52 Ancestors Week 2: Favorite Photo

The prompt for Week 2 of the 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks challenge this year is "Favorite Photo." 

My first reaction when I saw that this week's prompt was "Favorite Photo," was an inward groan and the question of how I could pick just one. A moment later, an image came to mind, of my Grandma Rose as a child, and the recollection that the image had an interesting story with it. It may not be my favorite photo of all time, but it is my favorite photo of Grandma Rose as a child.

The photo shows Grandma staring at the viewer, her round face framed by a short, blunt bob cut with thick bangs. She is wearing a dress with a wide white collar and a large dark bow. The most striking element of the picture is the lighting. Much of the background is in deep shadow, and Grandma's chest is slashed by strips of light and dark, like sun shining through a blind.

All through their lives, my mom and her siblings heard the story that Grandma was supposed to have been Spanky in the Our Gang (Little Rascals) films, but she lost the job because the studio found out that she was a girl and they wanted a boy. It seems like a strange story because she lived in Omaha, Nebraska, far from Hollywood studios, but it turned out to have a kernel of truth.

I found it quite by accident. Stroesser, Grandma's maiden name, is fortunately pretty uncommon. It is possible to trace a genealogical relationship between most Stroessers in North America. Therefore, in newspaper research, I can narrow the search down to Omaha newspapers and use just "Stroesser" as the search term, and almost every result will have something to do with Grandma's family.

One day I was combing through the results of such a search and stumbled upon an article entitled "More Entries in Davey Lee Resemblance Contest." Davey Lee was a child actor of the era, perhaps most recognizable today as Sonny Boy of the eponymous Al Jolson song. He played the character in two films, The Singing Fool and Sonny Boy. The lookalike contest was being put on by the Omaha World-Herald, with grand prizes of $50, and every participant invited to attend a theater party with the chance of meeting Davey Lee himself.

 

And there, in the top row of entries, was a trimmed down version of that interesting photo of Grandma Rose. It was her entry into the Davey Lee resemblance contest! This explained that strange story about Spanky of the Little Rascals. Although Davey Lee wasn't Spanky, he was another child star of the era. Grandma was five years old at the time, and no doubt her recollection of events was colored by later assumptions and suppositions. Perhaps she thought at the time that winning the contest would make her a movie star. And perhaps someone in her family commented that she didn't win because she was a girl. The story could easily have grown from there.

Source:

"More Entries in Davey Lee Resemblance Contest," Omaha World Herald, 4 Dec 1929, p. 9; digital images, America's GenealogyBank (www.genealogybank.com : accessed 12 July 2014), Historical Newspapers.

52 Ancestors Week 1: You

Last year I began the 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks challenge a little late in the year and tried to catch up. After a few weeks I was only falling farther behind, and soon gave up. This year, in the spirit of New Year's resolutions, I am starting fresh. The theme for this week is "You." Since I can't find a way to make this post about all of you who may be reading, I am taking the "You" to mean me. 

My great-uncle Ormond Brosius and his girlfriend Billie Gardner were visiting Oregon from their home in Wyoming. All the Oregon Brosiuses took advantage of this opportunity to have a family reunion. It wasn't a complete family reunion as one might envision, with all the descendants of a particular couple, but it was what they could manage in the area. There were Ormond and Billie, Ormond's brother Lowell Brosius, their brother Red and his family, their sister Susie and her kids, and their nephew Maurice (pronounced Morris) and his wife Mary. This was to be the largest reunion of the Oregon branches of Brosiuses ever held. 

One of the group shots taken during the reunion. None of the shots show all of the participants, but this one is the best grouping in terms of composition. From left to right: Eddie Renas (Susie's son), Lowell Brosius, Les Hogan (Susie's daughter's husband), Aileen Brosius (Red's wife), Ormond Brosius, Mary Brosius, and Maurice Brosius.

The reunion lasted a few days. There was much chatting, as would be expected, and my very pregnant mother had the foresight to record a portion of it to cassette. (This cassette has been cited and quoted in a number of previous posts.) There were also activities such as sightseeing, fishing, and shopping. 

My mom, as I mentioned, was very pregnant at the time. With me. So I was there, attending my first family reunion, in utero. And apparently I was anxious to attend it in person. The story goes that Billie took my parents to the Portland Saturday Market, which was an event worth seeing back then. I remember from my younger days acres of booths selling well-made crafts and foods. It took over the streets of Old Town and spilled into the historic buildings and then back out onto streets on the other side. It would take hours to go through, and all the while you would be hearing the sounds of street musicians and smelling the scents of unfamiliar cuisines. Today's Saturday Market is barely a shadow of its former self, and depresses me because I remember its glory days. Now it takes up only a couple blocks, and there is very little shopping available in those historic buildings. There is still the sound of street musicians, though, and the fragrances of world cuisines.

