Week #3 of 52 Ancestors: Philip Joseph Sullivan (1911-1969)

First, let me just effuse about what a good exercise this is! By writing about an ancestor I take a critical look at what I've gathered so far. Things I may have neglected for years look completely fresh and I am inspired to search in the many databases that have been created since I last investigated. I find this preferable to starting over completely.

I get a lot of clients looking for Sullivans. And Sullivans, in Boston or anywhere, are tough to research. There are billions of them and they all used the same eight names. Jeremiah Sullivan is a popular one--nickname Jerry. The client I was working on today had a Jeremiah Jerome Sullivan, aka Jerry Jerry Sullivan!

Today's subject, Philip Joseph O'Sullivan, was my father's first cousin. He was the son of my grandmother Annie Josephine [O']Sullivan's brother, Jeremiah Sullivan, and his wife Roseanne Dunn. While he may not be in my direct line, I love him for two reasons.

First, he was born in New Zealand. Long ago I found in the 1920 and 1940 censuses that his place of birth was NZ. At first I thought it must be an enumerator error, but it wasn't, because his death certificate confirmed it [Mass. VRS, deaths, 1969, Arlington, 2:208]. Then a few months ago I stumbled upon an index to NZ births online, and couldn't resist, so I sent away for his birth certificate. So now, if I go on vacation to New Zealand, I have as a destination: Khyber Pass Road, Newmarket. I like that it provides his parents' ages, AND gives Rose's county of birth as Roscommon as well. I have read that many people from the Milltown area in County Kerry emigrated to New Zealand.

New Zealand, Registrar of Births, Deaths & Marriages, birth certificate, Philip Joseph O’Sullivan, reg. n. 1911006915, 

26 May 1911, Khyber Pass Road, Newmarket, son of Jerry O’Sullivan, 31, b. Co. Kerry and Rose Dunn, 30, 

b. Roscommon; issued 3 November 2014.

I have not seen any evidence that he ever married, and he was single in 1940 when living with his father Jeremiah and siblings in Somerville, working as general job man. I just noticed that for his brother Thomas the enumerator wrote that he had filed his first papers ("Pa"), yet he was born in Massachusetts.

1940 US census, Middlesex County, Massachusetts, Somerville, Ward 7, ED 106, sheet 61A,
1256 Broadway, household n. 61, Jeremiah Sullivan; Ancestry.com (http://www.ancestry.com : accessed 19 January 2015).

The second reason I love him is that he was naturalized. My grandparents came in the late nineteenth century and never bothered, probably hoping to return to Ireland some day. I wonder if World War II had anything to do with him filing his Declaration of Intention.

There are a few interesting tidbits in this file.

• He arrived in Boston on 12 June 1913 from Queenstown on the SS Cymric, so his parents must have returned to Ireland before coming here.
• He officially changed his surname from O'Sullivan to Sullivan. 
• He claimed to be a chemist!
• Some time after coming to Boston he lived in Milltown, his mother's Irish home townland. 
• He was still not married and had no children in 1942.
• He had blue eyes, black hair, and was 5'7.
• He gained ten pounds between 1939 (140 lbs.) and 1942 (150 lbs.).
• Witnesses were Edward F. Woods and John E. O'Brien.

Even better, his paperwork had a photograph!

United States District Court, Boston, Suffolk, Massachusetts, Declaration of Intention, Philip Joseph Sullivan, n. 282025 (red stamp), n. 146348 (printed in black), certificate, n. 5554477, issued 3 August 1942; NARA, Waltham, Massachusetts, received 30 August 2012.

Sadly, my first cousin once removed died without us meeting. He was only 58 when he died on 1 June 1969. Somewhere in a pile in my office is the transcription I made of his death, listing the cause. I imagine he had a hard, lonely life, ping-ponging between continents, working variously as a longshoreman or shipper (or chemist?) I just hope he managed to find a little joy and love along the way.

Apology to the Seven-Year Veteran I Insulted on Boston Common Today

Today at a parade I unintentionally did something hurtful. It took me a few minutes to realize it but now I feel awful about it and first want to examine how it happened, then apologize to the universe for my unthinking response.

Why I Should Know Better

I perform two kinds of genealogy research: traditional and forensic. Forensic cases usually have some kind of legal implication and include sub-categories like probate heir search, dual citizenship, oil and gas mineral rights, and military repatriation. I focus on military repatriation and dual citizenship. When I mention that I've done repatriation cases for the US Army people congratulate me and tell me what a great thing I do. But I'm not in the military. I don't deserve any praise. Their thanks is misplaced, but that's okay--I know what they mean. Like I am, they are glad that we are returning the remains to the families and paying tribute to the service of their loved ones. I feel honored to work on these cases, and they leave me with a feeling of satisfaction that other genealogy work sometimes does not.

