Less Than 6 Degrees Of Separation: A Circle Of Connections

2004 - June---I posted a message on the Mercer county Kentucky online genealogical bulletin board.  My message stated that Hannah Burton and Thomas Mitchell were my GG grandparents and that I was seeking to share information with other researchers of this family line. 

For three years I got no response.

2007- May---I received an email from Sally, someone just starting to research her family history.  Sally had just found my bulletin board entry from 2004.  She told me that she was also a descendant of Hannah Burton and Thomas Mitchell and wanted to share information.   It turned out that Sally and I were 3rd cousins.

---Over the next few months Sally and I shared lots of information and stories about our Mitchell and Julian ancestors.  I remembered some information I’d received several years previous from a man named Bill who had done a lot of research on the Julian family.  The Julians were related to the Mitchells.   Bill, we determine, is our 4th cousin once removed.  Sally and I start corresponding with Bill by email and the three of us enjoyed putting our heads together to piece together the story of our family. 

--- Just to add a famous connection at this juncture, Bill’s high school and college buddy was John Depp, the father of actor Johnny Depp.

2007 - June---From some of the information I got from Sally I found out that Sally’s 1st cousin Anne was also my 3rd cousin, but Sally and Anne had been out of touch for many years and she didn’t know how to contact Anne.  I learned that Anne had a daughter named Heron so I searched the Internet for her name.   I was lucky because Heron is an unusual first name and I knew her last name.  She is a Fayette County, KY schoolteacher so Google easily found her name and school email address.  I emailed Heron and explained who I was and asked if she or her mother would like to share information about the Mitchell Family.

---Heron showed my email with her mother Anne, who then passed the email along to her friend Fanny.

--- Fanny emailed me that she was close friend of Anne.  Like me, Fanny loves to do genealogy for other people and had been working on Anne’s family history.  Fanny was delighted to get the family information that Sally, Bill, and I had concerning her friend Anne’s ancestry.

2007 - July--- I started writing weekly blogs and posting them on a web site.  The blogs chronicle my adventures in doing genealogy.  They also tell the stories of my ancestors.

2007 - August---Fanny asked to be put on my blog update list and became one of my regular blog readers.

2008 - March---Fanny read the blog about the death of my father.  In that blog I mentioned a dear friend of my parents, Betty Stoess.

2008 - August ---Fanny has a good friend named Marty.  They belong to a book group and the group’s most recent read was Confederates in the Attic , by Tony Horwitz.  Fanny and Marty took a reconnaissance trip to check out the Confederate Cemetery in Pewee Valley, Kentucky, thinking that it might be a good place to take the rest of the book club for a “field trip” meeting.  For those of you who don’t know, I grew up in Pewee Valley and my parents are buried in that cemetery.  On their outing, Marty just happened to mention to Fanny that “Betty Stoess’ daughter in law” was helping her with some home decorating.  Fanny doesn’t even know Betty Stoess but she remembered her name from my March blog and wondered if this was the same person that Marty was talking about.  So, Fanny told Marty about my blog and suggested that Marty take a look at it.

---Marty later read through several of my blogs and realized that I was the teenager who lived across the street from she and her family, when she was Marty Dampier and I was Mary Riley.  That was back in the 1970’s.   At that time Marty was a young mother with two children and married to the famous UK and KY Colonels basketball player, Louie Dampier.   Our families knew each other well back in those days, but since that time both of our lives took us far away from Pewee Valley and Kentucky.  Our last names are different now.   Marty has returned to Kentucky but I’m still here in California.  Would we even recognize each after over 25 years?  We may never get the chance to test that out.  But, somehow after all that time and distance our lives have again crossed.

Of all the persons mentioned in this elaborate chain of connections, the only ones who I have ever met face to face are Marty, Betty Stoess, and Louie Dampier.  I have never met in person Sally, Bill, Heron, Anne, Fanny, or even Johnny Depp.

I am convinced that the Internet is shrinking our world, and maybe that’s good.

If you have a story of odd connections to share, send it to me and I’ll post it on my blog.

-Mary

The Last Sermon

This week I’ve been working on the family history of a friend and neighbor.  As always, the thing that I find the most fascinating about doing genealogy is the discovery of interesting stories of those whose lives history has forgotten.   We learn history from books in school but those accounts touch on the basics, the outline of facts for a time period.  If we delve into personal stories, it is the stories of the famous, the important, the powerful.  But, each one of us has ancestors whose stories are equally compelling.

This story is about my friend’s 6th great grandfather, Rev. Hugh Conn.  Unless you are a student of the history of the Presbyterian Church in America, you will likely never have run across his name.  He was one of the earliest Presbyterian ministers in the colonies, being initially called to a congregation in Baltimore in 1715.  He was born in Ireland but was of Scotch heritage.  Well educated, he earned a Master of Arts degree from the University of Glasgow.   After earning this degree he stayed on at the university to study philosophy and theology.  

