died on 22 January 1907 of bronchial pneumonia. Next came a daughter, Vada, who was born on 2 December 1907. Vada lived to be 87 years young, which is surprising as she was born with a cleft pallet and wasn’t really expected to survive. Genevieve came on 14 May 1909 (though it may have been 1910, I’ve not been able to find a birth certificate online or in the list of birth certificates on the website for the Pennsylvania Historic and Museum Commission). My grandfather, originally named Charley Wilmer Blair, later renamed Leroy, was born on 13 February 1912. Finally, Donald, the baby, was born 23 September 1917.
Bertha raised her children while Andrew was a coal miner. Initially they lived in Huntingdon County (where they were listed as living in the 1910 Census) and then they lived in Cambria County (according to the 1920 Census).
But life changed quickly on 16 November 1926 when the shaft where Andrew Jackson Blair was working caved in, killing him.
Most of her children were raised, but Donald was just 9-years-old, and Leroy was 14, Genevieve had just gotten married to her husband, Ralph Vivian the weekend before Andrew’s death. The 1930 Census does not show Bertha being employed but she still lived in South Fork, a mining town in Cambria County which was the borough they lived in 1920.
On the 24 December 1930 Bertha Childers married William Chappell. Bill, as he was called by friends and family, was another coal miner, and according to my dad one of the nicest men you would ever meet.
They were married just shy of 30 years when Bill passed away of prostate cancer on 20 June 1960. Bertha didn’t have to live long without him as she passed away on 11 November 1963 at my grandparents house in Akron, Ohio. According to her death certificate she had a “cerebral vascular accident/hypertension/diabetes”. I do remember talking to my dad and he said Bertha had been very sick and my grandmother was having difficulty taking care of her, and apparently my grandfather stopped talking to his sister Genevieve because she didn’t help my grandma, but she herself was sick with cervical cancer.
Parts of my family are not the biggest fans of Bertha, and I guess I understand why, but I think she gets blamed for things she really shouldn’t. Most of the rest liked her (basically all her grandkids that no longer lived in Pennsylvania – which they were spread out between Ohio, Indiana/Arizona). I know my grandmother, Anna Maria Morgart, always referred to her as “Mrs. Chappell”. I wish I could have met her just to decide for myself.
In closing here is a photo of Bertha and her siblings that I found on Ancestry.com that was posted by my distant cousin, Joanne Fesler, and since she has taken my photos from my blog and posted them on Ancestry, I feel I can use this photo.
The prompt for Week 6 of Amy Johnson Crow’s writing challenge 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks is Social Media and I have been very lucky to have discovered distant cousins in a few of the Pennsylvania groups I have joined on Facebook.
I know I have eluded to this once before but it has happened again recently in a newer group I’ve joined focusing on the town of Broad Top, Pennsylvania, which is where my grandmother, Anna Maria Morgart, was born.
Encouraged to join the group by my cousin Denny, I wasn’t sure they would even let me in at first because I never lived there, and that seemed initially to be a qualification. But luckily my honesty paid off because I noted in my comments when I answered the questions that I was working on my genealogy and just wanted to see photos of the area to get a better feel for where my ancestors lived.
Oddly enough the organizer is a Horton and I’m sure that I’m related to them in some way.
The post I found about 2 months ago referenced my Blair side of the family. A picture of Clyde Vinton Blair, aka “Shinny” was posted as he ran a store in Six Mile Run. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I was related to the person who posted the photo (we are 4th cousins) and we ended up chatting and friending each other. It’s not like we were looking for one another, it just happened by my commenting on her post.
Some of the best parts of groups like these are just reading the memories that a photo or just a person’s name will bring back to the other members. I’m sure if I hung out on Instagram more often I would have similar experiences.
If you’ve never taken the time to join a group from where your relatives are from I suggest doing so. Social media is a valuable tool when working on your family history, you never know what a person may post that may answer a question you have, or even who may have the answer to a question you post.
Everyone feels out of place at times. I know I always do and even now when finding relatives through genealogy I find my portion of the Blair family “out of place”.
Most everyone else still lives in Pennsylvania while my grandfather, Leroy Blair, received an apprenticeship in Gary, Indiana, for the sheet metal trade. So, my little section of the family (and it is small compared to others as my dad was an only child) isn’t included in a lot of functions as others are.
