The Way of the Dodo...

I love libraries.  I've always loved libraries.  As a child, my brother and sister were much older than me (my sister was 16 years older and my brother 18 years older).  I have a nephew who's only 4 months younger than I am.  By the time I reached school age, I was the only one left at home with Mom and Dad.  So, I retreated into books.  I would read from morning to night if I had the chance.  They were my friends, my comrades.  I traveled across the world to exotic places with Mowgli in the Jungle Book.  I would pretend to stand at the balcony reciting Juliette’s monologue from Romeo and Juliette.  I traveled to the future with Animal Farm or A Wrinkle In Time.

During the summer break (which I hated by the way), I would ride my old Schwinn 3-speed down to the local library – you know, the one across the street from the Courthouse.  I'd sit for hours reading books and newspapers and magazines – anything I could get my hands on.  I would use any excuse I could to get to the library during my school years – term papers, speech preparation, new issue of TeenBeat, anything.  This continued into my college years where I would find a quiet corner of Bracken Library and study.  It was easier to avoid distractions if I weren’t in my dorm.

Then I grew up.  I still read every chance I can.  When I was expecting my children, I would read to them in the womb.  When they made their appearance into this cold, cruel world, we would read every night – at least 20 minutes.  I would record books on cassette tapes so they could “read” along with me as they were growing up.  My kids spent almost as much time in the library as they spent at home.

During the years I home-schooled my son, we were a staple at the local library.  Everyone there knew him by name.  My name was, of course was “Ian’s Mom.” He learned to love books as much as I did.  The library was 1^st base…home base was our dining room where all the computers and schoolbooks were.

 There were always activities for people at the local libraries.  That is where my son found his love of acting.  That is where we would play chess each week or learn how to paintsomething we were proud to put on our walls.  Weekly reading time provided the kids a chance to be together for an hour and the mom’s a chance to breathe for a few minutes.

So what’s my point?  With the convenience and availability of the internet, electronic books, digital music, etc., the libraries in my area are becoming shells of what they once were.  It is so much easier to put your question into your favorite search engine and get the answer than to travel downtown to look it up.  You don’t need to borrow books or music anymore; you can get them online.  Our library reminds me of a crypt – large, gaping areas of nothing where books used to be…empty seats that used to be filled with people leafing through newspapers and magazines.

It’s sad to see it happen, although understandable.  With so much information available at your fingertips, the brick and mortar library isn’t as vital today as it was when I was young.  I am sorry that my grandchildren will not experience the smell and feel of old books like I did.  I am as guilty as everyone else though.  The only time I will journey out to the library is when I have microfilms from LDS to view.  I can get everything else delivered right to my home computer.

I am hoping that local public libraries never go the way of the Dodo bird.  I hope that there will always be a brick and mortar building that people can go to learn or read or just get away. 

I love libraries and I will miss them greatly if they ever go away.

Until later,

Happy Hunting!! 

The Cruise from Hell

My family and I are getting ready to go on a cruise during our son’s summer break.  I’ve cruised before and I already have visions of laying poolside with a good book in my hand and a drink with a little umbrella on the deck beside me.  I’m looking forward to the midnight buffet with all the food and the gorgeous ice sculptures. (Which is odd for me considering my bedtime is usually 9pm.)  I’m already planning out my shore excursions with an emphasis on shopping.  After a day of sun and fun, I’ll have a delicious, luxurious dinner in the main dining room with my husband and son, and eventually settle into our cabin where I can stretch out, take a long shower and slip into the king-sized bed for a good night’s sleep.

If you have an immigrant ancestor in your line, their experience ‘crossing the pond’ probably didn’t include many fond memories.  They either came to America to start a new, hopefully better, life; or they were brought here through the slave trade.  Their journey here wasn’t luxurious, or relaxing.  It was The Cruise from Hell.

Let’s look at what they had to go through after making the decision to come to America.  First, the decision they made had to be heart-wrenching.  They are leaving the only home many of them knew, leaving family and friends, to go to a place they had never seen and knew very little about.  Their decision might have been based on politics, war, famine, disease, lack of farm land, hope for a better life or just adventure.  Whatever the reason, the decision was just the beginning.

The cost of passage for an average family in steerage was 1/3 of their annual income.  They had to scrimp and save, sometimes for years before ever making the journey.  If they needed to leave their homeland before they had the fare, they would often have to agree to be an indentured servant once they arrived.  This servitude could last months, or years. 

They had to pack minimally.  There was not a lot of room to store baggage, so they took only the essentials; clothing, the family Bible, and basic provisions for the trip.  Their bunks had a basic mattress, blanket and pillow.  The bunks themselves were 6 feet long and 2 feet wide and there was just enough room between them to walk.

When the emigrants (emigrant is someone who is leaving – immigrant is someone who is arriving.  So Uncle Ralph emigrated from Germany and immigrated to America.) had to go through a series of physical exams to make sure they were not ill and especially not contagious before boarding the ship.  Quarters were so tight and cramped that a contagious illness would infect everyone within days.

