Seeing Double? 52 Ancestors 2024 Prompt “All Mixed Up”

 

DNA Results Suggest My Third Great Grandfather Was Identical Twin

Tomas Anfinnson Vetti: 1766-1851 (Paternal Third-Great-Grandfather)
Ola Anfinnson Vetti: 1766-1826 (Paternal Third-Great-Uncle)

 

While checking on some new Ancestry DNA matches, I came across one with the “common ancestor” notation. That designation always excites me, because a potential common ancestor can really help me trace the cousin connection and connect the new cousin to my tree. But when I clicked on the common ancestor link for this particular new cousin, who I will refer to as NE, I saw my third great-grandfather. Tomas Anfinnson Vetti,  listed as the common ancestor. Ancestry’s Thruline feature showed him as the father both of my second-great-grandfather Sjur Tommason Hestetun and NE’s third-great-grandfather Peder Olsson Melheim.

That immediately raised a red flag—in 18^th century Norway, sons had their father’s first name as part of their surname. My second great-grandad’s surname was “Tommason”—Tomas Anfinnson Vetti’s son, Sjur. But Peder’s name was Olsson, so he would have been the son of Ole or Ola, not Tomas. Was this what genealogists call a “non-parental event”—in other words, did Tomas fool around with Peder’s mother? Or was there another less titillating explanation? It was time for further research.

I used the tools associated with Ancestry’s Thruline feature, which showed the other Ancestry-based trees that led their algorithm to suggest the relationship between Peder Olsson Melheim and Tomas Anfinnson Vetti. The trees showed Peder was born January 7, 1792 to parents as Ola Anfinnson Vetti and Martha Pedersdatter. Peder’s surname now made sense: his father of record had the first name “Ola”, so he was Peder Olsson.

I also immediately noticed another connection: Peder’s father Ola had the same father as my third-great-grandfather Tomas: Anfinn Anfinnson Vetti, born February 17, 1715 in Vetti, Aardal, Sogn al Fjordane, Norway. Ola and Tomas were brothers.

But that left me with a question: why did the DNA show that Tomas was more closely related to Ola’s son Peder than an uncle should be? Surely Tomas wasn’t sneaking around with his own brother’s wife! Would they have even had the opportunity? Peder’s final surname piece was Melheim, which indicated his parents were living on the Melheim farm in Aardal, while Tomas’ children all had Vetti as part of their name, indicating they were still living on the Vetti farm where Tomas and Ola were born and raised. I am not sure how distant the properties were from one another, but it would have taken more effort to conduct an affair if you needed to travel by horse and wagon. From the map below, which shows Melheim in the Fardal region and Vetti in the Utladal region, they are over an hour apart by car.

I quickly discovered another interesting piece of information: Tomas Anfinnson Vetti and Ola Anfinnson Vetti had the same birthdate: supposedly both men were born January 13, 1766. Of course this could be an error—someone transcribing records incorrectly. Or it could indicate something else: that Tomas and Ola were twins. And given the DNA evidence, probably identical twins! If Tomas and Ola had the same DNA because they split from the same embryo, their children would genetically be half-siblings as well as first cousins, and my relationship to my new cousin NE would make sense.

Proving my hypothesis will be nearly impossible. I have been unable to locate birth records for Tomas and Ola verifying they were born the same day. I will have to investigate further using Norwegian Bygdeboks. For now, I will record Peder Olsson Melheim as the son of Ola Anfinnson Vetti, and the nephew of my third great-grandfather Tomas Anfinnson Vetti. I will make a private note about my hypothesis about the brothers’ twinship.

I am intrigued by the possibilities opened up by my hypothesis about the Anfinnson Vetti brothers—I’d never considered the difficulties presented by identical twins in DNA testing. I am glad that this DNA cousin connection turned out to be less mixed up than it initially appeared.

Sources:

Ancestry.com, DNA Match.