My dad also notes when telling stories, that his grandmother, Bertha Childers, often treated him differently than the others simply because she didn’t see him as often as her other grandchildren, as even after his apprenticeship was over my grandparents moved to Akron, Ohio, never returning to Pennsylvania to live (only to visit).
For week 2 of the genealogical writing challenge 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks, the prompt is favorite photo. One of my favorites (as this is a theme every year it’s fortunate we have so many photos to love) is a photo of my dad. He received a camera for Christmas in 1956 and according to the note on the back from my grandma (Anna Maria Morgart), he was taking a picture and it “exploded” and accidentally took a picture of himself. I like to joke it’s the world’s first selfie.
When I saw the prompt for Week 1 of the 2023 version of 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks by Amy Johnson Crow, one thought jumped into my head, but alas, I wrote about that in my 2021 Week 26 Conflict post. Then there are all the usual suspects… Andrew Blair, Suzanna Akers, Mazie Warner… to name a few off the top of my head. And then it hit me, a man I’ve been curious about, a man who got his name in the newspaper for not necessarily the best of reasons (can you say moonshine?), so for this the first week of 2023 I will write about my 2nd-great-grandfather, Jonas Wise as a person I’d like to meet.
This is a photo of my 2nd-great-grandfather, Jonas Wise. He just looks to me like a very nice man. I don’t recall too many stories about him from my Grandma (Anna Maria Morgart) as he had already passed away before she was born. The one story I do remember was when my Grandma mentioned his marriage to Anna Maria Leighty, there was an age difference, it was probably not as much as she may have been thinking, Anna Maria was 4 years older than Jonas, but there is an age difference with my husband and I, and when I first began being interested in him, my Grandma likened it to their relationship, showing that even when the woman was older, the marriage could work. (She also went on to say that since women live longer than men, not sure if this is true, but it was in her world as she, her mother, and her granny all lived longer than their husbands by a good twenty years), she was optimistic that my husband and I may die at the same time. Only time will tell.
Jonas Wise was born 3 March 1855 to Philip Wise and Barbara Waite in Liberty, Bedford County, Pennsylvania. He was the 6th of 9 known children, the others being Elvina, William, John, Sarah, Margaret, Henry, Emmanual, and Mary Ann. In the 1850 Census Phillp was listed as a farmer but 10 years later in the 1860 and 1870 Censuses he is a coal miner.
Jonas married Anna Maria Leighty around 1875 with their oldest child, Henry James, being born on 3 August 1876 in Huntingdon County, Pennsylvania. Jonas and Anna had a total of 14 children, with 10 dying at birth. Their next surviving child was Riley born 25 February 1885, then Mary Ann born 25 September 1888, Margaret Dora born 11 February 1891, and lastly Hannah born 14 March 1894 (I have no record of her death, and she is not listed on the 1900 Census so she must have passed away before the turn of the century).
Living on the Edge
In the 1880 Census Jonas’ occupation was listed as Coal Miner, in 1900 he was a day laborer, and then in 1910 a woodchopper. But along with mining, day laboring, and chopping wood, Jonas Wise had a side gig. He made his own liquor and got caught selling it.
But he wasn’t caught just once, he was caught multiple times. And there is nothing like having a headline of “Whiskey Dealers in Trouble” and the first individual mentioned is your ancestor.
The offense in Huntingdon County was actually written up in a variety of local newspapers. I’m sure that made my great-great-grandmother a happy woman.
What Would I Ask Him?
One of the first questions I’d ask would be how did he become deaf? Or was he deaf his entire life? It’s not noted on any census over the years, but it was noted on the bottom of a photo that my 1st cousin once removed, Hope Dipko, had at her home. (Someone left the photo behind at a Wise Family Reunion she had attended one year).
I suppose I’d ask if making hard cider was worth the fines and jail time he often endured when he was caught? Was he caught more often than what was printed in the newspapers? I’d almost like to give him a glimpse into the future of the home brewing people do of beers and such now and wonder how impressed he would be?