It was to the Saturday Market of Portland's past that my parents and Billie went, with its acres and acres of booths. And, as my mom says, "Billie walked that baby right out of me." I was born the next day while various participants in the reunion went fishing on the coast. I was literally born during a family reunion.

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.

Musings on Mary Ann Reeve

The dog loved the surprise snow.

One morning a few weeks ago I sat, gazing out the bedroom window at the surprising yet beautiful vision of spring snow falling on the desert, enjoying a mug of homemade chai, and listening to the latest edition of the History Extra podcast. The subject of the podcast was "The women killed by Jack the Ripper" and consisted of a fascinating interview with Hallie Rubenhold, who authored a soon-to-be-released book entitled The Five. As she spoke of the lives of these victims and their poverty as women in nineteenth century Britain, I found my thoughts repeatedly wandering to my great-great-great-grandmother Mary Ann (Reeve) Valentine, about whom I have already written one blog post, and who still retains a fair amount of mystery.

Strictly speaking, the blog post was about her daughter, Mary Ann Valentine, but it touched greatly upon the life of the elder Mary Ann. It spoke of the confusion about her marriage with Charles Valentine: how the man usually believed to be her husband never resided with her during a census, and was even recorded as single. It also spoke of her youngest daughter, Harriet, conceived apparently during a temporary reconciliation or else out of wedlock. Both of these mysteries, since the writing of that post, have been resolved to some extent. I finally located Harriet's baptismal record, and it reports that she was baptized on 23 Jan 1846. Her parent's name is given as Mary Ann Vallentine, residing in the Union Workhouse in Bocking. Harriet was indeed illegitimate. Later I located a burial record for a Charles Valentine, age 35, in White Notley on 21 Aug 1836. Since the family  lived in White Notley, this Charles Valentine makes more sense as Mary Ann's husband than the Charles Valentine who was baptized and buried in Fairstead, generally accepted as her husband. Moreover, his death date is the same year as the birth of their youngest son Charles, and just a few years before the 1841 census. Therefore, it is quite possible for him to have fathered Charles, but explains why he fails to appear in the 1841 census. In addition to all that, extrapolating his birth year from his age makes him born about 1801. Mary Ann had been born in about 1807. The other Charles Valentine was born in 1812. Without researching actual customs, just relying on my assumptions about Victorian England, it seems more likely that Mary Ann would have married a man six years older than she would a man five years younger. 

These are things I knew and remembered while listening to the History Extra podcast. Naturally, when I began listening, I had no thought in my head about Mary Ann Reeve, or even family history. I merely intended to wile away a pleasant hour learning about an aspect of the Jack the Ripper cases. I was on vacation, I had yummy homemade chai, and it was snowing. There were few clothes in my suitcase suitable for snow--I had done my packing during a particularly summer-like spell, and packed accordingly--so most of the day would necessarily be spent indoors. I intended to enjoy the morning.

As soon as Hallie mentioned women, poverty, and Victorian England, my thoughts began their inclination toward Mary Ann Reeve. "The way in which 19th century society operated was that women were never designed to be breadwinners," Hallie Rubenhold stated on the podcast. Mary Ann Reeve had been obligated to become the family breadwinner. "The types of work that women could engage in was very very poorly paid and they were not designed to support a family," Hallie continued. I thought of how Mary Ann had plaited straw for a living, how little it could pay, and how grueling it could be. I remembered reading that moistening the straw in the mouth often resulted in scarring on the corner of the lip, and cringed in sympathy. Hallie Rubenhold went on: 

A woman's role was instituted. It was woman as mother, woman as wife, woman as caregiver, not woman at the head of the family. And so the problem was that a lot of women found that if they were abandoned by their husbands, if their husbands died, if their husbands got ill, if their fathers died, if their fathers got ill, they could not bring in enough money to actually sustain a family. 

I thought of 1851, when Mary Ann's daughters, Sarah and Mary Ann, were in the Braintree Union Workhouse at Bocking. And only a few years before, when her daughter Harriet was baptized, Mary Ann the mother had been in the workhouse herself. This woman could not manage to support a family on her own.