Why I Shouldn't Have Done It

I think a lot about the trauma servicemen and women have suffered: the PTSD, difficulties re-integrate into society and trying to quiet their minds. War is godawful and nightmarish, and none of us can really understand what they go through. I get that. I thought I was sensitive to it. So imagine my horror today when I pretty much laughed off someone suffering from PTSD. 

I went into Boston to attend June Day, the parade and election ceremony of the Ancient and Honorable Artillery Company, the oldest chartered military organization in the US. They hold Drumhead--a ceremony where they tally their election results on the head of a drum, as it was done in 1638. This year's honored guests were the Honourable Artillery Company of London. There were servicemen everywhere, proudly marching in uniform, wielding flags, beating drums, looking impressive. And there were historical re-enactors about as well. Tourists, schoolchildren, and crusty Bostonian curmudgeons alike stopped and watched as they all filed from Faneuil Hall to the Boston Common.

As the parade passed, several of the units paused to shoot volleys into the air and they were LOUD. And SUDDEN. And there was lots of SMOKE in the air. My first thought was of the victims of last year's Boston Marathon bombings. Wouldn't this make them nervous? What must it be like for people who have suffered to suddenly be in a situation just like one that hurt them? It's not like today is Memorial Day or the Fourth of July. Who's ever heard of the Ancient and Honorable Military Company anyway? As the kids would say, it was so "random." So I did think about it, but apparently not for long enough.

As we hurried along to get to the spot on the Common where they would celebrate the Drumhead I overhead two men talking. One of them said, very animatedly, "They should tell people! I came out of Walmart and almost hit the deck!" He was sort of smiling and I thought he was just being funny. I found this highly amusing. How could they tell everyone? We had just been discussing how poorly advertised this event was, and what a shame that was no one knew what it was for.

At that precise moment it did not occur to me that this, right in front of me, was PTSD in action. Despite his demeanor, he was shaken. I guess in my imagination I thought he would be shaking or crying or freaking in some way, but he was just excitedly telling his friend. His body language did not indicate distress. So I told a few of the ladies about it, saying "Oh, how could they tell everyone? Isn't that cute? They couldn't even publicize it for people who were dying to know about it" sort of thing. The guy, still not annoyed or looking at all traumatized, then came up to me and said, "You have to understand, this affects me because I did seven years over there." WHAM. Oh. These guys are tough. They don't necessarily collapse in a heap when they are upset about something. His way of dealing with it was to tell his friend, and I guess even that is a stretch for some people. I just didn't recognize it for what it was. Once he actually told me I was appalled, of course. Here I thought I was so sensitive to the issue, and still didn't see if for what it was.

I can only hope that my moment of stupidity has served to bridge that gap and that I will never unthinkingly assume everyone around me comes from the same place of safety and peace that I do. Mr. Seven-Year Vet, I'm so sorry. I hope for you that the beauty and pride of this ceremony, and the acknowledgement of gratitude to servicemen like you that was expressed over and over today will help mend your pain.

I feel strongly that the US does not currently take good care of our veterans. Basically, the VA system is irreparably broken and it costs too much to hand out insurance to every vet. No one wants to pay for it because, hello, that payment would come in the form of taxes, and many Americans seem to think no cause is worthwhile if it can only be paid for with taxes. The servicemen I research are deceased, but these returning vets are alive. We can show them our gratitude by taking care of their wounded bodies and souls and helping them heal. 

A Weigher and Inspector of Bundled Hay: Job Description

Courtesy
Wikipedia Commons

Service on the Old Colony Railroad began in November 1845 with a route from Boston to Plymouth, Massachusetts. The South Shore Railroad opened a line to Cohasset on January 1, 1849, bringing it very close to my ancestors' hometown of Scituate. Initially there were three round trips a day, running through from Cohasset to Boston, making for a very easy commute. The trains opened up a whole new world to people who had for generations been farmers and mariners.

My great great grandfather, Israel Merritt Barnes, was the first in the family to take advantage of the proliferation of industry and commerce, coupled with the convenience of train transport, to seek out white collar work in Boston. His experience on the farm stood him well, as he was appointed Inspector and Weigher of Bundle Hay in Boston for many years running, from at least 1847 to 1889.

“The Boston and Lowell, the Eastern and the Fitchburg Railroad Company passenger depot on Causeway Street, ca. 1860-75,” digital photograph collection of the Boston Historical Society, web archive, The Bostonian Society (http://rfi.bostonhistory.org [search terms “Fitchburg Railroad”] : accessed 3 August 2008).

