Necessity is the Mother of Invention

 “Necessity is the mother of invention”, meaning, when the need for something becomes imperative.  That quote, author unknown, has guided men and women throughout history mostly for good, but sometimes for the bad.

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.

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.  

The only transportation at one time was the horse or horse and buggy.  So you had the blacksmith shops. Not only did they shoe horses, they forged tools, made agricultural implements, complex weapons and armor to simple things like nails.

Life hasn’t been easy over the generations.  Always you have the good and the bad affecting individuals. All it took was severe weather such as a drought, or hurricane and the farmer lost everything. That in turn affected the citizens.

In building new communities it was a necessity to hold more than one job, such as my own great grandfather.  His occupations included, citrus farming, Mayor, Postmaster, Volunteer fireman, owner of a newspaper, and the Tiger fence Company. (There was no Social Security)

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.  Political and financial factions affected our lives.  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 Economic Security Act was proposed and then before being enacted, Congress changed the name to the Social Security.

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.  Now mark the events in history where Necessity became the mother of invention”, in your family tree.

Menorcan Journey

                                                                 Menorca Cove

Menorcan Journey – Ancestor Jose Joaneda Floyd (Floid)

Jose Joaneda Floyd (Floid) was my 4^th great grandfather.  He was born in Ciudadella, Menorca, Spain in 1761. Minorca is a beautiful Island just off the coast of the Spanish mainland.

In 1766, 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.  Jose became known as Joseph.

They found the conditions were harsh and after much hardship and starvation they lost about half of their population. It was in 1776, Jose, now 16-years-old and with those that remained walked to St. Augustine, Florida for a better life.

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".

Jose married Isabel Maria Dewees on 21 July 1794 in St. Augustine, St. Johns County, Florida.
They had six children. Their first born was Catherine Theresa De Jesus Floyd, who married William Hall. Catherine is mother to Mary Virginia Murray/Hall who married John Carroll Houston III.  Jose died in St. Augustine, Florida in 1818 at the age of 58. 

Florida didn't become part of the United States until 1898, after the Spanish American War.

In 1980, the Menorcan Society was formed to promote the culture and heritage who left their home to make a new life in St. Augustine. 

St. Augustine celebrates every year the arrival of the Menorcan people with traditional tasty food, music, and dancing. People dress in period costume and have a parade of men and women riding on pure bred Spanish horses, the breed is known as Andalusian.

 

 Minorca, a small island in the mediterranean off the coast of Spain with great character.  Biosphere Reserve. Where the traditional Minnorcan way of life has not been swept away by mass tourism.  Small harbours, sheltered coves, quiet beaches.  Minorca, an island with a mysterious prehistoric past whose legacy can been seen over the whole island.  Caves, talaiots, taules...Minorca, the eternal face of the mediterranean.  Within reach.  All minorca's charms are never more than 40 Km away.

Minorca is such a small island that you can reach anywhere on the island in less than an hour.  From east to west, Minorca measures less than 50 km and at its widest the island only reaches 20km.  To the east lies Mahon, and to the West, Ciutadilla.  It seems to us that a whole world separates these two very different cities, but for mainlanders it's a short drive of never more than 45km. On Minorca, any point on the island is the "surroundings" of everywhere else, as the island only measures 700km.  So we can take a brief look at the whole of Minorca.  The whole island being, as it were, the "surroundings" of Fornells.

Mahon and Ciutadells polarise the island.  At present Mahon has 23,000 inhabitants and Ciutadella 19,000.  These are small towns, with a relaxed way of life.  Both of them have harbours and their histories are quite distinct, to the point of being antagonistic.  Ciutadella, the ancient capital, was the centre of Minorca until from the Middle Ages.  There we can find the old palaces, as you'd expect in home of of the nobility and church, Ciutadella being the seat of the Bishopric.  These beautiful and noble buildings can be seen today in the narrow streets of the centre, once surrounded by massive defensive walls.

