Family Story Matters

First Quarter of 2022 we planned our first snowbird trip. We recently purchased a Class A motorhome and wanted to try out the RV lifestyle. We planned to stay six weeks on the Texas Gulf (in the small town of Sargent Beach) and then travel to northern Florida for a couple of weeks before returning home to Kansas. In planning this excursion, I noticed Sargent Beach was less than 200 miles from Franklin, TX - Mom's birthplace. I also noticed that we would pass through St. Elmo, AL on I-10 as we headed into Florida. Dad lived here when his mother was diagnosed with Tuberculosis/ This trip seemed the perfect opportunity to do some on-sight genealogy research.  Franklin, TX As luck would have it, I found a property just outside Franklin that allowed RV parking. I thought this would be a great opportunity to experience (to some degree) what life must have been like for Mom growing up on a farm.  We arrived around 3:00pm... set up camp... got a tour of the duck-and-rabbit farm ... an...

  The Four Winds Author: Kristin Hannah Published by: St. Martin's Press Genre: Historical Fiction # pages: 464 My rating: 5 stars The four winds have blown us here, people from all across the country, to the very edge of this great land, and now, at last, we make our stand, fight for what we know to be right. We fight for our American dream, that it will be possible again. (page 426) Why am I reviewing a novel on a family history blog? Because non-fiction gives us facts, but fiction gives us the truth . And a large part of my genealogy study is researching Mom's childhood community. The Four Winds takes place in west Texas farmland in the 1930s. It focuses on the devastating impact of the Dust Bowl on one particular family. Mom lived on a farm in East Texas. While the Dust Bowl did not affect that part of the state, the Great Depression did.  I'm always looking for details to help give me a sense of place at this time. What was life like on the farm during this tough fina...

  I often lose track of time when I research. Last week, I decided to document how I spent fifteen hours on what seemed to be a simple question: Why did my grandmother go to secretarial school in Houston? Actually, that's two questions. I'm not sure why my grandmother chose secretarial school. What other options were available to her? Perhaps I will tackle that issue another time. But I did tackle the question: Why Houston? It seems to me similar training would be offered in areas closer to Robertson County. Baylor University in Waco, TX was about an hour north-west. Texas A&M in College Station was a mere forty-five minutes in the opposite direction. From newspaper articles I've read over the past several months, I know the County Extension Service associated with Texas A&M made frequent visits to the area. This led me to question whether my grandmother knew someone in Houston. If she were starting out on her own in an unfamiliar city and a new profession, she migh...

  Genealogy proves our existence by using vital documents to determine the dates on our tombstone.  While this information is invaluable in identifying my ancestors, I am far more interested in the dash in between. I often find myself veering off the document trail to ponder such psychological and sociological questions as: What was family life like for my ancestors? Where did they live? How did that environment affect their perspective on life? How did that perspective affect the decisions they made? How did those decisions affect the next generation? How does the accumulation of those decisions affect me?  Who am I? Why do I act the way I do? What makes me tick?  How do I affect who my children become? While Genealogy research can provide answers to some of these questions, and social history can provide useful context, I also know my family stories will be largely speculative. A definite detour from true Genealogy which is rooted in facts. But this Enneagram 6 is...

  left side: Veron Bryan right side:  Alleyne Jackson A few weeks ago I hinted at the contentious relationship between my dad and his father. The story Dad shared is (mostly) verified by the research. Walter Albert Coleman and Veron Bryan married on November 26, 1926. Walter was 17 years 5 months, and Veron 16 years 9 months. By today's standards, they were mere children. Less than fifteen months later, Gleason Walter Coleman (my father) was born. Dad claims Walter left soon after the birth. However, he returned home to Veron long enough to impregnate her one more time. When Dad was twenty months old, my Uncle Freddie was born. According to Dad, his father was completely absent from their lives until Veron passed in 1940. At that time, her sister contacted Walter to let him know it was time to take responsibility for his children.  Dad and Freddie were sent to Houston to live with Walter and his new wife, Alleyne. Dad referred to her with the same disdain one reads about...