The former Braintree Union Workhouse
Robert Edwards / St. Michael's Hospital, Braintree, Essex, via Wikimedia Commons

Speaking of the workhouse, where my thoughts had already strayed, Hallie explained, "The workhouse was designed to punish people. You went into the workhouse and you were shamed. It was shameful that all your neighbors knew that you were there, and you were taught to feel ashamed of it as well." Those poor Valentines. I'm not sure that I took the social stigma into account when I wrote the first blog post. I wrote of how the institution functioned, but not of the emotional toll it would have taken on its inmates.

Hallie Rubenhold went on to sing the praises of the census, a set of documents with which any genealogist is familiar. However, she was looking at more than just the households of her subjects. Her rhapsody reminded me that I need to look at more than just the Valentines' household; I need to look at their neighbors. What sort of economic conditions were they experiencing? Was the whole area depressed, or were the Valentines among the few? In the poor households, who were the heads? Were they mostly women and disabled men, or were most people poor? 

"What were the sizes of the rooms they inhabited? What were the conditions of the houses? What was sanitation like?" asked Hallie. I remembered reading, I think in a newspaper, about the appalling sight and smell of raw sewage running along the street, past the pub, and draining into one man's field. This was in one little town in Essex, although I don't recall which one. It could have been White Notley. It was an article I read in passing, while looking for something else, but did not record anywhere. I need to go back and look at the evidence for the living conditions where Mary Ann and her family resided. Was sewage running past their door as they were getting cuts on their mouth from moistening straw? Or were they poor, but enjoying fresh air and flowers? Hallie Rubenhold mentioned poverty maps. She was speaking of London, but do poverty maps exist for other places as well? Could there be maps showing the economic conditions of Essex?

Hallie Rubenhold also said, "I think there's a lot to be said for the fact that, for example, Polly Nichols, Annie Chapman, Elizabeth Stride, and Catherine Eddowes all lived out of wedlock with men." She spoke of refuges for fallen women, and of marital separation. This reminded me again of Mary Ann Reeve. My initial conjecture (before finding the 1836 burial record) had been that she and her husband had separated. "They are still married," Hallie explained, "they separated from their husbands, there's great shame surrounding that, but in order to survive because financially they can't support themselves, they have to shack up with men." I thought of Harriet Valentine and her illegitimacy. Did Mary Ann have to resort to "shacking up" with a man? Was that how Harriet was conceived? If she were widowed, as I now suspect was the case, would she still have needed to shack up? Wouldn't she have been more likely to remarry? But she didn't remarry, and Harriet was illegitimate. Did Mary Ann, perhaps, have to resort to prostitution? Or was she simply having an affair with someone?

As you can see, some aspects of Mary Ann (Reeve) Valentine's life are coming into clearer focus, but more questions are arising. A few avenues of research have presented themselves, and perhaps they may answer many of these questions.

Sources:

1841 census of England, Essex, Fairsted parish, Witham registration district, folio 7, page 8, household of James Valentine; digital images, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 19 Mar 2011); citing PRO HO 107/343/6.

1841 census of England, Essex, White Notley parish, folio 19, page 9, household of Mary Valentine; digital images, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 21 Oct 2007); citing PRO HO 107/343/12.

1851 census of England, Essex, Braintree Union Workhouse, Bocking parish, Braintree registration district, folio 330, page 12, Sarah Valentine; digital images, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 19 Jan 2015); citing PRO HO 107/1785.

1851 census of England, Essex, Fairsted parish, Witham registration district, folio 377, page 13, household of James Valentine; digital images, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 19 Mar 2011); citing PRO HO 107/1783.

1851 census of England, Essex, White Notley parish, village of White Notley, Braintree registration district, folio 426, page 10, household of Mary Ann Valentine; digital images, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 8 Feb 2010); citing PRO HO 107/1785.

1861 census of England, Essex, White Notley parish, Braintree registration district, folio 157A, page 14, household of Mary Ann Valentine; digital images, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 8 Feb 2010); citing PRO RG 9/1115.

Ancestry, “England, Select Births and Christenings, 1538-1975,” database, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 19 Jan 2015), entry for Charles Valentine’s 1836 baptism; citing FHL Film Number 560909.

Ancestry, “England, Select Births and Christenings, 1538-1975,” database, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 19 Jan 2015), entry for Mary Ann Reeve’s 1807 baptism; citing Boreham, Essex, England, reference; FHL microfilm 1,702,171.

Ancestry, “England, Select Births and Christenings, 1538-1975,” database, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 19 Jan 2015), entry for Mary Ann Valentine’s 1834 baptism; citing FHL Film Number 560909.