Information on Anfinn Anfinnsson Vetti: https://norwayancestors.com/getperson.php?personID=I1342&tree=tree2

Relationship to NE page on Ancestry. https://www.ancestry.com/discoveryui-geneticfamily/thrulines/tree/991514595:9009:66/for/38B5E694-2D64-4CC7-BEFE-4FE8A7F44961?matchingSampleId=D2063198-2FB9-4C93-9549-D0547D742246&member=322220658093:1030:46986934

 

Flowers and Fruit from the Macbeth Farm Garden: 52 Ancestors 2024 Prompt “Colorful"

 

Green Thumb in a Blue Straw Hat: Grandma Nora and Her Colorful Garden

Nora Elsie Hoffman Macbeth: 1899-1994 (Maternal Grandmother)

 

My Grandma Nora had a green thumb and a true passion for gardening. Her garden lay on the far side of the Macbeth farm driveway, and it was huge. I am a terrible judge of acreage, but I think it must have been half an acre in size, and included some fruit trees at one end. In addition to the main garden, her yard was studded with flower beds and flowering shrubs. Every fall and winter, she pored over garden catalogs. She traded seeds and cuttings with friends, and loved to visit neighbors to see how their gardens were growing and what they had blooming. Grandma had two sisters who lived nearby, and they would call each other nearly every day. I remember that their flowers and vegetable gardens were frequent phone call topics. Best of all, Grandma was generous in sharing her gardening knowledge with her little grandchildren. I have such wonderful memories of hours spent in the garden with her, and of her sharing seeds and advice so I could start my own little garden at my home.

Grandma and Grandpa Macbeth in front of one of Grandma's flower beds--summer 1970

My grandparents’ house was surrounded by flower beds and window boxes filled with petunias, johnny-jump-ups and geraniums, and ground beds filled with roses, daylilies and huge dahlias in brilliant colors. Grandma was very proud of her flower beds, and eagerly awaited their peak bloom times so she could show them off to friends and family. A favorite family story featured a very young me (probably about age four) circling the house while all the adults were distracted and carefully plucking every single bright red geranium flower head. I proudly headed indoors to present Grandma with my “bouquet”. Somehow she kept her composure, pretending to be thrilled with my floral massacre and making a show of getting a pretty vase and giving me a hug before she retreated to the bedroom to cry.

Climbing rose, dahlias and petunias in bed on side of sun porch. Macbeth farm, photo by me at age ten or eleven in June 1970. I had a very cheap compact camera, and was so proud to be "taking pictures" all by myself.

Grandma’s garden started out as a necessity. Nora Hoffman married Ivan Macbeth in 1926. The year after my mother was born in 1928, the stock market crashed, along with farm prices, sending the country into the Great Depression. Money was scarce, so my grandparents had to grow what they ate to survive—they slaughtered their own hogs, ducks and chickens for meat, they ate eggs from the chickens, they caught fish from local creeks and rivers, and they hunted deer and pheasants. In addition to growing field crops like corn and wheat, they grew fruit and vegetables in a large garden. My grandmother canned and pickled her produce so they had fruit and vegetables to eat all winter long, and they kept root vegetables like potatoes and turnips in the cool “root cellar” to keep them fresh as long as possible. It was a hard, labor-intensive life. Photos from that period show the house with no flower beds or flowering shrubs—there was no time or energy for beautifying their surroundings.

One sad trellis was only attempt at landscaping in Depression-era photo of Macbeth family.

However, when their finances improved, my grandparents took pride in their landscaping. My grandmother’s large garden still had numerous rows of vegetables, and Grandma still gathered apples from the fruit trees and picked strawberries from the large berry patch next to the chicken coop. However, the garden also had lush beds of flowers—rows of zinnias, bachelor buttons and four-o-clocks, plus cottage-garden style sections of intermixed hollyhocks, daylilies, phlox, iris, cleome and sunflowers. It was a lovely color palette buzzing with bees, sphinx moths and butterflies.

Rose arbor and bed with dahlias and some white flowers.

My grandfather helped by building and caring for planters, arbors and garden decorations like a little Dutch windmill he built. He turned a tractor tire into a raised bed, and a round metal piece of equipment into a two-level bed for moss roses (portulaca).

Dutch windmill decoration Grandpa built for Grandma. Rex, Ivan, and Nora Macbeth, and my mom Ione Macbeth Peterson.

But Grandma Nora was the true gardener. She spent part of each non-rainy summer day in her garden. She had a woven straw hat painted a bright blue that she would pop on her head to protect her from the sun. She’d often wear her apron to cover her clothes, and had good garden gloves to protect her hands. She carried a stool with her to spare her knees. When I was with her, she’d give me tasks to keep me busy—weeding a row of carrots, pulling radishes for lunch-time munching, or tying up the climbing peas to wooden frames.

