Who Do You Think You Are?

I was a big fan of Who Do You Think You Are? on NBC. I saw every episode and loved the very personal, very relatable experiences the celebrities encountered. Anyone researching family history has felt the same frustrations, angers, fears, joys, and heartbreaks of learning about the past.

It was a phenomenal show, which of course meant NBC promptly cancelled it. (Side note: Like many good shows, the original series was a BBC production. Look on You Tube for episodes from the UK version - they're fantastic. I particularly recommend the episodes on Martin Freeman and J.K. Rowling.)

Imagine my excitement to learn that TLC, once known as a channel about learning, was resurrecting the series! Of course, I was a little scared it would take on a new tone (this is the land of Honey Boo Boo, folks), but the first episode, featuring Kelly Clarkson, was very much like it always was. Last week's episode featuring Christina Applegate was extremely powerful. It makes me excited to see where the season takes us.

One thing that always kind of irritates me about WDYTYA? is how quickly they learn so much. Granted, it's only an hour show (40 minutes without commercials) and they have to encapsulate the entire journey into that short, easy-to-digest segment, but still. It's so frustrating to watch them look up someone's great-great grandfather on Ancestry.com and say "Oh, it looks like you have to go to Bulgaria." and suddenly they're traipsing through eastern Europe.

That irritation arises mostly from jealousy. What really irritates me is how they always seem to find their answers on Ancestry.com. Now, I understand that's a sponsor and as a subscriber I can tell you I do find a lot on there, but it is definitely not universal answer to every family history riddle. I have run into many dead ends on Ancestry, as well as incorrect information (though most of that comes from personal trees that can't be blamed on the site, just on sloppy researchers).

I wish I could have the WDYTYA? experience in my family history research. I've spent 15 years searching for my great-great grandfather, Loren A. Finch, an abusive alcoholic who abandoned his family in 1909 and vanished seemingly into thin air (in fact, a lot of Christina Applegate's investigation into her grandfather felt similar to the story of Loren's family). I have not been able to find him after the day he left and I would love nothing more than to hire a bevy of investigators and professional genealogists to hunt his sorry ass down. Even though he is long gone and the last of his children died in 2006, I want to find him. The rest of the family says they don't need to know what happened to him as he wasn't a part of their life. While I agree with that, I also think that allowing him to remain unaccounted for allows him to remain "free" - it feels like he won. I don't want to allow him to think he got away with it.

I need to find him. I'm not a celebrity, but I do have a compelling mystery. What do you say, TLC?

722 miles

This has truly been the summer of family history travel. Last Friday I drove to far eastern Iowa and visited the small town of Preston, where I connected with a second cousin (twice removed) and explored the photos and history of the Gruver family. Upon returning home Friday afternoon I had completed 722 miles of driving for family history this summer - and summer isn't over yet!

It may seem like a lot, but to me the payoff is well worth the gas and wear and tear (I did have two flat tires this month, but ironically neither were directly connected to family history excursions). I always enjoy meeting new relations and forming new friendships. There are people around the state and the nation who once were only connected by a remote strand of DNA who now are regular email correspondents and even Facebook friends!

Friday's visit was valuable for many reasons, Curt, the distant cousin with whom I chatted, was quite interested in the history and eager to share. I was only to glad to reciprocate, and by the end of our three-hour chat I copied 167 files to his computer and left with about 100 new photos of the Gruver clan. Most were of the "younger" Gruvers - the first cousins of my great-grandmother and their descendants. Some, however, provided photos of family members who until now had been only a name on paper. It is always so valuable to finally see a face. It brings the history to life.

While looking through Curt's albums I noticed several photos I have at home. Neither of us know who are in them, but it's evident they belong to the Gruver family, so the quest continues.

Another positive outcome was the identification of several people previously labeled "unknown" in my collection. One photo, which includes three generations of the Gruver family, was positively identified as containing Curt's grandmother, standing directly next to my great-great-grandmother. Before my visit to Preston I had no photos of his grandmother, so there would have been no way to know who she was.

Inspired by these identifications, I sat down last night with an old photo album that came from the Gruver cousin in Washington State. I had scanned those images a year ago when I first received them, but many photos remained in the large "unidentified" category. After careful inspection and armed with new faces and names from recent visits with relatives, it wasn't hard for me to put names to the faces in at least half a dozen photos and narrow down the faces in dozens more.