Here is a contemporaneous job description that brings to life the duties Israel bore. The position of Inspector and Weigher of Bundle Hay is described in The General Statutes of Massachusetts of 1859, below. [William A. Richardson and George P. Sanger, ed., The General Statues of the Commonwealth of Mass enacted December 28, 1859 to take effect June 1, 1860, second ed. (Boston: Commonwealth of Massachusetts, 1873); Googlebooks (http://books.google.com/books using search terms inspector+hay+aldermen : accessed 18 July 2008); See under “1847, 246, § 6. HAY.”]

SECT. 72.... The mayor and aldermen and selectmen may from time to time appoint, for a term not exceeding one year, some person or persons to have the superintendence of the hay scales belonging to their place, who shall weigh hay offered for sale therein, and any other article offered to be weighed. ... 

SECT. 76. Pressed hay offered for sale shall be branded upon the crate enclosing it with the first letter of the Christian name and the whole of the surname of the person packing and screwing or otherwise pressing said hay, and with the name of the city or town and state where the hay is pressed. 

SECT. 77. Pressed hay offered for sale without being so branded shall be forfeited, one-half to the person or persons prosecuting therefor and the other half to the use of the city or town where the same is so offered for sale, and may be seized and libeled... 

SECT. 80. Bales or bundles of hay so inspected which are found to be sweet, of good quality, and free from damage or improper mixture, shall be branded or marked No. 1. Bales or bundles found to be sweet, and free from damage or improper mixture, but consisting of hay of a secondary quality, shall be branded or marked No. 2. Bales or bundles found to be wet, or in any way damaged, or which shall contain straw or other substances not valuable as hay, shall be branded or marked bad. Each bale or bundle so inspected shall be branded or marked with the first letter of the Christian name and the whole of the surname of the inspector, and the name of the place for which he is inspector, together with the month and year when inspected, and also the net weight of the bundle. 

SECT. 81. Each inspector shall furnish himself with proper scales, weights, seals, and other suitable instruments, for the purposes aforesaid.

“Big Hay Baler” [Jean Campbell Winchell (http://www.cardington-ohio-heritage.com/ cardington.html : accessed 25 August 2008); Jean kindly granted me permission to reproduce this photo in an email of 26 August 2008. It depicts some of her ancestors in early 1900 Ohio.]

The Boston Daily Atlas Local Intelligence column mentions, on 11 August, 1847, under Municipal Affairs, a “Remonstrance of Nathaniel Vinal and others, against the appointment of dealers in bundle hay, as inspectors and weighers thereof.” [“Local Intelligence, Municipal Affairs,” The Boston [Massachusetts] Daily Atlas, 11 August 1847, vol. XVI; iss. 35, p. 2; Readex, a division of Newsbank, “America’s Historical Newspapers,”online database linked to original images (accessible at public libraries : accessed June 2008).] Nathaniel Vinal was Israel's uncle, and I wonder if he was perhaps working at that time to get his nephew Israel appointed by trying to eliminate some of the competition?

A notice dated 2 November that same year, also in the Boston Daily Atlas announces: “At a meeting of the Board of Aldermen... Appointments – Israel M. Barnes, weigher and inspector of bundle hay.” A clue to his potential earnings is contained earlier in the same notice where it states: “John R. Bardford, Hay Weigher of the Northern District, submitted his report, that he had received, during the quarter ending Oct. 31, as fees for weighing hay, straw, $586.75, fifty per cent, of which ($293.37) has been paid to the City Treasurer.” [“Local Intelligence,” Boston Daily Atlas , 2 November 1847, issue 106, col. D, online subscription database linked to original images, NEHGS, “19th Century U. S. Newspapers,” (http://www.newenglandancestors.org : accessed 22 August 2008).] 

Some papers I inherited [I call them the Barnes Family Papers] contain a note dated March 17, 1852, City Hall, that is addressed to Israel M. Barnes, Esq., Causeway off Endicott Street, [Boston], in which he has “been appointed by the Mayor and Aldermen as Inspector and Weigher of Bundle Hay.” [Aldermen, City of Boston to Israel M. Barnes, Esq., letter announcing appointment to Inspector of Hay 1852; Barnes Family Papers.] The note was sent to his work address, near the train stations where the hay was being transported to from the rural areas. Today that area is the home of Boston’s TD Banknorth sporting arena.

Map Of Boston, 1872, After The Latest Surveys With All The Improvements In Progress (Boston: L. Prang & Co, 1872); digitized map; David Rumsey Map Collection (http://www.davidrumsey.com/maps770059-22765.html : accessed 2 August 2008); plan of East Boston, detail of Causeway Street.