I wonder what he would think about his daughter, Margaret Dora “Maggie”, living to be 96 years old when he only lived to be 57? (He died of pneumonia on 12 January 1913). I’d ask him the question I’d also like to ask his wife, was George Mullen her son (and his stepson)? She is listed as his mother sorta on his marriage license (I say sorta as it’s the wrong name but I’m guessing that is who he means – it’s Martha Wise with the father’s name unknown), and she is who he was living with in her later years, and it’s alluded to on the above photo.
And lastly, I’d ask him for any advice for me as I enter my 50’s this year. It would be interesting to find out what information would be the same and also that which would be entirely different from the changes in technology and just life in general over the past 100 years.
If you would like to participate in Amy Johnson Crow’s 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks genealogical writing challenge click here. It’s fun to take the time to write about your ancestors that you research, and you don’t have to do it each and every week.
Today I am going to share with you my helper in my genealogy search. She was my first cousin once removed who I only think I ever met in person once when I was in second grade and long before I ever became enchanted with my family history. At that time, I was a girl who loved the Muppets and I showed her a really cool science experiment (that I sometimes still do to this day to be honest). In November 1980 when I had my tonsils taken out Darlene Reese Prosser got me “The Muppet Book” for me to peruse while recuperating. I did and then some. I’m fairly certain that book is up in my attic struggling to keep it together as the binding came completely apart. But I loved that book as it had so many of my favorite sketches in type and colored photos for me to remember (I was always fond of Veterinarians Hospital and Pigs in Space).
But it was Darlene I turned to when I was in college and began a slight interest in working on my family history. She had sent me copies of family group sheets she had on our shared ancestors of the Blair’s to help me get started. I held onto that envelope of merchandise and scanned them into my own records that I have a few years ago (she also sent me a hat of my dad’s she had taken and finally returned to him, it’s still in the same envelope, she apparently took said hat when they were kids. Darlene was 5 years older than my dad and they were both born in Gary, Indiana.
It was also Darlene I have turned to off and on from 2016-2020 while I became obsessed with researching my family tree. She had begun working on our tree back in the 1980’s when everything was done with letters or in person, talking to her was always the perfect food for thought for my own research as we would discuss people and it would really click sometimes and send me on a new adventure of trying to find Andrew and Suzanna (yes, she was stuck there, too). When her daughter sent me the gedcom of Darlene’s research I was so excited and was amazed we had almost all the same information at least people-wise.
But today I am going to share with you the story of what I know of Darlene Reese Prosser, my genealogy helper, who I wish was still here to guide me.
Darlene Reese was born 9 May 1937 at St. Mary’s Mercy Hospital in Gary, Lake, Indiana to Charles Randall Reese and Vada Blair (Vada was the oldest sister of my grandfather, Leroy Blair) at 2:07 am.
Darlene was the youngest child of her parents, following the birth of her older brother, Charles Blair Reese (more commonly known as Buddy) in 1929.
In the 1940 census, the Reese family was still living in Gary, Indiana where Charles was a mechanic and Vada a housewife.
I find it interesting that one of the photos my Grandma had of Darlene was from 1943 and I liked it so much that I put it in the header of my blog. I think she is so cute and just stands out amongst all the faces in my collage.
At some point in time between 1940 and 1950, Charles, Vada, and Darlene moved to Arizona where they ran a hotel on Buckeye Road in Phoenix. I asked Darlene’s daughter if she knew why they left Indiana and moved to Arizona and her reply was “Charles got disgusted with it raining for X days straight in Indiana and decided to move west. They intended to go to California but stopped in Phoenix and stayed. Maybe he figured it would never rain in a desert as opposed to living on the West coast”.
Her daughter also elaborated, “They gave her (Darlene) total freedom to be a kid. This included riding the bus alone to go downtown to movie theaters when she was young. She’d sit behind the driver, so no weirdo would bother her. If they followed her, she’d cross the street. If they were in the theater she’d move. I swear she must have had a guardian angel”.
More from her daughter: “Throughout her life, she got her way most of the time. She’d done exactly as she wished as a child, and she carried on doing exactly that until the end of her life. She also tried to make sure those she loved also got their way.
She was endlessly loving, but she also had a temper – and she let you know when you made her mad. She had no problem putting the words together to say exactly what you’d done wrong, what she thought of it, and why you should never so much as think about doing it again in the future”.