I feel like I'm getting closer to understanding who these people are - the puzzle is slowly getting solved. Next: to schedule a trip to Elkader to visit anther Gruver cousin and hopefully answer more questions.

I have four new tires and summer is waning. Time to get moving!

A trip to Aunt Nona's

My summer of family history adventures continue! This past weekend I traveled to visit my great-great aunt, Nona, and learn a little more about my late great-grandmother's family. Aunt Nona was the youngest of eight children and the last of her generation. She was my grandmother's aunt and even my grandmother and her sisters are all gone, so she's really one last great link to several generations of family.

Aunts Ferne (left) and Nona (right) with Grandma Leone
at her 80th birthday party in 1990.

There were four sisters in Nona's family. My great-grandma, Grandma Leone, was the oldest and Nona the youngest. Sixteen years separated the two, but the sisters always remained close. Even after Grandma Leone passed away in 1994 we always saw Aunt Nona and Aunt Ferne at family reunions and different gatherings (the other sister, June, had passed away in the 1970s after battling cancer). Ferne passed away in 2006 and it's been several years since we had a family reunion. I knew from second-hand accounts Nona was doing well, but I wanted to visit her myself. She was always so sweet and kind every time I had seen her before. I also wanted to know if she had any family photos (you know how I am with the family photos).

So on Sunday, with laptop, scanner, and mother in tow (it's her great aunt, so I felt I should probably invite her along), I headed two hours northeast to Elgin, Iowa. Nona was waiting for us when we arrived, as she had decided not to go to church that morning. We headed to downtown Elgin, where we ate at the Elgin Cafe, a regular haunt for Nona, who was called "Grandma" by the proprietor and who comes for coffee with other ladies of a certain age several times a week.

After what I can only describe as a sumptuous meal, we made our way back to her house, where she

My great-great grandfather, Will Kerr (left),
looking rather like a dandy with an
unidentified friend (or relative).

had a box ready. On the phone a few weeks ago when I'd arranged this visit she told me "I don't have many old photos". This was a gross miscalculation. I suppose maybe she didn't think there were that many or, since many were her parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, they didn't seem that "old" to her. In reality, her parents are my great-great grandparents, so it was exactly what I was looking for.

Nona's eyesight is waning, the effects of macular degeneration. Still, she was able to look close to see faces and through teamwork we were able to identify many photos. Some photos held special meaning for her, and she told stories as we perused the images.

"This is me as a young girl," she said, holding a small billfold-sized picture of a teenage Nona. "This is the only picture my dad kept in his wallet and it was in there until the day he died."

There were also some hidden surprises. Behind the photo of one cousin was a folded up teaching contract for Nona's sister, June, from 1936. Their mother, Anna, was listed as one of the school district trustees.

"That's probably how she got that job," Nona recalled. "Dad wouldn't talk to mom forever after that. He was so mad she took on working for the district."

Ella Kerr, my great-great-great grandmother.

These are the kind of stories that make family history so engaging. It makes the faces on an old photo more than just a distant relative. It makes them real people with real lives and real experiences.

We spent nearly four hours going through photos, scanning well over one hundred images. After many Nona would say "Oh, you don't want this one, do you?" at which time I would promptly take it from her hand and press it to the glass. I want them al. ALL!

At the end of the day we hugged and said goodbye, promising to visit again soon. I'm determined to make sure we have more time to visit and see each other outside of funerals (a sad reality of life, I'm afraid).

Nona isn't the oldest person in my family, but she is the last of my great-grandparents' generation living. Years ago I spent time getting to know another great-great aunt and still treasure the times we spent together and the stories she told.

If you haven't done so, think about how many generations you can go back in your family and find a living member. Then, give them a call. You never know what you'll learn.

Several generations of the Kerr family, with matriarch Ella Kerr in the center.
My great grandmother is directly behind her holding my grandma, then just a baby.

Illyria's First Large Wedding

This was originally published in a local history book in about 1980. It's rare (I think) to find such a personal, first-hand account from an ancestor like this. Bessie, my great-great grandmother, was 96 when she was interviewed for this publication. She would pass away less than a year later.


