Thanksgiving 1914 (Remembering Aileen Underwood)

Now, therefore, I, John M. Haines, governor of the state of Idaho, do hereby join with the president of the United States in designating and setting apart Thursday, the 26th day of November, Thanksgiving Day, and I call upon our people to cease from all labor on that day and congregate at their houses of worship, or assemble at public meeting places, or gather around the family altar and offer to Almighty God their most heartfelt thanks for the blessings that are ours, and their most fervent prayer for the perpetuity of the conditions that make such blessings possible--thanks that ours is a land where every citizen is protected in life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, prayers that as a nation we may ever be guided by the inspirations of the fathers of the republic--thanks that our country is at peace with the world, prayers that the carnage across the seas may cease.

So proclaimed Governor John M. Haines on 9 Nov 1914. Among those making preparations for the upcoming holiday, was the Underwood family of Meridian: Walter, the very pregnant Flora, and their children Walter, Bill, Elsie, and Olive. 

Elsie once told me about this particular Thanksgiving Day, and I wish she were still here to clarify the details for me. I am not certain whether Flora was planning to host the family gathering and the ensuing events changed that plan, or whether--and more likely, considering Flora's condition--it was planned all along that the family would go to their "Aunt Sadie's" (Walter's sister) house. But, either way, Aunt Sadie ended up serving as hostess. I like to envision a dramatic scene at the Underwood house, with all the family circled around the table, and Flora suddenly gasping out, "It's time!" She is then rushed into the bedroom, while Sadie graciously takes over the duties of the hostess. But it seems far more probable that Walter and the children went to Sadie's to begin with. Flora was nine months pregnant, after all, and preparing a Thanksgiving feast would have been quite strenuous.

Flora was in the bedroom, in labor. There was a woman, or some women, to help her (I seem to remember Elsie saying), but none of the family. Childbirth was for women, not for men, and definitely not for children. It was for the best if the family could be shuffled off to their aunt's for the celebration. And when they returned, Flora had a brand new baby girl. 

The child was named Aileen Maryann, after her Aunt Sadie's daughter Ileane and her paternal grandmother Mary Ann (Valentine) Underwood. I have always found it odd that her eponym should be "Ileane," while her own name was pronounced "Alene." Perhaps there was an evolution in the pronunciation of her first name as she grew.

She grew, eventually married Vinis "Red" Brosius, and had two children of her own. More time passed, and she became my grandmother. By the time I was able to remember, she had been widowed, and lived alone. To differentiate my two grandmothers, I called her "One Grandma," after the number of people living in her house. (My other grandma was "Two Grandma," for the same reason, but she didn't like the connotation of being number two, so I seldom called her by that name.) I remember that she tried to go along with my naming of her, but generally got it backwards, signing her cards "Grandma #1."

One Grandma, or Grandma Aileen as I more often call her now, passed away when I was only ten years old, and as recently as 2013 I was able to write (in a rough draft for a blog post about her which I never completed) "I still remember her well. However, my memories are beginning to fade a little, and get a little distressed around the edges like a photo that has been carried in a wallet for too long. So it is a good time to set them down, while they are still crystallized." Unfortunately, that metaphorical photo has been carried in my wallet for even longer, and is beginning to get creases and wear not only around the edges, but across the face. It becomes harder and harder to conjure up memories of her. 

The easiest memories to invoke are the general impressions of her as the "perfect grandma"--the kind you see on old television shows, the kind that cooks up a full turkey dinner with all the trimmings for every holiday, the kind that keeps her yard and her house immaculate, the kind that always makes you feel special. She was my only babysitter for most of my childhood, and every time we arrived at her house she would either be gardening in the yard, cooking in the kitchen, or knitting on the couch. She subscribed in my name to World magazine, the child's edition of National Geographic (and far superior to today's National Geographic Kids), and as I entered the house I would always look on the foyer table next to the tiny cactus in the boot-shaped ceramic vase to see if the new issue had arrived yet. Often I would, very gently, poke a needle in the cactus to show how brave I was.