This is the story of Rev. Conn’s last sermon.  On the 28th of June 1752, he was preaching at the funeral of a person who had died suddenly. The subject of his sermon was the certainty of death, the uncertainty of the time when it might happen and the absolute necessity of being continually prepared for its arrival.  He spoke of the danger of delay in this preparation and the risk of trusting deathbed repentance.   “Although we may possibly live some years, yet we may be called away in a month or a week, or, for aught that we can tell, death might surprise us the next moment.”   This part of his sermon was apparently delivered with some elevation of voice, but just as he had uttered the word "moment," he put one hand to his head and one to his side.  He then fell backward and lay dead.  He was about 67 years old at the time of his death.  

This event is one that I’m sure had quite an impact on those present.  And although it is probably not a story we have heard it was surely one passed from community to community back in those colonial days. Rev. Samuel Davies, called one of the great public orators of his time, referred to the story of Conn’s last sermon in several of his own famous sermons.  Davies, a young preacher himself at the time of Conn’s death, was obviously struck and inspired by the story.  Rev. Davies, later became the President of Princeton University and his own sermons were published and became some of the most widely read volumes in the English language in the late 1700’s.

We often have no idea how our lives have impacted the lives of others.  If only we had a guardian angel like Clarence Odbody to show us the importance of all we’ve done.  And as for Rev. Conn, well maybe the story of his last sermon will inspire one of my readers today, over 250 years after his death.

-Mary

What’s My Name?

This article is written by my husband/guest blogger-

Do you ever think about the meaning of your name?  Could your name affect the way you think of yourself or others think of you?  Corporations spend millions thinking up product names using only syllables with positive associations, like “Lexus,” “Acura,” and “Escalade.”  Navajos have three names: a formal name, a secret name, and a public nickname based on their weakness or flaw, such as “Farts,” for a flatulent person. Just to keep everybody humble.  Mary and I spent one summer on the Navajo reservation at Black Mesa, Arizona, doing archaeology.  The Navajo women and children excavated and screened the dirt and the archaeologists took notes.  My nickname was “Bug,” as in “Hey, Bug” with explosive emphasis on the “b” and “g” sounds.  I guess it sounds like Doug – but you should also know that I am below average in height (and many other things).  Thank you, Navajos for reminding me of my insignificance.    

Although family names are a historical accident, first and middle names represent something entirely different; often, the hopes and dreams and even the fantasies, of our parents.  Names do have powerful meanings, in history and even in their sound.  And we’re stuck with them, just like we’re stuck with all of our other talents and gifts.  So—what’s my name?

My first and middle names (Douglas and Malcolm) are Scottish in origin.  I can’t think why, as we’re only a little bit Scottish (a McCloud or two, but not much else). In Scots, Douglas is pronounced “Doobgloss” meaning dark or black (dubh) water (glas).  “Glas” can also mean gray (hence, the black and gray Douglas tartan) or shining, as in “black shining.”  The Douglas’ were such a powerful Scots family that the Royal Stuarts murdered a bunch of them.  Despite this, they continued to play a central role in Scots history.

The dreaded middle name of my youth, Malcolm, is religious.  In Scots, it is pronounced “Mile khai-loomb,” meaning disciple, devotee, or follower of St. Columba. Columba (or Khailoomb Kheel, Dove of the Church [Columba is “dove” in Latin]) came from Ireland in 563, established a monastery on the tiny island of Iona, and spread Christianity to most of Scotland.  

On a recent trip to Scotland, Mary and I boarded a ferry; traveled overland along single-lane roads in a giant, wobbling bus; then sailed on a smaller ferry across a black shining water from the Ross of Mull to St. Columba’s island.  The 12th Century stone Abbey built to replace Columba’s wooden one has been restored and is in active use.  There is a cemetery near the abbey with the graves of 48 Scots, 8 Norwegian, and 4 Irish kings, including King Malcolm I (Malcolm the Dangerous Red), who had a son named Dubh, and other King Malcolms.  

I don’t know how having a name like Douglas Malcolm could influence me in any way, because Clan Douglas and St. Columba were not in my cultural lexicon before my recent trip, or that of my parents.  If I had a name like “John” or “Joseph” we’d all have known where that came from.  So how did they come up with my name?  My social science training may help here.  I checked the “Baby Names World” web site and found that the name Douglas ranked #75 in popularity between 1940 and 1950.  The name peaked in 1940-1960, then declined from there.  (Malcolm never broke 200).  

