tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24927390975731923312024-03-24T03:10:32.537-04:00Reflections"We become who we are because of those who came before." ~ Kathryn Smith LockhardKathryn Smith Lockhardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239294110918121401noreply@blogger.comBlogger227125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492739097573192331.post-87857363837017674202023-10-21T16:47:00.000-04:002023-10-21T16:47:01.438-04:00Remembering a COVID-19 Thanksgiving<p> Written Nov 25, 2020</p><p class="MsoNormal">Thanksgiving arrives tomorrow and I will be cooking dinner
for me alone. Am I sad? No. I have much too be grateful despite COVID-19 invading
my way of life. 2020 has been filled with many challenges in varying degrees.
Missing the human touch, celebrations missed, overcoming family health issues, and yet, here we are surviving all that has been thrown at us, a testimony to family
strength, love, strong faith and a willingness to help others that may be
lonely by a simple phone call. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Being a genealogist I know the difficulties my ancestors
overcame that taught me perseverance, determination, commitment, compassion,
support and the true meaning of love by putting others before oneself. </p><p class="MsoNormal">As a
direct descendant of ten Pilgrims, I wish you a very happy thanksgiving no
matter where or how you celebrate. Remember all that you have to be grateful
for.<o:p></o:p></p>Kathryn Smith Lockhardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239294110918121401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492739097573192331.post-2848232612542069142023-01-20T14:20:00.001-05:002023-01-20T14:20:10.815-05:00Giving a Voice<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: red; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">So
you want to write a book?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">You need
curiosity, love of knowledge, know your subject and eager to write it down. Bring
readers in to propel them forward. Example: Freezing to death, or a fiery crash.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">But this is
what I do know. What is it that motivates you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Just understanding the type of books you enjoy reading could give an
indication as to the direction you would go to write a book. <span style="color: red;">Lesson number one, “First you have to know who you are”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">If you
aren’t sure, you’ll make a mistake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
we learn by them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Example, a close
family member wrote two completely different fictional books.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One was only half-way good, the second a
complete failure. <span style="color: red;">Lesson two, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>”Write what you know.”</span><span style="color: #629dd1; mso-themecolor: accent2;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Every author
does research. No matter how much you know about a subject, there is always the
need to do research.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether it is about
genealogy, history, children stories, romance, or any other topic<span style="color: red;">. “Lesson three, Research is part of writing.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">There are
many writing veins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It could be a book,
but it also could be a blog, newspaper, magazines, or specialty quarterly journals.
And, we mustn’t leave out writing poetry. <span style="color: red;">So lesson
number four, “It doesn’t have to be just books”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">For me, it
was biography/memoir, my book Forever Laced, A Journey Through Two Centuries, also writing for the Southern
Genealogy Exchange, a blog, and writing many short ancestor stories. <span style="color: red;">Lesson five: “Editing is a writer’s worst enemy”.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Talk about
main stream publishing. Getting an agent, also called mission impossible, vs. self-publishing,
hard work, expensive and other pitfalls. </span><span style="color: red; font-size: 12pt;">Lesson
six, “It is a lot of work, frustrating, but very rewarding, enjoy the process,
have fun”.</span></p><br /><p></p>Kathryn Smith Lockhardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239294110918121401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492739097573192331.post-66283061033822353922022-12-29T10:51:00.016-05:002022-12-29T11:16:20.155-05:00Jürgen Trapp- Texting My German Cousin<p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizcYickSvxd6NebX8ZHH1pmALqyNQ7c3rk0dsxj3Jgx7r8QFglYXkQv_RMdJruENnZ05qa2vPsCyoN2y7Emf7qBD_E0hVahcv3C-sSKeFQ-o5dnmY8-meso09STRNHZ5oelY8lQIuYzPf2Knq8pL0P6CCx8w0dxhhDRVcFjeWrIAel2XNLfReuJ-dUBA/w186-h140/Jurgen%20Trapp%20German%20cousin.jpg" width="186" /> </p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Jürgen Trapp, son of Emil and Elizabetha Trapp</b></p>One of the greatest joys genealogy has given me was discovering my cousin, Jürgen Trapp, who lives in Sasbackwalden, Germany along the Black Forest. He is my 6th cousin 1X removed. We connect through my 5th great aunt, Christiana Rosch, when she married Josef Bruder, his great grandfather, on February 26, 1781. Their daughter, Hermine, was his grandmother.<p></p><p>It has been such a joy getting to know him and his family, his wife Elke, three daughters. Anna, Lisa, and Lena, and son Alexander. He has shared stories, pictures and legends of the homeland. Some of which I have written about in my book " Forever Laced, A Journey through Two Centuries, but had never actually seen until now through his pictures.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My third great grandparents, Mathias Rosch and Magdalena lived in Sasbachwalden, a Black Forest municipality in Western Baden-Wurttemberg Germany. It is located on the western slopes of the the Hornisgrinde Mountain located in the Northern Black Forest and belongs to the district of Ortenau. More than 70% of the town is forest. They lived along the Oos River at the bottom of the Black Forest. Jürgen has brought my German ancestry to life.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Jürgen has a big heart. When Russia invaded Ukraine and the people had to flee to other countries, many Ukrainians went to Germany, Jürgen took in Tetianna, and her two children, Anna and little Alex while her husband was fighting the war. Then he also worked to find apartments for the refugees .</div><p></p> <br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQpwgXTKFerhlp_ssdgG5WwP9zxMZwOfhW8X9iy5fpMPl4hdDZOfvpH5xt5UhiS0Nt5BgIUb3vZNkdt5oSjbRDEFewUdVHCyEgZL2YJV1Vj3yk3G7ErKIY7nVY_XrC350cy05RAztDBgU-nxUQV3VDiRPYyhrSrqV9EkJUf4olxtSOwrU3aVvUdT6fLQ/s475/Josef%20Bruder%20and%20Alberine%20Rosch%20Roesch.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="329" data-original-width="475" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQpwgXTKFerhlp_ssdgG5WwP9zxMZwOfhW8X9iy5fpMPl4hdDZOfvpH5xt5UhiS0Nt5BgIUb3vZNkdt5oSjbRDEFewUdVHCyEgZL2YJV1Vj3yk3G7ErKIY7nVY_XrC350cy05RAztDBgU-nxUQV3VDiRPYyhrSrqV9EkJUf4olxtSOwrU3aVvUdT6fLQ/w232-h161/Josef%20Bruder%20and%20Alberine%20Rosch%20Roesch.jpg" width="232" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <b>Christiana Rosch and Josef Bruder</b> </div><div><div style="text-align: center;"> <b> parents of Hermine</b> </div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZtZ_YmS9wzTsnGoynWZsm_sAC0gSe-ZxWV-9v5pLr7PpwtRJlSKFpES1J6V2sX4Dfl02mXNLqMN56TWS4dgOubSCXIqZbBJZ_7cypODFqGcuSeyjT2Amil-2zww_lAoh-aqkRsK5fdlFs1MvYdap72SQG_qPl4XBLxcZNFU42yKVJjKfX3lxWqetcrg/s1280/Jurgens%20home%20in%20Germany.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="509" data-original-width="1280" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZtZ_YmS9wzTsnGoynWZsm_sAC0gSe-ZxWV-9v5pLr7PpwtRJlSKFpES1J6V2sX4Dfl02mXNLqMN56TWS4dgOubSCXIqZbBJZ_7cypODFqGcuSeyjT2Amil-2zww_lAoh-aqkRsK5fdlFs1MvYdap72SQG_qPl4XBLxcZNFU42yKVJjKfX3lxWqetcrg/w432-h171/Jurgens%20home%20in%20Germany.jpg" width="432" /></a></div></blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b> Home of Christiana Rosch and Josef Bruder, </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Marberg, Germany</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b> (Today it is a hotel)</b></div><p></p><p></p><br /><div>Following, are various views of Jürgen's ancestral home. He is the third generation to live in this house. Painted on his house is evidence of the love of his family and his history. The first two names side by side are his name, Jürgen Trapp and his wife Elke. Next are his parents, Emil and Elizabetha Trapp, then his grandparents Hermine and Emil Trapp.</div><div><br /></div><div>Below that are two Coat of Arms in memory of his grandparents and parents who built the house. The Coat of arms of Sasbachwalden with the fir tree is for his grandparents Hermine, Emil and himself. The second Coat of Arms of Lauf is for his parents, Emil. Elizabetha, and his wife Elfe who are all from Lauf.</div><div><br /></div><div>Below that is a saying by Hoffmann Von Fallersleben, who also composed the German national anthem.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>"Like the oaks striving towards the sky, despite the storms, we want to be like them, free, and firm, like Germans oaks lifting out heads."</i></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><i> </i></b></div><div><br /></div><div> <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYktkOCnMi7OAEfNYzdECFwbuyD9kIYdaE8AdAvzMfrXIetFGChu87Z8bfzyW7PoLaVjxu1UrHqhEb7vocUT0ZGVRPkOOJ-QKopJQ8okyckPOKqlGyxTHe3vv52UvW3Oa4zWhxMHhqy1IHGLQgm5Qtd2L5KLBXv_wddPP3WErKJS7nLjnBlBIA75Vumg/s914/Jurgens%20german%20home4%20to%20edit%20(2).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="914" data-original-width="759" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYktkOCnMi7OAEfNYzdECFwbuyD9kIYdaE8AdAvzMfrXIetFGChu87Z8bfzyW7PoLaVjxu1UrHqhEb7vocUT0ZGVRPkOOJ-QKopJQ8okyckPOKqlGyxTHe3vv52UvW3Oa4zWhxMHhqy1IHGLQgm5Qtd2L5KLBXv_wddPP3WErKJS7nLjnBlBIA75Vumg/s320/Jurgens%20german%20home4%20to%20edit%20(2).JPG" width="266" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0lbJuqct4WsRBAt0Xt2Qmf81f_WhErylm6x_CeuZtRWU6xtmrZY4CeWI305w76FmC4PpdANO-haP84n9DLEDAnYAOUtQHtsyV0a7O63uXUGuMKaRBYy7z7e7LJAdtdSmq1bfXRd8ZxKeU9VSohiLqlYZTxK0R2m26W8qWb3FRkVV7M2RD26lMi6-VSA/s4000/Jurgens%20german%20home.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0lbJuqct4WsRBAt0Xt2Qmf81f_WhErylm6x_CeuZtRWU6xtmrZY4CeWI305w76FmC4PpdANO-haP84n9DLEDAnYAOUtQHtsyV0a7O63uXUGuMKaRBYy7z7e7LJAdtdSmq1bfXRd8ZxKeU9VSohiLqlYZTxK0R2m26W8qWb3FRkVV7M2RD26lMi6-VSA/s320/Jurgens%20german%20home.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpcG5XwO5uNdInTHTNLtmskLg8ry5uUs8bbqlJQIE4PF3O-74M16iCF_8boSdEUGNkiQNY_qEBbNZUYpTotJLMBMiqdHHgPJXIHz4DYbg8iY-WkYtlWo71pyfVjRkm2QBj1b2AjYv1__XkYEnfZhzruLjYKjH7IH6B9_wdVj2-ui1GjNDN9tuRx6q2hQ/s4000/Jurgens%20german%20home3.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpcG5XwO5uNdInTHTNLtmskLg8ry5uUs8bbqlJQIE4PF3O-74M16iCF_8boSdEUGNkiQNY_qEBbNZUYpTotJLMBMiqdHHgPJXIHz4DYbg8iY-WkYtlWo71pyfVjRkm2QBj1b2AjYv1__XkYEnfZhzruLjYKjH7IH6B9_wdVj2-ui1GjNDN9tuRx6q2hQ/s320/Jurgens%20german%20home3.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvdcFMYyq-VySf15_1q3oNDqF7w2RJVm09s69JQsRKL8_80VmYhUgPJuywFr0VcJmI7dTUpWvBF_EQL2KmGRiNBUqCEI8xllZJ5UxiLlBhzC89IQxOIYHwcMM0cG4A584-4ZUeC_TVMjkxe-cWO_Ii_JTsB1Qy9gV5zTfQNQj5gI8ikGrpg52fLWX0SQ/s4000/Jurgens%20german%20home2.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvdcFMYyq-VySf15_1q3oNDqF7w2RJVm09s69JQsRKL8_80VmYhUgPJuywFr0VcJmI7dTUpWvBF_EQL2KmGRiNBUqCEI8xllZJ5UxiLlBhzC89IQxOIYHwcMM0cG4A584-4ZUeC_TVMjkxe-cWO_Ii_JTsB1Qy9gV5zTfQNQj5gI8ikGrpg52fLWX0SQ/s320/Jurgens%20german%20home2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHSkX64K9_TEICFUFImYKHYk6ah6RlEVew9XOCe3cSRWHUOoWJJLb7ZuUVJtqOjg44IAWq6GgxKccmcAnKRHhV0ppE7vzkJ0rINUIuWhBX0wwMEVu7wg1vW60yg5OUHq8oOpj0DBnXEdvAvxFbLMVzlL8gl5jDAjOb2B9TTRX5vnFMB9Ss-U3iRItovw/s4000/Jurgens%20german%20home1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHSkX64K9_TEICFUFImYKHYk6ah6RlEVew9XOCe3cSRWHUOoWJJLb7ZuUVJtqOjg44IAWq6GgxKccmcAnKRHhV0ppE7vzkJ0rINUIuWhBX0wwMEVu7wg1vW60yg5OUHq8oOpj0DBnXEdvAvxFbLMVzlL8gl5jDAjOb2B9TTRX5vnFMB9Ss-U3iRItovw/s320/Jurgens%20german%20home1.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>His text messages always begin with, </p><p>"To My Dear Cousin." He became a grandfather for the first time this year, 2022.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>He shared with me his Christmas and Easter traditions:</b></span></p><div style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS", cursive;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQx0NmhKFpNXhn4K0-ANRRcnq0kDRtLxcc9d03ufnWtSfT555Zmvu4ZttAY7o1TIpJ4_5c61HbFXMNi6u_n19cYGNQN29VNnBzhHoUfns9iXybo-arvCnAH-nH_5pHmTIsCcVZhC4ebB7AUGfLHriIXZvVb6JnWNx_pJR1s2HMhaBWi-ewYXynCwENVA/s183/German%20dish.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="122" data-original-width="183" height="122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQx0NmhKFpNXhn4K0-ANRRcnq0kDRtLxcc9d03ufnWtSfT555Zmvu4ZttAY7o1TIpJ4_5c61HbFXMNi6u_n19cYGNQN29VNnBzhHoUfns9iXybo-arvCnAH-nH_5pHmTIsCcVZhC4ebB7AUGfLHriIXZvVb6JnWNx_pJR1s2HMhaBWi-ewYXynCwENVA/s1600/German%20dish.jpg" width="183" /></a></div><br />"You can say sauerbraten, is our national dish here in the southwest of Germany, especially in our region here. </span></span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS", cursive; font-size: 16px;">At Christmas the children are all there and Elke's parents, of course. It has always been like this at Christmas and Easter".</span></div><div style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS", cursive; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS", cursive;">"On Christmas Eve, we traditionally serve sauerbraten noodles and potato dumplings. This is a festive meal with a long tradition here in the Black Forest, Sauerbraten ..... is a piece of beef that is pickled in red wine vinegar with bay leaves for a few days. After souring, the meat is seared and then left on the fire for a long time.</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS", cursive;">Everyone is already looking forward to it".</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;"><b><i>"With all that we have shared, and yet to share, me learning more about my German ancestors, he learning more about his American ancestors, has brought us closer together. We are both enamored with our family and its' history, indeed we are, dear cousins.</i></b></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><p></p></div></div>Kathryn Smith Lockhardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239294110918121401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492739097573192331.post-14453742643173325762022-12-03T09:12:00.002-05:002022-12-27T15:39:09.054-05:00Ten Life Lessons<p> I look up at heaven and say to my husband, “It started
with just you and me, now we number twenty-seven. I see the faces of our children,
their spouses, grandchildren and great grandchildren and realize how blessed we
are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My crystal ball sees more great grandchildren
arriving in the future.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> I have been blessed to be here on this earth for seventy-eight years. and hoping for many more.