Side note: Israel and Bessie were actually married in 1905, not 1904 as the article indicates. 

ILLYRIA’S FIRST LARGE WEDDING

By Clara Burchett


July 27, 1979, I visited with Bessie Richards Shaffer about her store house of life’s memories. As she sat reminiscing, I asked her about her wedding to Israel Shaffer.

Before Bessie began speaking, she sat for awhile thinking. Her head touched the back of her rocking chair and her arms were folded resting on her lap. She seemed to be veiled in a golden cloud of memories. The faint smile on her face and twinkling eyes indicated that the memories were those of joy and fulfillment.

In a soft clear voice she spoke, “Oh yes, I can tell you about my wedding. It was the 22nd of February - Washington’s Birthday. It was an awfully long time ago - about 75 years ago.”  And then this gentle little lady began retelling her wedding story.

Prior to Bessie’s marriage her mother hired a seamstress to make all of Bessie’s wedding clothes. The seamstress would come to the Richard’s home (where Ralph Shaffer now lives) and begin her task. But first Bessie and her family had to shop for fabrics.

To procure the fabric, trims, and notions for the wedding gown, Bessie and her family made a trip to West Union which was about 13 miles away. This was an all day event. The snow was so deep that the sleigh didn’t follow the road, but skimmed across the fields on the hard crusty snow. Traveling in this manner was of no concern to Bessie and her family as everyone was snug under the warm robes and all were filled with excitement and gaiety. Planning Bessie’s wedding was a family affair!

When the family got to West Union, Father took them to the hotel to eat. “This was wonderful!” exclaimed Bessie.

Then the shopping commenced! Lovely white material for the dress wsa chosen and dowry lace was selected to trim the gown. The Mormon people in Salt Lake City made this very special lace. Her shoes purchased for the occasion (“finest we could get”) cost $4.00.

Meanwhile, Israel was doing his shopping. His wedding attire was purchased at Berg’s Store in Elgin. His two-pant suit cost $15.00.

The days were filled with activity and soon the wedding preparations brought them to February 21st and time for rehearsal. Uncle Will Albright and Aunt Zephine came from Rudd, Iowa by horse drawn cutter to perform the marriage.

After the wedding rehearsal Bessie was to ride home with uncle Will in his cutter. He gave Bessie a toss into the sleigh and in so doing she fell on the end gate and hurt her knee. Everyone’s immediate concern was if Bessie would be able to walk the next day. Nothing to fear - wedding morning came and Bessie’s knee didn’t bother a bit! 

“Oh, the day was beautiful and the sun glistened on the deep white snow,” remarked Bessie in her calm serene manner.

The Richard’s home was bursting at the seams with excitement and activity as everyone donned their wedding finery. The wedding party stood in the sleigh so that the dresses wouldn’t rumple as the sleigh glided across the snowy lane and over to the church.

Amy Ricahrds, sister of the bride, and Jack Shaffer, brother of the groom, stood up with Bessie and Israel. Everyone commented that the wedding party looked like four children as they were of small stature and young.

All of the guests were invited to Bessie’s parents’ home for a dinner after the wedding. One of the foods on the menu was gelatin. This was a real treat as gelatin was a relatively new food product and few people had previously tasted it. The shimmering bowl of gelatin had a tendency to shake whenever someone bumped the table. Bessie’s Uncle Luther Shaffer said, “My, that gelatin is nervous!”

And so on February 22, 1904, the first big wedding at Illyria Church was over and a young married couple began their new life together.

Clermont Chronicles

The Shaffer women, including matriarch Susan Shaffer (gray hair). Most of the
remaining women are unidentified right now, but I'm working on remedying that. 

I completed my much-anticipated road trip to Clermont on Saturday. It was nearly five hours and 250 miles of driving roundtrip, but definitely worth it for so many reasons.

As I've chronicled in this blog before, the passion for family history is always present, but the drive waxes and wanes frequently. I get busy with work. I get frustrated with a roadblock. I say "I'll do this tomorrow" and six months go by. Lately I've been feeling the drive more and more, getting more focused, doing more work, and looking for new information. My trip to Clermont put me in hyperdrive.