Meeting Robert Lee Prosser
One of the specific questions I’d asked her daughter was how her parents met, as Darlene got married to Robert Lee Prosser on 18 March 1956. “My parents both went to West High in Phoenix. He was a senior when she was a freshman, and she knew of him only because: 1) he played drums for the band at the school dances; 2) he was cute. The year after he graduated, he broke up with his girlfriend (a redhead, as my mother liked to point out) and then asked a mutual friend if he know of any “petite girls”. The friend thought of my mother because she was 5’2″ and maybe weighed 100 pounds.
The friend introduced the graduate to the sophomore, and that was that. They dated until she graduated and for months after that. My father spent a lot of time at my mother’s house, sleeping on their sofa, until my grandfather told her to marry the guy because he wanted his sofa back”.
Darlene’s daughter was not sure when they got engaged, “but I think it was after she’d graduated. She often went to Pennsylvania to her cousins in the summers. She told me she didn’t want to come back the last year she went because she knew she’d get married.
They never set a date for the wedding, Mom was still living at home and Dad at his mother’s when they were out on a double date one evening, and the other couple asked when Bob and Darlene were getting married. No time like the present? So, Mom went home to get a dress and told her mother she was getting married. My grandmother didn’t believe her. They went to a justice of the peace (no idea how they reached him that night) and were married by him. I don’t know whether it was at his home or at a city hall. Don’t know where they went afterward.
They rented an apartment but a few weeks later Dad got drafted into the army. Spent 2 years away, most of it stationed in France. Mom said they likely would have gotten a divorce if he hadn’t been drafted because she wasn’t mature enough to be married. She moved back home and could have gone to France with him after his basic training was done but she refused. She got a job at AT&T tracking payments/accounting and said she spent her salary on phone calls from France.”
And Baby Makes 3
“From the time she was a teenager, she wanted a daughter, and she wanted to name her what she named me. When she was expecting me, her doctor told her she was having a boy (no idea how he knew). She cried for days.” Their daughter was born in December 1959.
I came on schedule, and she had me on a rainy Monday (rare for Phoenix) at 4:58 am. She didn’t have labor pains until the final stage – go figure. She walked the hospital corridors out of impatience, to move things along. Which likely didn’t work.
Dad couldn’t deny I was his: I had a cowlick in the same place and looked like he had as a baby. Mom had thick black hair. Dad had curly auburn hair. So did I when I was born. Then it fell out and came in blond. She never held it against me. She just made me grow it long and loved playing with it when I was a child and permed it for me when I was a teenager because it was dead straight.
Her Daughter’s Memories
I was fortunate enough to get 7 pages of memories from Darlene’s daughter with stories about her mother. I’m including everything for the simple fact that I enjoyed each and every word.
“I gave her a strawberry cake once, and she told me her mother nicknamed her Strawberry because she looked like one when she was born.
She always had a short-haired black cat while I was growing up because she loved them, though she loved all cats, black was the one that most fascinated her. Dad and she had a running joke that she was a witch because of this. She collected black cats throughout her life – knick-knacks, elegant Egyptian-like statues that book-ended our living room window, pictures, books. People would give them to her, and she’d prowl thrift stores for them.
She loved second-hand stores, junk stores, as she called them. Goodwill, Salvation Army, St Vincent de Paul’s, any used store. Their prices were terribly cheap in those years, and she bought a lot of clothing, books, decorative items for every room, Christmas and birthday presents for everyone. She traveled a lot for years with my Dad (who sold John Deere industrial machinery, and whose territory was all of Arizona north of Phoenix) and always had to check out those stores.
We all had a lot of used clothes. Her reasoning was once a new piece of clothing was washed, it was used, so no shame in wearing used.
She sewed a lot of clothes for me while I was in high school. My inseam is 33”, so it was impossible to buy pants long enough for me, so she’d make them. Occasionally she’d find used pants that were long enough or buy men’s Levis on sale from western-wear stores, then take in the waist.
I grew up in the 70s, when maxi-dresses were popular, and wore them to church and dances. She’d take me to a fabric store and have me choose wedding-dress patterns I liked. She’d then have me choose the fabric and would make me a dress.
She let me be a kid because she’d gotten to be a kid. She was having me hang my Christmas stocking at the fireplace, and giving me Easter baskets, well into my 20s. I didn’t say a word; I knew I had it good.