I have experienced life in all its forms; love, pain, disappointment, sadness,
joy and struggles. But something happens from living a long life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You learn what is important.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For the last twenty-five years I have delved into the
genealogy world. What started out as just a curiosity, turned into a lesson of
not just where we came from, but what our ancestors can teach us, but also who we are as family.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My heart is full. How do I pass this knowledge of living a life of joy effectively so it is understood. These are my "Ten Life Lessons".</p><p class="MsoNormal">1. The most important lesson my dad taught me, for as long as I can remember, "Family First", without them you have nothing. Keep them close
and protect that relationship.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">2. All marriages run into difficulties. Don't give up so quickly, hang on, for in time all will heal and you will discover the love you have for each other remains and has grown even stronger for what you endured. What a great gift you give yourself, love everlasting. </p><p class="MsoNormal">3. Don't be quick to judge a family member. You cannot fully understand what problems they may be going through. Try to be patient, loving and understanding. Don't assume their unusual behavior has anything to do with you. Give them time to resolve their situation.</p><p class="MsoNormal">4. Everyone needs financial help at one time or another. You may have been given monetary assistance without judgement or question of having to pay it back. Just remember, pay it forward without expectations of repayment. It's all about love and supporting each other.</p><p class="MsoNormal">5. Continue the family traditions that have been practiced and carried forward for so many generations. Life can get crazy busy with work, children, and all that it entails. These special gatherings of Christmas, birthday parties, and summer cook-outs, keep you connected to one another.</p><p class="MsoNormal">6. Encourage each other, so that they may build confidence in themselves to achieve the dreams they are seeking. We all need someone to believe in us. Be that cheerleader.</p><p class="MsoNormal">7. Life is shorter than you think. Always accept invitations when possible from family and friends, for the opportunity may never come again. Don't regret missed life experiences with those who are important to you.</p><p class="MsoNormal">8. Learn to forgive. Everyone makes mistakes, forgive them. Not everyone has the same beliefs as you, accept it. Not everyone has the same values as you, understand it. Not everyone has the same life-style as you, be open-minded. Being critical of others doesn't bring you joy, let it go. </p><p class="MsoNormal">9. Be kind to yourself. We can be our worst enemy. We are more judgmental of ourselves than anyone else ever could be. Erase the negative thoughts that rob you of your happiness. Accept yourself. Believe you are worthy because you are. You are perfect the way you are. </p><p class="MsoNormal">10. Lastly, find peace. There is so much tragedy in the world. We are confronted with it daily and it can rob you of contentment and at times make you fearful. You have to look for it through faith, the beauty of nature, the sounds of birds and ocean waves. Connect with family and friends to share laughter. Don't let negativity drag you down, smile, happiness and contentment is out there and can be yours if you seek it. </p>Kathryn Smith Lockhardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239294110918121401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492739097573192331.post-14260500675632632302022-12-02T11:52:00.003-05:002022-12-11T09:44:27.419-05:00Reprieve 1982<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicDQcJDqq1GMQIe0JrfWUzpQ0DZTtbdeZsXDi5TTNZJ_Ggn-sstJU6u8xFrHr9e-6Lf5OU2PDRabQwFjvBpgdA-dYviLTBMJVyTcfL1FXEW-sxZVM6HlentIuLEFLL993u2acwi8UblS6IQ_EP2qDeuGPl3g48zEo_mGBYRfdzb35Dg6fXZgx59DTOag/s2064/Dad%20and%20Mom%20276.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2064" data-original-width="1434" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicDQcJDqq1GMQIe0JrfWUzpQ0DZTtbdeZsXDi5TTNZJ_Ggn-sstJU6u8xFrHr9e-6Lf5OU2PDRabQwFjvBpgdA-dYviLTBMJVyTcfL1FXEW-sxZVM6HlentIuLEFLL993u2acwi8UblS6IQ_EP2qDeuGPl3g48zEo_mGBYRfdzb35Dg6fXZgx59DTOag/w202-h292/Dad%20and%20Mom%20276.jpg" width="202" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Bob and Elsie</div><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1lw1MTRoMeWlcQf20cAlwy2BEiwk5TrfygU-7NgbZbmjZ1BXsp60hzFmP4UbnWqwz2jkqoFiZ_jKVJj8GV_lcrnuQMa48zwNiCkhwxdu1ffphP4A2JGozjo6STkVHmijwcvKvdJnNHwwsVzKuzvtP-7bLjgae2QdQ_5kPmkxZxYxr9HeDd-GwKKph7g/s640/Elsie%20poem%20Reprieve.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="416" data-original-width="640" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1lw1MTRoMeWlcQf20cAlwy2BEiwk5TrfygU-7NgbZbmjZ1BXsp60hzFmP4UbnWqwz2jkqoFiZ_jKVJj8GV_lcrnuQMa48zwNiCkhwxdu1ffphP4A2JGozjo6STkVHmijwcvKvdJnNHwwsVzKuzvtP-7bLjgae2QdQ_5kPmkxZxYxr9HeDd-GwKKph7g/w422-h274/Elsie%20poem%20Reprieve.jpg" width="422" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"> The Story Behind Reprieve</div><div><br /></div><div> It was in 1982 when the George O. Jenkins Company on High Street located in Bridgewater, Massachusetts closed its' doors forever. Dad, who was the General Manager was suddenly out of work.<p>The only option for mom and dad was to sell their home and move to the Florida Homestead where mom grew up. But, as luck would have it, dad received notification that he would still have a job, but, it was located in Lawrence, Massachusetts, about 56 miles away.</p><p>It was a long two hour drive, in heavy highway traffic, and it quickly took a toll on his body and his health began deteriorating. Dad, who was approaching retirement in a few short years, lost a lot of weight, his color was pale, and we all could see if this continued we would lose our father.</p><p>It was at this point, led by our mother, that the decision was made to sell their house and move to the Florida homestead. The house was sold to our sister.</p><p>As much as they loved being at mom's childhood home in Florida , missing family was emotionally difficult.</p><p> </p></div>Kathryn Smith Lockhardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239294110918121401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492739097573192331.post-11228908896969534042022-12-01T09:01:00.003-05:002022-12-02T10:57:14.179-05:00Widowed at Age 28<p><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-outline-level: 3;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><i>Ellen Sullivan Wilber, my third great grandmother, known as Nellie was widowed at age 28. She was two months pregnant with her fifth child when her husband Joseph passed away in 1886. She was left to raise one year old Ellen, Mary Catheren at age two, four year Dennis and William age six. She went to work in the Bay State Iron Works company sewing hats to support her children for the next seven years. She would marry again in 1892.</i></span></p><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><b>Nellie goes to work</b></div><p><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: black;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0PMMGwTHznKIMtLCL96ASrqY5_rdYzvqsGWZVt7pSefZg5vFb7Ujrl2sKN9T0ScttwtnxNK7pHZiWnypD6TTHXwqADIPVZxdn6WeNhlXxYKGsWXB0mbH69snWdA9CgmH01tiGYjQO-kErP_p1KjyLBQMxUpXEmnX9t7XrgaZIxEyxnj5NHxs-01tBww/s1104/Nellie%20Bay%20State%20Straw.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="784" data-original-width="1104" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0PMMGwTHznKIMtLCL96ASrqY5_rdYzvqsGWZVt7pSefZg5vFb7Ujrl2sKN9T0ScttwtnxNK7pHZiWnypD6TTHXwqADIPVZxdn6WeNhlXxYKGsWXB0mbH69snWdA9CgmH01tiGYjQO-kErP_p1KjyLBQMxUpXEmnX9t7XrgaZIxEyxnj5NHxs-01tBww/s320/Nellie%20Bay%20State%20Straw.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: black;"> Nellie is in the front row, 9th from the left.</span><p></p><p><b>The following information is from "Recollecting Nemasket" writing about the history of the town of Middleboro and Lakeville</b>.</p><p><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: black;"> "At
the start of the last quarter of the nineteenth century, the Bay State Straw
Works, located in Middleboro, Massachusetts, was producing half a million hats and bonnets annually, or over 1,300 a
day. To produce these goods, the plant employed nearly two hundred and seventy
operatives, divided equally between men and young women, as well as some 1,200
women and girls as outworkers “who are engaged sewing hats and bonnets at their
homes,” the company’s braid cart delivering straw to these women and collecting
straw braid in return.</span><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: black;">"One
of the few comments upon nineteenth century female labor history in
Middleborough concerns the lot of women in the Bay State Straw Works, the firm
which was located on Courtland Street and was once the world’s largest
manufacturer of straw hats and bonnets. Of their work there, it was written of
the firm’s female operatives: 'The work was easy and pleasant; the girls’
tongues flew as fast as their fingers, and they said of their work. It is just
like going to a party.’</span><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: black;">"There
are reasons to doubt, however, the characterization that work in
Middleborough’s straw industry for women always was either “easy” or “pleasant”
as some have maintained. </span><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: black;">"The
Bay State Straw Works employed 150 females and 8 men. Like other
industries, straw manufacturing preferred the use of female help wherever
possible, largely due to the wage differential between men and women, as well
as the presumed greater docility of female workers, though this latter view
carried little import at this stage in Middleborough as labor remained
disorganized and would remain so for some time. Men, however, were engaged by
the straw works for the physically more demanding tasks at the manufactory,
working as bleachers, dyers, blockers, printers, packers, teamsters,
machinists, carpenters and firemen, among other occupations, and as the firm’s
business increased, so too did the number of men on the payroll to support
these functions.</span><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: black;">"The
treatment of its female operatives would be a frequent source of potential
conflict for the Bay State Straw Works, as it frequently was for other
employers. In February, 1876, female employees’ wages were docked twenty-five
percent, prompting sympathy from at least one journalist who opined that the
reduction was 'a heavy cut when they didn’t get too much before.' In December,
1885, shortly before Christmas, wages of sewing machine girls were similarly
docked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: black;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Nonetheless, women of talent were
recognized by the firm and promoted to positions of authority as overseers and
forewomen, supervising other women in areas such as the trimming department.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: black;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“While characterization of employment during
the latter half of the nineteenth century for women in the local straw industry
as “a party” is highly suspect, unquestionable was the role of these women,
many whose names have long been forgotten, in helping build and sustain one of </span>Middleborough’s
historically most important industries."</p>
<p><span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"> Nellie Sullivan Wilber Thompson</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi07qBkPI9YWKrhLCAPSCxKRZNHkR3xwC1s5s33ffN5xtjN9WKfFdCEiBjVI5dRhSSGV_ztACIvku4P9pTi6_mpbvvjzFfFFJ1oqKu7_BlUV2moioqDN94huXjQwYwggsXK-YsLuAGWIhyGXzI6-F6PP5a1tgLZWu2JQqGkxILDMiOAXt6D_C53rT1rdQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="438" data-original-width="438" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi07qBkPI9YWKrhLCAPSCxKRZNHkR3xwC1s5s33ffN5xtjN9WKfFdCEiBjVI5dRhSSGV_ztACIvku4P9pTi6_mpbvvjzFfFFJ1oqKu7_BlUV2moioqDN94huXjQwYwggsXK-YsLuAGWIhyGXzI6-F6PP5a1tgLZWu2JQqGkxILDMiOAXt6D_C53rT1rdQ" width="240" /></a></div><br /><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>Kathryn Smith Lockhardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239294110918121401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492739097573192331.post-27128843326331242262022-11-26T16:38:00.002-05:002022-11-27T08:59:21.526-05:00'The Marching Twelfth' <p> </p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Herman (Heinrich) Roesch, my 2nd great uncle was born in Baden, Germany on July 8, 1845. He sailed to America with his parents and sibling in1857 on the William Nelson. They settled in Potosi, Wisconsin. He was one of four brothers who served as union soldiers in the Civil War.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Herman
was paid $600 as a substitute soldier and entered into service on October 15, 1864 at
the age of 19.The Twelfth, known as “The Marching Twelfth”, was formed under
the command of Colonel George E. Bryant of the 1st Wisconsin Infantry Regiment.
