Wednesday, November 25, 2009
In Honor of THANKSGIVING, I am posting a Wordless Wednesday photo of someone that Thanksgiving always reminds me of. At this time on the day before she would be up baking pies from scratch and when she was done with her pie's she would take the left over dough and make me little pie crust twist and sprinkle sugar and cinnamon on them. So to my Great-Grandmother Alma Clark.... I love you and wish you could be here to enjoy Thanksgiving! Even though you are not here to share it with us, know that you are still Loved and Missed by all!
Friday, August 14, 2009
Married to: William Henry Clark in 1878 in Kansas
Children born to this union:
1. Henry L., 1880 - ?
2. Emma Elnora, 1881-1978
3. Alice Mae, 1883-1978
4. Sylvester, 1883-1897
5. William "Willie" Augusta, 1887-1974
6. Charlie L., 1889-1970
7. Mable, 1891-1987
8. Ida Isbelle, 1894-1982
9. Wilburn Cisney, 1895-1917
10. Ira E., 1898-1981
11. Cora Etta, 1900-1981
12. Alma Elizabeth, 1903-1978
13. Baby Boy Clark, 1906-1906
For years, I have understood that my Great-Grandmother was adopted, but recently I learned that I somehow had misunderstood. It was another grandmother instead. I recently was able to locate information regarding Amanda and her parents. Her father was Joseph Dugan who was born in 1840 somewhere in Indiana. He served in the Civil War uner the Command of Captin J. Pine in F. Company in the 28th Regiment of the Indiana Volunteer Calvery. During the Civil War he died in Arkansas on 3 October 1864 of disease as so many others had. Amanda was the only child that Joseph and Nancy had. Amanda's mother Nancy was born 28 Jan 1849 in Nashville Tennesse. After the loss of her husband she remarried Marcus L. Goodman and together they had 8 children.
Information collected from Census Records shows that Amanda and her family have lived in Fannin County,, Grayson County and Collin County, Texas along with Indiana, Kansas and Missouri.
Amanda, along with her husband and several children are buried at West Shady Grove Cemetary, behind the little country church in Collin County, TX. When Amanda passed away she was living at 424 W. Cherry St., in Sherman, TX with her daughter Cora.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Now for passing the torch: My 7 Nominee's are.....
1. Creative Gene because "they are the one's that got me started"
2. Shades of the Departed
3. Judith over at Tennessee Memories
4. 100 Years in America
5. Graveyard Rabbit
6. Alana over at A Twig in My Tree
7. Terri over at The Ties That Bind
PS. This is not an easy task to decide who get's this award.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
This weekend I had the pleasure of revisiting the "Old Farm". This is the "Original" barn that once housed the hay and critters from the elements of the East Texas weather and storms. It is also the "Core" of my existence. Every wonderful memory I have starts here and the person I am today is because of this place. Funny, now it seems so small and yet at that time in my life it was bigger than life. Being able to see it again brough wonderful memories flooding back. This is the place where I once let all my granfather's cows out and I got my first "whoopin" that I can honestly remember. At one time, a wheeping willow stood in our back yard. I honestly believe that my grandfather killed it using it on me at various times in life.... (never did I say I didn't deserve them).
Even though the exterior and interior of the house has been changed, the memories of my childhood still remain. I stopped to ask the current owners if I could take a few pictures and explained to them why. They gracioiusly offered to allow me into their home so that I could see what they had done to the inside. "Today we are so wrapped up in our lives we dont stop and take time to remember." Yet these two wonderful people let a complete stranger into their home and shared a little bit of life with me and for that hour they allowed gave me great pleasure. Even though the walls have been knocked down and rooms moved and remodeled, I still remember life as it once existed. This is the house that I learned to cook in! This is the house where I learned how to pray! This is the house where I learned the meaning of Family! This is the house that I learned what love is!
Even though it is only a bunch of grass and a few bare spots now. Once this large section of the yard to the right of the house was my great-grandmother's garden. Up against the fence stretched two rows of Grapevines, followed by rows of corn, raddishes, beets, potatoes, cuccumbers, tomatos, onions, squash, mustard greens, green beans, peas, okra and the last row was CABBAGE! Yet, another butt whoopin' I remeber getting. Every day, my grandmother and I would go out and help her pick veggies for dinner or lunch that day. One particular day, I decided I would go out and pick the cabbage for dinner that night. Only thing was, I picked two whole rows of it. Needless to say, that was not what she wanted. So my job was to return each and every head back to it's home before PaPa returned home in order for me not to be in trouble. I didn't get it done in time needless to say....
The owner and I shared stories about the farm and how it once was. While telling them about the garden he asked where it stood. They told me that when they moved in the grapevines still stood and they were able to get grapes for a couple years. However, a storm blew in one day and destroyed the vines. They removed the post and wire that streched the length of the yard and the bare spot where the post once stood still remains.
While the house has changed in appearance, the love and memories still remain. The garden is gone but the barn still stands.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
They built a one room shack in the yard when Francis Maness was just short of two years old. I (Monroe) was born in the new shack about a month after it was built. M. C. Maness was born in the same shack two years later. Dad and Mom were renting property from "Uncle" Joe Bounds and engaged in farming. When M.C. was three months old (Jan of 1937) Dad and Mom moved into "Grandpa" Jim Gardner's place down on Mudcreek. Grandpa and Grandma maness leased a farm nearby from Jim Fardner's brother Joe. We lived about one mile from our grandparents and Uncle Steve Maness lived in a little shack between us and our grandparents. This house is where my memory starts.
