We all want to know who we are. Many, like me, do a bit of genealogical searching for answers regarding our roots. It can be a frustrating but often rewarding experience that gives us a better idea of who are ancestors were, where they lived, and sometimes even what they may have been like. My own experience has been remarkable on the one hand but sadly fruitless on the other. I have been able to trace the lineage of my paternal grandmother, Minnie Bell Smith, all the way back to the early history of Norway when names of people were almost impossible to pronounce. I have been relieved to note that none of the people who came before me in that branch of the family appear to have owned slaves or taken up questionable causes. Through the women in particular I have distant connections to famous English politicians and royalty but ultimately my grandmother’s people appear to have lived hard scrabble lives marked by struggles and journeys from one place to another. Continue reading “Finding Your Roots”
Category: Geneology
My Name is Nickerson
Way back in 1956, when I was seven years old I received an invitation to a birthday party for the daughter of my father’s best friend. Her name was Shirley and she was a great deal older than I was. In fact she attended Hartman Junior High at the time. She was blonde, beautiful and always nice to me so she became a kind of goddess in my eyes. Shirley introduced me to rock and roll and showed me how to dance. When my family visited with hers she always took me to her room and entertained me as though I was an equal to her. Of course I adored her so when my mother told me that I was going to get to accompany Shirley and some of her school friends to a movie on her birthday I was over the moon with excitement.
A bit of controversy revolving around me put a monkey wrench in the plans. Shirley had wanted to see Trapeze, a story involving a love triangle between Burt Lancaster, Gina Lollobrigida, and Tony Curtis all set under the big top of a circus. My mother was concerned that the material in that movie might be a bit too adult for me and so Shirley’s mom made a last minute decision to take all of us to see Moby Dick instead. This put me in a most unfortunate predicament with Shirley’s friends who complained that I was too immature to be part of their celebration anyway. I recall feeling quite uncomfortable as the group grudgingly accepted the change in venue. As it ultimately turned out I think that I was far more traumatized by the violence from the infamous white whale than I would have been by the romantic scenes in the circus plot. Nonetheless the damage had already been done and I had my introduction to one of the most revered stories in American literature, Moby Dick. Continue reading “My Name is Nickerson”
Kentucky Kinfolk
Before leaving Arkansas Mike and I made one more attempt to find the road to my grandparent’s farm. Using Google Maps we found the Caddo River and the bridge that crosses it. As soon as we saw it I knew that we were on the right track. It was just as I remembered it. It seemed to be a place suspended in time. The old wooden bridge will one day be gone. Little is left of it but enough to bring back such fond memories. It was so peaceful there. The crystal clear water looked clean enough to drink. Of course we knew better than to try it without some form of filtering. I learned that important lesson from my grandmother long ago and from all of our more recent backpacking adventures. I wanted to just sit along the banks in that quiet place and tarry for a long while but we didn’t have the time. Continue reading “Kentucky Kinfolk”
The Old Family Home
As children we aren’t usually much interested in learning about relatives from long ago. Thus it was with me. My father died long before I began to have questions about his grandparents and aunts and uncles. I imagine that he had a wealth of information but that went away with his death. His mother, my Grandma Minnie, sometimes attempted to provide me with a few details about her heritage but I much preferred her stories about birds and the other critters that she understood so well. The result was that I grew up knowing very little about the people who had come before me.
I had a first cousin named Howard who was one of my Aunt Opal’s sons. He and my dad had actually been quite close. They were only a couple of years apart in age even though my dad was Howard’s uncle. They both became mechanical engineers and they shared a number of interests, thus my parents often visited Howard and his wife. I was fascinated by this cousin of mine who was old enough to be my father. He had a collection of arrowheads that he had found along White Oak bayou before someone had the questionable idea of pouring concrete along its banks. He also raised baby alligators and collected all sorts of wonderful things. Visits to his home were always a ton of fun. Continue reading “The Old Family Home”
All It Takes Is A Little Love 