Herman joined General Sherman when Sherman took his army along with the now
‘Fighting Twelfth, ‘to march to the sea in November of 1864. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The12th
Wisconsin participated in the occupation of Savannah. The Twelfth's last battle
was at Bentonville, N. C. in March of 1865 to end their participation of the War.
Herman was in the March from Atlanta to the Sea and attended the Grand Review
in Washington, D.C. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">He
mustered out of service in Louisville, Kentucky on June 16</span><sup style="font-family: inherit;">th</sup><span style="font-family: inherit;">, 1865
serving for a total of eight months. </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In 1910, when he was 65 years of age, he
entered the United States National Home for Disabled Volunteer Soldiers
suffering from asthma and bronchitis.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #4e453f; font-family: inherit;">On the 23rd of August 1919 at the age of 74, he died from Interstitial </span><span style="color: #4e453f;">Nephritis</span><span style="color: #4e453f; font-family: inherit;">, a kidney disorder in which the kidneys become unable to filter waste materials and fluid properly, which brought on acute cholecystitis, a sudden inflammation of the gallbladder that causes severe abdominal pain. Acute cholecystitis causes bile to become trapped in the gallbladder. The build up of bile causes irritation and pressure in the gallbladder. This lead to bacterial infection and perforation of the organ.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #4e453f; font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Herman
was described as five feet five inches tall, having gray eyes and gray hair, a
farmer by trade.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nine years later
on August 23 1919 he died of renal failure. Herman was collecting a pension of
$32 a month at the time of his death.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">His personal effects totaled $590.25. He bequeathed this money to his
youngest brother, John who was living in Potosi, Wisconsin with his wife Susan Taylor, son Lake and daughter Iona</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p> </o:p>Herman
was buried in the Danville National Cemetery in Danville, Illinois.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"></span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9-ftOIgM90U2nWXPcHGDQS_fXUnodHjj49YzlpKNqvOLfEsGVRVgLFCV9EqGqR0lDnLrGU8Wo8ZZGQccIqGNs-7SePeny1d0lkZBHClr5j8dj-nHothM3abmrX3Fbug-am6jRnTyELR2osAAqF7gpbgt1nW8cIJyQOnamGAK8KuFKvZCo7IuTKQwklA" style="font-size: 12pt; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="182" data-original-width="280" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9-ftOIgM90U2nWXPcHGDQS_fXUnodHjj49YzlpKNqvOLfEsGVRVgLFCV9EqGqR0lDnLrGU8Wo8ZZGQccIqGNs-7SePeny1d0lkZBHClr5j8dj-nHothM3abmrX3Fbug-am6jRnTyELR2osAAqF7gpbgt1nW8cIJyQOnamGAK8KuFKvZCo7IuTKQwklA" width="320" /></a></div></div><p></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9-ftOIgM90U2nWXPcHGDQS_fXUnodHjj49YzlpKNqvOLfEsGVRVgLFCV9EqGqR0lDnLrGU8Wo8ZZGQccIqGNs-7SePeny1d0lkZBHClr5j8dj-nHothM3abmrX3Fbug-am6jRnTyELR2osAAqF7gpbgt1nW8cIJyQOnamGAK8KuFKvZCo7IuTKQwklA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9-ftOIgM90U2nWXPcHGDQS_fXUnodHjj49YzlpKNqvOLfEsGVRVgLFCV9EqGqR0lDnLrGU8Wo8ZZGQccIqGNs-7SePeny1d0lkZBHClr5j8dj-nHothM3abmrX3Fbug-am6jRnTyELR2osAAqF7gpbgt1nW8cIJyQOnamGAK8KuFKvZCo7IuTKQwklA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiDGLAVIzWUMR5C0PqLuidyeT2h2F5050VMoIVKM_6QuN0AFm9kE0wmxsApijx-vtJBZy3BCYhV0_aF-Fpg_I-S6A5MSpO5WeHfxQwM-IKX2lv6cjNK1pU480t4xXLrJDeEmzKkRhguGOF54YJl70nW_z0jQm5Fi6gdq2dMvRSjuBaBZKqMT2Ii0632jQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1311" data-original-width="1064" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiDGLAVIzWUMR5C0PqLuidyeT2h2F5050VMoIVKM_6QuN0AFm9kE0wmxsApijx-vtJBZy3BCYhV0_aF-Fpg_I-S6A5MSpO5WeHfxQwM-IKX2lv6cjNK1pU480t4xXLrJDeEmzKkRhguGOF54YJl70nW_z0jQm5Fi6gdq2dMvRSjuBaBZKqMT2Ii0632jQ=w246-h303" width="246" /></a></div></div><p></p></blockquote><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9-ftOIgM90U2nWXPcHGDQS_fXUnodHjj49YzlpKNqvOLfEsGVRVgLFCV9EqGqR0lDnLrGU8Wo8ZZGQccIqGNs-7SePeny1d0lkZBHClr5j8dj-nHothM3abmrX3Fbug-am6jRnTyELR2osAAqF7gpbgt1nW8cIJyQOnamGAK8KuFKvZCo7IuTKQwklA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>Kathryn Smith Lockhardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239294110918121401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492739097573192331.post-12829292689753136852022-10-17T17:45:00.006-04:002022-10-18T09:15:29.403-04:00No Business Like Shoe Business<p></p><span style="background-color: white;"><span face="Segoe UI Historic, Segoe UI, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #050505;"><p style="font-size: 15px;"><span face="Segoe UI Historic, Segoe UI, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #050505;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLQs00FpN9eOKOK3uv0R4XWWmAxVFGBmLuXsI1a_BTZOMjliZyKR88MqmowfFvZWWWjR1SsogJIMyh3Dab9_fWGRfPTHAT11MF7VnowrQgh5oXahk6gxSbcvU3lTX1qGN6p661qk5jdYKy3hzJIdaJvNi61beZIGxe_DfpO_EznWO0r99HwzuRhxf8EQ/s750/shoe%20brockton%20home.jpb.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="750" height="92" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLQs00FpN9eOKOK3uv0R4XWWmAxVFGBmLuXsI1a_BTZOMjliZyKR88MqmowfFvZWWWjR1SsogJIMyh3Dab9_fWGRfPTHAT11MF7VnowrQgh5oXahk6gxSbcvU3lTX1qGN6p661qk5jdYKy3hzJIdaJvNi61beZIGxe_DfpO_EznWO0r99HwzuRhxf8EQ/w216-h92/shoe%20brockton%20home.jpb.jpg" width="216" /></a></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span face="Segoe UI Historic, Segoe UI, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-size: 15px;"> The Keith family emigrated from Scotland to Bridgewater, Massachusetts in 1662. The Rev. James Keith became the first minister in town. It was his grandson, Levi, that built an addition to the house where he ran a tannery business. It remained in the family for a number of generations. But, it was George E Keith who invested $1000 into a new shoe manufacturing company in the campello section of Brockton, Massachusetts, which at this time was known as North Bridgewater, and becoming one of the premier manufacturer of quality shoes.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: 15px;">Brockton, MA was known as "Shoe City". The Keith Shoe mfg. co. was established in 1758. The Walk Over name came from a newspaper headline in 1899. "America's Cup Defender, 'Columbia' wins in a Walk Over of Sir Thomas Lipton's 'Shamrock'". </span></span></span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white;"><span face="Segoe UI Historic, Segoe UI, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-size: 15px;"><span face="Segoe UI Historic, Segoe UI, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #050505;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUMlBgs9J3kP3TonbJc1J5nOX2F6zC4z-N1Mv7VbFvUlNYgxFpLDh2sDU2wEsgp817mzkVqWeehAvnL37D-xK29QA7DLbCeAs3o6pnWAE1qbx8MMeFSOeUjLknS-MxZ0x2MlC8FL9hGwLsarH1z5zJqwXTEqu52egSqjfyrNRGLUBTjLv-28ZFbA87pw/s495/shoe%20walkover%20club.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="362" data-original-width="495" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUMlBgs9J3kP3TonbJc1J5nOX2F6zC4z-N1Mv7VbFvUlNYgxFpLDh2sDU2wEsgp817mzkVqWeehAvnL37D-xK29QA7DLbCeAs3o6pnWAE1qbx8MMeFSOeUjLknS-MxZ0x2MlC8FL9hGwLsarH1z5zJqwXTEqu52egSqjfyrNRGLUBTjLv-28ZFbA87pw/w222-h163/shoe%20walkover%20club.jpg" width="222" /></a></span>The shoe mfg. company built a clubhouse for its' employees on thirteen acres. The Walk Over Club had baseball fields, tennis courts, croquet, archery and all kinds of outdoor sport activities. Indoors, there was a bowling alley, a swimming pool, billiards and so much more. There were rooms that catered to men only and other rooms with fireplaces just for the women. There was ample room to conduct dances, socials, weddings, and other entertainment.</span></span></span></p><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white;"><span face="Segoe UI Historic, Segoe UI, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">The clubhouse was so popular that by 1900 more than 1600 employees became member for a fee of $2.00.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;"><span face="Segoe UI Historic, Segoe UI, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">B</span></span></span><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #050505; font-size: 15px;">y 1919 Walkover shoe was not the only shoe mfg. company in the city. The</span><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #050505; font-size: 15px;"> city now had approximately 13,000 employees making shoes. Walkover shoe in Brockton came to end in 1945.</span></p><p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #050505; font-size: 15px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRUw_aFbSCwYM8d_RfxgTt-vd6_xVWLDx5jK6lWeqOx7DPVT-NQLYbtDpaWGzpGcgIsFJ25mhIoaFBUURRTzP14Y2dGvqAR5pxXM0_paU9pqaR6Bh0oLQzEtGYKU4vtCNRdgAljxxDxE_BcKLyQ4dx869QiaZuHNG7Z3vtzi4ffMT6AdUEXwzIdHKP7g/s157/shoe%20door%20knob.job%20(2).jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="157" data-original-width="122" height="157" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRUw_aFbSCwYM8d_RfxgTt-vd6_xVWLDx5jK6lWeqOx7DPVT-NQLYbtDpaWGzpGcgIsFJ25mhIoaFBUURRTzP14Y2dGvqAR5pxXM0_paU9pqaR6Bh0oLQzEtGYKU4vtCNRdgAljxxDxE_BcKLyQ4dx869QiaZuHNG7Z3vtzi4ffMT6AdUEXwzIdHKP7g/s1600/shoe%20door%20knob.job%20(2).jpg" width="122" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">When this building came to its end of life and it was being torn down, this brass door knob was rescued. You can literally see George walking over the shoe, hence Walk Over Shoe.</span><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">When WWII began there was a need for military boots. One of those manufacturers was Corcoran Shoe where my grandfather, Malcolm Leroy Smith, worked from 1941 until is death of a heart attack in 1955.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">There were others in my family tree that made shoes. They too were one of the many that worked for the largest industry in Southeast Massachusetts.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">My dad, Robert Franklin Smith, also worked in the shoe industry, by making the leather board in large vats that went in to making the shoes. He was the General Manager for the George O Jenkins Company in Bridgewater, Massachusetts until his retirement. Dad passed away in 2008 at the age of 86.</span></div><div><br /></div><div>I remember hearing on the the radio one day in late 1969 early 1970 how shoes were going to made overseas; less expensive to produce, lowering prices for Americans to purchase This was the beginning of the final curtain for the shoe business in Massachusetts.</div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p></div>Kathryn Smith Lockhardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239294110918121401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492739097573192331.post-13007498198123190962022-09-27T16:39:00.024-04:002022-10-10T12:30:16.827-04:00Oscar of Orient Maine<p></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times",serif;"> Oscar Sidney Maxell was born in
Orient, Maine on June 1, 1879 on Maxell Settlement Road. He held the position
of deacon in the Orient Baptist church longer than anyone else. He
was a confectioner who had his own candy store on Congress Street in Portland, Maine.</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: "Times",serif;">Oscar was a staunch republican, who
held the position of state representative for two terms. He was on the
Temperance Committee. A fitting committee due to the fact he<span style="background: white; color: #4e453f;"> was against alcohol and managed to keep the state of Maine dry for years. </span> He
was also House Chairman of the Indian Affairs Committee. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghWwsh79xZsKhwUbhESBIXFDDC8Su_B3Tq94Jw-NviLYMlLfegq4G-kyJURwmV4n_xHEvHGxX2MJQoWXKDEOxEaYw_ySxLm9IwHCHONxUQK2D4-VcyC8l2XNEhKenw96iR2A3pGfEiRUggZfo_SHaXaehNnnLX0kGwTsA7_HrqXqiWmh9wt2ZA30huJw/s395/Oscar%20Maxell%20in%20color.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="395" data-original-width="330" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghWwsh79xZsKhwUbhESBIXFDDC8Su_B3Tq94Jw-NviLYMlLfegq4G-kyJURwmV4n_xHEvHGxX2MJQoWXKDEOxEaYw_ySxLm9IwHCHONxUQK2D4-VcyC8l2XNEhKenw96iR2A3pGfEiRUggZfo_SHaXaehNnnLX0kGwTsA7_HrqXqiWmh9wt2ZA30huJw/w118-h141/Oscar%20Maxell%20in%20color.jpg" width="118" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times",serif;">Oscar vacationed in
Florida with his wife Susie and daughter Shirley every winter. <span style="background: white; color: #4e453f;">He
became president of the Maine-Florida Society of more than 200 members. Here he
would promote the state of Maine and all that it offered. </span></span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p><span style="background: white; color: #4e453f; font-family: "Times",serif;">On
March 3, 1931, Oscar sailed aboard the SS Governor Cobb out of Tampa, FL
for a five-day trip to Cuba. In his diary, he summed up his visit to the
island this way: "The Cubans are a friendly people and hold U.S. of
