Category Archives: Memories

The Real Reason for Memorial Day

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Memorial Day — or Decoration Day, as it was originally called — began shortly after the end of the Civil War. It was a way to pay respect to those who had lost their lives in that bloody conflict. Eventually, it grew as a way to honor those who died in any of our nation’s wars.

Like many of you probably do, I head out to local cemeteries on Memorial Day weekend. Ok, I go much more often than just that weekend, but the trip to cemeteries is a key event in my Memorial Day activities.

Gerald Ridenour was from my mom’s hometown. He enlisted in the Army and served in the Army Air Forces. He died in the line of duty in October 1943. His body was brought back to Perry County, Ohio for burial.

Mom was still in school at the time. She remembers that the entire school — and almost all of the town — went to his funeral. “I remember that he was wearing his uniform,” she told me on our visit to Highland Cemetery yesterday.

“At the end of the service at the cemetery, there was someone at the bottom of the hill playing Taps. None of us could see him. It’s something that I’ll never forget for as long as I live.”

Gerald V. Ridenour tombstone, Highland Cemetery, Glenford, Perry County, Ohio. Photo by Amy Johnson Crow, 23 May 2015.

Gerald V. Ridenour tombstone, Highland Cemetery, Glenford, Perry County, Ohio. Photo by Amy Johnson Crow, 23 May 2015.

Gerald Ridenour isn’t related to me, but his funeral is such a vivid memory for my mom, that he almost feels like it.

Sometime this weekend, please pause for a moment and consider the real reason we observe Memorial Day.

My Non-Royal Birth Announcement

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Photo by Drow male. Used under CC license.

Photo by Drow male. Used under CC license.

Recently, Kate, Duchess of Cambridge, gave birth to a daughter. (The baby is still unnamed as of this writing. My money is on Elphaba. Then again, I also picked War Story to win the Kentucky Derby…)

The baby’s birth was announced with all of the pomp and circumstance that one might expect with a royal birth.

Though I don’t quite understand the fascination that some people have with the royal family, I’d like it to be known that it isn’t just royals who make public birth announcements.

Here is a photo of my dad’s Texaco station, shortly after I was born:

texaco-birth-announcement

Personally, I think this is a lot cooler than a notice on an easel in front of a palace.

I scanned this from the original slide that my dad took. You know how we as genealogists are supposed to glean all the information we can from a source? Well, this proves that I am younger than color photography :-)

Uncle Harold and the Invisible Wheelchair (52 Ancestors #17)

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Harold Young was many things. Son. Brother. Husband. Father. Railroad worker. Wheelchair user.

He was my grandmother’s brother. As muscular dystrophy took a toll on his body, Uncle Harold eventually became confined to a wheelchair. Sometime after Grandpa died, Uncle Harold moved in with Grandma. In many ways, I think that caring for her younger brother gave her a sense of purpose.

I don’t remember Uncle Harold not in a wheelchair. For some reason, however, I wasn’t scared of it. Maybe it’s because it’s the only way I knew him, so it didn’t seem unusual. Maybe I was fascinated with the apparatuses that he used, including a hydraulic lift that Grandma used to move him from his wheelchair and into bed. But there’s something else that probably explains why I wasn’t scared of Uncle Harold or his wheelchair:

diceYahtzee.

Uncle Harold loved to play games of all sorts. He played a mean game of Yahtzee. Think your set of 5s is going to rule the day? Hardly. He could roll 6s like you wouldn’t believe. Going to Grandma’s and playing with Uncle Harold was always a treat.

Uncle Harold died 11 August 1979 and is buried at St. Joseph Cemetery in Columbus, along with his wife Anne and his son Tommy, who was killed by a drunk driver in 1960.

Harold Young (seated) with his sister Adah (Young) Johnson and his son David. 1972.

Harold Young (seated) with his sister Adah (Young) Johnson and his son David. 1972.

Genealogy Note

All of the cousins called him “Uncle” Harold, rather than “Great-Uncle” or “Grand-Uncle.” Keep that in mind when you’re sorting out relationships in your own family. When someone refers to Uncle so-and-so or Aunt such-and-so, it might be another relationship.