My little garden at home--zinnias prominently visible in front, along with bachelor buttons to right and what looks like bush beans against picket fence. A short, child-sized hoe is visible on the ground.

Grandma Nora encouraged me to start my own garden. My dad had removed an old lilac bush from our yard when it died back, leaving a bare spot about 8x8 feet. I started my little garden there, planting zinnias, bachelor buttons, and marigolds: seed gifts from grandma. Someone got me a little trowel and rake. I cared for that little garden area for several years. I carried my love for gardening into my adult life, and now that I am retired, I am still gardening in my retirement community.

Last year, my son and his wife had their second child, and named her Zinnia. The name felt like a little hug from heaven from Grandma Nora—zinnias were one of our mutual favorites. Perhaps Grandma Nora’s and my love for gardening and growing a colorful rainbow of flowers will be passed on to a new generation.

Sources:

Macbeth family photos.

Part 2 of The Macbeth Farm: 52 Ancestors 2024 Prompt “Homestead”

 

My Childhood Memories of My Grandparents’ Farm

Ivan Alfred Macbeth: 1904-1972 (Maternal Grandfather)
Nora Elsie Hoffman: 1899-1994 (Maternal Grandmother)

 

Here is a beautiful aerial shot of my grandparents’ farm, taken in the early 1960s when I was a little girl. This is the farm that lives in my memories.

Whenever I think of my grandparents’ farm, I think of the following old children’s song:

Oh playmate, come out and play with me

And bring your dollies three.

Climb up my apple tree,

Look down my rain barrel

Slide down my cellar door

And we’ll be jolly friends forever more.

My grandparents’ house had the song’s essentials: the apple tree, the rain barrel and the cellar door. The large garden on the far side of the house had a few ancient apple trees. The barrel was used to catch rainwater from the house’s downspout. My grandmother liked to wash her hair in the rainwater from the barrel—it was softer than the well water pumped by their windmill. She also used it to water plants. The cellar had double doors set in concrete on a slant, perfect for a little girl like me to slide down (and run down, although that wasn’t good for the structure of the doors). In my young mind, the song must have been written about the Macbeth farm place—it all fit.

I’ve been looking, unsuccessfully so far, for a photo of that cellar door. I can remember the steps that it covered, leading down into “the root cellar”—the original basement under the oldest section of the house, with cemented fieldstone walls and shelving for canned goods and containers for storage of root vegetables-- and the “basement”, the concrete-walled section under the newer part of the house where the plumbing was laid in. That space contained a toilet, metal washing/soaking sink, and the washing machine.

My mom, Ione, and her little brother Rex play in the snow in 1937. Living room windows visible, along with roof of barn at bottom of the hill.

The old house underwent several changes over the years. When it was originally built, indoor plumbing and electricity weren’t available. My mother, born in 1928, remembered still using the outhouse as a young child, and having to pump water from the windmill to carry into the house for washing and cooking. During her early childhood, her parents had indoor plumbing installed. They converted the smallest upstairs bedroom into a bathroom with tub, toilet, sink and a closet (one of only three closets in the house). In the late 1930s, thanks to FDR’s Rural Electrification Act and Administration, electricity finally reached rural Le Ray Township. My mother told me how magical the moment was when they first turned on the electric lights in the house—the oil lamps were no longer needed. They also added an oil-burning forced air furnace to replace the fireplace.

1934 photo of Ione Macbeth's 6th birthday. Windmill behind her, and old porch on front of house.

The house originally had two open-air porches. There was a small one on the “front” of the house that faced the road. It is visible in the attached photo of my mother in 1934, with a wood floor atop a crawlspace, posts supporting the porch roof, and a low white rail at the right side. In addition, there was a long one that stretched the length of rear of the house where it faced the farmyard. At some point during the 1940s, my grandparents modified both porches. The long rear one was rebuilt with a concrete foundation, the sides covered with windows from waist height upwards, windows which had screens only—no glass. They called this porch, appropriately enough, the screen porch. It was used as a sort of mud room and storage area for garden tools and snow and work boots, as well as a play area for us grandkids in warm weather. The play space contained a wooden toy stove and oven painted in a muted pale green, and a doll buggy and old metal toy tractors and bakelite farm animals.