America, and its people, in high esteem. The Cubans its (sic) all
America, both North and South, but they always emphasize the United States of
America to which they belong. On every hand, the names of General Wood
and Teddy Roosevelt, and others, are, to them, sacred, and they avoid being
connected with Spain...even say 'we speak the Cuban and English language, and
not Spanish', where as a matter of fact, it is Spanish." Oscar, a
strong prohibitionist, firmly believed that "with the Cubans taking the
U.S. as their example, someday will adopt prohibition." He truly
believed in the "words of Gifford Gordon: 'Hold on, America! The son
follows in the footsteps of the father and one day Cuba will follow their
father in prohibition'."</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p><span style="background: white; color: #4e453f; font-family: "Times",serif;">Oscar
was well-known throughout the Aroostook County of Maine. New Newspapers would
often have stories of his him, and his family. Stories of his political career,
stories of his family in Florida and how his daughter Shirley was crowned Queen
in the Maine-Florida Society. They led a privileged life.</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p><span style="background: white; color: #4e453f; font-family: "Times",serif;">Oscar
was interviewed frequently by the news media. This newspaper article read,
"Grandson of Pioneers.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="background: white; color: #4e453f; font-family: "Times",serif;">Oscar’s
father, Sidney P Maxell was born in Orient, Maine on June 7, 1848 to Thomas
Jefferson Maxell</span><span style="font-family: "Times",serif;"> and Elizabeth (Betty) Jane Colson. Oscar was one of six children.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhDQrWaFlyUWPc1p75UxevNVJA-VbGF5AzQMcrdhx0KBfVkdlsWB3SRD0Wc4u-C1pGvtoOdOKEPpIwQZAbR5MvgAhQTeAhPChin6rYAZbP19Se7o13isTXJsli9gSaFdBEQ3f5iZhNmZNBlRuFIw25--WDCQMfSYKq0w0z0X5dMX1McDJN8AeaQnukvfQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="328" data-original-width="467" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhDQrWaFlyUWPc1p75UxevNVJA-VbGF5AzQMcrdhx0KBfVkdlsWB3SRD0Wc4u-C1pGvtoOdOKEPpIwQZAbR5MvgAhQTeAhPChin6rYAZbP19Se7o13isTXJsli9gSaFdBEQ3f5iZhNmZNBlRuFIw25--WDCQMfSYKq0w0z0X5dMX1McDJN8AeaQnukvfQ" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: "Times",serif;">The article went on to quote Oscar. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“There were six in our family and we children
found plenty to do on father’s one hundred acre farm. My grandfather, Thomas,
was one of Orient’s earliest settlers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
still possess the old family Bible that came from the old county. He took a
plot in the wilderness in Orient, built a log cabin, and cleared the forest and
brush for planting crops.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: "Times",serif;">“I heard my grandmother, Betty, tell
how often at night it was necessary for him to go forth with an axe and drive
away bears from the wheat patch. Grandmother said she was often awakened at
night by the howling of wolves, and when grandfather was away she would let the
fire go out because she was afraid to go to the wood pile because of prowling
Indians.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: "Times",serif;">“There were no roads in those days
and when grandfather had wheat to be found he carried it in a bag on his back
through the woods to the grist mill at Hodgdon. (The town borders the province
of New Brunswick, Canada to the east and Houlton to the north.) After living in
a log cabin for a considerable time grandfather put up a frame building which
burned. After that disaster, he built the old Maxell homestead in which I was
born”.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg0vA3D9IY2KYbabWekOPj7ax49MuozfWMXhb5B9cQl9St7Llyk6gl1ryAF_4lLNL_asGic5csMzbfKvJjjz5UhBUJVJ5wTOcOKBJ6raS69OTYl7TAXEkMUS8UMRbWnyv9PSRH5nLMOP1oCWC88Tcbzos6OoX13PHOcW_NNBDhYeDl5mKtCPl97cIPEHg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="601" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg0vA3D9IY2KYbabWekOPj7ax49MuozfWMXhb5B9cQl9St7Llyk6gl1ryAF_4lLNL_asGic5csMzbfKvJjjz5UhBUJVJ5wTOcOKBJ6raS69OTYl7TAXEkMUS8UMRbWnyv9PSRH5nLMOP1oCWC88Tcbzos6OoX13PHOcW_NNBDhYeDl5mKtCPl97cIPEHg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>
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<p>“When I was a boy all the famers for miles around engaged in mixed farming,
cattle, sheep and hog raising.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every
fall each farmer sold eight or ten head of yearlings and these cattle were
driven to Danforth and shipped to Bangor. Sometimes these herds included
several hundred head of cattle. Hundreds of sheep were also driven to Danforth.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p>“When I was 15 years old, I joined three other boys in driving a large flock
of sheep to Danforth and I shall never forget the experience. We started at
6:00 a.m. and it was 3:00 p.m. before we pulled into Danforth. We were
exhausted from chasing those sheep. Often the leader would head for a noise in
a fence and the entire flock would follow him. Sometimes it would be an hour
before we got the flock back on the road and headed in the right direction.”<o:p></o:p></p><p><br /></p><p></p>Kathryn Smith Lockhardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239294110918121401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492739097573192331.post-49870819675879094602022-08-20T18:19:00.025-04:002022-08-27T06:38:53.509-04:00 The Captain & The Commercial Artist <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLX7yIf9MSa5t0Oi6etWJdLmcCUN6SHNIK_g1uUJH3p_oxnc676ib0QkSYKVh1nHfG5fIu7TnVM_9IWKUAGB26a-k5HQa-h62CgrmJsn8Urw9GGFEmz--khnqaHNHy6_e4IUoaZMy06XNDneD_Ii7A-5bqXjSdzgRRHJ5_fuDluiIbvao_XdZgnfo7lQ" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="325" data-original-width="155" height="122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLX7yIf9MSa5t0Oi6etWJdLmcCUN6SHNIK_g1uUJH3p_oxnc676ib0QkSYKVh1nHfG5fIu7TnVM_9IWKUAGB26a-k5HQa-h62CgrmJsn8Urw9GGFEmz--khnqaHNHy6_e4IUoaZMy06XNDneD_Ii7A-5bqXjSdzgRRHJ5_fuDluiIbvao_XdZgnfo7lQ=w57-h122" width="57" /></a></div><p><br /></p>Arthur Belmont Smith was my 1st cousin 1x removed. He was the first born child of Perley and Agnes Smith. Perley was brother to my grandfather Malcolm.<p></p><p></p><p></p><div>Arthur was born on June 12, 1919 in Bridgewater, MA. and graduated from the Normal High School. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXXt2r2K1TEiUIqg2HGA3q2IwCLgynRxWH2oS7pkWrWNAZOZDgMg-FMt76reVwyZuWYFKGWp_9maaXrXYTfPzs9sKlDHGacSeJ31IpUjAGZgymE8jEfDawIx40qgNlW9NZ8lwUs2qkwXgawZLJxokl_8hg1RVeOffRhJtW1npdCm2IZ6QcTN9Cs-0s-Q" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="160" height="82" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXXt2r2K1TEiUIqg2HGA3q2IwCLgynRxWH2oS7pkWrWNAZOZDgMg-FMt76reVwyZuWYFKGWp_9maaXrXYTfPzs9sKlDHGacSeJ31IpUjAGZgymE8jEfDawIx40qgNlW9NZ8lwUs2qkwXgawZLJxokl_8hg1RVeOffRhJtW1npdCm2IZ6QcTN9Cs-0s-Q=w42-h82" width="42" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>On July 19, 1941, at the age of 22 Arthur enlisted in the US Army Air Corp in Falmouth, MA at Camp Edwards as a radio Technician for a period of three years. He served in China, Burma, India Theatre of Operations, rec'd the distinguished Flying Cross and Air Medals.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin3KIRy0AhQHNS8iEr6C3ng2lCSRDyNQTCpLSFSToVq22AWETb4E91VYq_JAOBSKN7i5wh_zpxBefDv9SKzWC17HsAtG8s6gc5RmQ3XHDteEQs0Hk4280hEMDu7QQHifrmGMXIY3QZmiocDYJqpjwQRi_ge5TUEviaCPB4jX5u6mla1uB_e4Fjfi1lWA/s625/Phyllis%20Belair%20Smith.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="625" data-original-width="454" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin3KIRy0AhQHNS8iEr6C3ng2lCSRDyNQTCpLSFSToVq22AWETb4E91VYq_JAOBSKN7i5wh_zpxBefDv9SKzWC17HsAtG8s6gc5RmQ3XHDteEQs0Hk4280hEMDu7QQHifrmGMXIY3QZmiocDYJqpjwQRi_ge5TUEviaCPB4jX5u6mla1uB_e4Fjfi1lWA/w111-h152/Phyllis%20Belair%20Smith.jpg" width="111" /></a></div><p></p><p>Phyllis Belair was born on Sept 16, 1917 in Meriden, Conn. She attended Meriden High school where she played the violin in the school orchestra. Her year book described her, "Who knows most says the least". She was a graduate in the class 1935.</p><p></p>Phyllis received her Registered Nursing Degree at Children's Hospital in Boston.<p></p><p>During WW11 Phyllis, known as Phil, joined the army and earned the rank of Captain. She was deployed in the European Theatre from Jan 1942 to Jan 1946. She was a member of the Harvard Unit, the first nursing unit to land on Normandy.</p><p>When Arthur was discharged from the Military he went back home and enrolled at the Boston Art School. Arthur received his degree in Commercial Art. </p><p>It seems plausible that Arthur and Phyllis met while they were both in the Army. Perhaps Arthur was injured or ill and she tended to him. Perhaps even in Boston where they went to college. Just seems like they were destined to meet.</p><p>They were married in June 1948 at the Bridgewater Congregational Church with the Rev. Mr. Coe officiating. Phyllis at this time was the assistant to Dr. Engelbert Dumphy at the Peter Bent Brigham Hospital in Boston.</p><p>Soon after the couple moved to Kirkwood, New York where Arthur had his own Commercial Artist Business.</p><p>They had three children, and six great grandchildren </p><p>Arthur passed away at the age of 73 in Kirkwood, New York on June 1, 1993. He was a retired commercial artist with his own business, a member of the Mason-Fellowship Lodge and the Lions Club. He was an avid golfer and fisherman. He was cremated and laid to rest at Arlington National Cemetery.</p><p>Phyllis retired after 30 years as a school nurse teacher. Then she moved to Venice, Florida where she was a member of Trinity Presbyterian Church .</p><p>Phyllis passed away at the age of 89 in Venice Florida. She was cremated and laid to rest with Full Military Honors at Arlington National Cemetery on December 3, 2007 at 11:00.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI2ZV1Ic6E0G_HKHcdFlW1rReGp6Jx2_P4hpm1kejy0XStoHIgl8zb5OAdm-atT5NgjAcak341v6KmMf7s45H7yx9vyyPU4TXIup6utZMmr_zzlpEWZqGgDj8gJTgZe4mgG2pX-8wKKwJErhMKc7gUtb168HWgsni-QrF5EN5jslWqnmTd0ABioF3MtA/s325/Arthur%20and%20Phyllis%20gravestone%20marker%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="325" data-original-width="233" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI2ZV1Ic6E0G_HKHcdFlW1rReGp6Jx2_P4hpm1kejy0XStoHIgl8zb5OAdm-atT5NgjAcak341v6KmMf7s45H7yx9vyyPU4TXIup6utZMmr_zzlpEWZqGgDj8gJTgZe4mgG2pX-8wKKwJErhMKc7gUtb168HWgsni-QrF5EN5jslWqnmTd0ABioF3MtA/w162-h227/Arthur%20and%20Phyllis%20gravestone%20marker%20(2).jpg" width="162" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><br /><p><br /></p></div></div>Kathryn Smith Lockhardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239294110918121401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492739097573192331.post-12241288021935028172022-08-18T19:50:00.028-04:002023-02-18T14:39:52.601-05:00Divorced his family For His Wife<p><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Forrest was born on December 21, 1901 in Bridgewater, MA. to Joseph Hobson Smith and Laura Eunice Jones, the youngest of five children. </span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">He was my great uncle, brother to my grandfather, Malcolm. </span></span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Forrest, at the age of 18, went to work at the shoe factory in Brockton, MA. where his brother worked.</span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">When Forrest and his wife, Marie, wanted to return home due to financial problems His mother told him, "You can come but your wife can't. Forrest left and was never seen nor heard from again. </span><br style="font-family: "Times New Roman";" /><br style="font-family: "Times New Roman";" /><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">If rumors are true, I suspect it may have been his mother Laura that made this comment for she was described as being a difficult woman</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Laura's husband Joseph after 40 years of marrage decided to go back to the state of of Maine, where he was initially from. Laura chose not to go. So Joseph said to kiss his 10 year old granddaughter Eugenie goodbye, and he left.