How Genealogy Is Like Decorating Easter Eggs

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When I was growing up, decorating eggs was my favorite part of Easter. Mom would get out a glass bowl and fill it with cold water. With a little bit of vegetable oil, the food coloring would float on top. (Science!) Add a few drops of red, blue, yellow, and green, and we had our own floating tie-dye pattern.

My sisters and I would take turns dipping the eggs. This wasn’t done willy-nilly. No, we had to examine the swirls on top of the water, maybe blow on it to mix up the colors a little bit more. We’d look at it from different angles, trying to figure out the very best place to submerge the egg.

Every now and then, an egg would turn out exactly how we envisioned it. But more often than not, we’d be surprised at how it ended up. Sometimes we would be pleasantly surprised… and sometimes not. Occasionally, there would be an egg that just wouldn’t turn out at all.

So it is with our genealogy.

We look at our ancestors and we start to dig into their lives, looking through the swirls of records they left behind. We often have ideas about what we’re going to find. We envision them living in a certain place, associating with certain people, engaging in certain activities.

Sometimes we’re right. Sometimes an ancestor will be exactly as we envisioned. But more often than not, we find something surprising. It can be a good surprise or bad surprise. And, occasionally, there are those ancestors that we can’t seem to “decorate” at all.

The afternoons spent coloring Easter eggs with my sisters are some of my favorite childhood memories. We’d laugh, we’d help each other, we’d bicker. Even though the eggs rarely turned out exactly as we envisioned, we enjoyed each other’s company and it was a lot of fun getting there.

Just like genealogy. Our ancestors are rarely exactly who we envision, but we feel more connected in the process. And we have a lot of fun getting there.

easter-eggs

Thank You, Roy G. Biv

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Test tubes and other recipients in chemistry lab

Photo by Horia Varlan. Used under Creative Commons CC BY 2.0 license. No changes were made.

My high school chemistry lab violated the laws of time. Two periods of chemistry class lasted years. Every day, I expected to walk out of the lab and find that the school had crumbled around us, swept away by the eons that had passed while we were in that class.

I enjoy science. Chemistry could have been an enjoyable class. It should have been an enjoyable class.

It was not an enjoyable class.

The teacher had a way of droning on and on…. and on. He also had a remarkable talent for making students feel particularly stupid. He would ask very pointed questions — often off topic — and would get a smug, yet gleeful, look on his face when the poor kid didn’t get it right.

The room had two long lab tables with black countertops and cheap built-in storage underneath. Each table had stations with sinks and burners. We sat at desks that were attached to the lab tables. I sat about 4 seats back.

One day, the teacher was droning on and on…. and on… about something. I may or may not have been talking to the kid sitting across from me. Suddenly, there was the shortest of pauses in the droning, followed by a much louder, “And we all know the colors of the spectrum in order, don’t we, Amy?”

Suddenly, every pair of eyes in the class were on me.

Some part of my brain must have been paying attention to the droning. Without missing a beat, I looked up and responded, “Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet.”

My chemistry teacher didn’t quite know how to react, especially since it wasn’t a topic even close to what we had covered in class. All he could muster was, “Yes. Very good,” and returned to his droning.

The bell rang at the end of the first period and the class got up for our 4-minute respite before the second epoch of chemistry class. As I was walking out to get a drink of water, the teacher pulled me aside.

“How did you know the order?” he asked me in a rather puzzled tone.

“My dad taught me ‘Roy G. Biv’ – the name is the colors in order.”

My teacher shook his head. “Wow, I didn’t think anyone remembered Roy G. Biv.”

My dad remembered and he taught me. On that day in my junior year of high school, I was very thankful for Roy G. Biv.

Rainbow in northern Michigan

Roy G. Biv in action. Northern Michigan, October 2014. Photo by Amy Crow.

Amanda Wilson Lowers: A Raw-Boned Female (52 Ancestors #3)

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Amanda Wilson Lowers was the second wife of my 3rd-great-grandfather Philip Mason. They were married just 12 days after her divorce from Weeden Lowers was granted. She intrigued me even before that discovery. My Grandma included a wonderful story about her in her memoirs. (Grandma had a LOT of stories. This one is among my favorites.) “Granny Mandy” came to help after my Grandma’s brother Harold was born in March 1909. I’ll let Grandma tell you what happened…

Granny Mandy

I know my aunt Laura came to stay with us for awhile, and she and Mother would sew a lot and then my mother’s grandfather’s wife came to stay with us until Mother was strong after the baby was born. The reason my mother didn’t call this old lady “grandmother” was because she was her grandfather’s second wife.