The front porch received an even bigger makeover, including a new foundation and concrete floor, walls and real windows with glass as well as screens. The new porch is visible in the photo of my mother and her cousins below, circa 1949. My grandparents referred to this as the “sun porch”. By the 1960s, the trees in the front yard were huge, making the porch a shady, comfortable spot in summer, and a warm spot in spring and fall when the leaves were small or fallen. Only in winter was the space too cold to use. My grandfather had a bentwood rocker out there, and he loved to sit there, read a book or the newspaper, do the crossword puzzle, and smoke his pipe or a cigarette. There was a floral couch where the rest of us sat to chat and listen to the birdsong.

Left to right: Joanna Macbeth, Renee Macbeth, Ione Macbeth, Wilfred Macbeth and Dwight "Rex" Macbeth. Windows of Ione's bedroom on top floor above living room bay window. New front "sunporch" at right.

My grandparents put in raised flowerbeds around the exterior of the front of the house. They are visible in the photo below, which shows the bow window in the living room.

My mother’s old bedroom was right above the living room. It featured pale pink walls, filmy white curtains framing two large windows with white frames, and a black and white granite-look linoleum floor that made a sort of crackling noise when I walked on it. The room had a white iron double bed with a pink floral chenille spread. Every summer my brother and I would stay at my grandparents’ house for a couple weeks, and I loved sleeping in that room. I felt like a princess. Someone once told me my great-grandmother died in that bed, which had my vivid imagination conjuring ghosts in that airy bedroom. Leona Hoffman had died long before I was born, so to me she was just a sweet-faced old lady with white hair in a photo on my grandma’s dresser. She didn’t seem quite real to me as a young child, so I quickly got past my fear and slept easily in the bed.

My brother stayed in the adjoining room, which used to be my Uncle Rex’s room. The two large windows looked out at the windmill and down the hill to the barn and the fields beyond. It was a marvelous view. That bedroom also contained a bookcase filled with children’s books—mostly chunky Big Little Books from my mom’s 1930s childhood, still marked with their ten-cent price. I loved their squat size (about 4 x 4 inches) that fit nicely in my hands, and the musty smell of the cheap, thick paper they were printed on.

A Big Little Book from the 1930s

The upstairs bedrooms were reached via a narrow wood staircase. The risers were painted in the palest gray with rubber stair treads tacked on them to prevent slips and falls. The steep steps were perfect for sending the old Slinky toy down—I loved the odd little whisk noise the Slinky made as it uncoiled and recoiled down the steps.

At the top of the staircase was my grandmother’s Singer sewing machine—a newer electric machine mounted in the old wooden stand that used to hold her treadle machine. She had an old piano stool tucked beneath it to sit on when she sewed—both the stool and Singer cabinet were painted white, and were bathed in the light from the window just to the right.

My brother and me with our grandparents Ivan and Nora Macbeth--Grandpa's 60th birthday in 1964. Taken in Macbeth kitchen--window to left looked out on sunporch. Door on right was sunporch door.

My grandparents used the bedroom downstairs which was entered from the living room. It had a lovely, dark hardwood bedroom set, and had pale walls (blue I think) and two windows—one facing the garden and the other looking onto the screen porch.

I have wonderful memories of playing on the concrete platform that supported the windmill, the source of the well water on the farm. I also liked to dance on the round concrete top of the water cistern. When we were little and Grandpa Ivan still had cattle and hogs, we’d run down to the pig pen to feed them potato and apple peels, and we would watch the cows being milked in the big barn and would play with the barn cats and kittens. I’d scare myself by sneaking into the old outhouse, home to spiders and wasps, and I’d pick strawberries from my Grandma Nora’s berry patch.

Me with farm cats--age 4. Round cistern to my rear right. Corn crib behind me. Photographer (grandpa) was standing by cellar door and back door entry to screen porch. Clothesline post next to the electric pole. Windmill out of photo on right.

And then there was the marvelous hill from the house down to the barn. In the summer, my brother and I would roll down the hill over and over—the grass stains on our clothes probably drove our mother crazy. All Grandma asked was that we avoid her peony bushes at the bottom of the hill.

Closeup of aerial photo showing windmill, cistern, screen porch all along back of house, sloping cellar door just to left of car's front bumper. Windows to Rex's bedroom facing windmill. Hill leading down to barnyard at front left, with grandma's beloved peony bushes at bottom left. I believe that's Grandpa Ivan getting out of the car.