I remember the log house in which we lived. It was nice and had a wide hallway that ran through the middle from one end to the other. There was a big dog that wouldn't let people in the yard until Dad or Mom said it was okay. Tjhere was a dug well that had to be drawn dry because a snake or bird or something fell in it and drowned. I remember Dad plowing with a team of horses in the field next to the house. Juniour Maness (my cousin) was bit on the foot by a snake. We lived in a log house one year (according to Mom), then we moved into a small house NE of Ryan and Dad and Mom worked for a Mr. Houser. I dont' remember much about this place. Mom said it was a one room shck, and we lived there one year. I do not remember going to Waurika (nine miles) by horse and wagon; on all day trip.
The next place we lived, and where my sister Susie Fern was born in 1939, was always referred to as "the Corner". It was on the corner of a major dirt road and a side road about four miles east of Ryan and one-half mile east of the "Brown Chapel Store". Dad farmed and worked for the county road department and anything else he could get. We were right in the middle of the depression (a word I never heard until later in life). Times were hard but I never had a moment of insecurity; I thought that Dad and Mom had everything undercontrol. My Uncle Lonnie (Mom's Brother) came and helped with the farming while Dad was away working. When we harvested our first bail of cotton (then, I was too little to work) Dad let us boys ride to town to the cotton gin and bought us an ice cream cone. I think it was my first, anyway I surely did think it was neat that you could eat the ice cream and the container.
Reality set in when the bank foreclosed on the farm. Trucks came and hauled away all the horses and cows except three that had been given to my mom for milk by my grandpa Capehart. Mom was upset and crying but Dad did his best to comfort her and I figured that all would work out alright. Dad borrowed my Unle Steve Maness' team and wagon and moved the family one mile southwest onto Tobe Fullers Place. We lived on the Fuller place for tow years and according to Mom it was tough times. Frankly I did not know. I thought it was great. I went to the pond and caught crayfish with my big brother, went swimming in ponds,l and had a good time.
In 1941, Dad took a job on a cattle ranch owned by a doctyor Wade for six months. We lived in a nice house. I think Mom worried about Dad wrestling livestock and apparently the pay was not too good. The rance was out on the prairie and therefore there was no wood. I remember picking up "cow chips" (dried manure) to fuel the stove. We walked about a quarter mile from the road to catch the school bus. We walked along a fence line so that we could dash under the fence if any of the bulls were too close. I dont' know what the plan was if there were bulls on both sides of the fence. IT was my first year in school and WW II was under way. I was almost seven when I started school because you had to be six by the fifteenth of Septemember in order to begin first grade.
The next two years back at the Tobe Fuller Place were very eventful. I thought the world was wonderful; I had a big brother, two little brothers, dozens of cousins and a beautiful little sister. What more could one want? I thought the family was just perfect. Then my little sister died of pneumonia. What a tragedy! I can still see her laid out in a little coffin in the hallway. To this day I try to avoid funeral. One thing I am sure of is that my dad was partial to his daughter, but it seemed quite alright to me because I wa partical to my little sister as well.
Then my youngerst brother Bill DOn caught pneumonia and had an abscessed lung to complicate things. It was my first introduction to fear. The poor little guy came home from the hospital wiht a drainage tube in his side (they cut away a rib to make room for the tube). Someone said: "Well at least he won't ever have to go into the army," but I could not thing of anything positive about the situation. He did later serve in the army and raised a wondrful family and grew old and gray like the rest of us.
My brother M. C. had ear trouble. I don't know what it was but he was frequantly in sever pain. He took a hard working thing in stride and did verly little complaining. I always admired him, he was like Dad. He was a hard-working and kind-hearted fellow. He was killed on the job in an auto accident in Californina in 1961. I have always felt guilty that I didn't spend more time with him since we lived only eight miles apart.
There was, however, an up-side to these two years. In the early summer of 1943 (I know it was 1943 because that is the year my Uncle Jewel Caphart got married). Uncle Bert showed up at our house and wanted me to spend the summer helping him bail hay. I was eight years old and ready to take on a realy job, besided I had spent time with the Capehard before and I was anxious to have my teenage uncles continue with my education. We rode back to Grandpa Capehart's by horseback (about eleven miles) arriving late that night. We got up early the next morning and started work. My job in the beginning was to keep the horses powering the old team bailer by moving around in a constant steady circle. Later I learned how to run the buck rake and do other things as well. I had a wonderful time and was paid something as well ( I don't recall how much pay). Uncle Jewel got married that summer to the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She also became on of my most favorite people. When I returned home that fall I was older, bigger, wiser, and in command of a great vocabulary (which motivated Mom to take immediate punitive measures).