 

 

 

Alligator In The Sewer

         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.

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 .

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.

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.

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.
Now we pull our feet up on the front seat screaming.

 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.

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.

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.

A Slave Named Sambo

In 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.

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."

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.

(Story found in the records of NEHGS in Boston)

Meeting Grandpa

Kathy meets her grandfather for the first time
 

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 .

Through my research, I learned he did care, very much.  This knowledge made me and my mother less critical of him.

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.

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.





Black Sheep Sunday - Murder Intent

It all started in Grant County, Wisconsin, when James read a newspaper story of a 14-year-old boy in a double slaying murdered a man and his wife. The story led him to set a plan in motion.

Sixteen-year-old James hid in the shadows as his father, Glen, age 46, a part-time County Deputy Sheriff was putting the family car in the garage.  His mother sat in the passenger seat. James pulled the trigger on a .22 caliber riffle shooting his father in the back of the head.  The slug fracturing his jaw. His mother suffered shock and was hospitalized with a nervous breakdown.

James was charged with intent to murder in the impulse shooting of his father and was held on a $15,000 bond.  His plea was innocent by reason of insanity in connection to the ambush.  Authorities planned to take him to the Mendota State Hospital for a mental evaluation.  He was found to be sane at the time of the shooting.  James then changed his plea to guilty.

James was sentenced to a term not to exceed six years.

Glen survived this brutal attack by his son and lived to the ripe old age of 93.



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The Lockhard Story

A brief history:

In early times this name was spelt "Locard" or Lokart." Like so many Scottish families, the Locards came from England there they were among those dispossed of lands by William the Conqueror. There were lands of Lockards (note name) near Penrith in the 12th century and later in Annandale, where the town of Lockerbie is said to be named after them. The family finally settled in Ayrshire and Lanarkshire, where they have held land for over 700 years.

The earliest paper in the family archives is a Charter of 1313. By this, Sir Symon Locard bound himself and his heirs to pay out of the lands of Lee and Cartland an annual rent of (franc) 10. Stephen Locard, grandfather of Sir Symon, founded the village of Stevenston in Ayrshire. His son, Symon, acquired lands in Lanarkshire and, like his father, called a village which he founded Symons Toun (today Symington) after himself. Symon, the 2nd of Lee won fame for himself and his family fighting alongside Robert the Bruce in the struggle for Scottish Independence. He was knighted for his loyal service. Sir Symon was among the knights, led by Sir James Douglas, who took Bruces heart on crusade in 1329 to atone for his murder of John Comyn in the church of Grefairs in 1306. The crusade was ended prematurely when Douglas was killed fighting the Moors in Spain, but to Commemorate the adventure and the honour done to the family, their name was changed from Locard to Lockheart, which afterwards became Lochhart. The heart within the fetterlock was from then on included in the arms of the family, and the dead is also commerated in the moto.

As well as a new name, the family gained a precious heirloom on the Crusade: the mysterious charm known as the Lee Penny. Sir Walter Scott used the story of its acquisition by the family as a basis for his novel, The Talisman. Sir Symon captured a Moorish Amir in battle in Spain and received from the man's mother as part of his ransom, an amulet or stone with healing powers. The Amir's mother told Sir Symon that the stone was a remedy against bleeding, fever, the bites of mad dogs and the sicknesses of horses and cattle. The amulet was later set in a silver coin which has been identified as a four penny piece of the reign of Edward IV. The coin is kept in a good snuffbox which was a gift from Maria Theresa, Empress of Austria, to her general, Count James Lockhart. Such was the believe in the amulet's powers that a descendant of Sir Symon, Sir James Lockhart of Lee, was charged with sorcery, an offense which could carry the death penalty. After examining the accused, the Synod of the Church of Scotland dismissed the case, because 'the custom in only to case a stone in some water and give densest cattle thereof to drink and the same is done without using any words such as charmers use in the unlawful practices and considering that in nature there are many things seem to work strange effects whereof no human wit can give reason it having pleast God to give the stones and herbs a special virtue for healing of many infirmities in man and beast.'