Israel continued to serve as Inspector of Bundle Hay for many years, at least to 1889. He consistently appears in city directories, census, and vital records as Inspector or Inspector of Hay up to and including his death. He was a colorful character and I love to imagine him wielding his influence in the loud and dusty city.

Lost Souls of Children

Yesterday my historian pal, Harry, called to tell me his cousin had discovered a previously unknown baby buried in their family plot. Little Betty Richardson apparently lived about three years (1931-1934), had no gravestone and was not known to the family. She was born, died and disappeared. Harry and I discussed how this makes us want to visit her little grave and acknowledge her existence. Somehow we want to mark the fact that she ever walked the earth. It makes death seem a little less harsh if we imagine our memory outliving us, but how long can the memory of a three-year old live on? Once her parents are gone, who is there to perpetuate her memory? So today I await the outcome of a search for her parents in the Worcester City Clerk's office. But I don't even really need to know who her parents were. I just want to lay a Christmas rose upon her grave and mark the fact that she spent time on this earth, poor little soul.

My own family has a similar lost soul. My grandmother and mother, both genealogists, passed down to me that Israel Merritt Barnes (Senior) and his wife Olive Litchfield suffered a wait of 16 years after their daughters’ deaths before they welcomed another child –– Israel Jr. This was the reason that Israel Jr. was grew up to be so spoiled and squandered any money the family had managed to accumulate––he was just overly loved.

Israel and Olive had married in 1840. They first had Hannah E. Barnes on 7 June 1841. Then on on 18 October 1843 they welcomed another girl, Mandana Clapp Barnes. Both little girls died within eight days of one another in July of 1844, when they were 3 (of dysentery) and less than 1 (of bowel complaint). No further known children were born to this couple until 1861, when my great grandfather, Israel Merritt Barnes II (Junior), was born. This was twenty years after the birth of his parents' first child, and seventeen since they had lost their only children. They must have been elated at his birth! Israel Junior grew up in privilege, went on to speculate with the family fortune, and earned the moniker of "spoiled." At least there was a reason for his being pampered. One can understand his parents' grief and longing for more children, and commiserate a bit with their propensity to spoil a long-awaited child.

Israel Merritt Barnes II (Junior), only surviving child of
Israel Merrit Barnes I (Senior) and Olive (Litchfield) Barnes

Israel Junior, the spoiled one, was the father-in-law of our first known family genealogist––my grandmother, Vernetta. She passed her hobby and passion down to my mother, who, in turn passed it down to me. Many years passed and it came time for me to write a kinship determination project for my certification portfolio. I re-examined every family unit, in fact, every individual in my family tree, and while doing so, came across something I used to routinely ignore.

Online family trees, which rarely cite sources, can contain many errors. They should be used, if at all, only as a springboard for potential research. But occasionally they can open up a new avenue and provide insight into an undiscovered gem. Because of an online family tree I discovered another child of Israel and Olive. Ancestry World Tree (AWT) shows the birth of Webster, son of Israel M. and Olive (Litchfield) Barnes in Scituate on 12 January 1855, and a death in January 1855.

What????? They had another child? What made her say that? How many years after the deaths of the girls was this? Eleven. How old was Olive? Thirty-five. Why had we not heard of this???? Unknown. And this is six years before Israel Junior was born!

I was quite sure it was some strange kind of error. However, I checked the source, and it was from the daughter of a woman who had grown up on the same street as my mother, the street I lived on until I was two. How on earth did she know this when my mother and grandmother hadn't? So I contacted her. She told me she had found the information in her mother's notes and that her mother was now suffering from senility. [Robin Hayes, redwhittrobin@aol.com, family tree submission, Ancestry World Tree (http://www.ancestry.com : August 12 2007), citing GEDCOM file : 2800260.ged, 10 May 2004; gives a birthdate of 12 January 1855 in Scituate, and death there January 1855. When contacted, the submitter, revealed that the information was from notes written by her mother, Polly (Sylvester) Whittaker, a Scituate genealogist suffering now from senility. She was a friend of the Barnes family, though born much later than the birth of Webster, probably about 1920 or so. There could be reasons for a friend of the family to note the birth, as valid as any reasons for the Barnes family not to note it.]

I needed corroboration, so off to genealogybank.com I went. A newspaper announcement indirectly confirmed Webster's birth through a death notice. Sadly, he too, like his sisters before him, had died young and left his parents to grieve once more.

“Deaths,” Boston Press and Post, 4 June 1855, online subscription database linked to original images; GenealogyBank.com (http://www.GenealogyBank.com : accessed 1 March 2008).