There was a bath every Saturday night. Afterward, she’d roll up my wet hair on fat pink rubber rollers and make me sleep in them so I’d have curled hair for church. Dressed me in pretty dresses with scratchy net slips, and colored leotards that never fit right because my legs were too long. Put me in a red coat, patent-leather shoes, scratchy hats, and made me carry a muff! One of her favorite child movie stars was Margaret O’Brien. I wasn’t a Shirley Temple, so I think Mom turned to Margaret for inspiration.
She never forgot anything that happened, or anything someone told her. Woe betide you if you lied; she couldn’t stand being lied to or being betrayed. The flip side to this was that if she knew you liked something – a book, a movie, a performer, whatever the thing was – she’d keep an eye out for it/them in her travels and get it for you. All you had to do was mention it, and at Christmas or birthday or out of the blue, she’d present it to you. She loved hunting for treasures that way, and she always thought of others – that they’d like, what would make them happy.
Throughout her life, she got her way most of the time. She’d done exactly as she wished as a child, and she carried on doing exactly that until the end of her life. She also tried to make sure those she loved also got their way.
She was endlessly loving, but she also had a temper – and she let you know when you made her mad. She had no problem putting the words together to say exactly what you’d done wrong, what she thought of it, and why you should never so much as think about doing it again in the future.
When I was four or five, and she was on the phone, I took a bottle of blue India ink out of her secretary and carried it around the corner, into the living room. I then opened it on the coffee table and promptly spilled it on myself…and on the carpet. Not on a rug, on the CARPET. She was furious – not only with me for touching her things, but also for herself for being on the phone. She covered up the stain (no getting that out) with a rug and couldn’t afford to replace the living-room carpet for the next five years or so. She never stopped mentioning to anyone who’d listen how I’d ruined her carpet. She was still mentioning it the year she passed away.
She had used a fountain pen while taking shorthand in high school, and she used the pen while keeping a diary for years – hence the reason she had India ink. When I was 12, she gave me a Sheaffer school fountain pen which took ink cartridges or bottled ink. This started my lifelong interest in fountain pens, so she got her revenge. I also learned my lesson: I’ve never spilled another bottle of ink on any surface (knock wood).
When I was 11, Kurt Weinsinger moved to Flagstaff and went to our church. He was a music professor at Northern Arizona University who also directed our church choir. Through his influence, Mom began singing the opera / musical theatre choir at NAU, and I got to watch. She sang in Carmen, Die Fledermaus, Faust, and Camelot. I fell in love with Camelot / King Arthur, she had the Broadway soundtrack, and I decided I wanted to learn to sing like Julie Andrews. I didn’t tell her. Whenever I was home alone, I snuck-sang with her musical LPs, and told Weinsinger I wanted to sing. The first time she knew of it, I got up in church to do a solo, and she thought, “Where did that come from?” I wasn’t shy, I was introverted, but no one understood that, then. I was also terrified of piano recitals yet had no problem singing in public.
She encouraged me to keep singing. In addition to piano lessons, she supported me to the point I was able to sing in the top high-school choir, madrigals, perform in drama, and make it to regional and state choir. The audition for the state choir took place at West High – which I think was then a community college and no longer a high school. Years later, I also ended up singing with the same musical-theater director she’d had for Camelot and the operas. And Weinsinger gave me voice lessons for years at NAU. So that’s what you get for dragging your kid to The Sound of Music, Camelot, Funny Girl, and the like. She was always too shy to do anything in public, whether it was teaching Sunday School or singing a solo, but she seemed to be proud of what I was doing. No matter what I became interested in, she supported it. Except for wanting a horse. She and Dad didn’t want me getting hurt, so there was never a horse in my life.
When I was ten or so, she decided she wanted to take a trip back east to visit relatives and do genealogical research. This was pre-internet, so any seeking of birth/death certificates, civil records, etc. had to be done in person or through the mail. She and Dad owned a 1965 Chevy truck with a camper shell and foam-rubber mattresses in the back. The plan was for Mom, Grandma, and me to stay in KOAs along the way for this 6000+ round trip. Dad later said he expected her to turn around after 200 miles or so and come back home. Didn’t happen.
Did I mention she could be stubborn? (Before I forget to tell you, her method of dealing with anything she didn’t want to entertain or discuss was to meet your query or comment with silence. She could ignore things into oblivion.)