While the old Macbeth farmhouse still exists, the outbuildings are gone and the house is changed—it no longer looks like my grandparents’ farm place. But the Macbeth farm still lives in my memory, in old family photographs, and a 1960s aerial photograph. Grandma and Grandpa, I love you and miss you.

The Macbeth Farm: 52 Ancestors 2024 Prompt “Homestead”

Memories of Grandpa’s Farm Near Eagle Lake, Minnesota

Charles Macbeth: 1828-1913 (Maternal Great-Great Grandfather)
Walter Macbeth: 1860-1955 (Maternal Great-Grandfather)
Ivan Macbeth: 1904-1972  (Maternal Grandfather)

 

The farm where I grew up is, thankfully, still in my family: my brother now farms it, and his son may choose to take over in the future. But the other farm I feel connected to, my maternal grandparents’ farm near Eagle Lake, Minnesota, was sold years ago. The new owners have made many changes, and I hardly recognized it when I last drove by a few years ago. But that farm, the Macbeth homestead, still lives on in my memories of what it was like in the 1960s and 1970s when I was young.

My grandfather, Ivan Macbeth, took over the farm his father Walter bought and where Ivan grew up. Ivan’s grandfather, Charles Macbeth, had moved his family from New York to Minnesota around 1866, settling in Le Ray Township in Blue Earth County by 1869. He bought a farm south of Eagle Lake, as shown in this plat book entry from 1879. Charles’ son Walter worked on his father’s farm as he grew up. He appears on the 1880 census at age twenty.

At some point, Charles Macbeth traded his property for a forty acre parcel on the opposite side of the road. Walter married Lucy Dane on March 12, 1890. Walter was 29 years old, while Lucy was only eighteen. I believe he purchased his farm around the time of his marriage. Walter's property wrapped around his father Charles’ farm, so they were close enough to help one another when needed. This 1914 plat map shows the two properties and their arrangement.

1914 Plat Map

My mother believed the house, barn and some of the outbuildings were already built when Charles and Walter acquired the farm. The farmhouse sat atop a small hill; the barn and pastures lay below, with a driveway coming off the road toward the barn, and another drive entering up the rise past the house. The two drives met at the rear of the house. The front of the house faced the road. However, since the rear of the house faced the working part of the farm, the “back door” was the one everyone used as they went in and out to the barns and outbuildings.

Walter and Lucy raised six children in the small farmhouse. The house had six rooms: a kitchen, living room/parlor, and four bedrooms, one downstairs and three up a narrow set of stairs on the second floor. Heat came from a pot-bellied stove in the kitchen and a fireplace in the living room.

Walter and Lucy Macbeth in front of the Macbeth farmhouse, circa 1940s

 Walter and Lucy’s eldest son, Harold, became a building contractor and moved off the farm, so their second son, Ivan, my grandfather, took over the farm and the farmhouse when Walter and Lucy retired and moved to nearby Mankato. They lived in an apartment building Walter jointly owned with one or more of his brothers; he served as the building’s manager.

Ivan Macbeth married Nora Hoffman on April 14, 1926, and they moved into the Macbeth farmhouse. Ivan rented the farm and house from his parents throughout the 1930s and 1940s (census records show he was a renter). 

Lucy and Walter Macbeth with their six adult children. Ivan Macbeth on far right. Taken following Great Depression, probably late 1930s. Poverty still obvious--peeling paint and wear on house. Slope down to barn and pasture on right.

He eventually became the owner of the farm and buildings, possibly after his father’s death in 1955. Part of the property was sold after Walter’s death as directed by the estate, leaving Ivan with forty acres on one side of the road, and another forty acres—the land his grandfather Charles had owned—on the opposite side of the road. My brother and I have now inherited Charles Macbeth’s parcel of land.

1962 plat book showing Ivan and Nora Macbeth's farm

By the time I was born, my grandfather was raising milk cows, and would go down to the barn each morning to hook up the cows to the electric milking machines. The milk was stored in a small, cool concrete “milk house” next to the barn, and was loaded onto milk trucks that would stop by to collect the silver-colored metal milkcans.

Grandpa Ivan was also raising hogs in a separate fenced pen and building, and for many years my grandmother had a flock of chickens that provided eggs and chicken meat. Grandpa Ivan also farmed corn, soybeans and wheat.

Macbeth farm, aerial shot from 1938.