A quick check on the Internet movie database shows that the acting career and popularity of Douglas Fairbanks Junior follows a suspiciously similar pattern to the popularity of the name Douglas.  One wonders… and Douglas Fairbanks Senior was a swashbuckling American silent movie star and Junior was an actor, producer, businessman, and war hero who was knighted by Queen Elizabeth II in 1949.  

But there’s another theory—I was going through boxes of my Father’s things recently and came across a metal plaque for the Douglas Aircraft Company.  Like many good farm boys, my Dad was an airplane mechanic during World War II and trained at the Douglas factory in Santa Monica. Maybe the name stuck in his mind. My parents say they just liked the name.

But if the names Douglas and Malcolm have no meaning to this American boy, how do they sound? Well, when you pull it apart, Douglas sounds “duh” + “ug” + “less,” not very positive phonemes.  Malcolm?  The root “mal” means bad and there is little else to say.  So there you have it—“Stupid-ugly or unappetizing-diminished Bad Davy.”   

What were my parents thinking? Were they being Navajos—enforcing humility and protecting their son from egotism (not a bad goal)?  Whatever weaknesses or failings my parents had, they loved, supported, and doted on their children.  The only thing they knew about me when I was born, was that I was a male and blond and had a big head. They would not consciously have erred in something so vital as naming.  So, they must just have gotten romantic notions when naming me, as many parents do.  Had they recently read Sir Walter Scott or seen “Brigadoon?” Probably not.

It must have been something else, and now I think I know.  Each of my three names has two syllables, and each of these has an emphasis on the first syllable (Douglas, Malcolm, Davy/Dá-duh, dá-duh, dá-duh).  It’s got rhythm!  Come to think of it, Douglas Fairbanks Junior has exactly the same rhythm. And so does Douglas Aircraft.  And so does almost every other name in my family.

OK – If I have the choice and can be “Stupid-ugly-diminished-bad” Davy and “Shines a light in the darkness-student of peace” Davy, I know which road to take.

What’s your name?

-Doug --June 9, 2008 (St. Columba’s Day)

Have an interesting story about your name?  Send it to me and I'll publish it on my blog.  - Mary

Follow Me, They Say

This past week our daughter has been traveling across the country, moving from Philadelphia back to California.  She and her boyfriend will be attending graduate schools in the San Francisco Bay area.  But their cross country drive has brought back memories for me, of 26 years ago when Doug and I made our cross country drive.  That summer we packed our belongings into a rental truck, towing a little Datsun 210 behind, and took off from Kentucky to California.  At the time the Midwest job market was tight, especially for the type of academic/research jobs we were seeking.  Doug’s brother, who lived in the San Francisco Bay area, kept telling us of all the growth, work, and opportunities in California.  By the end of that summer of 1982 we decided to take the plunge and headed to California with the hopes of getting jobs once we arrived and the promise of a spare bedroom in my brother in law's home.  It was a leap of faith.

I didn’t know at the time, that this was the story of many of my ancestors.  One family member would often venture away from home and then implore others to follow them to a “better place.”  Of course in our case Doug was just returning to his homeland but for me it was a big move.  I felt like a pioneer headed west to the California “gold.”  And, after the death of both my parents earlier that year, I think I was ready to make a big change.  It was a big move for Doug also, since he’d been away from California for about 10 years.

I have a copy of an old letter written by my ancestor Alexander Mayo.  The letter is dated November 8, 1833 and was written to his brother Henry Mayo.  At the time of the writing, Alexander was 20 years old and his brother was 23.   Alexander lived in Tewksbury, Mass., and his older brother Henry was living in Troy, Ohio.  Apparently Henry had written to Alexander several times, imploring him to move to Ohio.  This letter is mostly a response to that plea, and is filled with various excuses and reasons for not yet deciding to make the move.  Alexander wanted to make sure there was no cholera outbreak in Ohio.  He only wanted to come if Henry came back for a visit and then took him back to Ohio himself.  And then, Alexander fears, that if Henry does come back to Massachusetts, perhaps he will find he doesn’t like Alexander and won’t want to take him back to Ohio.  Also, an uncle has told Alexander that the climate of Ohio will not agree with him and will prove fatal to his health.   And…. If his health deteriorates in Ohio he fears he has little means to support himself and will then become a burden to Henry.  Ahhh…. So many worries!  Henry must have been amused by this letter from his fretting younger brother.  What is the story of these two?  Over the years I’ve tried to fill in the picture of their relationship and their history.