  When I began this family history quest two years ago, I knew little about my parents' childhoods. They rarely shared memories of the past, and I was too busy with life to ask many questions. After Mom's passing in 2011, I inherited a few plastic tubs filled with snapshots and old papers. Many of the photographs are of little value because I don't recognize the subject: unnamed army buddies that have long since passed or scenic car rides to unknown places.  However, I have discovered a few lost treasures. One of which is ... My Mother's Baby Book At first blush, this "dainty brochure" (as described on the front page) gives only a glimpse into Mom's past. For example, it confirms she was born on April 30, 1928, but it also includes the time (4:30pm) and her weight (9 pounds!) My grandmother kept track of each baby gift (and its giver), and the quintessential list of firsts: 1st smile (one week old) - 1st tooth (4 months 10 days) - 1st words (bye-bye and Ma...

  My father was known as the man with two last names: Gleason Walter Coleman . I knew his middle name was in honor of his father, Walter Albert  Coleman . But I wondered why his parents decided on such an unusual given name. Unfortunately, I never thought to ask Dad when he was alive. I simply assumed they named him Gleason because they liked the name. After all, that is the criteria I used to name my children. After a few months of online research, I stumbled upon my father's birth certificate.   And much like last week's discussion of death certificates , I discovered these documents provide a wealth of useful information. For example: Birthdate and time (20 FEB 1928 at 8:23 pm) His first home residence (1226 Drexel Avenue San Antonio, TX) His father's full name and birthplace (Walter Albert Coleman - Oklahoma City, OK) His father's occupation (Ass. Cowles Auto Livery Service) His mother's maiden name and birthplace (Vernon Bryan - Ripley, MS) His mother's occ...

  As I indicated last week , when I first began this genealogy adventure, my sole purpose was to discover my country of origin. I cared nothing about extended family or historical timelines. I simply wanted to follow parental lineage.  I started with little information. I knew the names of my parents, grandparents, and maternal great-parents. However, I knew even less about my dad's side of the family. In fact, I never met either one of his parents. Dad's mother died when he was just thirteen years old, and I never met his father. Dad had no respect for the man. Occasionally I tried to talk about my grandfather, but Dad would either evade the question or indicate he was a no-good drunk. I distinctly remember Dad telling me the man died of cirrhosis of the liver.  Despite their contentious relationship, I wanted to learn more about this side of the family. However, this proved more difficult than I anticipated. Coleman is a fairly common surname. And even though the 1910 c...

When I first developed an interest in genealogy research, my sole purpose was to discover where my family originated. As far as I knew, I was a southern mutt. I wanted to trace my ancestors back to the motherland ... wherever that might be. I ignorantly assumed I could complete this task in an afternoon. I registered for the Ancestry.com free trial offer and input my parents' information. I anticipated I would have my answer in no time. After the fourteen-day period, I realized my quick research was fraught with errors, and I was no closer to knowing my origin. However, I didn't care. I was hooked on the process. I purchased the monthly subscription and started over. This time, I was determined to analyze the hints closely and move methodically through each branch of the family tree. The Pedigree Chart We used to breed Labrador Retrievers. Submitting proper pedigree charts to the ASPCA was essential to prove bloodline. The first sixteen verses of the New Testament begin with J...

  "They" say ... start your genealogy research by proving your existence. While this seems far less exciting than discovering a new ancestral line (after all, I already know I exist), it is good advice.  Locate your birth certificate (and while you're at it, scan into the computer for future reference) Do you have a marriage certificate? What about school diplomas? Perhaps you saved old drivers' licenses that showcase various places you've lived. While all this documentation is good to prove existence, my interest in genealogy goes further. These facts only tell part of my story. I desire to flesh out the daily routine as well as significant events. I'm interested in the emotional details. This is what transforms research from a boring textbook to a compelling narrative. I dream of discovering the diary of a long lost relative. What constituted their everyday life?  What did they worry about? What did they celebrate? How did they live? So far, I've had no ...

  I've always envied those with a rich, ethnic heritage.  In high school, I would relish the tales of my Irish Catholic friends as they recounted humorous stories of large family reunions. I romanticized the movie scenes of Italian-American families crowded around the dining room table which was filled with enough pasta to feed the neighborhood. Interestingly enough, I married an Italian (but that is a post for another day). My heritage, as far as I knew, was a southern mutt. Dad was born in San Antonio, attended high school in Houston, and graduated from the University of Texas (Austin). Mom was born in rural Robertson County, Texas, moved to Houston when she was a teenager and attended the same high school as Dad. They married in 1950, and I was born nearly ten years later. Dad's job transferred us to Connecticut in 1971, and my Texas relatives immediately referred to us as "Yankees"  While I have always had a deep desire to document immediate family history, it nev...