</span><br style="font-family: "Times New Roman";" /><br style="font-family: "Times New Roman";" />Forrest and Marie were married in 1925 but where the wedding took place is unknown at this time. I suspect it took place in the state of New York where Marie was from. It is unclear if they had children. I wonder if they met while Forrest was in the military. I do see a draft card when Forrest was 40 and he was married to Marie at time. </span><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6iXPftFNvhRNzbpWfB0NgHgkh5Qr04woueL1PRUdRB6B_nxFduCIad9SaDL_UxsdhVYRyz4ceY_dTeWf-SbZM1Rom7HOTUbMaPgPmNntgcESpXeWNp6UjVddPVkK-Se841-qBxfnCfFj4-qTzB1ZlK8MvY8MM5Bro8LJiGk98SkZBPudqgX6huugSoQ/s844/Forrest%20Alva%20Smith%20apt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="844" data-original-width="611" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6iXPftFNvhRNzbpWfB0NgHgkh5Qr04woueL1PRUdRB6B_nxFduCIad9SaDL_UxsdhVYRyz4ceY_dTeWf-SbZM1Rom7HOTUbMaPgPmNntgcESpXeWNp6UjVddPVkK-Se841-qBxfnCfFj4-qTzB1ZlK8MvY8MM5Bro8LJiGk98SkZBPudqgX6huugSoQ/s320/Forrest%20Alva%20Smith%20apt.jpg" width="232" /></a></div><p></p><p><span> I found them living at one point in Jersey City, New Jersey in the 1930 census. He was 29 and she was 27, no children were listed. Forrest was a service man at this time working for Frigidaire. </span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Forrest was rumored to have moved somewhere out west with his wife. </span> For years I have been searching for my grandfather's brother. It was difficult for he lived in more than one state. <span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Finally, perseverance has paid off. I found they were living at 247 E. 123 St Manhattan, New York</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Marie I discovered is a nickname for Lillie Marie, maiden name unknown. Forrest died of Chronic Cardiovascular Disease at the Metropolitan Hospital in New York City Manhattan, New York on July 2, 1947 at the age of 45.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">His brother Malcolm died at the age of 54 of a major heart attack in Bridgewater, MA. His sister Mertie also died of a heart attack at the age of 69 according to her granddaughter. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">In 1950 we find Lillie working as a switch board operator at a hotel in New York, Kings, New York listed as a widow. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p>Kathryn Smith Lockhardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239294110918121401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492739097573192331.post-61891750353273630542022-08-14T16:50:00.014-04:002023-02-21T12:31:42.924-05:00William, Druzillah and Florence <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #4e453f; font-family: times;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHMksqNjk9t_0f75Q5vyicnQ2VYFbtRhCAvzJJrNDw0IZ5keQsLK00dDyXK34Nnzqx7AIlAwLDIzcryeJalJM9RjnjdNwMx-UU72go7Q9ij-WaKuFv-QpcptWvJ-SS7IMW5nHroyfzaigKfzOwT6xdLlX2lnG19xv35zWsPDngysguBWDgnCIZQNaCDg/s584/Black%20and%20white%20William.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="584" data-original-width="373" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHMksqNjk9t_0f75Q5vyicnQ2VYFbtRhCAvzJJrNDw0IZ5keQsLK00dDyXK34Nnzqx7AIlAwLDIzcryeJalJM9RjnjdNwMx-UU72go7Q9ij-WaKuFv-QpcptWvJ-SS7IMW5nHroyfzaigKfzOwT6xdLlX2lnG19xv35zWsPDngysguBWDgnCIZQNaCDg/w117-h184/Black%20and%20white%20William.jpg" width="117" /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #4e453f; font-family: times;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj86yYh3QjoHorR8wDMieT1xcRu-eseXTOgYWBXKui02pXnwOFr1jDohKISar-JWaC2iSHHGKToWK4qWapYatEu6hlLixT4cyrs56ZJ3U0u-nGHQPZrn9IbX09LHEOTyFj723wKlG9WfbrWG1fDeVOsc4gffN04gIaHEt3Bs6Qgo-1yx4m9pDhh6Ekr-A/s584/Black%20and%20White%20William%20Druzillah.jg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="584" data-original-width="373" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj86yYh3QjoHorR8wDMieT1xcRu-eseXTOgYWBXKui02pXnwOFr1jDohKISar-JWaC2iSHHGKToWK4qWapYatEu6hlLixT4cyrs56ZJ3U0u-nGHQPZrn9IbX09LHEOTyFj723wKlG9WfbrWG1fDeVOsc4gffN04gIaHEt3Bs6Qgo-1yx4m9pDhh6Ekr-A/w117-h184/Black%20and%20White%20William%20Druzillah.jg.jpg" width="117" /></a></span></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #4e453f; font-family: times;"><br />William G. Smith was born on April 24, 1819 in Biddeford, Maine, son of Samuel and Sarah. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #4e453f; font-family: times;">In 1852 William married Druzillah J. Gray, daughter of Luther H Gray and Rebecca Jordon, born in Falmouth, Maine on May 30, 1831. She was 11 years younger than he. They had 10 plus children.</span><div><span style="color: #4e453f; font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #4e453f; font-family: times;">Private William G Smith served in the Civil War from Feb 8, 1864 to July 11, 1865 in the 6th Battery light artillery.</span><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #4e453f; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: times;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4e453f; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZM2sTOFnedHL6FsTwJshK9umJKOCFmCqa4f3TBwa5ANZvrJCYTeY22OboW3G93ckjoxEmIO2_nhXGopcR930fzLr9H7DwFkut3GIfdcNUe8xMbzy4X1_XzpOUulG5l171QXNUyH9y7sD61FFhhYObu1DhfY4ABtS4hDaXUZl87MoE969-7SY5HCLCtg/s640/J%20G%20Deering%20%20and%20Son%20Lumber%20Mill.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="496" data-original-width="640" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZM2sTOFnedHL6FsTwJshK9umJKOCFmCqa4f3TBwa5ANZvrJCYTeY22OboW3G93ckjoxEmIO2_nhXGopcR930fzLr9H7DwFkut3GIfdcNUe8xMbzy4X1_XzpOUulG5l171QXNUyH9y7sD61FFhhYObu1DhfY4ABtS4hDaXUZl87MoE969-7SY5HCLCtg/w269-h208/J%20G%20Deering%20%20and%20Son%20Lumber%20Mill.jpg" width="269" /></a></span></span></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #4e453f; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: times;">In 1881 William G Smith was living with his family at 12 Elm Street in Biddeford, Maine. The Bradbury Bridge also on Elm Street crossed over the Saco River. Located along the river was the J G Deering & Son Lumber Company where William worked as a saw mill operator. The Saco River powered the Mills equipment and light at the doorway to illuminate the work area. </span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #4e453f; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></span></div><div>William died on February 22, 1902 at the of 69 of senile Gangrene - brain cancer in Brockton, MA.</div><div><br /><div>Druzillah died of hepatorenal Syndrome, severe liver damage commonly associated with farming. They are all buried together in the Hillcrest Cemetery in Hollis, Maine. William has an American Legion post 73 G.A.R. (Grand Army of the Republic flag on his grave.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyZrk0aAH5LVZsNo4_Dtmhmbdinv2RVkiVf8cwIT2XXm0j9h3-gGr5FPLz5AJXH5EoVEsGs6BfvG_vMism6u_XX61ekmZ-E8WFqLXNZRbRRBlzMtefXG97r_TgBs6sR_8uFxRBaKkQBTiKnpPnVi4EJ7c3m1s7kvZp5UfDJL8uFwhIk11tXV38ttayTA/s387/Florence%20drowns%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="387" data-original-width="274" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyZrk0aAH5LVZsNo4_Dtmhmbdinv2RVkiVf8cwIT2XXm0j9h3-gGr5FPLz5AJXH5EoVEsGs6BfvG_vMism6u_XX61ekmZ-E8WFqLXNZRbRRBlzMtefXG97r_TgBs6sR_8uFxRBaKkQBTiKnpPnVi4EJ7c3m1s7kvZp5UfDJL8uFwhIk11tXV38ttayTA/w125-h176/Florence%20drowns%20(2).jpg" width="125" /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #4e453f; font-family: times; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #4e453f; font-family: times; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #4e453f; font-family: times; font-size: 16px;">December 7, 1881 his six year old daughter, Florence fell off the Bradbury Bridge under construction on Elm Street and to her death.</span></div><div><br /></div></div>Kathryn Smith Lockhardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239294110918121401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492739097573192331.post-45999192634327657642021-09-06T15:18:00.012-04:002023-10-21T17:26:39.364-04:00A Hero's Cry Is Heard<p><span style="font-family: times;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-W3BwMFOgihM/YTZqdKRafJI/AAAAAAAAB9c/ERDdnNfPqXY_FwzvoNt1ZhWnkcl_l0yaQCLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi42RfdsniuBE5z1eusLbHB7m23Jg1gaWtQDh1wF5ag2TDwqG-_UpksSHMeqm8nYO5Lk1ZjOWLx4kPRktmkwIIRFC4an0fBiOxHkQrY1WJzqr-Xr3hxme-kTgHPFyW7WNe06_xg58BjSwvkXaFNDSeCzlc9lf9p-A8en13nscsu__JHlEtmEhp9kGLmFZOU" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="244" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi42RfdsniuBE5z1eusLbHB7m23Jg1gaWtQDh1wF5ag2TDwqG-_UpksSHMeqm8nYO5Lk1ZjOWLx4kPRktmkwIIRFC4an0fBiOxHkQrY1WJzqr-Xr3hxme-kTgHPFyW7WNe06_xg58BjSwvkXaFNDSeCzlc9lf9p-A8en13nscsu__JHlEtmEhp9kGLmFZOU" width="146" /></a><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-W3BwMFOgihM/YTZqdKRafJI/AAAAAAAAB9c/ERDdnNfPqXY_FwzvoNt1ZhWnkcl_l0yaQCLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>A HERO'S CRY IS HEARD</span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /> <span style="background-color: white; color: #4e453f;">Private Howard Leroy Smith, brother to my father Robert, was born on the 1st of April 1925 to Malcolm Leroy and Mary Ann Smith. He enlisted in the army at Fort Devens in Massachusetts on the 29th of March 1943, two days before his 18th birthday, and entered into active service on April 21, 1943. He joined Company L 134th Infantry APO #35, as a Rifleman 746, an M-1 Rifle Marksman. He is described as 5'6", blue eyes, blonde hair, weight 135 lbs. </span></span><p></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="color: #4e453f; font-family: times;">He was engaged in the battle of Normandy, France where on July 30, 1944 he was shot in the leg with an MG-42 German machine gun, the most powerful and fastest gun in existence, its' nickname was zipper. Howard lay there in pain, his leg shattered, with dead soldiers all around him as bullets threatened to strike him again. He cried out, Ma, for he thought he was about to die.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #4e453f; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">His mother, Mary Ann, was in Florida visiting her other son Robert who was stationed in Cocoa Beach at the Banana River Naval Air Station. She went there to visit him and his wife Elsie who was expecting their first child. Mary Ann felt she was going crazy for she could hear her son Howard calling out to her. She was compelled to go for a walk by herself, haunted by his call. She later learned that her son had been seriously injured and she really did hear his voice calling out to her.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="color: #4e453f; font-family: times;">Howard was rescued that night after dark. He was transported to Staten Island, New York and admitted to the Halloran General Hospital. The surgeon recommended amputation; but Howard and his mother both said no. Here he stayed until his discharge on November 8, 1946 along with a certificate of disability that discharged him from the military. He returned to Massachusetts and entered the Veterans Hospital in Framingham. Here is where he met his future wife, Pasqualina Virginia Fazzari, known as Pat. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #4e453f; font-family: times;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhBzk5zu6TM-DZcIQ9U_KWJJdLzAnfJNDKecugXn-YCZjlfkMckoQ7LobVLUw-_GFfIcJ8_fGRQVxfuRb3UZIzB4u5Xj94TkVDbfxXcFRMEes5EXSKEFGvirNUcir0VucGfJ1Ftmelo848-Z5NWw5Sg7tsOMBTYX90ZBjVndwOSk_VsC1IRgjX4tQyM2lNX" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="727" data-original-width="750" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhBzk5zu6TM-DZcIQ9U_KWJJdLzAnfJNDKecugXn-YCZjlfkMckoQ7LobVLUw-_GFfIcJ8_fGRQVxfuRb3UZIzB4u5Xj94TkVDbfxXcFRMEes5EXSKEFGvirNUcir0VucGfJ1Ftmelo848-Z5NWw5Sg7tsOMBTYX90ZBjVndwOSk_VsC1IRgjX4tQyM2lNX=w183-h177" width="183" /></a></span></div><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="color: #4e453f; font-family: times;"> Howard was hospitalized for a period of three years and underwent a total of twenty surgeries. He wore a metal brace for the rest of his life. I babysat for my young cousins, at the age of 16, while my mother drove Pat to the hospital to visit her husband. He died of cancer on Jan 2 1961, at the age of 36 leaving a wife and five small children. The cancer began in this injured leg. </span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #4e453f; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-YmjepwOCBMg/YTZotSRMOBI/AAAAAAAAB9U/2VttU5KaQNAiBbGWXwp2Yrm2BvJNg_dvgCLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="383" data-original-width="203" height="132" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-YmjepwOCBMg/YTZotSRMOBI/AAAAAAAAB9U/2VttU5KaQNAiBbGWXwp2Yrm2BvJNg_dvgCLcBGAsYHQ/w70-h132/image.png" width="70" /></a>Howard was awarded the Purple Heart, WWII Victory Ribbon, American Theatre Campaign Ribbon, and the European African Middle Eastern Campaign Ribbon with 1 Battle sta<span style="font-size: 16px;">r. </span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #4e453f; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #4e453f; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiIeYvKElDi-o-465by1K9Cwegfq0TP3mV0lHCjZVIhr_JfUkOdmdaP-jYY72KSaAQAtgfxjkPf0WdvCxH5bczZLBsgQNXlDX4EWQrhQ_BAz3-j0nokHOuhHHCDO4ezOf9D-H8dQHbVFM5pyKrQhdGhdz08_y7gVOxS_cOH2ivutUXW5RLwQh28lOo4gmRJ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2112" data-original-width="2816" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiIeYvKElDi-o-465by1K9Cwegfq0TP3mV0lHCjZVIhr_JfUkOdmdaP-jYY72KSaAQAtgfxjkPf0WdvCxH5bczZLBsgQNXlDX4EWQrhQ_BAz3-j0nokHOuhHHCDO4ezOf9D-H8dQHbVFM5pyKrQhdGhdz08_y7gVOxS_cOH2ivutUXW5RLwQh28lOo4gmRJ=w214-h161" width="214" /></a></div><br /><br /></span><p></p>Kathryn Smith Lockhardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239294110918121401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492739097573192331.post-79798276974935835542021-08-30T15:23:00.023-04:002022-12-27T15:40:27.585-05:00Cherished Companion<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6uNHPjVhr0E/Th27zOm1zWI/AAAAAAAAADg/3JgPa4z0jFE/s1600/Mercey+Ann+Hampton+and+her+husband+Russell+Cardey.