There is no trace of either the birth or death of this baby in Boston City, Town of Scituate or Massachusetts state vital records. I searched for all Barnes babies born in 1855 across the state; all unnamed Barnes boys in 1855, all children named Webster. He has never been mentioned in the family genealogies. There is no gravestone for him at Mt. Hope Cemetery where his parents are buried. However, at the time of his death there was a Barnes/Vinal family tomb in which he could have been interred. To date, no records have been discovered for that tomb which is located directly across the street from the homestead. The Scituate Town Archives has a recent survey of cemeteries that mentions this tomb, but does not list who is buried there. When my 62-year old brother played there as a child the bodies had already been carried off, whether by animals or grave-robbers, we'll never know.

The newspaper announcement led in turn to a search of the records of the Unitarian Church in Scituate, which say: “June 1st, Infant child of Israel M. Barnes, 8 days.” [“Records of the First Church of Christ in Scituate, Mass.,” p. 97, Deaths, 1855; Scituate Town Archives.]

So now we have a conflict in dates. Two June 1855 sources, and a much later source. I go with the contemporaneous source (almost) every time, so I'm placing my money on little Webster dying on 1 June at eight days, and thus having a birth date of 24 May 1855. It is easy enough to mis-copy Jan. for Jun. The only place where he is named is in the newspaper article and the Ancestry World Tree entry, not in the family or church records.

These sources cannot be refuted, even though the birth and death never appear in official town or state records. There was no other couple named Israel M. and Olive L. Barnes in Massachusetts, especially in Scituate, at that time. There would be no other reason for this notice to be printed, no incentive to lie about such a sad event. Yet there are a multitude of reasons not to have the birth and death registered. If the child had been frail, they may have waited to report his birth. Since he passed away at only eight days, then the birth and death could in a way negate each other and the grief-stricken family may not have had the energy or inclination to bother with a simultaneous registration of birth and death. On the other hand, justification can be made for the minister and neighbors taking note of the events, as they were more subjective.

Scituate was a small town, a tight community where everyone knew everyone else's business. Thankfully, one of those neighbors took note of the birth of little Webster. If I could only locate his grave, I'd visit him with a Christmas rose, but in the meantime, I'll focus my energies on Betty Richardson.

Back to School in 1867

The smell of schoolbooks and new shoes is in the air and that can only mean "Back to School!" I imagine there was just as much September excitement 150 years ago as there is today. My great-grandfather, Israel Merritt Barnes Jr., or II (there would eventually be four IMBs), was born in 1861 and I am lucky enough to be the caretaker of some of his school papers.

Little Israel attended school in Boston and his doting parents saved some of his papers. One card, dated only Saturday, 1867, and addressed to Issi Barns, is from a Boston Primary School: “A card of approbation awarded to Issi Barns for Industry, Good Conduct, and Punctuality, during the past week,” and signed by A. J. Baker. Israel would have been 6 years old in September of that year––a first grader. I'm glad to see that even that long ago teachers recognized that approval is a wonderful motivator.

Another card reads; “Reward Card, Maxim: Patience is a remedy for every affliction,” and on the reverse the teacher has written, “To Issie Barnes, A persevering boy, May 22nd, 1869. C. A. Robbins.” All I can say to that is "Awwwww!" 

A series of weekly reports show Israel's grades at the Chauncy-Hall School, a boys school founded in 1828, which eventually merged with two other schools and is still in existence. It was originally located on what is now the site of Macy's in Boston's Downtown Crossing. The school's website says that it "trained the children of wealthy Bostonians for careers in business, and later prepared students to attend Harvard, MIT and other prestigious colleges. Chauncy Hall was known for its many innovations in education, including using literature for reading lessons..."


His 1872 report cards reflect a well behaved young man who attended regularly and scored above average in most classes, usually receiving a 5.5-6.0 on a scale of 7, which was given “only for extraordinary merit.” A grade of 4 was “merely passable.” Some of the subjects he was graded on when he was still ten years old: Reading, Spelling, Writing, Grammar, Geography, History, French, Latin, Arithmetic, Natural History, Defining, Declamation, Deportment, and Attendance. Four reports from 1873, spanning the entire year, show more variation. What a difference a year makes in the life of a child. He received many more 7’s: in arithmetic, defining, geometry, and algebra; but also one 3 in deportment, about which the teacher noted on the back, “If no other low mark is incurred this shall be excluded.” I wonder what he was up to? This sort of report is all-too familiar to this mother of three boys. "I didn't do anything!"