She was a big, husky, raw-boned female and she rubbed snuff. She was quite a yarn teller and I was half afraid of her. She teased me a lot and every time she would take my little baby brother to take care of him, she would make the awfullest face and say, “Kikee, Kikee, I’m goin’ to throw him in the swamp,” and many times I went to sleep with the frogs croaking: ker-ching, kerchunk, kerchunk.

Well, I thought for sure she meant just what she said. One day Granny Mandy (that’s what they called her), she went down the walk to the little house at the end and, while she was in there, I sneaked up real gently and turned the button on the door. Sometimes when I was in there, the button would get across the door, but I would reach my finger in the crack and turn the button. But poor old granny had rheumatism in her fingers and the joints were big and she couldn’t get her finger through the crack.

At first I thought of her crooked finger. I’ll go back and unlock the door. And then the little imp that sits on your shoulder said, “Let her work to get out.”

So I ran to the house. I was in the house quite awhile and Mother called me and asked where Granny was, and I said, “Oh, I shut her up in the privie.” Mother said, “What did you do that for? You go let her out right this minute.” I said, “I will if she will promise not to throw my baby brother in the swamp.”

So I went out and Granny was sure doing some hollering. I run up and turned the button real quick and away I run, back to the house to my mother. Granny comes in with a little switch, going to give me a little switching. So Mother told her why I shut her up. Poor old soul said, “Oh, you poor baby, didn’t you know Granny was only teasing you?” And she wanted to hug me and love me, but I didn’t want her to. I didn’t quite trust her.

Philip Mason and Amanda Wilson Lowers Mason

Philip Mason and Amanda Wilson Lowers Mason

Amanda Wilson, daughter of William L. and Anna Wilson, married Weeden Lowers in Ritchie County, West Virginia on 1 January 1878.1)Weeden Lowers and Mandy Wilson marriage record, Ritchie County, West Virginia marriage volume (unnumbered volume), page 37, digitized by West Virginia Archives and History. They divorced 21 June 1894.2)Pension file of Philip Mason, File # 467,962, National Archives, Washington, DC. Amanda died sometime after 1914, the date of her last statement in her Civil War pension file.

References   [ + ]

1. Weeden Lowers and Mandy Wilson marriage record, Ritchie County, West Virginia marriage volume (unnumbered volume), page 37, digitized by West Virginia Archives and History.
2. Pension file of Philip Mason, File # 467,962, National Archives, Washington, DC.

Della Starkey Ramsey: The Grandmother I Never Met (52 Ancestors #52)

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There are countless inspirations for beginning the quest to discover your family’s history. For me, it started with my two grandmothers. My paternal grandmother Adah Young Johnson, the first of my “52 Ancestors” this year, was the keeper of the family stories and the family Bible. In many ways, she was our family’s historian. But it was my maternal grandmother, Della Starkey Ramsey, who inspired my first search.

I never met my Grandma Ramsey. She died when my mom was only 8. She had suffered a miscarriage and developed peritonitis. Though the condition is still serious, today it is much more easily treated. People typically don’t die from it today. She was only 27.

Grandpa remarried about 4 years later. Mom still had contact with the Starkeys (her mom’s family), but she was closer with the Ramseys. Consequently, Mom didn’t grow up with the stories or the heritage from that side of the family. It wasn’t until I started researching that she knew the maiden name of her Grandma Starkey (Della’s mother).

Mom hasn’t told us many stories about her mom. I hope she won’t mind me sharing this one.

The day of the funeral was rainy. Like a typical 8-year-old girl — and one who is trying desperately to find a sense of “normal” when her world has turned upside down — my mom was worried that her brand new hair ribbons would be ruined. Her father gently assured her that if they did, he would buy her some new ones.