The story begins with their father, Seth Mayo, an innkeeper, of Boston and Medford, Massachusetts.  In 1810, at the age of 24, Seth married Betsy Brown who at that time was a young widow with no children.  Betsy is described as being a “great beauty with remarkable hair.”  Their first son, Henry was born the following year.  Alexander, my ancestor, was the second son, born in 1813.  What a joy it must have been on Christmas Day the follow year (1814) when Seth and Betsy became the parents of a third son, Edward.  But joy turned to tragedy the following October when Betsy and baby Edward both died within three days of each other.  The cause of Betsy’s death was given as consumption, an old name for tuberculosis.  I assume that baby Edward suffered from the same disease.  Henry was about 4 years old when his mother died and Alexander was only 2.  Perhaps as time passed they barely even remembered their mother.  But, seven months later they were blessed with a new mother when their father, Seth, married Charity Titterton in May of 1816.  By June of the following year Henry and Edward had a baby sister, Lucy.  However, life is often unkind and cruel.  In the autumn of 1818 Charity died leaving Seth with the young Lucy, just over a year old and the two boys now 7 and 5.  In those days it was rare that a father could care for such young children on his own.  I know that Henry and perhaps Lucy were sent to live with their Uncle Henry Mayo in Vermont.  The boys had several uncles in Vermont, brothers of Seth who had migrated there in the late 1790’s.   Young Henry lived with his Uncle Henry in Burlington, Vermont helping with his uncle’s mercantile business.  Then, at the age of 15, Henry was sent to live with another of Seth’s brothers, Uncle Asa, a merchant in Troy, Ohio.  

I don’t know if Alexander was also initially sent to Uncle Henry in Vermont, but his letter gives clues to a close relationship with his Aunt Blanchard, his mother’s older sister.  So it is very possible that she was entrusted with his care since the letter also refers to Henry’s time in Vermont, as if Alexander were elsewhere.  Alexander's aunt Sarah Brown Blanchard and her family lived in Billerica, Massachusetts.  

You might wonder what happened to their father Seth, and that is another sad story.  Overwhelmed with grief after the deaths, Seth sold everything he had and headed for Newport, Kentucky, where his uncle Daniel Mayo had settled and was serving as Newport’s postmaster.   Again tragedy knows no bounds.  In 1822 Seth drowned at Newport, Kentucky at the age of 36.  Apparently a man had fallen overboard in the fast moving flood waters of the Ohio River, and Seth attempted a rescue, only to perish himself, leaving his children Henry (age 13), Alexander (age 11) and Lucy (age 8) complete orphans.

I think that an interesting part of this story is that despite the distances and tragedies of these three siblings, they seemed to have remained close and loyal to each other.  Alexander’s 1833 letter to Henry reads like the desperate plea of a child, not a 20 year old, in his desire to receive a visit from his older brother.  Alexander writes, a bit melodramatically, “I have been so many times disappointed of seeing you that I shall think if you fail of coming this time that fate has decreed we shall never see each other.”  I’m pretty certain from other things mentioned in the letter that these two brothers had not seen each other for many years, since Alexander mentions his disappointment that Henry did not first come to Massachusetts, before moving from Vermont to Ohio.  Henry had made that move when Alexander was 13.  Imagine children trying to stay close to their siblings only through letters and news brought by relatives.  No wonder Alexander fears that when they finally meet face to face, his older brother might reject him.  

Henry must have persisted in his request to have his younger brother move west to Ohio.  Perhaps he felt it his duty as the oldest to watch out for his younger siblings even into adulthood.   As a testament to their bond, Alexander later did move to Troy, Ohio.  This move was made in 1852, after Alexander was married and had two daughters.  Henry and Alexander's sister  Lucy married Preserved Smith in 1846, and after her marriage she and her husband also moved to Ohio, living in nearby Dayton.  In 1863, Henry moved further west to Lafayette, Indiana, but that was only about 150 miles from Troy, just a train ride away by then.

This story of migration is actually quite common.  One family member moves to gain opportunity and perhaps adventure.  In this case it was Alexander’s Uncle Asa Mayo and his great uncle Daniel who were the first to venture west from New England.  Later, they convince others in the family to follow with their news of success.  Our rented moving van was no covered wagon but perhaps our story is really not much different than the stories from over 100 years ago.<

-Mary

My Connection:

Seth Mayo and Betsy Brown----Alexander Hanson Mayo and Caroline Pinkham---Caroline Elizabeth Mayo and John W. Riley---Minor F. Riley and Mary Fink---Jack W. Riley and Avery Merriman--Jack W. Riley, Jr. and Betty Geiger--- me

UPDATE TO THE STORY- 8/1/2017

Alexander Hanson MAYO and his Wife Caroline PINKHAM MAYO died in Troy, OH 4 days apart in 1871.  Alex died first (of typhoid) on August 8, 1871 and his wife died August 12, 1871, also of typhoid.  In the 1870 U.S. Census they were living with their daughter's family, Caroline and John W. RILEY.  It seems fortunate that if they were still in that household that other, including Caroline & John's young children, were spared from contracting typhoid also.