In 1875 he participated in Chauncy Hall’s 47th Annual Exhibition at the Boston Music Hall. Better students were asked to participate in a show of readings, declamations and singing, and Israel Jr. was chosen to read “Man as a Processionist.” It is hard to imagine the children enjoying this exhibition, as among other things, they were required to sit through both the triumphal march and the finale from Wagner’s opera, Lohengrin. I'm sure they at least learned patience, if not a love of opera. I found a timeline of the school which tells us that it was one of the first to provide "apparatus for physical exercise." In addition, around the start of the Civil War they organized school companies for martial drill and parade. Israel was not yet a student.

Israel completed his schooling by graduating from Boston English High School in 1877, a few months shy of his sixteenth birthday. Wikipedia says that it was founded in 1821, the first public high school in America, to provide an education for working class boys, giving them training in business, mechanics, and trades. At that time the school was located right next door to Boston Latin High School, which, on the other hand, prepared boys for college, the ministry and other scholarly pursuits. The two schools have a healthy rivalry, and their boys have competed in football against one another every Thanksgiving since 1887! Israel was a big fellow, but I don't know if he played football for them.

It is comforting to me at this time of year to think about all of the students returning to school, just as their parents and grandparents did. One thing I'm sure of is that if I could travel in time, the kids would seem the most familiar aspect of anything I could find. Human nature hasn't changed much. I bet half of the mothers cried, half did a happy dance when their little scholars went off in September, just as they do now!

Treasure Chest Thursday - 1858 Letter from California!

As far as I can tell, my Barnes ancestors didn't much like travel. Apart from the immigrant ancestor, Thomas Barns, who came from Hingham, Norfolk, England in about 1636 to Hingham, Massachusetts, they stayed put. Oh, our branch (Joseph Barnes) left Hingham and went to Scituate about 1800: a distance of no more than five miles.

Joseph's youngest son was my great-great grandfather, Israel Merritt Barnes [I] (1820-1892). He always had his eye out for money: investing in stocks, racehorses and who knows what else. He was the first commuter in our family, riding the Old Colony Railroad back and forth from Boston to his mother's farm in Scituate. He served as Weigher and Inspector of Bundled Hay in Boston for many years running. He and Olive Litchfield (the dour one) were married in 1840, and by the time the Gold Rush came around, he and Olive had already had two little girls and lost them both to an intestinal ailment. They had another son, Webster, who they lost at only 8 days, in 1855. In 1858 he received the letter below which I have transcribed. I just wonder if by the time he received it he wasn't tempted to chuck in the towel and flee. Did he discuss it with Olive? Did he remain unimpressed? Did he perhaps go out to visit his enthusiastic friend? I wonder how hard he thought about it. When we look back on past events we don't often think about the thousands of decisions everyone made which constantly directed the course of their lives. I get the feeling that Israel adored Olive and perhaps he did not want to subject her to too much stress, while they were still hoping for children. In any case, they did not leave Massachusetts. Their only surviving child, my great grandfather, Israel Merritt Barnes [II] was born in Scituate in 1861.

Transcription 

San Francisco, June 19, 1858

I believe I promised to write you. when I got to the

land of gold. I should written you the last mail but I felt

So bad on account of the Death of our little Lillie that I

could not Write. I Suppose you had the news by my letter

of last mail to the National House. I find the Boys doing

well and living in good Stile. They drive a good Horse and

carriage. which cost one thousand dollars. they keep House 

Separately they pay $50 dollars each for House Rent pr

Month and pay $30 dollars pr month for hired Girls they 

have two girls each. their family expenses is about

three hundred dollars each per month making Six

hundred pr month for their families expence besi[des?--- ripped]

Clothing and other expences which we Should think

rather high at home...

... I went down by Stage

to San Jose last Friday June 11th a place about fifty miles

from San Francisco. to See the country and Such crops I

never See before, we passed fields of grain Wheet Barley

and oats. Such fields as I never Saw before but have

herd of them the whole distance was covered with crops as

far as the eye could See we drove through fields for Mils

whare there was no fence only the road run through thousan[cut off]