Grandpa Ivan’s health began to fail as he reached his sixties, and he eventually sold off his animals and rented out his farmland, essentially retiring. He was a long-time smoker, which left him with emphysema. The strain on his heart eventually from the emphysema led to a heart attack, which killed him July 7, 1972 at age sixty-eight.

My grandmother continued to live on the Macbeth homeplace until the mid- to late-1980s, when she moved to Mankato to live with her son, Rex Macbeth and his family. All the old furniture and possessions were sold at auction, and the farmhouse was rented out. Following my grandmother’s death on April 7, 1994, my uncle inherited the house and forty acres surrounding it. He chose to sell the property. My mother kept her parcel, Charles Macbeth’s former land, and willed it to my brother and me.

The Macbeth “homestead” stayed in the family for over a century, from 1890 until 1994. Charles Macbeth’s land is still in the family after 150 years, from 1869 until now, 2024, although Macbeths didn't own the parcel for about forty years between 1914 and the 1950s. This land has a place in my heart. In the following post, I will talk about the house, outbuildings, and my childhood memories of my grandparents’ home.

 

Sources:

https://maps.dnr.state.mn.us/airphotos/usda/bip/y1938/bip11016.jpg

https://maps.dnr.state.mn.us/airphotos/usda/bip/y1964/bip04ee027.jpg

https://historicmapworks.com/Map/US/151888/Le+Ray+Township++Madison+Lake/Blue+Earth+County+1929/Minnesota/

Weeping Willows and an Urn: 52 Ancestors 2024 Prompt “Symbol”

The Meaning of the Symbols on a Beautiful Slate Headstone from 1810

Joseph Burt: 1726-1810 (Maternal 5^th Great-Grandfather)

 

While it may seem a bit ghoulish, I love old cemeteries and old headstones. I have always been fascinated by the symbols carved into some headstones, especially those from the 18^th and 19^th centuries. When I discover an interesting stone, either in person or on Findagrave or similar websites, I will often research the symbols, searching for their meaning. That’s what I did when I ran across this lovely headstone for my fifth-great-grandfather Joseph Burt or Burtt.

Joseph’s stone was probably carved in the year of his death, 1810. He was buried in West Parish Garden Cemetery in his hometown of Andover, Massachusetts. The graves of his wife, Abiah, and at least two of his children are nearby, carved out of the same type of charcoal-colored slate stone. All feature the same symbols at the top of the stone: an urn in the center, with a weeping willow leaning over the urn, its long branches trailing down on both sides of the urn.

Close-up of the symbols on Joseph Burt's headstone at the West Parish Cemetery.

So what does the urn mean? According to the Nadler article on cemetery iconography cited below, “the urn symbolizes death itself. The Greeks used the urn as a symbol of mourning since it was often used as a repository for ashes of the dead.” Kimberly Powell, also cited below, adds that “the urn is commonly believed to testify to the death of the body and the dust into which the dead body will change, while the spirit of the departed eternally rests with God.”

Close-up of the symbols on Joseph's son Jedediah's headstone--slightly easier to see than on the photo of Joseph's stone.

How should we interpret the weeping willow symbol? According to Nadler, “The dripping branches of weeping willow trees symbolize the drooping spirits and hearts of those who have lost their beloved family member.” Family Tree, see citation below, states that the willow signifies “mourning and earthly sorrow.”

It appears that through these symbols, Joseph’s family wished to show that they grieved his loss, as well as the losses of his wife and sons Joseph Jr. and Jedediah.

Joseph Burtt was born February 21, 1726 in Andover, Massachusetts. His parents were Thomas Burtt and Elizabeth Laraford. He married Abiah Mooar March 23, 1758, when he was 32 years old and Abiah was 17 years old. The couple had seven to nine children (records vary), including my fourth great-grandmother Abiah Burt Dane.

Joseph served in the Revolutionary War in the “fourth foot company of Andover” under the command of Captain Joshua Holt. I hope to someday apply for membership in the Daughters of the American Revolution based on Joseph Burt’s service or one of my other Revolutionary War ancestors.

 

Sources:

Joseph Burt memorial page. West Parish Garden Cemetery, Essex County, Massachusetts. https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/65247109/burt

“Mastering Cemetery Iconography”, Alex Nadler, June 3, 2021. The Academy at Penguin Hall. https://penguinhall.org/mastering-cemetery-iconography/#:~:text=The%20urn%20symbolizes%20death%20itself,in%20New%20England's%20burial%20grounds.