Alan Lockhart of Lee was killed at the Battle of Pinkie in 1547. Sir James Lockhart of Lee, born in 1596, was appointed a gentleman of the Privy Chamber of Charles I and was knighted. In 1646 he was appointed to the Supreme Court Bench, taking the title of 'Lord Lee.' A zealous royalist, he was captured at Alyth in 1651 and conveyed to the Tower of London.

His son, Sir William, who inherited the estates in 1777, also saw service on the Continent where he rose to be a county of the Holy Roman Empire, A Knight of the Order of Maria Theresa and a general of that empresses' imperial forces. The title Count became extinct when James's only son, Charles, died without issue (male child).

Although the family seat, Lee Castle, has been sold, the estates are still owned and managed by the present head of the family, Angus Lockhart of the Lee.

A Gang of Thiefs

In 1934 a child of age seven listens to adults talking, "He's nothing but a horse thief". What does that mean?  Fast forward to 2017. This child, my mother, is approaching 90 years of age. We had spoken many times over the years and yet  I couldn't find anything on this story.  I just came to conclusion it meant something like he was a bum, and forgot about it.

The "Horse Thief" was married to one of my great grandmother's sisters.  But which one could it be, Ada or Cora?  I knew the name of Cora's husband but had no idea who Ada had married.  That is until a few months ago when I was contacted by a person who claimed to be related to this family.  (Met another cousin)

I asked her about the rumor of a horse thief.  She quickly replied, no rumor, it's true, and she forwarded the newspaper articles, prison records and obits.

Ada "Addie" Eldridge, (1859-1934) my great aunt, married John J. Milliman, (1856-1935) a farmer and horse trader. They were from New York.

Here is that story:
May 24, 1879, Nunda News, Nunda, Allegany, NY

A Gang of Thief's Have Infested the Neighboring Towns. 

William Dunigan, Breman Cutler, John Dunigan and John Mess were arrested on the charge of larceny.  On the examination of the prisoners, evidence was brought out implicating the Milliman Brothers. John, Jim and Myron of Loon Lake. They were arrested and taken to jail.

The first men arrested turned states evidence, naming John Milliman, the leader of the gang. John was charged with grand larceny, found guilty and sentenced to three years to Auburn prison.

Myron Milliman was sentenced to Buffalo work-house for seven months and fined $150. His brother Jim was fined $50 and four months in the same place.

The article ended saying:  It is to be devoutly hoped that the bringing of the outlaws to justice will break up the gang which has for years been a terror to the law abiding citizens of this and neighboring counties.

Note:  Through all this, Ada stayed true to John.

Remembering Babunia

     Antonia  Chicanowicz, a Polish woman, was born in Vilna, Russia in 1894.  From 1795 to 1918 the area was under the Imperial Russian Rule and it had a strong grip on the Polish people.  They were not allowed to speak Polish on the streets and the stores could only post signs in the Russian language. 

Russia during this time was made up of Lithuanians, Jews and Pols.  All three were striving for cultural domination. The languages spoken were Yiddish, Polish, and Lithuanian.  The man she would eventually marry, John Kopcych, was also born in Vilna, Russia in 1892 and immigrated to America in 1910, at the age of 18, due to the strong hand of Russian rule and cultural unrest and most assuredly searching for a better life.

At the start of WWI in 1914, at the age of 20, Antonia immigrated to America.  It was here that she married John Kopcych and together purchased land on Hayward Place, in Bridgewater, Massachusetts and began a life of farming.  Their first child was a daughter, Stella born in 1916 followed by another daughter, Mary Rose born in 1917.  A son Anthony was born in 1919 known to me as Uncle Tony for he married my father's sister, Bertha. Their fourth and last child, a son, was named Joseph after John’s father.