In the fall of 1943 we moved to MudCreek (Claypool) about two miles from Grandpa and Grandma Maness onto the Burneet Ranch. Dad share cropped for Blackie Burnett, and worked away some, and sold firewood and fence post which he cut off of the rance giving Blackie half. Dad had bought a 1929 Dodge Truck from one of my uncles. He delivered wood to the Mudcreek store owned by Mr. Flether who dressed and looked like and old cowboy. I mentioned that to Dad and he said: "Well that's what he was till he got old." I waited for more of the story but that 's all Dad had to say. Later, I don't know why, Mr. Flethcer told me Dad was a "good hand" (cowboy), that he had rode with Dad, and that they drove cattle up the Chisolm Trail. I made mental not to ask Dad about this but I never did. I loved living at Claypool. We had relatives all around the country within walking distance. My grandpa and Grandma Capehart lived only three miles away. Then there were the Daltons a couple miles away(Uncle Charlie Dalton). Uncle Charlie and Aunt Tennie (Dad's Sister) had girls and Goldie became like my little sister. We were very close for many years. Although she now lives far away, we still are close. A lot of things happened at Claypool. My brother Weldon was born there. My Uncle Lonnie Capehart was killed in action on Novemeber 22, 1946 (two days after my 12th birthday) . I know that he had originally landed in France, but he was killed in Germany and that' about all I know.
Grandpa Maness (John Nie Pinkney Maness) died June 13, 1946 from a heart attach. At first I was guilt ridden because some of my cousins and I had been wrestling with him that afternoon. I thought it might have been our fault. I quickly decided that it was alright even if it was our fault, because he loved to wrestle with us so much. We would catch him in the corn bin or cotton seed bin in the barn and "attack" him; he would even throw us about like rag dolls. The seeds made an excellent cushion for wrestling and no one was ever hurt-except for grandpa.
My dad came down with pneumonia and I was saddened and scared beyond belief. I could not imagine life without dad and his mortality had never occurred to me before. After hearing hushed discussions of how serious his illness was, I went quietly to my room, laid on the bed and cried uncontrollably for a long time. Then I prayed as never before nor perhaps since. Dad lived and I was convinced that there was a God in heaven.
There was lighter times at Claypool also. I fired Dad's long-barreled shotgun there for the first time. Mom and Dad were in the field and I was at home. A chicken hawk landed on a post at the corral and I figured he was eyeballing the chickens. I grabbed the shotgun and fired at him. I haven't the foggiest idea as to whether I came close. All I know is that after I got up with what I thought might be a broken shoulder, he was gone. It occured to me then that this may not have been a good idea, and that Dad could probably tell that the gun had been fired. My solution was to clean the gun. I took the gun apart-every nut, screw, bolt and pin; cleaned and oiled it and got it all back together. I did not have the strength to depress the spring enought to get the hammer back in. I sweated bullets until dad came in then I made my confession. He put the hamer in and said, "You might need some advice before you use that shotgun again." I did receive "advice" on using the gun and hunted ducks and geese with some success. I spent many hours laying in waiting for that chicken hawk as well, but I never got him.
While duck hunting, I ran across a drilling crew setting up a wildcat rig (oil rig). These guys throught it pretty funny to see a kid hunting with a shotgun longer than he was tall. During the ribbing they were giving me, one of the crew wanted to throw his hard hat in the air for me to shoot. It was during the war and shells were hard to come by and in my mind too expensive to horse around with. He offered me a dollar bill though, which offset my argument. That hat went into the air and I shot a hole in it, at the same time severed that band. He got pretty upset then and I became a little frightened, but the boss made him calm down and also made him pay me a dollar.
There was another death while we lived in Claypool which rather starteled me. " Irishman Jack" was a Civil War veteran (no one knew which side and no one cared). No one knew his full name or where he came from. He was old as the hills and healthy as a horse-it never occurred to me that his heart might give out one day. He lived on the rance in a rather nice little house about two miles south of us. You could hear him calling his hounds ever morning-he had lungs like a bull elephant. He rode to town with Grandpa Maness ever few weeks to replenish his supply of wine I think. He would show up in any field and chop weeks for a while then wanter off. I used to see him on my hunting and trapping excursions and he would give me a tip now and then. Mostly he never said much. He came to our house one time-when dad was sick and mom said: "Well come on in Jack". "No", Jack replied. " I never came to bother-heard the bredwinner was sick-brought you this." He handed my Mom a twenty dollar bill and walked away before Mom could recover enough to say thank you. Twenty dollar back then was more than a week's wages. Ten hours a day got you three dollars. This act makes me view my "generous" donations in a different light today.
Because we had a truck we were much more mobile and it allowed us to visit family more often. I enjoyed the familes very much. While dad was sick Uncle O. K. Maness and Uncle Jewel Capehart alternated nights staying up all night with Dad and taking care of the family needs.
1945 was a good year.The war was over and cotton was high priced (about thirty-six cents a pound I think) and we had a very good cotton crop. There was only twenty acres of cotton though, so that fall we moved three miles south of Grady onto "Grandpa" Reeds place. I think there were roughly fifty acres of farmland, good bottom land by the river in the forks of two creeks.
Grady had a store, a blacksmith shop that also sold gasoline, a post office, and a school up to the eight grade. Mr. and Mrs. Frazier ran the school. She taught grades one through four and he taught grades five through eight. They both also ran a ranch and I worked for them frequently. Theyhad a major influence on my life in several ways. I had not done well in school to this point; in fact, I really thought I was a little dumb. I had to do the first grade twice and kind of lost interest after that. Under the tutoring and care of the Fraziers I learned very quickly to read, after which I developed a real interes in school and learning. The Fraziers also ran a very active sports program which included basketball, softball, and track. We were able to participate in 4-H Club activites such as the county fair. I completed eights grade with one girl and three other boys. The girl, Barbara Werthington, was great at sports and played on our ball teams. We went to Comanchee for the regional basketball tournament, and they all agreed to permit a girl to play on our team until it looked like we might win; they then decided that we had to remove her from the team and substitute a seventh grade boy. I thought that was unfair.