Photo Gallery of Cemetery Symbols and Icons. Kimberly Powell. On ThoughtCo. https://www.thoughtco.com/photo-gallery-of-cemetery-symbolism-4123061#:~:text=A%20hand%20with%20the%20index,human%20beings%20and%20with%20God

https://familytreemagazine.com/cemeteries/hidden-meanings-gravestone-symbols/

Historical Sketches of Andover, pg. 304. List of men serving in Capt. Joshua Holt’s Fourth Foot Company of Andover. https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/21636/images/dvm_LocHist007471-00176-1?pId=334

Least Information, Most Questions: 52 Ancestors 2024 Prompt “Least”

 

Teens Missing for Over a Week in 1957: No News Update on Homecoming

Theresa M Kendall: 1941-2007 (Maternal Second Cousin)

 

Sometimes news articles leave the reader with more questions than answers. Such is the case with a short news article from the September 7, 1957 edition of the Salem, Oregon Capital Journal. The headline reads “Sheriff Seeks Missing Girl” and reports that a fourteen-year-old girl from Dallas, Oregon was reported missing from her home on August 28, 1957, which means she’d already been gone for ten days. After describing her and the clothing she was last seen wearing, the article notes her parents were offering a $50 reward for her return.

Then comes the link to my family tree:

“She may be accompanied by Theresa Kendall, 15, who also has been reported missing.”

Theresa Kendall was born in Minnesota on December 11, 1941, to parents Nellie Laird and Charles Kendall. She was the oldest of their six children, and grew up in Polk County, Oregon.

So what happened in 1957? Fortunately, the two girls must have returned home after the news article came out, although the newspaper didn’t mention their return. However, both girls appear in school photos the following year, and move on to marriage and jobs as they entered adulthood.. They seem to have run away from home that August for some unknown reason, but were able to work things out with their families upon their return.

Theresa's junior year yearbook photo

What really strikes me is the difference in the way the sheriff’s office and newspaper treated Miss Slagle, the other missing girl, and Theresa. The sheriff is seeking only one girl, not two. Why doesn’t he seem to be concerned about Theresa’s fate? And why are her parents not matching the reward offered by the Slagle family or at least pleading for Theresa’s safe return? Why was there no description of Theresa and her clothing? If the girls were friends and had apparently run off together, why were they treated so differently by everyone in authority?

And where were the girls? Were they hiding out on their own, or were they with someone? They were too young to drive, so did they hitchhike, or did the sheriff and the girls’ families have a good idea who they were with—boyfriends perhaps?

Today there are still disparities in how missing children are treated by law enforcement, depending on their race and socio-economic status. Well-to-do, pretty young white girls get plenty of press attention when they have disappeared, but missing black or Latino girls or unattractive poor white girls don’t get the same coverage on the evening news or the newspapers, and the police don’t spend as much time investigating. I suspect something similar was happening in 1957 Dallas, Oregon. Perhaps Theresa was from the wrong side of the tracks, or perhaps she had run away before. Perhaps her parents were not comfortable dealing with law enforcement. Whatever the cause, the police did not treat her disappearance with the gravity that they treated Miss Slagle’s.

This article provides the least information about poor Theresa, and it leaves me with the most questions. I wish I knew why the two girls left home, when and why they returned, and where they were and who they were with while they were missing. At least I know Theresa survived her runaway adventure and went on to have many more---she ended up with at least five husbands!

Sources:

“Sheriff Seeks Missing Girl” The Capital Journal, Sept. 7, 1957. Accessed through Newspapers.com.

“Police Hunt Polk Girls”. Sunday Oregonian, Sept. 8, 1957. Accessed through Newspapers.com.

RAF Pilot to Boxing Promoter: 52 Ancestors 2024 Prompt “Planes”

 

From World War I Bombing Runs to NYC Boxing Matches: the Life of Edward Whitwell

Edward Horton Whitwell: 1879-1942 (Husband of Second Cousin 2x Removed)

 

Edward Horton Whitwell landed in my family tree when he married opera star Florence Macbeth, my second-cousin 2x removed. He deserved a post of his own, however brief, due to his amazing career change following his marriage. Captain Whitwell was an RAF pilot in World War I, became a military recruiter of sorts for the British Empire, and then turned to promoting boxing matches at the New York City Coliseum. From wings to welterweights, from flying to fighters: Edward Whitwell led an interesting life.