of acres of grains and Such grain you neve See it was as

high as my Sholders and as thick as it could Stand

the whole valley is a complete granary without a tree in

Sight the Soil three feet deep and the climate here 

is just rite for grain and patatoes fruits and all kinds

of vegetables we get the Sea [pecan??] here in the Summer

which makes it much cooler than it is farther back

into the country. I also Saw Many young orchards 

and Grape fields. Some as large as one hundred ackers

it is the greatest place for grapes you ever herd of

there is manny men that make thousands of Gallons of

grape Wine I saw one farm whare the man Sold eight thousend

dollars worth of Wine last year and Six thousand dollars worth

of Peaches. he also had one hundred ac[k overwritten to r]es of young orchard he

thought he should have four hundred Bhl of Apples this

year and the largest tree is not bigger then your rist. Apples

ware worth last year 25 ct pr bb. every thing is Sold here by the

Pound. the Man had Six hunderd ackes in his farm he Kept

four hundred head of cattle they live the whole year without

feeding which does not cost any thing to raise them and

Cows are worth from Sixty to one hundred dollars a piece

Some extra[s] fetch as high as one hundred and fifty Hiram

has got one that he paid $125 dollars for. and other cattle

in proportion. there is a place across the bay here about

Seven miles whare a ferry boat runs which I think

of locating it is a beautiful place they came a plenty

of Strawburys than I have Seen many fields from ten

to thirty ackes [corrected to acres] many men do no other business than to

attend to raising Strawburys for the market many 

men clear ten thousand dollars a year off of twenty

acres of Strawburys the Boys Say that if I will go over

ther and build a good House and have raise a plenty of

Poltry and garden Stuff that they will come and board

with me they Say that they will pay me one hundred and

fifty dollars a month for each family which will make

three hundred a month for both families. and then I Shall

go into the Stock ranch business Some

I think can make money much faster then I can

at home for it does not cost anything to raise Stock

here only you have to hire a man to watch them and take

care of them. the Boys Say if I will try it one year and

if I do not like it they will take my property and

pay me the money and let me go home if I wish. they

think me a little home Sick., perhaps I am Some what

different from Some folks about leaving home and Friends.

When I think of my old home the land of my hearth the

many Friends I have left behind, and think the many

miles that Sepperate [interlined us] the mighty ocean between us. I Say

Some times when meditating all alone uppon the many happy

ours I have Spent with Friends at home. my Heart leaps

to be free again uppon my native [interlined soil and] country at home with

my old friends again. well I have made up my mind to

Stay one year and try the winter Season. as well as Summer

perhaps I Shall like better then at home. I think at any

rate I Shall come home on a visit in a few years unless

you all come out here. I think you had better come out

here and go into the Stock ranch business with me

we can make fifty thousand [interlined dollars] a piece in five years

and then go back to Boston and [??] if we do not like this

place. you prommised to write me up I would you now I

want you to write me all about things and all about

the National House how my friend Stackpole gets along

if he is a prospering well and making money. if

he does not prosper I may have to come home and take

the House again. but I think he will make money

there if any one can. now be Sure and write me and I

will write you again and let you know how I am

prospering. I am getting 2 pr cet for what money I have [S--?]

about Six thousand dollars (I mean 2 pr cent) a month

Mical Tubbs

Cousin Frank's Violin

My mother kept her ironing basket in a laundry closet right outside my bedroom door when I was very young. I loved it because it also held her most treasured personal keepsakes: fancy gloves (which she never wore); costume jewelry; letters from her pen pal; and buried at the back under wrinkled dress shirts and aprons, an ancient violin. When I wouldn't go down for a nap, she would sit by the closet and fuss around with her things while I eavesdropped from my crib. Hearing her rustling set off my imagination and usually did the trick. 

Once in a blue moon I'd awaken from my nap with questions about the violin. She would pull it out with solemn reverence and open the battered case. The strings were broken, the finish dull, and it had a musty smell that could knock a three-year old girl right over. She probably initially brought it out just to humor me, but I wasn't allow to touch it! Here was this beat-up old violin and she wouldn't let me fiddle with it, literally! I would get frustrated that it couldn't be played and I think because of that shunned it when later in life I chose to play the flute instead. 

As I grew up, we'd occasionally pull it out on days when absolutely nothing was going on: probably in the highest heat of summer. What I remember most is that I could see she had really loved playing it when she was young. She had been tutored in music by her "Cousin Frank," who I had always thought was a Jones relative (her mother's maiden name) from Lawrence. Her eyes would sparkle as she reminisced about the letters he would send her when he wasn't visiting the homestead in Scituate. 

Now. I sort of forgot about this guy. My mother gave the violin to her sister, Abbie, who gave it to her daughter, my cousin, because she played the violin. I think they had it appraised and it wasn't worth much, so I don't believe she ever restored it to playing condition, if that was even possible. Note to self (ask Betsy!) If Priscilla was playing it as a young girl, it couldn't have been very valuable or my grandmother wasn't very smart. Since I know Grandma was a highly intelligent lady, then it must have been a run-of-the-mill student instrument. Anyway, it was always love, not value that made my mother's eye twinkle. That's why she gave it to Betsy, aka "Pet."

But who was this Cousin Frank? My mother passed away in 1996 when I was in the throes of raising two out of three of my wildly boys, and by then her mind was confusing details. When we talked genealogy, which was frequently, it was on the topic of brick walls and mostly in direct lines.  Looking back now, I realize that no matter how confused her memories were getting, I should have just sat down with a tape recorder and got her to tell me everything. I bet she would have got the Cousin Frank story straight because she was an original source, and it happened when her mind was fresh.