Ancestry, “England, Select Births and Christenings, 1538-1975,” database, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 19 Jan 2015), entry for Sarah Valentine’s 1833 baptism; citing FHL Film Number 560909.

Ancestry, “England, Select Births and Christenings, 1538-1975,” database, Ancestry, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 19 Jan 2015), entry for William Valentine’s 1830 baptism; citing FHL Film Number 1702171.

Clarke, Andrew. “Strawplaiting.” Web log post. The Hysterical Hystorian. The Foxearth and District Local History Society, 12 June 2005. Web. Accessed 1 Apr. 2011.

FamilySearch, "England, Essex Parish Registers, 1538-1997," database, Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, FamilySearch (www.familysearch.org : accessed 23 Feb 2019), entry for Charles Valentine's 21 Aug 1836 burial; citing, White Notley, Essex, England, Essex Record Office, England; FHL microfilm 560,909.

St. Michael the Archangel (Braintree, Essex, England), Bishop's transcripts for Braintree, "Baptisms, 1831-1833, 1844-1864; burials, 1831-1833, 1844-1863; marriages, 1831-1833," Harriet Vallentine's 1846 baptismal record, p. 78, no. 620; digital images, Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, FamilySearch (www.familysearch.org : accessed 23 Oct 2017).

52 Ancestors Week 4: I'd Like to Meet

The prompt for Week 4 of the 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks challenge this year was "I'd Like to Meet." 

Like any genealogist, there is a long list of ancestors I would like to meet if I could. But I think that number one on that list would have to be the subject of my previous post, Grandpa Red Brosius.

Sitting on Grandpa Red's lap, Easter 1980

To be quite technical, I did meet him. He was still alive when I was born, and, I am told, was crazy about me. But he passed away from emphysema before I was even a full year old, and I have no recollection of him at all. I have photos of him, an audio of his voice saying "Merry Christmas" in the 1950s, and numerous stories told to me by my parents and the few other surviving relatives who knew him.

Sadly, he was an alcoholic, and the stories I hear could almost be the stories of two different men. But it is clear that my parents (or whoever is telling the story) loved him. They paint a picture of a man who was caring, quirky, fun-loving, and intensely human. He fixed everything with duct tape--including plumbing. He insisted on watering the lawn, even in the middle of a drought (for which he made the local news as an example of what not to do! Wish I could find a copy of that). He chewed snus and used it to wash the car's windshield: he would squirt it between his front teeth onto the glass. He also smoked and, when an ash tray wasn't handy, would tap his ashes into the cuffs of his pants. (Grandma hated that!) He had injured a finger years earlier on a piece of glass, so that he had only one half of his fingernail, which he would whittle away with a pocketknife. To this day my mom treasures that pocketknife, which he sharpened so many times that the blade itself is little more than a sliver.

But I wish I had more than just these stories, and more even than the mementos. I wish I had a memory of him.

52 Ancestors Week 3: Unusual Name

The prompt for Week 3 of the 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks challenge this year was "Unusual Name."  

The six eldest Brosius kids: Marshall, Lee, Ormond, Wayne, Searle, and Susie.
Missing are the two youngest: Lowell and Vinis.

I don't have to go very far back in my family tree to find an unusual name. Those Brosius boys had some interesting ones. Among them were an Ormond, a Searle, and a Vinis.

To look at the name Ormond, it doesn't appear all that unusual. Uncommon, yes, but not strange. It has something of the look of the hero of a Regency novel. One imagines it spoken with a posh accent, and sounding similar to Armand. But Uncle Ormond's name sounded much more folksy, with an emphasis on the first syllable.

Searle, on the other hand, appears unusual when written, but when it was spoken, sounded the same as if it were spelled "Cyril." I have met people with Searle as their surname, but Uncle Searle is the only one whose first name I have seen spelled that way.

And then there's my grandfather, Vinis. Now, that is truly an unusual name. In all my research I have never yet run across another person, related or not, named Vinis. It was not pronounced like "Venus," as one may suspect at sight, but with a long i sound, as "Vine-iss." I can't help but wonder where my great-grandparents found this name for their son. In Latin, it seems to mean something about wine, although I have a hard time imagining that my great-grandparents understood Latin. My great-grandmother was literate, but her spelling and grammar, judging by a copy of a letter she wrote, was appalling. Perhaps her husband had a more classical education. None of my research, however, has indicated that he had.

Grandpa Vinis usually went by his nickname, Red; a very common nickname for a redhead, but Grandpa was a brunette. I asked my dad once why his dad was called Red, and he said it was because he used to wear a red hat. (If that is true, there does not seem to be photographic proof in our family albums.)