My world really expanded at Grady. So many things happened there that I can never cover half of them. My brother David was born at Grady. Francis and I bought a car-a 1939 Oldsmobile straight 8-and added girls to our life. We bought three saddle horses which we used more than the car. IT was about twenty miles either up or down the Red River to the bridge, so we frequently rode horses across the river to the skating rink and other "girl chasing places" at Spanish Fort.
Dad finally bought a battery powered radio and the family became connected to the world. There was news every day, the Grand Old Opry on Saturday nights as well as The Long Ranger, Amos and Andy, The Green Hornet and a host of other programs to hold our interest. Then, Uncle Jewel Capehart showed up one day and announced that Mr. Frazier had bought a "TV". "What's a TV?" I asked. "It's like a radio, only you can see the people talking," he answered. I let it drop there because this is the same uncle that introduced me to "snipe hunting." I was totally amazed later to find out that it was really true.
REA (Rual Electric Association) started wiring the county for electricity although they did not connect our house. Grandpa Capehart had purched a tractor for farming and being a progressive fellow he wanted electricity. However, Grandma did not. She said: "Not in my house! Somebody is going to get killed with that stuff." In the end, Grandpa prevailed and the electricity went in. My grandma, bless her sould, stepped gingerly around the extension cords for a long time as if they were rattle snakes. Now with computers and fascimile machines, I am beginning to understand Grandma's feelings.
In 1949, we moved North of Grady onto Olba Goldsmith's place where my baby brother Clyde (Shorty) was born. I think Mom and Dad had a child each time they moved. Maybe they should have considered moving less frequently. We lived there about one year and I still attended school at Grady. While plowing one Saturday for Olba, I came across a young prairie dog right out in the middle of the field. I managed to catch him and put him in the glove compartment of the car. Francis took the car to town at noon while I kept on plowing and giggling at the thought ofhis reaction when he opned the glove compartment. LAter I learned that a girl, who was sitting in the car with him in Ryan, opened it and Francis, girl, and prairie dog went in every direction up and down the streets in Ryan. I would sure love to have a video of that operation.
Incidentally, the car was nice to have at times, but most of our travel and much of our work was done on horseback. All the time we lived around Grady we traveled west about twenty miled to Uncle Steve's, north ten miles to Grandpa and Grandma Maness, east eight miles to Grandpa and Grandma Capehart's and file or six miles across the Red River to Spanish Fort. Mom worried about the river crossings because of quicksand and high water. We didn't worry about anything.
In 1950 Mom and Dad bought ninety acres of land three miles east of Orr in Love County (about twenty miles east of Grady). The property didn't have a house so they moved into a small house about one mile away on property owned by Uncle Bert Capehart. He lived in Wichita Falls, TX at the time. I did not make the move though. Mr. Frazier convinced Mom and Dad that I should stay at Grady until I finished school. So I moved into my own little house next to theirs on school property (both houses had been built for teachers). I slept and bathed in my house and ate meals with the Fraziers. I worked on weekends and in the evenings sometimes for Mr. Frazier. He paid me fifty cents per hour-a man's wage. It was a very plesant stay, mostly school and work. I graduated in the Spring of '51 from the eight grade and moved to Orr with my family.
My first year at Ringling-there was no high school at Orr-was spent mostly on sports and social activities, so I ended up with terrible grades. I graduated from junior hight, definitely without honors. I entered my sophomore year with a different outlook on school. At the end of the semester, I had excellent grades. There had been no sports and very few social activites. We were having a difficult time financially. Dad was working in Fort Worth, TX during the winter to try to keep the farming operation afloat. He was staying with our minister who was attending Bible College in Fort Worth.
Starting in the Spring pf 1953 I went to Fort Worth and stayed wiht Dad and the minister whild attending school at Paschal High School. "Brother Raymond" (the minster) took me to school to enroll, one options was "PE" or "ROTC." I knew I did not care for PE so I took ROTC. After we left the office I asked Brother Raymond: "What is ROTC?" I attended school from 7:30 am until 3:00PM. I then jogged eleven blocks to work at an ice cream plant from 3:00 to 11:30. I took the city buss to school; it cost only five cents and was cheaper than driving and easier than fighting for a parking space. Because of the bus schedules, however, I had to get up at 6:00 am. I wanted the summer break to come so badly that it almost bacame an obsession. I dreamed of being able to sleep late in the morning. Spring did finally arrive. Dad went back home to farm and Brother Raymond graduated from Bible College. It was assumed that I would go back with dad, but I was making seventy-five cents an hour and had other ideas. After a long discussion, Dad and Brother Raymond moved me into the world's smalles house in a nice neighborhood across from the seminary. The rent was cheaper there than were we had been living. The little house had a bedroom in back, kitchenette in the middle and a living room in front. It was probably ten by twenty feet. There was a very small shower and a stool in the bedroom but no hot water, and so I quickly showered after work before catching the midnight bus home. The house had been built on the very back of the lot by my landlady and her late husband. They lived there while they were building their home on the front of the lot. The little house served my needs quite well.