Edward Horton Whitwell was born May 29, 1879 in Kendal, England. His parents, Isaac Whitwell and Hannah Martindale Whitwell, had eight other children; Edward was the fourth oldest.

Edward appears on the 1881 census as a one-year-old; his father was a bootmaker. By the 1901 census, Edward is living on his own as a boarder while working as a plumber and gasfitter.

As World War I began, Edward apparently joined one of the precursors to the RAF—the RAF didn’t really become a separate service branch until April 1918, and was built from the merger of the Royal Flying Corps and the Royal Naval Air Service. The only record of Edward’s service I have found so far is a card from the “UK WWI Pension Ledgers and Index Cards, 1914-1923” database, which merely confirms his ranks as Flight Lieutenant and then Captain in the Air Force.

He seems to have been older than the average World War I pilot—he was thirty-five when the war began. All I know of his flying career is a paragraph in a 1918 newspaper article in the Brooklyn Eagle describing an event called Allies Day the Brooklyn NY YMCA:

“…Captain Edward Whitwell of the Royal Air Forces of Great Britain, who represented the British Government (at the event). Captain Whitwell, who has seen three years of service, gave thrilling accounts of several battles in which he took part. He told of the tricks used by aviators to get the enemy into a tight corner and for extricating themselves if they are caught in the same positions. He also described bombing raids and dangerous photographic work.”

From this account, it appears that Edward had served as a pilot from 1914-1917, and flew a variety of missions from reconnaissance to attacks and dogfights.

So how did he end up in the United States giving lectures to the public? Edward apparently was sent by the RAF to the New York area to serve a recruiting function as part of a program called the British-Canadian Recruiting Mission (BCRM).

The program targeted British and Canadian citizens living and working in the United States, encouraging them to enlist in British or Canadian units. The Mission handled all the transportation and visa details. The program was apparently surprisingly successful, recruiting 33,000 volunteers, most in 1918 when Edward was part of the effort. One article states that Edward was the aide to Brigadier General Kenyon, the British head of the BCRM.

British Canadian Recruiting Mission poster--1918

Edward’s name appears in various articles in newspapers in the New York City area as the organizer of various military pageants and events. He arranged for opera singer Florence Macbeth to perform at one of these events, and the two fell in love. They married after the war on December 8, 1922. He was forty-three years old, and Florence was thirty-three.

Edward remained in the United States following his marriage. While he occasionally travelled with Florence (see the article below mentioning them attending a dinner in Florence’s honor in California), he spent much of his time in New York City, where he became involved in the professional boxing world.

He became the boxing impresario for the New York City Coliseum, arranging bouts. In the article below, he is referred to as a "matchmaker"-- quite the clever pun to reflect his role in pairing up boxers for a match. 

I have no idea if he had any previous boxing experience or if he was just a fan of the sport and used the organizational skills he developed in the BCRM to begin planning boxing cards and schedules.

In his late fifties, Edward suffered a severe stroke that left his health impaired. He and Florence moved to California. He died there at age sixty-two on April 12, 1942. He was buried in Florence's hometown of Mankato, Minnesota.

Photo from Findagrave, by RB Hall-Gallea and MS Gallea.

 

Sources:

“Allies Day at YMCA.” Brooklyn Eagle. Brooklyn, New York. Aug. 19, 1918. Accessed on Newspapers.com on August 30, 2024.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Royal_Air_Force

https://www.fold3.com/image/689533587?terms=kingdom,edward,i,war,world,united,whitwell&xid=1945&_gl=1*fu9exw*_gcl_au*NTAxNTc4MDUuMTcyMjgxNjQ1NA..

Richard Holt "British Blood Calls British Blood: The British-Canadian Recruiting Mission of 1917-1918." Canadian Military History 22, 1 (2013) https://scholars.wlu.ca/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?referer=&httpsredir=1&article=1679&context=cmh

Edward Whitwell headstone. Photo provided by: RB Hall-Gallea & MS Gallea on Findagrave.com

Ad for Patriotic Rally. New York Tribune. NY, NY. Aug. 14, 1918. Accessed on Newspapers.com on Aug. 30, 2024.

Society News: Macbeth feted at reception. Oakland Tribune. Oakland, CA. Oct. 3, 1926. Accessed on Newspapers.com on Aug. 30, 2024.

Photo of Edward Whitwell. New York Daily News. NY NY. Jun. 16, 1933.