I spent the trip reading books in the back, and I have sporadic memories of the entire trip. But it does involve memories of your grandparents because it was the first of two times I visited them in Akron and went to the farm. One of the trips was the year a PBS special on Leonardo da Vinci was airing, and it was important to me that I saw it every week we were on the road. Your grandfather was amused I was interested in da Vinci.
I didn’t meet your Dad because he was in the military at the time, but I slept in his bedroom. He had a ticking alarm clock that I put under the bed and covered up because the ticking bothered me.”
She went into more details about my grandfather that I did cut just because this is about her mom, not Pappy. But she did say my Grandma had great pies, and she did.
“I remember my mother was given an antique round table in Pennsylvania on that trip. Into the back of the camper it went, and we climbed over its top and pedestal for the rest of the trip. I also remember visiting an old, old graveyard whose headstones were weathered to the point of being unreadable – at least to me. One had even been taken over by a tree growing next to it. Maybe Mom told you about this trip.
She loved antiques. My grandfather and she would go to auctions, and she’d buy boxes full of piano sheet music for cheap at the last auctions of the day, when most everyone else would have gone home. No one wanted 19th-century furniture in the 50s. Grandpa had a store – mainly a shed and a yard on Buckeye Road – where he’d sell appliances and furniture. (This was after giving up on the motel).
Mom had her pick of the antiques. Among other things, she chose an upright piano (that was later taken to Flagstaff, and I learned on it), a secretary, a cedar chest, a tapestry featuring Spanish galleons in port, two brass incense burners, and an assortment of big and small tables (but not the kind you eat on).
She didn’t like domestic chores or cooking. She wanted her freedom, to explore her corner of the world and see what there was to see. She loved Christmas and would take far too long traipsing through the woods in search of the perfect tree for Dad to cut… to the point of exasperating him. She’d wander off – not only in the woods (after he’d told her not to), but in Costco as well, leaving my Dad and me to fulfill the shopping list and wait for her in the commissary section. She’d get her own goodies…she did love a good treasure hunt, after all.
She was a beautiful woman, inside and out, who loved with fierce loyalty, compassion, and caring. I couldn’t have asked for a better mother, or Dad for a better wife. He always commented that she took good care of him, and she did it for years. She took good care of her mother and me as well. She didn’t really let others take care of her, except for Dad. He’d get her a box of dark-chocolate nougats every Christmas. She loved those, and black licorice.
I remember taking her to see Ladyhawke. The theatre was empty except for a few other people. Matthew Broderick / Mouse’s lines made her laugh out loud.
She loved Barry Manilow long after he was a pop music icon and inherited the LPs of him that I’d collected in the 70s and lost interest in. She took me to one of his concerts because she liked him, but she also took me to one of Michael Crawford’s in the 90s because I liked him. My best friend loves Kermit / Jim Henson, and Mom got tickets to an exhibition on Henson in Phoenix more than a decade ago… and bought Jim Henson videos for her whenever Mom ran across them. My friend was also into dressage and Arabians and Anglo-Arabian horses, so Mom was always on the lookout for things she’d like.
I hope she’s off in the Afterworld exploring everything and anything that interests her, spending time with Weinsinger and other friends who have moved on. I hope she and Dad are travelling together, and that she’s getting to do all of the things she didn’t have time to do.
I miss hunting treasures in second-hand shops with her and talking with her for hours on the phone. I miss hearing her laugh, and her endless questions about my life. I miss her”.
Her Next Chapter
Darlene passed away on 6 March 2020 after having a fall. For a woman I had only met in person once when I was 7, her death really affected me. Until reading her daughter’s memories I learned I had more in common with her than even family history, I love Barry Manilow, too, and always get lost in stores because I’ll just stop to look at something and not care what whomever I’m with is doing. And I like to think she has met Andrew and Suzanna in the afterworld and is somehow trying to get me to next level up in our family tree. Or at least I can hope she is.
Rest in Peace, Darlene. You were one in a million and are missed.