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="176" m="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6uNHPjVhr0E/Th27zOm1zWI/AAAAAAAAADg/3JgPa4z0jFE/s320/Mercey+Ann+Hampton+and+her+husband+Russell+Cardey.jpg" true="" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption">Mercy Ann Hampton and Russel Cardy<br /> my 3rd great grandparents<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="storyText">Mercy, although a Quaker, married Russell Cardy of Irish descent and a Methodist in Hamburg, Erie, NY on August 25, 1842. It was in 1863 that Russel and his wife moved to Potosi, Wisconsin. Here Mercy taught school. Russell was a kind, respected man of great faith who wrote poems of devotion. Mercy united with the Methodist Church but always clung to the belief of her early years. </div><p><br /></p><p> Obituary April 5, 1988</p> Cherished Companion Died<br /><br />On the 21st of March death entered the home of Russel Cardy in the town of Potosi, and claimed his cherished companion as its victim. Mercy Ann Hampton was born of Christian parents in the state of New Jersey in 1813. Her parents moved from New Jersey to Erie county, N.Y. while she was young, where they lived at the time of her marriage. Her early life was spent among the friends-"Quakers"-and from them she learned the true lesson of virtue. In 1842 she was married to Russel Cardy on the 25th of August. They came to Potosi the same year. She taught school in their own home their first winter in Wisconsin, besides attending to her household duties. She lived a quiet life, never yielding to wrong. They will see her no more here, for she has joined a brighter band. Though the weather was cold she was born to her resting place followed by her numerous friends. The procession walked to the grave. They have the sympathy of all who know them.<br /><br />Kathryn Smith Lockhardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239294110918121401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492739097573192331.post-20440632866621875832021-08-20T16:11:00.013-04:002023-06-27T14:42:35.370-04:00A Ghoulish Matter<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CFErZ8ZfZuw/YR7-q1IUp3I/AAAAAAAAB7k/Gy2J5zo4NVA0LC6EBf62NZq7FP9SCy37QCLcBGAsYHQ/s262/coffin.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="193" data-original-width="262" height="139" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CFErZ8ZfZuw/YR7-q1IUp3I/AAAAAAAAB7k/Gy2J5zo4NVA0LC6EBf62NZq7FP9SCy37QCLcBGAsYHQ/w191-h139/coffin.jpg" width="191" /></a></div><p></p><p>Okay, let's put it out there. If you do genealogy, you visit cemeteries. And, believe me, I have traipsed through many from Florida to Maine and into Canada. That's what we do. We go searching for that long lost ancestor. So let's lay it all out in<b> </b><span style="color: #4c1130;"><b>lavende</b>r</span>.</p><p>Do you know where the saying, "Rest In Peace" came from? It's a common epitaph on gravestones. We say it, written with love in a meaningful way in a sympathy card, May they rest in Peace.</p><p>You only need to look back to the Victorian era, the mid 1800's. It was a time when grave robbers existed and lurked around in the dark of night. They worked during the cold months because a "stiff" as they called it, was only good for a few days before it decayed. There was no refrigeration in the summer. So now you know why people came to believe cemeteries are haunted, especially at night and especially during Halloween. Perhaps those ghosts are protecting the deceased.</p><p>These grave robbers were after more than just jewelry. Good money was paid by doctors, scientists, and teachers in universities for cadavers. How else could they teach and learn about the anatomy of the human body. Even more money could be made by demanding ransom for the return of loved ones.</p><p> The resurrectionists preferred the newly deceased, because the earth had not yet settled and therefore easier to dig down to the casket. They would open casket with a crowbar to expose the head, then grab the body under the chin with a hook and pull the body out. (OMG)</p><p>When you have strolled through cemeteries, most likely you have seen evidence of past attempts to protect the graves of yesterday. Some means are obvious, other are not. Surely you have seen wrought iron fences around a family plot; but it's meaning was to make it more difficult for the grave robbers out after dark to steal their loved ones. </p><p>We see the above ground gravesites made of cement, that have cracked or were outright broken, perhaps covered with a little moss. Certainly these were easier to invade. Then you see on occasion the ones with a steel lid that sits low to the ground, now not so easy to break into. Families went so far as to claim a bomb was planted in the coffin; hoping this would deter the thieves for fear of being blown up. Some cemeteries hired night watchmen. </p><p>This was not just a United States problem, grave robbers existed in other countries around the world. </p><p>So "Rest In Peace" literally meant, I hope the grave robbers will leave you alone so that you may surely 'Rest In Peace'. </p><p><br /></p>Kathryn Smith Lockhardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239294110918121401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492739097573192331.post-9821639326483429932021-08-15T16:54:00.017-04:002022-10-17T17:46:07.778-04:00Oscar Goes To Cuba<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1pvtghJAJww/YRl9uovKCKI/AAAAAAAAB6o/blOaPux3ZU45Gu8PT3-iQE-P1_hBo2fGgCLcBGAsYHQ/s395/Oscar%2BMaxell%2Bin%2Bcolor.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="395" data-original-width="330" height="135" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1pvtghJAJww/YRl9uovKCKI/AAAAAAAAB6o/blOaPux3ZU45Gu8PT3-iQE-P1_hBo2fGgCLcBGAsYHQ/w112-h135/Oscar%2BMaxell%2Bin%2Bcolor.jpg" width="112" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: times;">Oscar Sidney Maxell was born in Orient, Maine on June 1, 1879. He was one of six children born to Deacon Sidney P Maxell and Alice Brown.</span><div><br /><div><span style="font-family: times;">He married Susie May Whitmore on November 7, 1903. Oscar had one daughter, Beatrice Wyman, that he and his wife adopted.. He and Susie had no children together.</span><div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">He was schooled to become a confectioner and eventually owned a candy store at 251 Congress Street, in Portland, Maine; that he operated from 1907-1915. He was listed in the city directory as selling ice cream and confections. Then in 1915 he returned to Orient, his beloved Maxell Hill and built his forever home. Sleeping in a tent until completed. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7mZ6okfI8B4/YRmFiyG5WrI/AAAAAAAAB64/AfFL4-Z75UQBboIpmeCdzhyDFz0Q15-EgCLcBGAsYHQ/s912/Oscar%2BMaxell%2Bhome.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="648" data-original-width="912" height="157" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7mZ6okfI8B4/YRmFiyG5WrI/AAAAAAAAB64/AfFL4-Z75UQBboIpmeCdzhyDFz0Q15-EgCLcBGAsYHQ/w221-h157/Oscar%2BMaxell%2Bhome.jpg" width="221" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><br />Oscar was elected to the House of Representative for the years 1937-1938 and 1949-1950. During the 94th legislature he served on the Indian Affairs and Temperance Committees. Of personal importance to him was the Temperance Committee, for he alone managed to keep the state of Maine dry for many years. He was proud of the fact he held the position of Deacon in his church longer than his father.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">On March 3, 1931, Oscar sailed aboard the SS Governor Cobb out of Tampa, FL for a five-day trip to Cuba. In his diary, "Impressions of a visit to Gay Havana, The Paris of the Western Hemisphere" he summed up his visit to the island this way: "the Cubans ae a friendly people and hold U.S. of America and its' people in high esteem".</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">The Cubans its (sic) all America, both North and South, but they always emphasize the United States of America to which they belong. On every hand, the names of General Wood and Teddy Roosevelt, and others, are to the sacred and they avoid being connected with Spain., even say 'we speak the Cuban and English language, not Spanish, where as a matter of fact, it is Spanish'.</span></div><div><br /></div><div>Oscar toured the country via taxi or walking. Havana, he reported had 58 cigar factories, 2500 policemen, a population of 500,000 and 7000 bars. Oscar was impressed by the beauty of Havana and its magnificent buildings.</div><div><br /></div><div>He visited cemeteries and learned how they buried their own. Went to many churches and spoke of Lady Lourdes her statue and a small metal box that held her ashes. He spoke of Columbus Temple, here Christopher Columbus held the first mass under a "Free Sabor" tree, meaning cotton and Silk. He spoke of beautiful paintings of the first mass, the first Congress and the first inauguration.</div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: 16px;">He tells of the square that was used to sell slaves and where slaves were put to death, often times, for trifling matters. In the old city the slaves built a wall to defend and protect against pirates. The slaves carried the stones on bare shoulders and worked under the lash at all times.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: 16px;">Oscar, a strong prohibitionist, firmly believed that "with the Cubans taking the U.S. as their example someday will adopt prohibition". He truly believed in the words of Gifford Gordon, "Hold on, America! The son follows in the footsteps of the father and one day, Cuba will follow their father in prohibition".</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: 16px;">Oscar died December 31, 1961.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181a1c; font-family: times;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: times;">(Cuba was
founded on October 10, 1868. The island was inhabited by various cultures prior
to the arrival of the Spanish explorer Christopher Columbus in 1492. After
Columbus' arrival, Cuba became a Spanish colony, ruled by a Spanish governor in
Havana. In 1762, Havana was briefly occupied by Great Britain, before being
returned to Spain in exchange for Florida. A series of rebellions during the
19th century failed to end Spanish rule. However, the Spanish-American War resulted
in a Spanish withdrawal from the island in 1898, and following three-and-a-half
years of subsequent US military rule, Cuba gained formal independence in 1902.)</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br /></p><p><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #181a1c; font-family: times;"><br /><br /></span></span></p></div></div></div>Kathryn Smith Lockhardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239294110918121401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492739097573192331.post-22357323704191744632021-07-29T10:16:00.003-04:002021-07-31T07:57:03.964-04:00Eugenie Belle - 1918 Pandemic<p> Eugenie Belle Smith was born on July 30, 1891 in Bridgewater, Massachusetts to Joseph H. Smith and Laura Eunice Jones. Eugenie was sister to my paternal grandfather, Malcolm Leroy Smith. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ez7GmOFjAuc/YQKtDESRraI/AAAAAAAAB50/lmYbLfOtDxUC9-7tssCcQl2BHOVRHvPrQCLcBGAsYHQ/s124/Herbert%2BFarley%2B%25282%2529.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="124" data-original-width="99" height="124" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ez7GmOFjAuc/YQKtDESRraI/AAAAAAAAB50/lmYbLfOtDxUC9-7tssCcQl2BHOVRHvPrQCLcBGAsYHQ/s0/Herbert%2BFarley%2B%25282%2529.jpg" width="99" /></a></div>Eugenie married Herbert Farley Merrey on May 27, 1913. To them three children were born. Gertrude Eunice, named for her mother, Edwin (Eddie) Leroy, named for her brother Malcom Leroy, and Joseph, named for her father.<br /><p></p><p>Life was wonderful, that is until the Pandemic of 1918 known as the Spanish Flu infected a estimated 500 million people around the world. In the United States, 675,000 died.</p><p>The only defense at that time was isolation quarantine, good hygiene, disinfectants and limitations of gatherings that many did not follow.</p><p>It was the second wave in the fall of 1918 that lasted three months, caused by a mutant virus that was especially brutal. This took the life of Eugenie Belle on October 7, 1918 at the age of 27. She left behind a husband and three young children, a daughter age five, a son age two and an infant son, one month old.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Hv3LZEYc2ZY/YQKwZO_rBPI/AAAAAAAAB58/WP9BBT-aCoEVv5ItCMro6gDRuN4WkoT8gCLcBGAsYHQ/s800/Herbert%2BFarley%2BEugenie%2BBelle%2Band%2BAnna.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="122" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Hv3LZEYc2ZY/YQKwZO_rBPI/AAAAAAAAB58/WP9BBT-aCoEVv5ItCMro6gDRuN4WkoT8gCLcBGAsYHQ/w163-h122/Herbert%2BFarley%2BEugenie%2BBelle%2Band%2BAnna.jpg" width="163" /></a></div>Eugenie's husband, Herbert remarried to Anna Sophia Copeland. He died in 1970 and Anna died in 1933. They all rest together in Hillside Cemetery in Bridgewater. Also in this cemetery lies her mother, her brother Malcolm and his wife, Mary Ann Pierce.