One day, during my first week at work after school had let out, I stopped in front of the Coca Cola Bottling Company to watch through the big plate glass window. I was fascinated by the bottles going down the line, being filled and capped. Two gentlemen were standing at the front door nearby. One of them motioned for me to come in. "Do you want a job kid?" he asked. "No, I work at the Foremost Icecream Plant," I replied. Then I had a brilliant idea. I asked about the hours; they were 7:00 until 2:00 depending on how fast you could go. So I took the job as helper on a delivery route(back to getting up very early). After a few weeks on the job, the driver tyold me that he would not be in the following Monday. So, Monday I took the truck and made the route. On Wednesday, the boss caught up with me before I left the plant and wanted to know about the driver. I really thought it quiet natural that if the driver didn't show up for work, I should go ahead and get the job done. In short, the driver never showed up again and I delivered Coca Cola by myslef until school started, and enjoyed it. It never occurred to me until years later that there probably should have been a raise there.
By the time school started in the Fall of 1953, my world was becoming less plesant. I felt isolated. I had no recreation time at all to speak of, my grades were not at all satisfactory, and I had no friends or relatives. The cease-fire had been declared in Korea. The final straw was when the plant had cut back in labor. The boss was very nice when he laid me off but htere was much going through my head. I missed most of what he had said.
He handed me a handwritten note to a friend of his who managed a Cotton Factory thinking that I should hurry before the office workers had left for the day. I did not hurry. Instead, I walked along pondering my situation wondering what would happen if I did not get the job. It was too far from school to walk and I'd have to drive. It was not in the best part of town; what if they didn't pay enought? What if...? I found myself standing in front of the Marine Corps recruiting office looking at a sign that said something about finishing school as you serve in the corps. I raised my right hand on November 18, 1953 and took an oath to defend the Consitution against all enemies. I went to boot camp and then to Korea. For a country boy who had never been out of the Red River region, being on the other side of the world in Korea was big change and it widened my perspective a great deal.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Article dated: 14 August 1958, "The New Mexican" newspaper:
Three persons were killed today in the flaming crash of two cars on Highway 66 in southern Santa Fe County. The collision occurred one mile east of Baron about mid-morning.
The first word to State Police headquarters identified two of the victims as the drivers, Edward William Mussell, and John Ray Bardin, 50. A third person riding with Bardin was considered possibly to be a hitchhiker.
State Police Officers S. E. Lindsey and Tim Pince said it appeared that one car may have been passing and overturned in the passing lane, with the second car crashing into the vehicle. Both cars burned. The victims were pinned in the wreckage.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Recently I began researching the Bardin side of the family tree. Over the weekend I met John Ray and have been consumed with finding out what happened to him. I know that John was born in Johnston County, OK in 1909 and to John Pink Bardin and Jettie Viola Dudley Bardin. John was 4th of 12 children.
CPL 662 PORT CO TO (POSSIBLY TC)
World War II
On 15 April 1942 John enlisted in the Army and served in World War II. His enlistement Record states that he was a resident of Okmulgee County at the time and enlisted in Tulsa, Ok. He was single and had only a grammer school education. John Ray died in Santa Fe County, New Mexico but is buried in Henryetta, Okmulgee Co, Oklahoma at West Lawn Cemetary. I have searched for what the CPL 662 Port Co was or did or served and have found nothing on it at this time. John died young and would like to know why?
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
Well it's beautiful here in Wichita Falls, TX this morning. Right now, the sun is up and it's about 46 degrees. We are expecting it to be almost 80. We've had a house full of family this weekend and spent the weekend just hanging out and playing. Everyone had a blast. Will be out for a few days. See ya soon!
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
IRENE VIENA WEATHERALL
This story is a continuance of the orginal post: "My Family Quilt". In Feb of 2007 Rene's dream and promise to Helen Faleris just before she died was fullfilled. When our Grama Helen got sick, one of her last request to Rene was to find my sister and I. She wanted to see us before she died. Unfortunately, grama was unable to have that wish. Before Rene's visit to Texas in October of 2007, she created a Scrapbook of the Faleris Family for me as a gift. In "My Family Quilt, "My Mother's Side", the story she wrote is that which I am sharing with you.
Grama was born in Canada and would always joke with us that she was born in the "Asshole of the Eggplant". You will have to look at the map of Canada to understand the story she told us. Grama's father (Joseph Baker) was a laborer, and Grama's mother (Irene Baker) was a house wife and mother of eight.
Monday, March 9, 2009
When I first started my story I told you about a Childhood Memory that my cousin helped me relive when she came to Texas in October of 2007. This story and the photos are of the memory. While the photos are recent, they took me back to 1974....
I have not been able to get a specific date, but I think the date was sometime in 1974 when my mom took my sister and I to St. Ignace MI to visit her parents. My memories of the trip are nothing but pleasant other than the fact that my YIYI had passed away prior to us arriving.