Okay, so your ancestor is finally on board.  They faced very primitive living

 conditions for the month or so they were on board (the average voyage was 43 days).  There was no privacy, food was inadequate (basic food such as biscuits, water, oatmeal and molasses was distributed a couple times a week to the steerage), seasickness was rampant.  Sometimes the waves were so bad, they couldn’t stand up and were thrown from their beds because of the rocking of the ship.  There are records of passengers starving to death on board because they were so seasick they couldn’t keep any food down.  If they encountered storms along the way, the hatch to the upper deck would have to be closed to keep the rain from getting into steerage.  That would cut off any fresh air or sunlight that the passengers had.  The stagnant air would become unbearable after a while.

Ships were sometimes lost at sea.  In one year alone, 17 ships were lost.  Illness, no matter how hard they tried to stop it before boarding, claimed more passengers than anything else.  Because of the unsanitary conditions aboard ship, Typhus, dysentery and cholera were the main concerns.  In 1853, 10% of Irish immigrants died at sea due to cholera alone.

With all that said, we know that some of the immigrants arrived in America, or you and I wouldn’t be here.  If they landed at the Port of New York, they

would either go to Castle Gardens or Ellis Island (depending on when they arrived).  They would report their names and their destinations.  They could purchase train tickets and exchange their money for U.S. currency.  They could get their bearings and head out for their new lives, new jobs, new chances.  Looking back at history, we know that they still faced many obstacles and hardships once they were settled.

No, it wasn’t a cruise; it wasn’t luxurious, it was downright horrendous.  Our ancestors must have really wanted to get that fresh start, to escape, to spread their wings, to put up with what they had to.  They endured hunger, sickness and cramped living conditions to follow a dream.  I’ll think about my family from Germany and England when I’m sipping that Pina Colada on board my luxury vacation this summer and thank them for their sacrifices.

Until later,

Happy Hunting! 

 

Discovering Brick Walls Where There Were None...

About a year ago, I decided to start from scratch on my family tree.  This time I was going to make sure every fact had documentation and that I could prove each and every ancestor.  I had been guilty of clicking on online trees and adding them to my own just because I recognized some of the names and my tree had grown exponentially.  Problem was, as I have blogged before, not all of the information in online trees are accurate.

So, I’ve been methodically verifying each and every fact.  My tree is nowhere near the size it used to be, but I know it’s accurate.  That’s my goal and I have been unfaltering in making sure each person belonged where they were.  I have more brick walls that I have to break through, but that’s okay.

About 6 months ago, I literally woke up in the middle of the night with a burning question.  I have an ancestor from Laurel County, Kentucky on my father’s side by the name of Joseph James J.A.C.K. Lickliter.  He married Rebecca Ball from Virginia and they settled in Knox County, Kentucky.  She is my link to DAR membership, the War of 1812 membership and my son’s SAR membership.  I can trace her back, but he is another story.

You see, I always believed that Elias Lickliter was Joseph’s father.  It was a given.  I had believed it for so long that I put it into my tree.  I realized on that dark night that I had never verified it.  No problem, I’ll do it in the morning. 

Morning came and I pulled up the first census (1860) that Joseph would have been in.  Oh crap – he wasn’t listed.  His assumed siblings all were, older and younger, but he wasn’t there.  I pulled the 1870 census, when he would have been between 12 and 15, still no Joe, no James, no Jack, no J.A.C.K.  I pulled marriage records for he and Rebecca.  No listing of the parent’s names on the records.  Looked for a will from Elias or Nancy hoping it would list him as a son.  N0 will exists that I’ve found.  I haven’t found a printed death certificate for him and the Department of Health in Knox County doesn’t have any records.  I even called the funeral home where he would have been and they don’t have records.  I have checked for births in Laurel County around the time of his birth – nothing.  I’ve even contacted some of the owners of the family trees that list Elias as his father to see what documentation they have.  They have none – they saw it on an online tree. 

So, six months of looking, calling, writing, researching, ordering microfilms and I still don’t know who Joseph’s parents are.  I think it has something to do with the middle name J.A.C.K., but so far nothing but dead ends.  Soon I’ll be bald from ripping my hair out.

 

Why am I writing about this brick wall?  I’m writing as a warning to every family history researcher out there.  One small fact that I assumed was correct because I had always assumed it was correct, did not stand up to the scrutiny of verification.  Something that I KNEW was right seems more and more like it was wrong because there is no actual record of him ever being in the Lickliter family.  It is dangerous to assume that the information is correct before you check it out.

I started out by saying that I’m redoing my tree from scratch.  I’d recommend doing this to anyone.  Looking at documents that you’ve had for a decade or two with fresh eyes opens up so many new avenues of information.  When I look at a document now, compared to twenty years ago when I first looked at it,  I see so much that I missed the first time.  That comes from the experience I’ve gained doing this for so many years.  So many subtle clues that can easily lead you to breaking down a brick wall – or in my case, exposing one you never knew was there.

Will I find Joe’s parents?  I don’t know.   I‘ll keep looking, I will try to come up with new creative places to look for verification.  I will hone my skills on tracking down his birth parents.

Is it worth all the time and energy and money to find them?  Yes, definitely.  Because THEY are my kin, and THEY deserve to be remembered.

As always,

Happy Hunting!!!