One of things I wish I could achieve in my genealogical journey would be to join a lineage society, specifically Daughters of the American Revolution (as I am a huge fan of the Revolutionary War). However, with this goal also lies one of my largest conflicts in my family history as I would like to join under my 5th-great-grandfather, Peter Morgart, simply because this is through my Grandma Blair’s (Anna Maria Morgart) family, as I had always had a special bond with her and my obsession with genealogy began as I was missing her back on 10 August 2016, and I signed up with FamilySearch and the rest is now history.
My conflict exists because both my Grandmother’s birth certificate and death certificate have the same incorrect name listed for her father. Instead of the correct name of Charles Jackson Morgart, A Jackson Morgart is listed instead.
Now, in my dad’s defense, who was the informant on her death certificate, his paternal grandfather’s name was Andrew Jackson Blair, so I can relate to his boo-boo in his time of grief. But no one was more surprised than me when I ordered up my Grandmother’s birth certificate from the Pennsylvania Historic and Museum Commission back in January 2020 to find her dad’s name would once again be listed as A Jackson Morgart instead of Charles Jackson Morgart.
To cause me more grief is the fact that Charles Jackson Morgart committed suicide on 24 July 1917, and with my Grandmother being born on 2 April 1914, there is no census that has both listed on the same document as father and daughter. I’ve also never found an obituary or death notice in the newspaper to shed light on his death, so nothing that would state that he had a daughter named Anna Maria Morgart (or at least not yet).
I do have her marriage license that states her father’s name is Charles Jackson Morgart, but would that document be enough?
I suppose if I needed more evidence I could hope that the birth certificate for his older son, Charles Edward Morgart, which does have the correct name listed would work, and that I could hope that I have a DNA match with one of his descendants which could give me the argument I need to prove I am his great-granddaughter, and connect me to the rest of the lineage that would lead to Peter Morgart.
Has anyone out there in cyberspace had this sort of genealogical problem? How did you get around it? Is the marriage license enough?
Ever since the clock struck midnight on Friday, April 1 the genealogical world has gone crazy trying to find their ancestors in the newly released 1950 census. Were you prepared to know where you had to search for your loved ones? I was a last-minute person, looking up the enumeration district for my mom and giving my dad a call to find out what state he was living in when 1950 rolled around. You see this was the first census my parents are in so I will admit I was a little excited.
I contemplated staying up until midnight when it was released to the world, but I was so tired I knew I wouldn’t have been able to stay awake that long. So, I made sure I got up at my usual 6:11am (the time I normally get up to get ready when my kids are going to school, they happened to be on Spring Break last week, so I was able to sleep in an extra hour), got ready, ate early and made sure I had a good solid hour before having to head out the door to focus on the 1950 census.
Of my parents, finding my mom was a little easier. I thought initially she and her parents were already living on North Main Street in Akron, Ohio but I was wrong. I am glad I took the time to look up their information in the City Directory to find them living in Cuyahoga Falls, which is where I myself was born and raised (and it’s literally a 2-minute drive in either direction from where I live presently). It made it even easier for me to find except I selected the wrong enumeration district. Where they lived on Second Street there were multiple choices. It was odd though, I never had paid attention that they lived there before and here I drove by where their house was every day when I took my kids to school, or when I was a member of the Natatorium a few years back. (It appears that it’s a vacant lot where the building once stood).
On my mom’s side of the family, I found her parents, Harold Fairhurst, Alberta Lou Fairhurst, herself, Cynthia Anne Fairhurst, and her younger sister, Terry (Teri) Mildred Fairhurst.
My dad was a little trickier. I had called him the night before to ask if he knew if they were in Ohio yet, or if they (he and his parents) were still living in Indiana. My dad would have been 7 in 1950 and apparently all of his schooling was here in Ohio, so that narrowed it down. However, when they first moved to Ohio, they didn’t live in Akron, they lived in the Village of Lakemore, which was near Akron. This is one of those places that I have heard of, but I am not sure if I have ever been there.
I threw “Lakemore” into the enumeration district page to see if anything came up, but it wasn’t helpful. Luckily Google exists. I searched Lakemore, Ohio and luckily it came up and I was able to discover the zip code for it.
I then went to the Ancestry.com and they had a tool you could throw in your zip code and such and it would provide the enumeration districts for the area. So, I put in 44250 and I was able to narrow my search to 77-114, 115, 116, or 117, which translates to about 100 total pages to scan.