<br /><p></p><p>Eugenie's brother Malcolm named a daughter after his sister, Eugenie Belle born in 1921. She passed away June 10, 2020 in her 99th year.</p><p>We are at this moment in time under siege of a pandemic known as Covid-19. Many have died around the world. At warp speed vaccines have been developed and history repeats as in 1918, many people don't follow recommendations. We are now in the grips of a mutant virus that is more contagious and deadly. History is repeating itself and as we watch the numbers of those infected increase, more lives will be lost.</p><p>I've been vaccinated to protect not only me, but also my family and those I love. Have you been vaccinated? </p>Kathryn Smith Lockhardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239294110918121401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492739097573192331.post-5916788280773163912021-07-18T11:45:00.005-04:002021-07-18T18:01:12.074-04:00The House of Helpfulness<p> Yes, History and genealogy do go hand-in-hand.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LsgCHd0Jtk4/YPQ_xW7DEvI/AAAAAAAAB4Y/50tnxIE-dKEkICROoRAh4vbUSflIMKBjACLcBGAsYHQ/s1800/Ferdinad%2BC%2BGammons.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1438" height="131" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LsgCHd0Jtk4/YPQ_xW7DEvI/AAAAAAAAB4Y/50tnxIE-dKEkICROoRAh4vbUSflIMKBjACLcBGAsYHQ/w105-h131/Ferdinad%2BC%2BGammons.jpg" width="105" /></a></div><br />Ferdinand Clinton Gammons, my 2nd cousin 4x removed was born September 29, 1845 in Middleboro, Massachusetts. He moved to Bridgewater at the age of 21. Here is where he met his future wife, Abbie Lawrence. He belonged to the Masons, May Flower Lodge.<p></p><p>Abbie had begun the work of knocking on doors to raise money to pay for a pastor. She raised $400 and three months later the first service for the Methodist faithful was held in the Swedenborgian Church.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tg0IosOCr_I/YPRCJirG8II/AAAAAAAAB4g/zuQDqtuazCQd5aK1Y6iZBHGbLnFdbbdlACLcBGAsYHQ/s1133/stained%2Bglass%2Bwindow.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1133" data-original-width="1080" height="162" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tg0IosOCr_I/YPRCJirG8II/AAAAAAAAB4g/zuQDqtuazCQd5aK1Y6iZBHGbLnFdbbdlACLcBGAsYHQ/w155-h162/stained%2Bglass%2Bwindow.jpg" width="155" /></a></div>She met and married Ferdinand Gammons, a successful business man, on November 16, 1874. Together, in 1913 they purchased property on the corner of School and Cedar Street and built the Gammons Memorial Methodist Church.<p></p><p> A stained glass window "The Good Shepard was given to the church by Abbie in memory of her mother. It was dedicated by Abbie and Ferdinand on June 6, 1914.</p><div>I grew up in this church, first as a young student, then as a teen, I belonged to the Youth Group. I sang in the Junior Choir, then later in the adult choir. I became a Sunday School teacher. I was baptized at this church. I met my husband here, and we married here. </div><div><div style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1015" data-original-width="1470" height="128" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MW3PF-WkEN8/YPRDsqrlY_I/AAAAAAAAB4o/xfTRRrYHuKkncrwvR_lkea0yyaMkS31MwCLcBGAsYHQ/w186-h128/Kathy%2Band%2BMerrill%2Bwedding%2Bparty%2Bday.JPG" width="186" /></div></div><div><br /></div><div>We ended up moving to New Hampshire for a few years. Eventually we returned home to Bridgewater. Things were not the same as I remembered, my church home was not as it once was. When the church disappointed me in a personal way, I never returned.</div><div><br /></div><div>The other sad connotation here is that the name Gammons has been erased. It is now known as the Bridgewater United Methodist Church. I feel a sense of loss, in my genealogical way. How could they delete the Gammons name from which this church was founded.</div><div><br /></div><div>Once their motto was " The House of Helpfulness", now it is Open Hearts, Open Minds, Open Doors, yet I now feel neither.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ferdinand died on Feb 23, 1929 and with a Mason Ritual Funeral Service he was buried in Mount Prospect Cemetery in Bridgewater. </div><div><br /></div><div>Abbie, in honor of her husbands passing,, purchased the parsonage on Bedford Street in 1930 giving it to the church in his memory. Abbie passed away in 1932.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-73-bVGXGIag/YPRNl4hER7I/AAAAAAAAB4w/PVY6U_Z0bRYlo5sddpVWOCdZisHuiPjlQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1800/Abbie%2BLawrence%2BGammons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1495" height="175" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-73-bVGXGIag/YPRNl4hER7I/AAAAAAAAB4w/PVY6U_Z0bRYlo5sddpVWOCdZisHuiPjlQCLcBGAsYHQ/w145-h175/Abbie%2BLawrence%2BGammons.jpg" width="145" /></a></div><br /></div><div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MW3PF-WkEN8/YPRDsqrlY_I/AAAAAAAAB4o/xfTRRrYHuKkncrwvR_lkea0yyaMkS31MwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1470/Kathy%2Band%2BMerrill%2Bwedding%2Bparty%2Bday.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a></div><div></div></div></div>Kathryn Smith Lockhardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239294110918121401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492739097573192331.post-34531946407746178842021-02-28T19:24:00.000-05:002021-07-30T09:41:05.404-04:00Am I or Am I Not<p><span style="color: red;"><u>I am a Genealogist.</u> </span> Or am I? Genealogy is a line of descent tracing continuously from one ancestor to another. The study of ancestry descent being a single direct line backwards from yourself. Is this who I am?</p><p><span style="color: red;"><u>I am a Geneticist</u>.</span> Or am I? It helps to explain why people look like they do i.e. ancestor photos and to possibly identify health conditions, i.e. death records, that our ancestors could have possibly passed onto us? Is this who I am?</p><p><u><span style="color: red;">I am a Family Historian</span></u>. Or am I? Documenting family history. This is what gives us our identity and binds the family together. Is this who I am?</p><p> I venture to say that I am partially made up of all of the above titles. </p><p> Family consists of your parents, grandparents, great grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. These memories are just as precious and as important as the family heirlooms we covet.</p><p>When someone you love dies you still remember them; their appearance, how they dressed, talked and laughed, perhaps where they worked and their daily activities. When you find pictures of your ancestors and documents that help us learn the details and history of their lives, it is as if you knew them when they walked the earth. </p><p> If you stay strictly to blood lines and your tree carries only parents and grandparents throughout time, you are a genealogist.</p><p>But if you include all the children, all the spouses of multiple marriages, and include any and all information we know of and or discover, you have a family tree. Family can be complicated for it consists not only of blood relatives but also family that we are not related to but were raised with. We love them both. </p><p>There is no right or wrong way to build your family tree. It is personal, it is unique only unto you. Everyone's family story is interesting and special. Your ancestors most likely include many faiths. Perhaps you'll find a famous relative or a black sheep who will add some color to your tree. Do you see history repeating itself throughout the generations, i.e. occupations. Learn what country your family initially came from. What history did they live through. What challenges did they overcome. It all connects you to the past. </p><p>There are many components that make up who you are.</p>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fwSBqJXkbuE/YDwzuEcqkcI/AAAAAAAAB18/Ds3i1rbGXNkXkwYNN8mfTr3lNbUZM6STgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/family%2Btree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fwSBqJXkbuE/YDwzuEcqkcI/AAAAAAAAB18/Ds3i1rbGXNkXkwYNN8mfTr3lNbUZM6STgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/family%2Btree.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br /><p> Climbing The Family Tree</p><p><br /></p>Kathryn Smith Lockhardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239294110918121401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492739097573192331.post-30760427320770407572021-01-15T14:27:00.015-05:002021-08-19T13:24:14.212-04:00Rowland Ward - Battle of Wilderness<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-uC6tVOq51Hk/YRLtpURBnWI/AAAAAAAAB6Q/LVW9jh2rEuUe8LOB98J72AGLUOeGk9uRACLcBGAsYHQ/Rowland%2BWard1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="294" data-original-width="383" height="240" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-uC6tVOq51Hk/YRLtpURBnWI/AAAAAAAAB6Q/LVW9jh2rEuUe8LOB98J72AGLUOeGk9uRACLcBGAsYHQ/Rowland%2BWard1.jpg" width="313" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>When I first saw this picture of Rowland Ward, I was confused by his appearance. It looked as if his beard was growing out of his mouth. Who is Rowland Ward?<p></p><p>Rowland was born on March 31, 1818 in Briggs, Lincoln, England, Wrawby Parish. He first married Alvria Vedder who was 14 years younger than he in 1846. They had two daughters, Harriet and Eva. Rowland became a Naturalized citizen of the United States in 1854. By 1860 we see Ward, a farmer, with milking cows, sheep and grew wheat, corn and oats. Alvira died on March 7, 1888.</p><p>One year and one month later on April 8, 1889, he married my 2nd gr grandmother's (Eliza Benson) sister, Amelia Benson. It appears it was her first marriage.</p><p>Rowland joined the army, Private 4th Heavy Artillery, September 1862 and became a Union soldier serving in the Civil War. He served in the bloody Battle of the Wilderness from May 5 1864 to May 7, 1864. Then on August 24, 1864 he was badly wounded at Ream's Station, Virginia that disfigured him for life. His lower jaw and chin were completely blown off, destroying the floor of his mouth along with the soft tissue right down to his neck and carrying his teeth away. Horrifyingly, leaving nothing to hold his tongue in his mouth, only left to hang down his neck.</p><p>Rowland was admitted to the Lincoln Hospital in Washington, D.C. Many surgeries were performed by military surgeons who said, "It was the most severe injury sustained by any soldier during the war." Ward was photographed at the Army Medical Museum by the order of the Surgeon General, George, A Otis. Three busts were made of his head that remain on display at the museum. Rowland was discharged from the army on June 23, 1865. His speech was always difficult to understand. He returned home to his wife, Alvira.</p><p>Rowland went back to farming living in Hunt, Levingston, New York. In 1886, fire destroyed his home caused by a defective chimney. If not for the banging on their door that awakened them, they were able to escape. Everything was lost.</p><p>It was reported in the Nunda, New York newspaper on May 28, 1898, Rowland who was now 80 years of age had become incompetent and no longer able to manage his affairs. That it was unknown what he was doing with his $50 a month pension. A jury was summoned to his small farm. After hearing a number of witnesses, Ward was declared incompetent.</p><p>Amazing that Amelia would marry a man with such disabilities, yet she cared for him until his death on June 17, 1898. He is buried in Hunts Hollow Cemetery in Portage, New York.</p><p><br /></p>Kathryn Smith Lockhardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239294110918121401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492739097573192331.post-4899497695670426942019-09-23T21:03:00.002-04:002022-12-13T20:08:47.131-05:00Necessity is the Mother of Invention<br />
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Necessity is the mother of invention”,
meaning, when the need for something becomes imperative. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That quote, author unknown, has guided men and
women throughout history mostly for good, but sometimes for the bad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br /></span></div>
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Our Ancestors occupation depended upon where they lived, the
era in which they were born and the services that the community they lived in
needed. Some communities like Potosi, Wisconsin was a lead mining town and that
ended when the gold rush began in California and men everywhere, including
Potosi, left to seek their fortune.<o:p></o:p></div>
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To say the least, convenient grocery stores weren’t available;
so people depended on the many who were cattle farmers who raised beef and produced
milk, and the vegetable farmers for their food. Some immigrants from countries
who suffered and starved during the potato famine became just that, potato
farmers, for this was their main staple. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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The only transportation at one time was the horse or horse
and buggy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So you had the blacksmith shops.