Grandma taught me how to squeeze the sides of a snapdragon flower to make the "dragon" open its "mouth," and I remember the two of us playing with them in the back garden like puppets. The snapdragons were near the tomatoes and potatoes, and Grandma taught me how to harvest the potatoes. (She probably taught me how to harvest tomatoes as well, but I didn't like tomatoes.) I remember her teaching me, but I don't remember how to do it.

I do remember how she taught me to sew. She taught me my first stitch, the running stitch. She had once worked at Jantzen Knitting Mills, and had a a number of tricks. Perhaps if she had lived longer I would have become proficient. But she, at least, gave me a decent foundation. She did beadwork, as well. I forgot most of what she had taught me about that for a while, but then re-learned.

Grandma was a wonderful cook. I was fortunate enough to indirectly inherit some of her cooking ability. My maternal grandmother was... not a wonderful cook, so my mom eventually learned from her mother-in-law, Grandma Aileen, and then passed her learning on to me. Although Grandma Aileen was a wonderful cook, I was a picky child. She had to get creative to get me to eat anything besides peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or chicken noodle soup. To this day, the only way I truly enjoy a tuna fish sandwich is the way that Grandma made it: the canned tuna mixed thoroughly with a little mayonnaise, spread on white Wonder Bread, cut into four squares (not triangles), and with a few Pringles on the side.

One day she made tomato soup, which I refused to even taste because: tomatoes. So Grandma introduced me to the melon baller. I was to eat my soup with a melon baller instead of a spoon. The soup would run through the hole in the scoop, so I had to rush it to my mouth before it all ran out. Much to my surprise, tomato soup suddenly became palatable. After that, I often asked to eat my soup with a melon baller, and my favorite soup became tomato. 

The holidays were always spent at Grandma's house, with the whole family and a full dinner. Turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, Jell-O salad, candied yams, coconut cream pie, chocolate pudding pie. We would all gather around the table together, but when it wasn't dinnertime, Grandma would be in the kitchen. She had a galley kitchen in her house, right off the dining room and visible from the living room. You couldn't comfortably fit more than one person in that kitchen at a time. So often Grandma would be in there alone, while the rest of us were gathered in the living room talking. And Grandma would be in the kitchen, laughing and laughing. She had the most joyous, infectious laugh. One couldn't help but laugh with her. She would shout out her contributions to the conversation, too, but her laugh was the most memorable thing.

The more I write about Grandma, the more memories begin to flood back. I remember how she would sometimes sit on the floor and play Barbies with me, and when we were done she would ask me to help her up. I would try to pull her up by the hand, and she would grunt and make it to her feet.

I remember that she wore false teeth, and would dislodge them from her gums and display them between her lips when I would request it. It was like an amusing magic trick.

I remember that she kept a bucket of coins in one of her kitchen cupboards, which she would let me play with. 

I remember the time she jumped up and down in her garbage can to compact the trash, but fell out and we had to rush her to the hospital with a broken wrist. Luckily it happened just as we were leaving her house, before we were gone. We were actually in the car, pulling out of the driveway, when it happened.

One day, she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. I was nine years old. We visited her at the hospital, or at the nursing home, every day after school. Sometimes it was boring, and I sat in the hallway doing my homework. The nursing home had a pet rabbit in a cage, which I enjoyed. I remember she had a roommate at the nursing home for a while: a young woman named Bonnie. We liked Bonnie.

Being in the nursing home, Grandma could no longer keep her hair dyed brown as it had always been. That was when I learned that Grandma dyed her hair. I remember that when it grew out, it was the most beautiful golden shade of gray, and I couldn't understand why she had been dying it.

On November 26, 1989, for her 75th birthday, I brought in my violin to play her "Happy Birthday." By that time she could no longer talk or move, but she listened with loving eyes to my scratchy, off-key rendition of the song. The next day she died.

Christmas of 1989 was the first Christmas we ever celebrated without her. But there were still presents under the tree with her name on the tag. She had done her Christmas shopping by mail order before she passed away. My present was exquisite: a real silver vanity set with a mirror, a brush, and a comb. The back of the mirror was engraved, and she had finally gotten it right. The engraving reads, "From #1 Grandma."

