Digging
Oh, dear, long time, no post. Let's see, last weekend we went to Springfield for N's grandparents' sixty-fifth anniversary party, and what a party it was. A day-long catered event complete with pool and lake access and many small children. The whole weekend was well-timed, less rushing than some visits and time with the grandparents, of course. We also spent a bit of time with N's father's cousin, Cheryl, who is introducing us to a slew of cousins of that side of the family via facebook. Her son and his wife are graduates of the CIA and apparently great foodies. We may head south to Kansas City soon to meet up with some of these cousins.
Whether it was meeting up with these cousins, talking to the grandparents about their families, or watching so many episodes of John Adams, something rekindled my interest in my own genealogy. My mother's grandparents (all four) came to this country at the turn of the century from a part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire that would soon become Czechoslovakia and is now Slovakia (which has no relation to Slovenia, by the way, despite common confusion regarding this matter). Aside from some reported dialogues with my great-grandmother during childhood, I don't speak Slovak, and I don't know exactly where the family is from, so I wouldn't know how to start researching my family over there.
Closer to home, we have the other side of my family, the paternal side, which I always thought would be even more challenging to dissect. As some of you may recall from the occasional mention, my biological father chose to walk out some time within the first year of my life (though reportedly not before kindly kidnapping me for two weeks, but that's a whole other adventure for another time), and as a result I haven't had any connection with him or his family for the last thirty-six years. A few years after his disappearance, my mother remarried, my stepfather adopted me, and I've had a new last name ever since. I do think about contacting James on occasion, but I can never identify what I hope to gain from such a reunion, so I never make the quest a priority, despite curiosity about my own heritage if nothing else.
And my real last name, it's not super common. You don't hear it a lot. Still, I started playing around on various websites of public records, and I found records as far back as 1757. Even today, there's a great concentration of that family in Essex County, Massachusetts. Back in the day, I had family who gave their lives in the Revolutionary war. I had family who worked as blacksmiths and "morocco colorers" (as best I can tell, this is someone who dyes leather, perhaps for shoes?). I first find record of my family in Marblehead, but then also there's a branch in Plymouth County whose roots I trace back nearly as far. Marblehead was a great port and the forerunners of the US Navy actually sprung from there. Naturally, building sea vessels became a successful industry there. It seems that Marblehead was also one of the first slave ports, having built the first slave ship, and while I haven't studied trade routes very much, perhaps this relates to the large population sharing my last name in Trinidad, Tobago, St. Vincent, and the Grenandines.
Marblehead was originally a plantation of Salem, and eventually got its independence from it, as many fled the wrath of the Puritans leading that settlement. A generation or two later, though, you see my family in Salem. They remained cobblers, soldiers, couriers, and oh, yes, they would have been present for the Witch Trial hysteria, though I've seen no record of their involvement on either side. They had common first names like John, Annie, Hannah, Mary, Abby, Benjamin, Charles, Eliza, Thomas, Robert. They died fighting for the Union again during the Civil War. In the twentieth century, while many have moved away, there are still plenty in Beverly, Danvers, Winthrop, Salem, Lynn, Wenham, and Peabody. A disconcerting detail is that many in the twentieth century have died young. Indeed, Anthony who was born a mere two years before me died in his early thirties. Arthur died in the 60s at 45. Francis in 1971 at 43, Paul in 2004 at 48, and Thomas in 1994 at 49. To hear my mother tell it, they were all alcoholics, but perhaps there is some genetic reason why many in my family have lived seemingly short lives.
I intend to get to the bottom of this if I can.
Whether it was meeting up with these cousins, talking to the grandparents about their families, or watching so many episodes of John Adams, something rekindled my interest in my own genealogy. My mother's grandparents (all four) came to this country at the turn of the century from a part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire that would soon become Czechoslovakia and is now Slovakia (which has no relation to Slovenia, by the way, despite common confusion regarding this matter). Aside from some reported dialogues with my great-grandmother during childhood, I don't speak Slovak, and I don't know exactly where the family is from, so I wouldn't know how to start researching my family over there.
Closer to home, we have the other side of my family, the paternal side, which I always thought would be even more challenging to dissect. As some of you may recall from the occasional mention, my biological father chose to walk out some time within the first year of my life (though reportedly not before kindly kidnapping me for two weeks, but that's a whole other adventure for another time), and as a result I haven't had any connection with him or his family for the last thirty-six years. A few years after his disappearance, my mother remarried, my stepfather adopted me, and I've had a new last name ever since. I do think about contacting James on occasion, but I can never identify what I hope to gain from such a reunion, so I never make the quest a priority, despite curiosity about my own heritage if nothing else.
And my real last name, it's not super common. You don't hear it a lot. Still, I started playing around on various websites of public records, and I found records as far back as 1757. Even today, there's a great concentration of that family in Essex County, Massachusetts. Back in the day, I had family who gave their lives in the Revolutionary war. I had family who worked as blacksmiths and "morocco colorers" (as best I can tell, this is someone who dyes leather, perhaps for shoes?). I first find record of my family in Marblehead, but then also there's a branch in Plymouth County whose roots I trace back nearly as far. Marblehead was a great port and the forerunners of the US Navy actually sprung from there. Naturally, building sea vessels became a successful industry there. It seems that Marblehead was also one of the first slave ports, having built the first slave ship, and while I haven't studied trade routes very much, perhaps this relates to the large population sharing my last name in Trinidad, Tobago, St. Vincent, and the Grenandines.
Marblehead was originally a plantation of Salem, and eventually got its independence from it, as many fled the wrath of the Puritans leading that settlement. A generation or two later, though, you see my family in Salem. They remained cobblers, soldiers, couriers, and oh, yes, they would have been present for the Witch Trial hysteria, though I've seen no record of their involvement on either side. They had common first names like John, Annie, Hannah, Mary, Abby, Benjamin, Charles, Eliza, Thomas, Robert. They died fighting for the Union again during the Civil War. In the twentieth century, while many have moved away, there are still plenty in Beverly, Danvers, Winthrop, Salem, Lynn, Wenham, and Peabody. A disconcerting detail is that many in the twentieth century have died young. Indeed, Anthony who was born a mere two years before me died in his early thirties. Arthur died in the 60s at 45. Francis in 1971 at 43, Paul in 2004 at 48, and Thomas in 1994 at 49. To hear my mother tell it, they were all alcoholics, but perhaps there is some genetic reason why many in my family have lived seemingly short lives.
I intend to get to the bottom of this if I can.