While there I discovered SNOW for the very first time. My memory was of me playing outside and something started to falling and I asked what it was. I was told that Grama responded by telling me it was Snow and i began to run around the lilac tree singing...: It's Snowing, It's Snowing". I was told later by my cousin that everyone stood in the door laughing and smiling at my enjoyment. The picture of the tree above is the very tree that I have such a wonderful memory of and it's covered in snow.The other memory I have is of something that reminded me of a bridge tower. However, I never could exactly find out what that was. Until April of 2007. When I first spoke to my cousin I mentioned the memory and she instantly told me it was the Mackinac Bridge This is a photo of almost my exact memory. Rene spent several months trying to get the perfect shot of the memory I had described to her and this is as close as it gets. I remember being a little closer, probably almost directly under it as I woke from the back seat and looked up. But this photo is perfect.
Thanks Rene for the memories!
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
For year's I have search for my Great-Great Grandmother Amanda's parents. Until recently I have had no luck in finding any information. Recently Debbie A. wrote to me with information regarding her parents. She has since sent me marriage Certificates for both Amanda's Father and Step-father. The license attached is that of her parents: Joseph A. Dugan and Nancy Elizabeth Cron.
Not much is known about Joseph Dugan. The only information we have to date is that he served during the Civil War. He was a private in Company F, commanded by Captain J. Pine, in the 28th Regiment of the Indiana Volunteer Calvary and died during the war of disease on 3 October 1864 in Little Rock, ARK. Joseph was born abt 1840, somewhere in Indiana. I do not know where Joseph is buried at this time.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Monday, March 2, 2009
Sunday, March 1, 2009
In 1942 Papa met Grama (Helen Baker) while she was working in a resturant. From the stories I remember he was trying to make his girlfriend jealous. After they broke up Papa went back to the resturant and courted Grama and they m arried 21 June 1943. Papa either had a job in the states or got a job in the states hauling coal for a company in Detroit, MI. Papa decided to make a move to Detroit where they would raise their family, as they found out that Grama was pregnant with her first child Joan. In July when Grma tried to cross into the states she was refused entrane because of the war that was going on at the time. In November 1943 Grama was allowed to move to the states with her husband, but was not allowed to become a US Citizen.
Detroit, MI is where they made their home until about 1957. When they moved to St. Ignace, MI Papa got a job ofer from his brother-in-law to help run his resturant(The Belle Isle). Grama and Papa had three children by this time, Joan, George and Kathy which all had been born in Detorit, MI. I remember being told "YiYi" (papas mother) had a home in detroit as well.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Frank K Faleris born abt 1883, Sparta Greece, Died: 17 Feb 1957, Detroit, Wayne Michigan
Jennie Scopis born abt 1885, Sparta Greece, Died: 22 Sept 1974, St. Ignace, MacKinac, Michigan
Date of Marriage Unknown. All that is known about Frank is that he was a Canday Maker. I have no information about his family in Greece.
George Faleris:..................abt 1902, Greece
Pauline Faleris:.................abt 1903, Mepois, Greece
Tessea Faleris:..................abt 1904, Mepois, Greece
Harry Andrew Faleris:.....31 Jan 1907, Greece - 10 July 1981, St. Ignace, MacKinac, MI
Helen Faleris:....................9 June 1908, Baltimore, MD - 10 Jan 1996, Riverside, California
Mary Faleris:....................14 Sept 1909, Baltimore, MD- May 11985, El Dorado Springs, Cedar, MS
Thomas Faleris:...............7 July 1915, Hamilton, ,Ontario, Candada - 15 april 1993, Scranton, Lackawanna, PA Charles Faleris:................5 May 1917, Owen Sound, , Ontario, Canada-7 Nov 1990, Detroit, Wayne, MI
William Faleris:................10 Aug 1918, Greece- 10 Oct 1990, Ferndale, , MI
James Faleris:..................24 Sept 1919, Canada-4 March 1989 St Ignace, MacKinac, MI
Bessie Faleris:..................26 July 1921, Colbourge, Ontarios Canada-
Monday, February 23, 2009
My cousin Rene Corwin Young wrote the following story for me while creating a Scrapbook of the Faleris Family before her Journey to Texas to meet my sister and I in October of 2007.
My Genealogy Quest is the reason I started scrapbooking in 2007. It has been the hardest challenge of all for me to accomplish. However, recently I began to confront my challenge and have enjoyed what I have began to create. I recently ran across this poem and decided it would be the beginning of my book. So, for the next few months I will begin to quilt my family tree for those I love the most and hope that one day when I'm gone they will look at what I've created and know that it was created with love and with the hope that they will cherish and continue the quilt for their children to come....
With all my love,
Friday, February 20, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
You're not taking that old thing, are you?" Mom said when she saw me packing the yellow shirt. "I wore that when I was pregnant with your brother in 1954!" "It's just the thing to wear over my clothes during art class, Mom. Thanks!" I slipped it into my suitcase before she could object. The yellow shirt became a part of my college wardrobe. I loved it. After graduation, I wore the shirt the day I moved into my new apartment and on Saturday mornings when I cleaned.
The next year, I married. When I became pregnant, I wore the yellow shirt during big-belly days. I missed Mom and the rest of my family, since we were in Colorado and they were in Illinois. But that shirt helped. I smiled, remembering that Mother had worn it when she was pregnant, 15 years earlier.