I lucked out, they were halfway through 115, and not only did I find my dad and grandparents, but my grandfather’s brother was living right next door with two of their kids as well! So, the total family I found for my dad was his dad, Leroy Blair, his mom, Anna Maria Morgart, his uncle, Donald Blair, his aunt, Anna Smzrlich, and two of their children.
I’ll admit I have hundreds of people I am sure I need to look up and find in the 1950 census. My great-grandparents on all sides of my family would have all been alive and kicking still, but I’m more than happy to wait until I can search by name and save it that way. I figure if I come across someone else that I just need to find, I will, but I have time (and not fully understanding the layout of Pennsylvania towns, who knows how long it would take me to find them).
Did you enjoy the fun of finding your ancestors in the 1950 census? How many people did you find? Share in the comments below!
All my life my favorite holiday has been Christmas. My mom always preferred Thanksgiving because family would get together for simpler things: family and food, she felt with Christmas and Easter the gifts and candy were the reasons people got together. But it wasn’t just gifts that have made me love Christmas, it was the tree and all the decorations, baking cookies and that little bit of magic that all the very special ornaments and lights can bring.
As I have gone through the photographs that once belonged to my Grandma Blair (aka Anna Maria Morgart) and her mother, Margaret Dora Wise, I saw photographs of Christmases past. This delighted me to no end, as it made me feel that my love of Christmas was something that is in my soul, and that I have inherited from those who came before me.
But not on just my dad’s side of the family, oh no, my maternal grandmother, Alberta Lou Fleming, loved Christmas as well. I have so many photos between Christmas day and her yearly Christmas Eve parties when she returned from living in Florida.
Though Christmas is my favorite, to me the holidays more or less begin on Thanksgiving and don’t really end until New Year’s Day. So many wonderful memories throughout the years and sometimes they all just flow together. If no other time family gets together, it’s a holiday. We get together with my husband’s family on Memorial Day and Labor Day each year. We changed it up and have gone to my cousin’s on the 4th of July (which is nice as it’s our shared uncle’s birthday, too).
All in all, holidays are just very special days, no matter how you celebrate them. It’s just extra special to share them with those you love.
Fun and games is the topic for this week’s writing challenge for Amy Johnson Crow’s 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks. I’ve been so busy and lately the prompts have gone more in depth than what I know about my relatives, so I’ll share what I know.
Anna Maria Morgart
My gosh I wish I didn’t have them so packed away as I would have dug out my Grandma’s porcelain dolls that are located in a box up in my attic. Her request when she was getting ready to pass was that I would get them as she knows I am the pack rat she is and I would take care of them. Knowing the dolls are over 100 years old has them wrapped up and tucked away in the space but my goal is to display them when I have the space up there to do them justice (and then I’ll add a photo to this post). My Grandma loved her dolls and took excellent care of them.
My dad’s big hobby growing up was reading. He read every chance he could, so much so that he often claims it was the reason that he spent many summers attending classes to make up for the assignments he didn’t do throughout the normal school year.
He also claims that he must have liked summer school as he may have changed his habits if he truly hated it.
When I called and asked him what his favorite book was he said he didn’t really have one from back then. His favorite books were history books that were 156 pages long published by Random House. The books featured stories about Guadalcanal, the Revolutionary War and Daniel Boone (to name a few). He said they were a good size, he normally read them in about a day, while he was in school.
I know I have inherited my dad’s love of reading (however I read at home or during Study Hall). He still loves to read and is finishing up a trilogy on World War 2 that I purchased for him for Christmas, his Birthday and Father’s Day.
I can honestly say I don’t know what all my mom did for hobbies. She wasn’t a reader, that is for sure. I always remember her telling me stories of how the Gorge was her playground/ The Gorge is part of the Summit County MetroParks that people hike, ice skate, picnic, and fish at each year.
For example the photo of the pipe she claims she walked across. I find this hard to believe as she was afraid of heights. Like majorly afraid of heights. But maybe she was more daring as a kid/teenager.
The above photos were all taken by me – the top is looking down on the Falls that is about to be taken out and the originals restored. The rock formation is Mary Campbell Cave where Indians had apparently abducted a girl and that is where they held her, and lastly is the field where in the winter the skating rink is located. Weather hasn’t really allowed for any ice skating the last few years, but I know my mom and her siblings had wonderful memories there.