Not only did they shoe horses, they forged <span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">tools, made agricultural implements, complex weapons and armor to simple
things like nails.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Life hasn’t been
easy over the generations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Always you
have the good and the bad affecting individuals. </span>All it took was severe
weather such as a drought, or hurricane and the farmer lost everything. That in
turn affected the citizens.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In building new communities it was a necessity to hold more
than one job, such as my own great grandfather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His occupations included, citrus farming, Mayor, Postmaster, Volunteer
fireman, owner of a newspaper, and the Tiger fence Company. (There was no Social Security)<o:p></o:p></div>
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World wars took our men away and women had to step in to
fill the gap doing so called man’s work. As we became more advanced we became
less self-sufficient.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Political and
financial factions affected our lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Just as the fall of Wall Street put thousands out of work and the era of
depression began. The government started the WPA, Works Progress Administration
to provide employment, working on our roads and highways, and we saw soup lines
to feed the hungry. In 1935 the <span face=""Segoe UI",sans-serif" lang="EN" style="color: #333333; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Economic Security Act</span> was proposed
and then before being enacted, Congress changed the name to the Social Security.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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So as you go through history you can draw a parallel line of
opposites, one for the bad, and one for the good that came out of changes
throughout time, but sometimes, what was meant to be good such as nuclear power
can also be bad because it can be used as a weapon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now mark the events in history where <span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Necessity became the mother of invention”,
in your family tree. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />Kathryn Smith Lockhardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239294110918121401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492739097573192331.post-35009124535117030772018-06-30T10:58:00.007-04:002024-03-23T09:53:06.029-04:00Menorcan Journey<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qf5KbEY842g/WzeU0NoUz4I/AAAAAAAABok/3WLo51PG-yolsU03thHDX1i_9wSsSUgoQCLcBGAs/s1600/Minorca.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="181" data-original-width="460" height="125" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qf5KbEY842g/WzeU0NoUz4I/AAAAAAAABok/3WLo51PG-yolsU03thHDX1i_9wSsSUgoQCLcBGAs/s320/Minorca.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> Menorca Cove<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Jose Joaneda Floyd (Floid) was my 4<sup>th</sup> great
grandfather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was born in Ciudadella,
Menorca, Spain in 1761.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Minorca is a
beautiful Island just off the coast of the Spanish mainland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am less than 3 percent Spanish.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">In 1767, Jose was six years old and with his parents they made their way to the northern part of Florida with as many as 1400 others that left their homeland to tame this wilderness. It took two ships and two months to arrive at their destination. Their hopes were high. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">They found the conditions were harsh and after much hardship and starvation they lost about half of their population. It was in 1777, Jose, now 16-years-old and with those that remained walked to St. Augustine, Florida for
a better life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Popular legend tells us that in 1513, Ponce
de León, a Spanish explorer discovered Florida while searching for the Fountain
of Youth and he named the region La Florida which means "flowery land". </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">In 1794 Jose married
Elizabeth Maria Deweese. They had six children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">He died in St. Augustine in 1818 at the age
of 58.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Florida didn't become part of the United
States until 1845, after the Spanish American War.</span></span></span><div><span style="font-family: times new roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mcetud_wGDU/WzeLv-MnfLI/AAAAAAAABoY/-dFnUKHtmgo81zMFdsNbKKOXLDC8XafigCLcBGAs/s1600/Spansh%2Bhorse.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="685" height="232" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mcetud_wGDU/WzeLv-MnfLI/AAAAAAAABoY/-dFnUKHtmgo81zMFdsNbKKOXLDC8XafigCLcBGAs/s320/Spansh%2Bhorse.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">In 1980, the Menorcan Society was formed to promote the culture and heritage who left their home to make a new life. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">St. Augustine </span><span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">celebrates every year the arrival of the Menorcan people with traditional tasty food, music, and
dancing. </span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">People dress in
period costume and have a parade of men and women riding on pure Spanish horses the breed known as Andalusion. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
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</div>Kathryn Smith Lockhardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239294110918121401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492739097573192331.post-84864616051062710732018-06-24T11:11:00.005-04:002022-10-13T10:52:17.750-04:00Alligator In The Sewer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgVB1jOp0mf5iKUvUY_DlTTNj4w-Y2jiCTdLnUBf4bLBftBRl3GH7tZbyowcChQQ21xhlq0-o0KjZtIZH4no-hCXHAju1opOrp-m0OXX8hUWCyzlt8sorfHXYumgpJZVys-o0YGnPbSeejL_n8m_-GU041qWt2O-EblowG_U2TcBuKjlB8jrS_69V0Q6g" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgGtq6OiYl340WEBT-N7dGESSgh4WRLaO910susHEuuTBpTlIUVMnzMBgh_zzHAtXCeHVubYhJGzBy7R0PS-Hlc2jLPgMQQKwGBKr80hKX48-ht-R3RfBS57WxPYOKaNMkTs4jr4r_QFveoHaLgiI9PGgyuXBgB1JHk2ktCaaGqqNQdBZfzJkU1RW8Cwg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="500" height="111" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgGtq6OiYl340WEBT-N7dGESSgh4WRLaO910susHEuuTBpTlIUVMnzMBgh_zzHAtXCeHVubYhJGzBy7R0PS-Hlc2jLPgMQQKwGBKr80hKX48-ht-R3RfBS57WxPYOKaNMkTs4jr4r_QFveoHaLgiI9PGgyuXBgB1JHk2ktCaaGqqNQdBZfzJkU1RW8Cwg=w166-h111" width="166" /></a></div></div> It's 1961 and we had been visiting my grandparents, Florence and Scott Hilligoss in Boneventure Florida located just outside of Cocoa. Dad always had his vacation the first two weeks of July, but the time had sadly come to head back to Massachusetts.<div><br /><div>My three sisters and I hopped in the backseat of the new shiny black Ford, mom in the front seat with dad driving. But we had another making the trip home with us. In the back window was a box carefully sealed .<br />
<br />
Somewhere along the road we pulled over for gas. This is where my mom climbed into the backseat to stretch out and take a nap. My sister and I then climbed into the front seat. Slowly but surely all fell asleep, except for dad of course who still had control of the steering wheel. <br />
<br />
Suddenly, my sister was nudging me and telling me to stop it. "Stop what?" Touching my foot she complained. "I didn't touch your foot." Yes you did. We went back to sleep. When suddenly it happened again, and this time she was obviously mad and began yelling at me. Then she yelled in pain when something bit her toe.<br />
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Now all hell broke out in the car for the alligator in the box had escaped. This carnivorous beast was just waiting to pounce on my unsuspecting sister. It had to have crawled over my mother and two sisters in the back seat to get down to the floor to crawl under the front seat to reach my sisters feet. <br />
Now we pull our feet up on the front seat screaming.<br />
<br />
Dad pulls into a gas station and gets out to try and capture this beast which proved to be an impossible task. Fortunately, the gas station attendant, apparently a pro, appeared and grabbed the alligator as it was squirming around like a contortionist hissing with his mouth wide open exposing those sharp teeth. We found it had chewed a hole right through that cardboard box, so the gas station attendant gave us a wooden box so it would not escape again.<br />
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When we got home the person I bought it for wanted nothing to do with it. Can't blame him. So into the bathtub it went and we fed it hamburger. Finally, a boy I had dated a few times said he wanted the alligator and he took it home, thank goodness.<br />
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It wasn't long after he too decided this was not exactly a friendly pet. He told me he just let it loose somewhere. So if you ever hear about an alligator in the sewer, you know where it came from.<br />
<br /></div></div>Kathryn Smith Lockhardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239294110918121401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492739097573192331.post-25308619199650474262018-02-07T19:19:00.001-05:002021-01-16T10:39:11.300-05:00A Slave Named SamboIn 1755 there were 12 slaves in the town of Middleboro, MA. Rev. Peter Thatcher owned a slave by the name of Sambo who was imported from Africa.<br />
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A story is told of Sambo entering the home to see a fire in the oven. It scared him and he ran away. He was found later cold, tired and hungry and fearful of the wild animals that just might eat him. Sambo told the Rev. that in Africa when they got hungry they would kill a slave and cook him and eat him. Sambo said "I thought now my time."<br />
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Sambo went to church every Sunday and one day in church he was so moved by the sermon that he sobbed quite loudly disrupting the entire congregation.<br />
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(Story found in the records of NEHGS in Boston)Kathryn Smith Lockhardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239294110918121401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2492739097573192331.post-36700647768312448332017-10-29T22:01:00.001-04:002021-01-16T10:39:51.948-05:00Meeting Grandpa<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z_8xAJFhZWw/WH2D29SjSFI/AAAAAAAABlQ/oxycZuxkMCsu4q1dNsRgEocR12hX2HSmgCLcB/s1600/Kathy%2Bfinds%2Bher%2Bbirth%2Bgrandfather%2BWilliam%2BPhilip%2BRoesch.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z_8xAJFhZWw/WH2D29SjSFI/AAAAAAAABlQ/oxycZuxkMCsu4q1dNsRgEocR12hX2HSmgCLcB/s320/Kathy%2Bfinds%2Bher%2Bbirth%2Bgrandfather%2BWilliam%2BPhilip%2BRoesch.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kathy meets her grandfather for the first time <br />
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If she looks angry, she is. Just as she was asking her grandfather silently in thought, "Why didn't you care", totally oblivious to her surroundings, her husband snapped this picture .<br />
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Through my research, I learned he did care, very much. This knowledge made me and my mother less critical of him. <br />
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No, he wasn't perfect and he made personal mistakes, but then again no one is perfect. But a hard life during the depression does have a profound impact on people. Feelings of hopelessness, frustrations and failures I now know he endured.<br />
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Genealogy has a way of discovery that can and do heal wounds of the heart. Happy that I could bring some peace and understanding to my mother, allowing her to better understand her father.<br />
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Kathryn Smith Lockhardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10239294110918121401noreply@blogger.com0