That's good and that's bad. The good, of course, is making me laser-focused on results. The bad: the results desired are so often not the results gained. There are so many photos that I know in my bones must exist. Don't tell me Israel and Bessie Shaffer didn't get a wedding portrait taken in 1904. I've seen the local history story about the wedding - as described by a 96-year-old Bessie in 1979. It was a big, expensive affair. They wouldn't spend $4 on wedding shoes and not have it documented on camera.

But that's a search that has gone on for some time and I fear will continue to go on for some time more. For now, let's look into the successes, the discoveries, and the revelations that emerged from my visit to Clermont.

Victor, my second cousin twice removed, lives in a single wide just north of Clermont off a gravel road.  He and his wife, Laura, had a box of photos sitting on their sun porch waiting when I arrived. They were quite friendly, and Victor quite chatty. Later his cousins, Curtis and Durwin, and Curt's wife, Dorothy, arrived. Durwin and Victor really knew how to goad each other. Victor, and fervent Democrat, and Durwin, an ardent Republican, went back and forth exchanging political barbs and engaging in fierce debates that had clearly happened many times before. In between those moments, we talked about our shared family history.

Like so many boxes of photos I've come across in my search, the photos at Victor's house were unmarked. The knew their own parents and grandparents, of course, but many others were hard to identify. I was able to help some, especially when I spotted my own great-grandfather and great-great grandfather in candid snapshots from the 1920s. Still, there are probably more questions than answers.

John D. Shaffer

Susan (Robbins) Shaffer

While looking through the box Victor suddenly said "Oh, come in here!" and led me into the living room. There, high on a wall in the corner, was a framed photo of an older couple. I had never seen the woman before, but I knew the face of the gentleman. It was the stern, authoritative stare of my third great grandfather, John D. Shaffer. Next to him, his wife, Susan.

As much as I know about Susan (and I know quite a bit, really!) I have never seen her photo. To me, photos are one of the most important parts of family history - especially for someone you never met in person. I could imagine how I thought Susan looked, but she was still a caricature in my head; a fictional projection based on an archetypal "1920s grandma" look. Seeing her face allows me to really bring the person on paper to life. It's as close to meeting the person as you can get.

After asking permission, I eagerly grabbed the frame off the wall and carefully extracted the photos from their frame for scanning. After scouring the box of photos I came across one another photo of John with some of his children, including Israel (my great-great grandfather). I also found another photo of Susan with who I believe are the "Shaffer women" - her daughters and daughters-in-law. Unfortunately, no one gathered that day knew the women in the photos other than their own grandmother, Mabel, and Susan, but I am confident one of the women is Bessie, my great-great grandmother. Today I mailed a copy of the photo with a letter to Darlene Shaffer, the widow of my great-grandfather's first cousin, in the hopes her eyes are still keen and her memory still sharp enough at 95 years old to remember some faces.

Mary Shaffer

Curt's wife, Dorothy, also brought an album, which contained some fantastic photos. Particularly interesting were two postcards: one showing John Shaffer and his siblings, the other Susan and her sisters. One of the few labeled photos was of a young, smiling girl. Scribbled across the bottom was "Aunt Mary Shaffer". Mary was the youngest of John and Susan's children and died during the Spanish Flu outbreak in 1918 at just 19 years old. Seeing her bright, cheery smile made her untimely death seem even more tragic.

After several hours of scanning and talking about family, I followed Curt's car back to Elgin, the town that's been home to my family for generations. As luck would have it, the town museum was open. I strolled inside and found several family photos and relics, including a dray cart from 1873 once used by another third great grandfather, William J. Gruver, when he worked for the railroad.

My final stop on the road trip was Illyria Community Church in rural Fayette County. The church has witnessed many moments in my family's history, including the wedding of my grandparents and great-great grandparents (my great grandparents eloped in Illinois). The cemetery holds many generations, going as far back as my fifth great grandparents. Down a farm lane across the street from the cemetery was once my great grandparents' farm. It was the house where my great-great grandmother grew up. It was the house where she prepared for her wedding in 1904: where the seamstress came to sew her dress, where she and the wedding party rode by sleigh across the snowy field to the church, standing all the way so as not to wrinkle their dresses. It was the farm where my mom visited as a kid, seeing rattlesnake hides tanning on the fence along the drive.