I only have one photograph of my grandmother. Though she is in profile, I love how content she seems and how happy my mom looks.

scan0002Della Starkey Ramsey was born 4 February 1911 in Perry County, Ohio, the fourth of Edward and Clara (Skinner) Starkey’s eight children. She married Ralph Ramsey in 1929. She died 12 July 1938 in Perry County and is buried at the top of the hill in Olivet Cemetery.

Stanley Johnson: The Grandfather I Mostly Remember (52 Ancestors #51)

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I was blessed to know both of my grandfathers. Stanley Johnson, my paternal grandfather, died shortly after my 5th birthday. Although I didn’t have nearly enough time with him — there’s never enough time — I have some wonderful memories.

The Swing Set of Doom

Grandpa and Grandma had a swing set in their backyard. It had a two-person swing (basically a porch swing) and a glider. The glider had two vertical poles that attached to the swing set’s cross bar. You’ve probably seen the type. Back in the day, the poles were closer together than sets are today. I mean A LOT closer together. As in “there’s no way in the world a regulatory agency would approve them today” closer together. “How close,” you ask. Let’s just say that they were close enough to allow my 4-year-old head to go through, but not to go back out.

Fortunately, Grandpa remained calm. He lifted me up to where the poles joined the attachment on the cross bar and were a bit farther apart; then he gently pulled me loose. I never tried that again.

The Vague Memories

Aside from the swing set incident, I don’t have a lot of specific memories of Grandpa. What I do have is a sense of his kindness and humor. And from what everyone has told me, those vague memories are right. (That’s what I mean when I say that I “mostly remember” him.)

Grandpa Stanley Johnson with one of my cousins, May 1955.

Grandpa Stanley Johnson with one of my cousins, May 1955.

I also have a strong recollection of him wearing a hat. When I think of Grandpa, my mind’s eye has him in a fedora. I don’t know why I have this memory, or even if it’s accurate. Not many of the photos I have show him wearing any kind of hat. (Though, in fairness, most are indoors; a gentleman wouldn’t wear a hat indoors unless it was for work.)

Stanley and Adah (Young) Johnson, undated photo. One of the few photos I have of Grandpa wearing a hat.

Stanley and Adah (Young) Johnson, undated photo. One of the few photos I have of Grandpa wearing a hat.

This is how I remember him — being happy and fun-loving.

Grandma with "Santa," 1964. My sister didn't know until years later than Grandpa was the one playing Santa. (We assume that Grandma knew.)

Grandma with “Santa,” 1964. My sister didn’t know until years later than Grandpa was the one playing Santa. (We assume that Grandma knew.)

The Other Photo

I’m fortunate to have so many photos of Grandpa. And for as fun-loving as he was, there was one photo of himself that he absolutely despised:

Stanley-Johnson-retouch3

Stanley Linton Johnson, circa 1903.

He hated that picture. My sisters and I, on the other hand, think it’s awesome. (Sorry, Grandpa.)

Stanley Linton Johnson was born in either Ohio or Illinois on 18 September 1900 (still can’t find his birth record) to Linton and Margaret “Maggie” (Kingery) Johnson. He married Adah Young on 24 June 1922 in Ross County, Ohio. He died 11 December 1971 in Columbus, Ohio.

I didn’t have you for long, Grandpa, but I’m thankful for the memories.

Stanley Johnson and his sisters Zelma, Alice, and Orpha, 1965.

Stanley Johnson and his sisters Zelma, Alice, and Orpha, 1965.

He Ate Himself to Death

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A few years ago, my daughter and I were in the dentist’s waiting room, waiting for my son to be done with his appointment. Since the kids had back-to-back appointments, I had some time on my hands. I brought along my laptop and was abstracting mortality schedules for my  genealogy society. (Because it’s perfectly normal to abstract mortality schedules while waiting at the dentist’s office.)

1850 mortality schedule, Logan County, Ohio. Downloaded from Ancestry.

1850 mortality schedule, Logan County, Ohio. Downloaded from Ancestry.

My daughter was curious what I was working on. I explained that the mortality schedule was taken with some censuses and that it was a basically a death record. She looked through the entries as I continued typing. Suddenly, she sat up straight and exclaimed:

“He ate himself to death?!”

I gave her that look that only a parent can give. You know — the one where you don’t want to stifle their curiosity, but you have no earthly idea what your child is talking about.

I was also thankful that there was nobody else in the waiting room.