Today is the 115th anniversary of that eventful Thanksgiving Day when she was born. I have never forgotten her on this day, even if it is only to look up to Heaven and whisper, "Happy birthday, Grandma."

Sources:

"Thanksgiving Day Proclamation by the Governor of Idaho," The Meridian times, 13 Nov 1914, p. 1, col. 2; digital images, Chronicling America (https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov : accessed 24 Nov 2019), Historic American Newspapers.

Elsie Crocker, "Elsie Crocker" (typescript, 1990s); copy in possession of Amber Brosius.

Personal reminiscences of Amber Brosius.

Craig mysteries slowly unraveling

Alex E. Proimos [CC BY 2.0], via Wikimedia Commons

On Monday I did the unthinkable. I accidentally left my laptop at work, so in the evening I had only my phone for genealogy. Today's smartphones are amazing, and you can download wonderful genealogy apps, but, in both screen size and flexibility, they are still inferior to a laptop. But I had to make do, so I opened up the FamilySearch app and began scrolling through my "Ancestors with Tasks" list, looking for relatives I know readily enough to easily determine if a source applies. (And, might I add, it drives my pedantic side nuts that the app calls them all "Ancestors" when most of them aren't ancestors at all, but collateral lines?)

The first few tasks I went through weren't memorable. Finally I clicked on Barney Robbinnult, my 3great-grandfather. The possible record match that popped up was a marriage license naming him as the father, and my 3great-grandmother Julia Kimmey as the mother, of the bride. The marriage took place in California in 1916, and the bride was Mattie Craig.

My 2great-grandmother was Martha (Robinault) Craig, sometimes called Mattie. Up until the moment the significance of this marriage record dawned on me, I knew only what was written in one of the articles on her first husband's, my 2great-grandfather's, murder: "For about two years [John Stephen Craig] had been separated from his wife, who is now said to be remarried and living in California." But California is a big place, Martha Craig is a common name, and I had no idea what her married name might be.

Marriage record, trimmed from the original at FamilySearch

And here was the record that would solve that mystery. She married a man named Paul Ruther. He was a painter, born in Germany, and his parents were named, too. The date was before John Craig's murder, and both parties selected "Divorced" as their marital status. That meant that somewhere there has to be a divorce record for the Craigs. But where? In California, Nebraska, or somewhere in between? My initial survey for records of that period being unsatisfactory, it occurred to me that divorces at the time often appeared in newspapers.

I knew that just searching for "John Craig" at Chronicling America would yield little; many times I had tried unsuccessfully to find his murder that way. Looking for a divorce record, the logical search terms would be "Craig divorce," so I set the search parameters to Nebraska and tried that, but found nothing of interest. I remembered having tried "Martha Craig" in the past, so I tried her nickname "Mattie Craig." Apart from being reminded that there was another Martha/Mattie Craig in Omaha at the time, apparently highly respectable and working as a schoolteacher, there was nothing of interest again. I racked my brain, thinking what would have appeared in a divorce notice in the 1910s. Unless the parties were prominent (as mine were most certainly not) or the divorce had some other special interest to the public, the notices were usually quite succinct. Just names and addresses.

So I tried their address: "Tenth and Paul." And there was the jackpot. Many of the articles that the OCR had failed to recognize as "John Craig" or "Martha Craig" or "Mattie Craig" suddenly began to appear. Their divorce has still failed to materialize, but something else did show up. The headline in the Omaha Daily Bee read "Had a Premonition He Would Be Killed," and I knew immediately what the article would be about. Here was one of the long-sought-after articles on John Craig's murder.

The article duplicated much of the information that is contained in the first article of the Omaha World Herald, which I transcribed on a former post, "A Murder in the Family." But there were a few differences. For one, this newspaper dubbed him with the nickname of "hermit expressman." Although the idea that he was an expressman who was a hermit was not new, using it as a nickname was. Secondly, this paper identified the neighbor who had last seen him alive by name. This article was also much more definite on the information about his wife having divorced him and remarried. It stated as a fact that "[h]e was divorced from his wife, who remarried and is now in California." However, the article also gave the wrong name for his son Matthew, calling him Martin instead.