So I was left wondering. Was he the same guy that she went out of her way to honor every Memorial Day? An isolated grave, far away from the main family graves, that we would also decorate? All I knew was that she had the same kind of wistful smile when we visited that grave as she did when she talked about Cousin Frank.  I searched the cemetery but the only Frank I found was Frank E. Clapp who fought in the Spanish American War. A quick check on Ancestry places him in the 1880 household of Charles W. and Abby B. Clapp. His birth year is 1871. Looking at the NEHGS online database "Mass Vital Records 1841-1910," (Births 1871:242:441) I find he is son of Charles Whitcomb Clapp and Abby Billings (Merritt). You can't say no relation when they've all been living within two miles of each other for two hundred and fifty years, but I'll say no close relation. So the Frank Clapp is just a red herring and will have to rest in peace.

Happily, I have two artifacts in my possession that have helped me identify this Cousin Frank. They have been in my "treasures" box of old family papers and photos, preserved, but not published. It wasn't until I started the process of becoming a certified genealogist that I really began critically examining every scrap of paper. In my portfolio, I refer to these treasures as "Barnes Family Papers." Just so you know.

I found the calling card shown below and surely let out a huge AHA at the time!

F. B.[sic] Barnes

March and Circle.

1. Waltz,

2. Galop,

3. Quadrille,

4. Schottische,

5. Waltz,

6. Lanciers,

7. Caprice,

8. Polka,

9. Portland Fancy,

10. Waltz,

11. Galop,

12. Lanciers.

13. Schottische,

14. Galop,

15. Waltz,

F. P. Barnes' Concert Ball Room Orchestra,
694 Washington Street, Boston

A search on his background reveals that he is Franklin Pierce Barnes, son of Elijah Vinal Barnes and Lydia D. Studley [NEHGS (Births 1853:74:16)]. This means that he was the first cousin twice removed of my mother! His father Elijah was one of my mother's great-grandfather Joseph Barnes' twin brothers, the other being Elisha.

And what's that in his hand? A violin! He looks like a lively sort of fellow, just the kind that would turn a little girl's head. He probably taught the girls to dance, too. No wonder she got a twinkle.

To seal the deal, I found a charming letter from him to my grandmother Vernetta. At this point, my mother, Priscilla, the eldest, would have just been turning 20. Her only brother, Billy/Willie, wwould have been 14, a lot older than he sounds here.

-----

                                Boston Dec. 20th 1934

Well _ Well Well Vernetta,  

That was some card I received this A.M.

and was very much pleased with It

I see little Willie in it holding the

lantern and Myself Playing the Great Great

Big Fiddle (Tell little Willie) with my

tall hat on.

Who the Lady was singing I can not

make out, I seem to think the man

with the tall Hat, playing the trombone

is A man that drives one of the

White Milk Trucks from Wollaston, down

through Scituate. (Tell little Willie and the

children) I am very much pleased with

the card, Tell the Cildren, and how they will

laugh. and what a time they wil have

talking about it. I can well understand –

I am sorry to hear about your Cow.

We are having good weather for this

time of the year, and I hope it will

continue. When it is convenient for you,

you let me know when to come Down,

and talk music to the Children

                                                       over

Tell the children the music

on the card, was very very very

melodious, and charming, (and how

they will Laugh). What a time they

will have when you read this note

to them.

Ask Priscilla to keep at all of

them. to know the. Do. De. Ray. Re.

me.Far. etc. up and down the cromatic

scale. that is the sylablic,

they can then go ahead very fast.

Ask Her Please to have little Willie

stand up with them.

I hope you are all Well. and Please

let me know when to call.

(Is Wm. going up and down in his Car-

this Winter?)

        So good by to all hands

        until later. And a Merry

        Christmas and Love to the Children

        Franklin P. Barnes

        #83 Carver St__

                                     Boston__

How could you not love this guy? So focused on children at 81 years of age! I haven't done any more research on him, but I tend to think he had no children. Someday I will add more detail to his life (is he buried at Mt. Hope Cemetery in Scituate, e.g.?), but for now it is enough to reflect on how one man's spirit can trickle down through the ages. Thank goodness we have people like Cousin Frank! My son Daniel plays the violin now. And he loves his music teacher. The teacher is nothing like Cousin Frank, but he loves Dan, too, because he's an old soul. He says Dan is the only student he has that lowers his blood pressure. I just hope that someday Dan's teacher gets remembered as fondly as good old Cousin Frank is remembered today.