I came to know Antonia, a widow, at this time, who now lived in her home next door to us on our left.  Her home was built on land owned by her son Anthony, a/k/a Tony. We called her Babunia, which is grandma in Polish. She made great cookies.  I remember sneaking one from her kitchen as a child.

She loved her booze and did imbibe a little too much at times.  I remember her picking up about a two foot long log from her wood pile that she kept for her wood stove and then carry it out to the edge of the street and set it on end. Being a stout woman, she would firmly plant herself down upon the log with feet set apart on the ground for balance and yell “hey” as she waved to the cars as they drove by. A practice we saw more than once, that we found somewhat humorous.

It is believed that a wood stove caused her home to catch fire.  Her son, my Uncle Tony, lived in the house next door to us on our right. 

In the middle of the night, my father's cousin, Eddie, who lived two houses down, woke my parents by banging on their bedroom window.  My mother was startled and screamed for the reflection from the fire made it look like our house was on fire. 

Tony ran through our backyard and toward his mother's home. In an attempt to save her he broke the windowpane with his fist in an attempt to reach her. He believed he heard her scream for help. It was a valiant effort in futility for the house was totally engulfed and the flames much too hot.  Tony sliced his hand open on the glass and was bleeding heavily.  Knowing he was not able to save his mother, he walked over to our house leaving a trail of blood though the white snow.  My mother, while sitting on the back steps, wrapped his hand in a towel to stop the bleeding as the fire trucks, ambulance and police arrived.

Sadly, Antonia died in that fire in 1955, most likely from smoke inhalation as she slept.  I was eleven years old as I looked out our living room window at all the activity and the night air red with fire.  I watched as she was taken away in a black body bag. 

Only the foundation of her home remained.  It stayed that way for decades as weeds and trees grew hiding the caving foundation cement walls before the land was sold and a new house was built.

DNA LEAP

DNA has become the hot topic of conversation these days. You see it advertised on television just about every day where people express being surprised to find they were part Native American.  Still another was surprised to find out they weren't German after all but actually Irish. 

I decided that I don't need to do my DNA.  I'd been doing genealogy and researching my lineage for so many years that I was sure I knew exactly who I was.  My maternal side led me to Germany, Scotland, Ireland with a little bit of Spanish thrown in there. Dad's side took me to England over to the Netherlands and the Mayflower brought me to the new land called Plymouth.  Have Irish on dad's side too. I also found some French and few other European countries. Seems that people crossed the border to find their spouse, what a surprise.  So why spend money doing my DNA when I already knew all the answers?

Should I be so cocky as to think I know it all?  What if I am missing something?  The advertising pressure had become just to tempting and bringing some doubt to mind.  So what do I do?  I broke out my piggy bank and ordered a DNA kit through Ancestry; on sale of course.

It arrived fairly quickly.  I opened the small box, read and followed the instructions to the letter. Thank goodness I didn't have to pee in a bottle.  I mailed it in the next day and was told to expect an answer in about six weeks. Now I had more time than I cared to, to wonder and worry about what I might find out about me.  Has anyone ever been shocked or disappointed about what they learned I wondered. 

To my surprise the results returned in about two weeks.  Oh boy, here we go as I nervously began reading the results.   And guess what?  I really did know who I was. I am 59% European, 31% Irish and 6% Scottish.  The only new information I found enlightening were the percentages.

The great part of this whole story is that for nine days this past early summer I was privileged to go on an Avalon Cruise down the Rhine River.  This nine day journey took me back to where my western European roots began, Switzerland, France, Germany and the Netherlands.  In Germany I came to within 150 miles from where my 3rd gr grandfather, Mathias Roesch, lived along the foothills of the Black Forest. I fell in love with beautiful Germany.  A journal was my constant companion writing diligently every day and took over 200 pictures to make sure I would remember it all.  It was the most meaningful, wonderful, fulfilling and heartwarming journey of my life.

So go ahead, take the DNA leap, you may be surprised by what you learn.