Monthly Archives: September 2013

An Industrious Sober Man Was Eber Johnson

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When we think of the Civil War, we tend to think of the participants in two groups: young soldiers in combat and old white-haired veterans who later sat around telling tales of their days in the war. What is often overlooked is the toll — both physical and mental — that the war took on those who returned home.

When he enlisted he was a farmer and has always followed said occupation. Don’t think that his disease has been aggravated in the least by intemperance or any bad habits as Mr. Eber Johnson was always regarded as an industrious sober man prior to his enlistment. Since his return from the U.S. service he is still a sober man but unable to perform any manual labor to amount to anything.

Those words are from John Murnahan in his affidavit on 11 March 1886, filed as part of Eber Johnson’s application to obtain a Civil War pension. Eber, my great-great-grandfather, had been a private in Company D, 1st Ohio Heavy Artillery. He enlisted in October 1864 at the age of 41 (older than most enlistees). He was discharged 25 July 1865. Though he served just nine months, the war had a devastating effect on him.

After his death in January 1894, Eber’s widow Ann M. (Stephens) Johnson applied for a pension. In her application, she states:

My property consists of forty one acres of land with a cheap frame house and log barn left to me by my husband in his will. Valued at about 200 dollars. My tax on said property is $4.50 annually. I have no personal property outside of my household goods. I have no income of any kind outside of the third I get off of the 41 acres of land.

What happened that caused Eber to go from an industrious man to not being able to perform manual labor, to the point that his widow was left with just 41 acres of land and “a cheap frame house”? Those of us looking back can’t be completely certain, but in Eber’s mind there was no doubt as to what caused his physical decline. It was one long, arduous march from Knoxville to Bean Station, Tennessee in December 1864.

That it was on a forced march from near Knoxville to Bean Station, Tenn. It was in the middle of Winter and we had to leave our overcoats, knapsacks, etc and it was so severely cold that the water would freeze to our pantaloons.

Whether or not that one march was the direct cause of Eber’s decline is a matter of debate. One thing is certain: the Eber Johnson who returned home in July 1865 was not the same man who left in October 1864.

Eber’s pension application was eventually approved. The amount: $12 per month.

eber-johnson

Eber Johnson’s signature. Declaration for Original Invalid Pension, 23 May 1885. Pension application 541396.

Reference:
Eber Johnson, Civil War Pension file, application 541396.

The Great Mango Mixup of 2013

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Before you read any further, answer this question: What do you call the item shown below?

Green Pepper

If you said “mango,” you’re most likely from somewhere in the Midwest and are part of a select group of people who know an alternate, exotic name for this commonplace veggie.

What? You’ve never heard a green pepper called a mango before? Pull up a chair and let me try to explain it to you.

Back in colonial times, produce from overseas came pickled, since it was a way that food could be stored in the days before refrigeration. This included mangoes (the orange, sweet kind.) According to The Word Detective, people in England and the colonies confused the name of the fruit and thought it referred to the pickling. Soon, a pickled dish of any variety was called a “mango.” (The Word Detective has a reference to “a mango of walnuts.” Pickled walnuts? Eww. But I digress.)

Because one popular dish was pickled green peppers, it didn’t take too long before green peppers started to be called mangoes. Why the name stuck to them and not walnuts is not explained. Nor did The Word Detective explain why it has stuck in certain parts of the Midwest and not the rest of country.

I have to admit, I was in high school before I realized that a mango could also be a sweet, orange-colored fruit. (Now I call the green things “green peppers,” mostly because I’m addicted to Food Network and that’s what they call them.)

So, what does this have to do with genealogy and family history? A couple of things. First, if you’re following Grandma’s chili recipe and it calls for “mangoes,” ask yourself if she was from the Midwest. If she was, add the green things and not the orange ones.

Second, and probably more important, it’s a reminder that words change meaning over time and can vary in usage from place to place. If you’re reading an old document and it doesn’t quite make sense, ask yourself if you’re reading it as the person wrote it or if you’re reading it with “modern” eyes.

Photo credit: “Green Pepper,” by Sharunas Jurevic. From Flickr, used under Creative Commons license. [Since he titled the photo “Green Pepper,” I’m guessing he’s not from the Midwest.]

Seeking Sadie Gurevitz

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Part of the joy of genealogy is discovery. Sometimes that discovery doesn’t even have to be related to your family. Such was the case for me and seeking Sadie Gurevitz.

It was in November 2010 that I found Sadie (or she found me; I’m still not sure which). I was working on my final project for my Digital Collections class at Kent State and was taking pictures of photoceramics — those photos on ceramic tiles that you sometimes find on tombstones from the early 20th century. I had taken pictures of several in Agudas Achim Cemetery in Columbus and was almost done, when I saw her.

Sadie Gurevitz

Sadie Gurevitz, photo on her tombstone at Agudas Achim Cemetery, Columbus, Ohio. Photo taken by Amy Johnson Crow, November 2010.