That Christmas, mindful of the warm feelings the shirt had given me, I patched one elbow, wrapped it in holiday paper and sent it to Mom. When Mom wrote to thank me for her "real" gifts, she said the yellow shirt was lovely. She never mentioned it again.
The next year, my husband, daughter, and I stopped at Mom and Dad's to pick up some furniture. Days later, when we uncrated the kitchen table, I noticed something yellow taped to its bottom. The shirt!
And so the pattern was set. On our next visit home, I secretly placed the shirt under Mom and Dad's mattress. I don't know how long it took for her to find it, but almost two years passed before I discovered it under the base of our living-room floor lamp. The yellow shirt was just what I needed now while refinishing furniture. The walnut stains added character.
In 1975, my husband and I divorced. With my three children, I prepared to move back to Illinois. As I packed, a deep depression overtook me. I wondered if I could make it on my own. I wondered if I would find a job. Unpacking in our new home, I knew I had to get the shirt back to Mother. The next time I visited her, I tucked it in her bottom dresser drawer.
Meanwhile, I found a good job at a radio station. A year later, I discovered the yellow shirt hidden in a rag bag in my cleaning closet. Something new had been added. Embroidered in bright green across the breast pocket were the works "I BELONG TO PAT." Not to be outdone, I got out my own embroidery materials and added an apostrophe and seven more letters. Now the shirt proudly proclaimed, "I BELONG TO PAT'S MOTHER."
But I didn't stop there. I zigzagged all the frayed seams, then had a friend mail the shirt in a fancy box to Mom from Arlington, VA. We enclosed an official-looking letter from "The Institute for the Destitute," announcing that she was the recipient of an award for good deeds. I would have given anything to see Mom's face when she opened the box.
But, of course, she never mentioned it. Two years later, in 1978, I remarried. The day of our wedding, Harold and I put our car in a friend's garage to avoid practical jokers. After the wedding, while my husband drove us to our honeymoon suite, I reached for a pillow in the car to rest my head. It felt lumpy. I unzipped the case and found, wrapped in wedding paper, the yellow shirt. The shirt was Mother's final gift. She had known for three months that she had terminal Lou Gehrig's disease. Mother died the following year at age 57.
I was tempted to send the yellow shirt with her to her grave, but I'm glad I didn't because it is a vivid reminder of the love-filled game she and I played for 16 years. Besides, my older daughter is in college now, majoring in art. And every art student needs a baggy yellow shirt with big pockets.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
He asked her about the contents. 'When we were to be married,' she said, ' my grandmother told me the secret of a happy marriage was to never argue. She told me that if I ever got angry with you, I should just keep quiet and crochet a doll.' The little old man was so moved; he had to fight back tears. Only two precious dolls were in the box. She had only been angry with him two times in all those years of living and loving. He almost burst with happiness. 'Honey,' he said, 'that explains the doll, but what about all of this money? Where did it come from?''Oh,' she said, 'that's the money I made from selling the dolls.'
Dear Lord, I pray for Wisdom to understand my man;
Love to forgive him;
And Patience for his moods;
Because Lord, if I pray for Strength,
I'll beat him to death,
because I don't know how to crochet.
When I first starting reading this post on the other blog, I have to say it brought tears to my eyes. But those quickly turned to laughter. I have so enjoyed this story, I felt it was worth sharing here. Please feel free to copy and share with others....
Left to Right: Ray, Clarence, Lawrence, Ernest, Irvan and Archie.
This photo was taken the day they buried their mother Anthaline Beasley Evans.
Remember my first post to this blog..."Two Peas In A Pod", well they are second and third from the left. If you didn't get to read... here is part of what these boys use to do...
when i was 5 my mom took me to visit my grandparents in MI. Unfortunately my "YIYI" passed away shortly before I arrive. When I arrived, my grandmother gave me a picture of the Virgin Mary and Baby Jesus. I remember it being metal of some sort and very heavy. It was only about a 3x5. On the back it had something written about Mary and Jesus. I cherished it until my ex-husband destroyed it. Listed below is the information I know about her and my Great-Grandfather Frank. I do not have a photo of him.
This is YiYi, she was born 1885 in Sparta, Greece and she passed away on 22 Septemeber 1974, in St. Ignace MI. She married Frank K. Faleris and together they had 11 children. George, Pauline, Tessea andHarry were all born in Greece. Pauline and Tessea where born in Mepois, Greece. The exact location of the others is known. Helen was born in Baltimore Maryland, and the rest were born in Canada. Their son William was born in Greece in 1919.
This is the Border Crossing Canada to US 1895-1956 document which I located on ancestory.com. It states that Frank and his Family arrived 24 May 1923. Port of Arrival is Deroit and also states he was 43 at the time and a "Candy Maker" This would put Franks year of birth at abt 1880.
However, I have also located a Detroit Border crossing & Passender & Crew List 1905-1957.
The information on this document states he arrived on 6 Nov 1938 and he was 55 years old at the time. That would put his year of birth abt 1883. It says something about 1906, but the image is not clear enough for me to tell what it is saying. I dont know if 1906 was when they arrived in Canada or not. If anyone knows about these documents I would love to know what the difference is and would love to know where I can find Frank and Jennie's parents information in Greece.