“Who ate himself to death?”

“That man there. It says he died of consumption.”

That’s my daughter. The one who has always been excellent at using context clues to figure out unfamiliar words.

I smiled and explained that “consumption” was what they used to call tuberculosis. I’m not sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

My son walked into the waiting room just after that, proud that he had no cavities. I was happy that we could leave before I’d have to explain what “bad blood” was.

Below Ground for the Battle of Britain

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September 15 is Battle of Britain Day, commemorating the day in September 1940 when it became clear that England would be victorious against Germany in the skies over London. In June, I had the opportunity to go to the bunker where the Royal Air Force command directed the battle and Winston Churchill chewed his cigar for several hours, watching…  waiting…

I think America, as a whole, doesn’t quite appreciate all that England went through in the early days of World War II. By the time the United States entered the war in December 1941, England had already been at war with Germany for almost a year and a half. In May and June 1940, Germany had taken Belgium, Holland, and France — and then turned its sights on England.

After weeks of nighttime bombing, it became clear on 15 September that Germany was launching an all-out attack on England. It wasn’t a foregone conclusion that England would win. Germany had more planes (though fewer pilots) and their planes were technologically more advanced the British fleet. And Germany was on a roll…

Churchill joined his commanders in a bunker outside of London. (The bunker is now surrounded by a middle-class subdivision.) Smoking wasn’t allowed. An officer told Churchill that he would not be able to light his iconic cigar. Higher-ranking officers were astounded that he said this. Churchill took it in stride. For the next several hours, he chewed — but did not light — his cigar.

Entrance to the Battle of Britain bunker. Photo by Amy Crow, 10 June 2014.

Entrance to the Battle of Britain bunker. Photo by Amy Crow, 10 June 2014.

Status board in the command center. This portion shows the Biggin Hill airfield. Photo by Amy Crow, 10 June 2014.

Status board in the command center. This portion shows the Biggin Hill airfield. Photo by Amy Crow, 10 June 2014.

Going down the stairs, you get a sense of claustrophobia. Everything is very close. From the command center, Churchill and his commanders could see the status of every squadron. The status board listed each unit in the airfields under this command; the lights indicated the units status — out of commission, preparing, scrambling, or in the air.

This portion of the status board shows the Biggin Hill air field and the status of each of its 4 squadrons.

Notice the clock in the lower left of the photo. The color coding of each 5 minute increment was a way that they could relay how current the information on the positions of the aircraft was. How did they track the plane while they were in the air? Radar and several skilled radar operators and map technicians.

You know that scene in numerous WWII movies where the women wearing headsets push model planes around on a table-top map? That’s what they did in the bunker. Radar operators would track the position of each plane — and try to filter out for things like flocks of geese — and relay the position to the map women. The women, in turn would then use the color code system so the commanders could see how current the position was. For example, if the time right now was in the blue, the commanders knew that anything with yellow was 5 minutes old and anything red was 10 minutes old. Once you get the hang of it, it’s a rather ingenious system.

Close-up of the planes used on the map in the plotting room. Photo by Amy Crow, 10 June 2014.

Close-up of the planes used on the map in the plotting room. Photo by Amy Crow, 10 June 2014.

After the battle was over on 15 September, Churchill emerged from the bunker. They were exhausted, but relieved that they were victorious. It was here that Churchill first said the famous quote that he’d re-use the next day in his speech to the British people:

“Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.”

Standing in the Battle of Britain bunker was quite an experience. You could almost hear the voices of the commanders and the servicemen and women. You could almost feel the tension. To visit, you need to make arrangements ahead of time, but it is well worth the visit.

I got to hold one of the plane pushers. It was pretty cool! Photo by Rachel Crow, 10 June 2014.

I got to hold one of the plane pushers. It was pretty cool! Photo by Rachel Crow, 10 June 2014.

View from the command center. Photo by Amy Crow, 10 June 2014.

View from the command center. Photo by Amy Crow, 10 June 2014.

Hurricane outside the Battle of Britain bunker. This is the kind of plane that won the battle. Photo by Amy Crow, 10 June 2014.

Hurricane outside the Battle of Britain bunker. This is the kind of plane that won the battle. Photo by Amy Crow, 10 June 2014.