It was the cloche hat that first drew me to her. This was a stylish, attractive young woman with an impish smile. What was her photo doing on a tombstone? Maybe her family wanted to remember her in her younger days, not wishing to think of her in advanced years.

Sadly, this was not the case. The tombstone revealed that Sadie Gurevitz — “Mother” — was born in 1902… and died in 1929.

I had to find out more about Sadie.

My first stop was to find her death certificate. As I suspected might be the case with such a young woman, she died from complications of childbirth. Her cause of death was listed as “Childbirth (placenta prev),” an abbreviation for placenta previa, a condition that can cause extreme bleeding before or during delivery. Her death certificate told me even more about her. Sadie was born in New York City, was a housewife, married to Max Gurevitz, and lived at 855 S. 18th Street. She was the daughter of Harry and Bessie (Miller) Freedman, both Russian immigrants. She died 18 November 1929 at St. Ann’s Hospital in Columbus.

The Ohio Memory Project has digitized several years of the Ohio Jewish Chronicle newspaper. It was there that I found her obituary, with this headline:

gurevitz-headline

Sadie Gurevitz, “popular young Jewess,” died of “complications incident to childbirth.” Her baby boy also died. She was survived by her husband Max (“of the Superior Auto Wrecking Co.”), another son, her mother, and three brothers.

What of Sadie’s other son? The 1930 census, taken just months after Sadie’s death, lists Max Gurevitz with 2 year old Norman. (A search of Ohio birth records confirms that Norman, born in April 1927, was the son of Max and Sadie Freedman Gurevitz.)

Sadie Gurevitz. Daughter. Wife. Mother. Popular young woman. Gone too soon.

gurevitz-tombstone

Sadie Gurevitz tombstone, Agudas Achim Cemetery, Columbus. Photo by Amy Johnson Crow, November 2010.

References:

  • Gurevitz, Sadie. Ohio Death Certificate 70276 (1929). Original held at the Ohio Historical Society. Digital image on FamilySearch.org.
  • Gurevitz, Sadie obituary. Ohio Jewish Chronicle. 22 November 1929, p. 4. Digital image on OhioMemory.org.
  • Lakin, Harry household. 1930 U.S. Census, Columbus, Franklin County, Ohio, ED 25-23, sheet 22B.
  • Gurevitz, Norman birth record. Ohio Birth Records 1908-1987. Database on Archives.com.
  • Mayo Clinic staff. Placenta previa definition. MayoClinic.com.

About That 1950 Bel Air Convertible

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Growing up, I spent more time in service stations than most girls my age. When your dad owns and operates a Texaco (and later, a Gulf) station, you find yourself hanging out around the garage. As one of my sisters commented, “It was like an amusement park!”

This past Labor Day weekend, I posted onto Facebook one of my favorite photos of Slane and Johnson Texaco. (There’s a version of this photo in the NSTS banner.) I commented that I’d love to have the car on the left.

Slane and Johnson Texaco

Slane and Johnson Texaco, Columbus, Ohio. Circa 1952.

It’s not a photo that was new to me. I’d had it for some time. But I was surprised when Dad left this comment on Facebook: “That car was mine and I had it when I was courting your mother. It is a 1950 Chevrolet Bel Air convertible.”

Really?! This was the car that Dad had while courting Mom and I’m just now finding this out?! Of course, I couldn’t let this story just stop there, so I called Dad to ask him more about it.

Turns out he bought this car after his brother borrowed his previous car and rolled it. (“It was a great car, but I needed to buy another one after that.”) So he ended up with this 1950 Chevrolet Bel Air convertible. (Though the photo doesn’t show it, it was blue.)

Dad loved this Chevy. “I loved that car so much, I carried a picture of it in my billfold for years.” That’s when it clicked. This was the car in the photo that we teased Dad about. See, for a long time, Dad didn’t carry photos of any people in his billfold, but he did have a photo of a car. This car. The blue 1950 Chevy Bel Air convertible. The car he courted Mom in. The car he sold for a new 1953 Mercury hardtop after they got married.

The car that I really want now.

Introducing No Story Too Small

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Welcome to No Story Too Small! On this blog, you will find stories of those who came before us. Some of them will be the stories of my ancestors; others will be stories that I have stumbled across that have intrigued, amused, or puzzled me.

My goal with this blog is to show that the lives of our ancestors are more than the names, dates, and places we discover in our research.

Further, this blog will show that the story doesn’t have to be big to be important or interesting. No epic stories of ancestors who were stowaways or who survived the blizzard of century on nothing but two pieces of bacon? No worries — the more you discover about your ancestors, the better you will come to know them. And it is through the stories.

We’ll also look at records and resources that can help shed light on the stories that have been long hidden.

Life is made of stories. And remember, there is no story too small.

~~ Amy