The Richards Farm, Illyria Township

In 2010 my mother and I visited the house, then long abandoned and near collapse. No one had lived in the home since my great-grandparents moved to Elgin in the early 1980s. The aging brick home was sinking, it's windows broken, it's walls decaying, it's floors warped and stained. We took pictures that day of as much as we could. Now looking back I wish we'd pried loose a few bricks, as shortly after that the house was razed. When I visited Saturday no trace of the home was there, all bulldozed away or buried beneath the dirt. If I had a shovel and better footwear I might have trudged into the waist-high grass and started digging, hoping to hit a buried piece of home I could cart away as a memento. For now, the pictures will have to be enough.

Visiting the "old home place" truly ignited the passion in me again. Finding Susan's photo made me realize how much of a thrill it is to learn new things about your family history, and in turn learn new things about yourself. Walking the grounds around the place where my great-grandparents farmhouse once stood made me realize how quickly life can change. Even something as solid as a century-old brick house can't be taken for granted. It's here one day, gone the next. The same goes for every part of history. Unfortunately, that's a realization that usual comes with hindsight.

I'm determined now to keep searching, keep asking, keep uncovering the clues about the past that form so much of who I am - who we all are - today. I don't want to be the forlorn person waxing nostalgic while I stare at an unidentified photo saying "I wish I had asked..." I want to be the one making sure the photo has a name, a date, and a digital copy. I won't be the one wishing I'd done something. I want to be the one saying "I'm sure glad I asked..."

One of many photos scanned during my trip to Clermont, Iowa. This one,
which includes members of the Shaffer and Gilson clans, includes my
great grandfather, Ralph (back row, third from left), and his parents, Israel
(front, second from left) and Bessie (front row, right). 

Re-Burial

Yesterday I attended a re-burial dinner held by my father's good friend, Tim Robinson. The entire event, which centered around Tim's late uncle, Dr. Sam Smith, was chronicled by The Des Moines Register's Kyle Munson.

You can read the story here.

I really admire Tim's initiative and dedication to getting this done. As is noted in the article, Sam's death year is incorrect on his headstone, something Tim believes will add to his uncle's already significant mystique. I don't know if I would be so resigned about it.

When my great aunt passed away in early 2011 the engravers put 2010 on the stone, then tried to patch their work and re-engrave 2011 on top. The result was less than desirable.

At the time, I was the only one with genuine concern about it. Others seemed annoyed by it, but not enough to actually do something about it. I finally took on contacting the funeral home, then the engraver, then routinely keeping on him until he fixed it a few months later.

My grandfather's headstone is also incorrect, except his has the wrong birth year. I don't know who took care of things when he died in 1977. It was probably my grandmother, who well knew he was born in 1909, but perhaps was too distraught during that time. She was never one for paying attention to details like that. His grave says 1910, but it was generally known (and later backed up with research) that he was born in 1909.

Unlike my great aunt's headstone, it was not be a quick or easy fix, as the style of the stone would require a complete refacing. And, while my great aunt's stone was done gratis, this would surely require a hefty price tag.

No one is going to pay for that.

So for posterity his grave will read "Irvin Staker 1910-1977". It's already been that way for nearly 40 years, and it never seemed to bother my late grandmother. I guess I'll just have to accept that it's literally carved in stone.

Road trip

I'm excited for summer. Some things slow down, while others speed up. For me, work slows down a bit, which leaves room for other things.

First on my list between the weddings and retirements and all the other social events June can bring, is a family history road trip. Next weekend I'm traveling a few hours northeast to meet my grandmother's second cousin. He has a wealth of information and photos related to the Shaffer family and I'm coming with laptop and scanner, ready to get copies of it all.

He said there will be others there as well, other cousins who are also interested in research. It's becoming quite an event. He seems really excited, which makes me excited as well. I am desperate for some more Shaffer family photos. I have page upon page of information. My great-great-great grandfather, John D. Shaffer, was a prominent farmer, merchant, and state legislator. He was in the county newspapers every week, often multiple times, so his life is well documented.

His photo, however, is not. I know they are out there. Someone that prominent was before a camera. I have one photo, which is more an artist's rendering that was used in a county history, but I know there are more. There must be more. I also have no photos of his wife, Susan Robbins Shaffer, which I find alarming.

I hope by visiting Victor will result in finally seeing the faces of my ancestors. Time will tell...