Below is another document that I located and said it was the manifest document. It is front and back. If you can help me locate their parents or any other information please let me know where to start.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
My great-grandmother is the daughter of William Henry Clark born 17 Nov 1854 in Indiana and Amanda Elizabeth Dugan Clark born March 1862 in Indiana. My grandmother is one of 14 children.
My great-grandmother was a wonderful cook, and was always prepared when company showed. No matter who many people seemed to show up unannounced, she always found a way to feed them all, and not one person ever left hungry. My favorite memories of her are from "Thanksgiving" and "Christmas" when I would wake up in the morning and run to great everyone who had arrived. Her and my grandmother Lydia Mae Clark Campbell would be in the kitchen preparing our feast. I also loved when she would cook Pinto Beans aka (RedBeans here in the south) becasue she had a special coffee cup that hung by the crockpot that was specifically for my tasting pleasure. I always got the first cup! For my birthday's she would always make me "Chocolate Cake" and that was the best part of the day.
When I was little, we lived on a small farm in Bells, Texas and there was a creek out behind the barn. We had problems with Rattlesnakes and Copperheads where we lived due to the creek. I remember swinging in my swing hanging in the Wheeping Willow tree in the back yard and Grandma racing out towards me screaming with a garden hoe in her hand. For a small child, that is pretty frightening. Actually, she had an eagle eye for those darn pest and apparently there was one wrapped around my swing. It was nothing for her to be in the garden and see her just wack a snake and continue her chores.
Grandma always kept me out of trouble. No matter what mess I got into, all I had to do is go to her. We had a garden out on the side of the house by the drive way and had lots of vegitables growing, everything from corn, greenbeans, potatoes, and cabbage. Usually for dinner of something we would go out and pick tomatoes, or onions or cuccumbers or something. So one day me being the little helper I was thought I would go pick cabbage for dinner. Only thing was, I picked all of it.... two rows worth. Grandma shook her head and told me to go replant before grandpa got home. Well, needless to say, I wasn't done when he drove up.
One of my other favorite memories was when we would go out to the garden and as she picked okra for dinner or whatever meal she was serving, she would thought the tough ones over to the cattle. I loved picking them and feeding to them. It also, ended up getting me into trouble. I wanted to feed them okra one day and they were not near the fence, so I opened the gate to go in and feed. Being a small child.... I forgot to shut the gate. Needless to say that whipping willow tree my swing was in.... we got to know each other pretty well.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Until last year, had put the family research on the back burner and not thought much about it. Here and there would think it would be nice to put all the pictures I had in an album, but never did. The I moved to Wichita Falls in 2007. One afternoon while on lunch break I called my grandmother to talk to her while waiting in line at McDonalds to place my lunch order. While talking with her, she informed me that my father had received a letter from (what I thought she said was my mother...whom I had not spoke to in 33 years). However, what she said was from my cousin. She stated who she was and who she was looking for and apologized if she had the wrong person. She understood if this was the correct person that if he chose not to give my sister and I the letter. However, my father had taken the letter to my grandmother and gave it to my sister and read it to me.
It took me two months to actually write and send her a letter in response. My first attemt sat in the door of my car till October of 2007. However, the second letter was written and I had my ex-mother-in law send it for me. I knew if I didn't have her do it, I never would. It was about 3 weeks later and I received a phone call while cooking dinner one evening and it was my Cousin from MI. We talked for ever it seemed. The following night after I had spoke to Rene (my cousin), I received a phone call from another unknown number... the caller id said it was from Michigan. I had a knot in my stomach and knew instantly it was my MOTHER. 33 years of emotions came flooding over me and not sure what to do or say I answered the phone. On the other end of the phone was a very distanct "YANKEE" accent and the words "ROBIN" do you know who this is? My reply was "YES"? And she asked me who and I told her my mom. Even thought it had been 33 years since I had spoke to her and I was now 38, I remembered the voice as if it were yesterday when I had heard it. That was on April 12th, 2007. We only spoke for a few seconds and she said her phone was dying and she would call me tomorrow. I knew in my heart that was not the truth. She like I was over whelmed with emotion and didn't truly know how to handle the moment. I hung up the phone and instantly called Rene back telling her I had just spoke to "My Mother".
I did not know weather or not I would ever here from her again. However, for just a moment my wish had come true and I had found my mom. The story behind our journey is long and not always so pleasant. However, for just a moment I had turned back into a little girl. My first actually conversation with my mom other than hello, was on Friday, April 13th while sitting in the "kamikaze" at the carnaval about to do something I shouldn't be doing she called. I couldn't answer the phone as the ride had put my body upside down about 20 feet or so in the air. "Couldn't actually answer screaming in here ear... HELP" I figured when I didn't answer she would think I didn't want to talk. However, once I got down and was able to walk, I manage to sit down and call her. We talked for a short time and I explained what I was doing and would call her when we got home.
For the next several months Rene, My Mom and I talked every night. Rene and I spent the time reliving my childhood memories that I had decided where dreams. However, in reality they did exsist. My mom and I spent the time getting to know each other and catch up on life. In OCTOBER of 2007 my cousin brought her family and my mom to TEXAS. At about 2am on October 19th my Family called and said they were in Wichita Falls and LOST. I woke from falling asleep on the couch waiting and told them I would be right there. For the first time in 33 years I was about to meet my mother all over again. And also for the first time, she was about to meet her grandchildren.
Thus begins my journey......