A few more articles on the subject appeared in the Daily Bee for the next several days, although not a single one of them comes up in the results when searching for "John Craig." The second article in the series, "Police Believe Craig Murdered," which was published the following day, made the interesting observation that

For years John Craig conducted a little grocery store near his home, Tenth and Paul streets. He was never known to have given customers credit on purchases and is said to have made many enemies as a result. It is thought that perhaps one of these persons may have committed the deed.

This is the first I have heard of the idea that one of his customers killed him. It is also the only article I have seen that elaborates on what kind of store he ran. Knowing that he was an expressman, I had imagined his store to be more on the lines of stationery or carriage riggings. Seeing that it was a grocery store took me by surprise.

The newspaper search for "Tenth and Paul" also revealed some more color to add to the already colorful characters in the Craig family. From the articles I had already amassed from the World Herald, it was well established that they did not get along smoothly with their neighbors. The Daily Bee cemented that impression, and managed to top everything with my own 2great-grandmother, at the late date of 1906, accusing her neighbor of being a witch!

Since my search was for the location, not names, there were also many results that had nothing to do with my ancestors, but with the neighborhood in which they lived. It seems to have been an area with frequent police intervention, and one 1911 article explicitly said, "The neighborhood is regarded as a tough one by the police."

I began to be curious to see the layout of the neighborhood. The various articles had made it clear that it was near the railroad tracks, and some of the businesses mentioned made it sound like an industrial area. The Library of Congress website has a nice collection of Sanborn maps available to view for free, so I narrowed down the collection to those of Omaha, and then began scanning through them for the neighborhood. Although I have not mentioned it yet in this post, the Craigs' address was variously given as "Tenth" or "Eleventh" and "Paul" or "Nicholas," so I figured that they must have lived within in a block defined by those four streets. 

Excerpt from 1901 Sanborn map of Omaha, showing intersection of Eleventh and Nicholas.

Only two of the maps of Omaha contained that part of town, and the one dated nearest the time of John Craig's murder was published some 16 years earlier, in 1901. But there is one thing very baffling about both these maps. It is easy to see that Nicholas and Paul streets do parallel one another, and are one block apart. Likewise, Tenth and Eleventh; and they are perpendicular to Nicholas and Paul, as expected. The intersection of Nicholas and Eleventh is easy to find. But Paul street seems to fade away before it can cross Tenth! Yet multiple newspaper articles, not only in 1917, but also at the time this map was published, refer to the intersection of Tenth and Paul.

So there we have it. My Craig ancestors lived at a nonexistent street intersection. Although some of their mysteries are slowly unraveling, they only give rise to new mysteries. I guess they know how to keep a person intrigued.


Sources:

Los Angeles, California, "California, County Marriages, 1850-1952", Licenses & certificates v. 261-264 1916: 130 (image 859 of 1443), Ruther-Craig, 12 Sept 1916; digital images, Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, FamilySearch (www.familysearch.org : accessed 20 May 2019).

"Craig is Found Dead; How Killed Mystery," Omaha World Herald, 22 Feb 1917, p. 1; digital images, GenealogyBank (www.genealogybank.com).

"Had a Premonition He Would Be Killed," Omaha Daily Bee, 23 Feb 1917, p. 7, col. 4; digital images, Chronicling America (https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov : accessed 21 May 2019), Historic American Newspapers.

"Police Believe Craig Murdered," Omaha Daily Bee, 24 Feb 1917, p. 11, col. 3-4; digital images, Chronicling America (https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov : accessed 21 May 2019), Historic American Newspapers.

"No Light Shed on Death Of John Craig at Inquest," Omaha Daily Bee, 26 Feb 1917, p. 5, col. 4; digital images, Chronicling America (https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov : accessed 21 May 2019), Historic American Newspapers.

"Manzer is Seriously Cut," Omaha daily bee, 16 July 1911, p. 5, col. 2; digital images, Chronicling America (https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov : accessed 21 May 2019), Historic American Newspapers. 

Sanborn Fire Insurance Map from Omaha, Douglas And Sarpy County, Nebraska. Sanborn Map Company, Vol. 2, 1901. Map.