First and foremost there was my Dad.  I loved my Dad very much.  He was always there for me.  He grew up during the depression and that made a great impact on his life.  I remember the stories that my dad told me about the depression.  When I hear today’s recession compared to the great depression on TV,  I cringe because today is nothing like my father described to me.  His father lost his business, then they lost their house, and they ate banana’s for Sunday dinner.  There were no safety nets like there are today for the unemployed.  Because this made such an impact on my Father he decided that his children were not going to go without.  He went without lunch for weeks and saved his lunch money to buy me a doll for Christmas.  He made me a doll house with a hand saw (he didn’t have power tools at the time).   He gave me everything he possibly could.  Not only did he give me material things, he gave me his time, attention, advice, and love.  He gave me history lessons at the dinner table.  He loved history and I learned about history and current events through dinner time discussions.  He was there for me when I got married.  He walked me down the aisle and gave me away.  He told my husband on our wedding day that if he (my husband) ever did anything to hurt me, he would have to answer to him (my father).  After we were married for several years, my father told some friends of ours that when their daughters grew up he hoped they found someone like my husband.  I picked a good man because I had a good father.  My dad died of Cancer when he was 64 years old. The other father in my live was my maternal grandfather.  I was very close to my maternal grandparents.  We lived in the same town and only a few blocks apart.  I could walk or ride my bike to Grandma and Grandpa’s house.  Grandpa was always kind to me and I could talk to Grandpa about anything.  They had a screened in front porch with a swing.  I would sit on the swing with Grandpa and talk.  He had a big beer belly and I ask him how he got it.  He would say he swallowed a watermelon seed and there was a big watermelon growing in there.  He liked baseball, beer, and  gardening.  He had a beautiful yard.  It was sad when he got old and developed Alzheimer’s disease.  Eventually he didn’t remember us.  When my children were little, Grandpa said he hoped he lived long enough that they would remember him.  He died when they were 4 and 5.  The other day my son said he remembers him.  So Grandpa got his wish. Grandpa died at 84. My other Grandfather died when I was eight years old.  I didn’t know him as well as the other one, but I do remember him.  I remember going to his house which was like a little cottage.  He also liked to garden and his yard was beautiful too.  He liked to build things and was quite good at it.  My father inherited some of his tools and I think we still have some.  He was a kind man and he reminded me a lot of my father.  He also died of Cancer when he was 64.

Dad & Me

Grandpa & Dad

Grandpa & Me

I bought this picture at an antique store in Walworth, Wisconsin.  Written on the back is Donar:  Mrs. Mae Kelley, 620 W. Prairie Street, Marengo, Ill 60152.  Unid. boy, prob. Patrick fam., Marengo.  Photographer inscribed on front: Koehne, Chicago.

I did some searching for this family.  I found a Howard Patrick born about 1887 living in Marengo on the 1940 census at 520 Prairie Street, Marengo, Illinois. [1]
I also found him on the 1930 census and the house number is 613 Prairie Street, Marengo, Illinois.  He had two daughters ,  Phyllis born about 1915, and Susanne born about 1918. [2]

I did a Google search of his name and found a website Marengo  Society for Historic Preservation.

It lists a house at 610 W. Prairie in Marengo as being built in 1926 for Howard V. and Mildred J. Patrick.  It stated that Howard and his brother Harry entered the grocery business in 1906 and eventually built a building at the corner of Washington and State st.  Currently the home of the Marengo Public Library.  After leaving the grocery business in 1939 he managed the Marengo Insurance Company.[3]

I found his brother Harry Patrick on the 1940 Census born about 1890 living at 602 E. Washington Street in Marengo, Illinois.  He had two sons, Robert W. born about 1926 and William F. born about 1928. [4] On the 1930 census he is living at 321 E. Washington St. [5]  I did not find out any more about Harry than is listed above.

There is still more searching to be done on these two individuals to find their descendants.   I have done all I can do on the Internet, now it is time to make a trip to a couple of local libraries.

Is this a picture of Howard Patrick born 1887 or Harry Patrick born 1890?

Copyright © 2013 Gail Grunst

___________________________________________________

1. United States Census, 1940,” index and images, FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/pal:/MM9.1.1/KWRZ-T38 : accessed 31 May 2013), Howard V Patrick, Marengo, Marengo Township, McHenry, Illinois, United States; citing enumeration district (ED) 56-34, sheet 8A, family 177, NARA digital publication T627, roll 840.

2.”United States Census, 1930,” index and images, FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/pal:/MM9.1.1/XSBR-P3H : accessed 31 May 2013), Howard V Patrick, 1930.

3. Website: http://marengohistory.org/

4. ”United States Census, 1940,” index and images, FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/pal:/MM9.1.1/KWR8-LZB : accessed 31 May 2013), Harry W Patrick, Marengo, Marengo Township, McHenry, Illinois, United States; citing enumeration district (ED) 56-34, sheet 22B, family 546, NARA digital publication T627, roll 840.

5. United States Census, 1930,” index and images, FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/pal:/MM9.1.1/XSBT-MSW : accessed 31 May 2013), Harry C Patrick, 1930.

Both my grandfather’s served during WWI.  One stayed here in the United States, the other one was sent to France.  I wrote about my grandfather who was sent to France a couple of years ago on this blog.  I am reprinting it today along with my other grandfather’s story too.  Both are not the most exciting stories, but I am still proud of both of them for serving.  When any one enlists or is drafted, they don’t know what the future holds.  They both went without complaint and served their country during war time, not knowing if they would return.  That in it’s self must be scary.  So here are their stories.

Grandpa Kaiser

My Grandpa Kaiser was in the Army during WWI; however he never left the United States.  Even though I knew Grandpa well, I do not know much about his military service.  I heard that he spent most of his time in Georgia.  I have lots of pictures he took during this time.  I have never sent for his military papers.  I was looking to see if I had his enlistment or discharge papers, but all I could find was an “Order of Induction into the Military Service of the United States”.  It doesn’t give much information.  It just says to report to the local board at 1950 Lawrence Ave at 10 AM of the 31^st day of August 1918.[1]  By this time the war was almost over.   I did find a couple of cards with his papers.  One is a “Notice of Classification” dated 7/11/1918.  His classification was an “I-A”.[2]

I also found another card “Army Training School Certificate”[3].

The information on the card is as follows:

School: South Div. War Training

Location: 26^th and Wabash Ave.

Name: Kaiser, Fredrick Rudolph.

Permanent Address:  233 Winnemac Ave., Chicago, Illinois.

Course: Auto Mechanic

Started Date:  9/1/1918

Finished Date:10/31/1918.

Trade Rating in School Course

A= Apprentice  J=Journeyman   E=Expert

Main:  Auto Mechanic Rating: A

Eng. Assem: A

Auto Elec: A

General Ratings by Three or More Instructors

5=Highest   4=High   3= Middle   2=Low  1=Lowest

Mechanical Ability:  4   3   3

Speed:                         3   3   3

Resourcefulness:       3   4   4

Personal Qualities    4   5   5

I had wondered why Grandpa entered the war so late.  Then I learned that the first registration was June 5, 1917 for men ages 21 – 31.[4]  Grandpa missed having to register by 3 months.  He turned 21 the following September.[5]  The second registration was June 5, 1918 for those men who turned 21 after June 5, 1917.[6]  This is when Grandpa registered.  His WWI draft card is dated June 5, 1918.[7]  This answered my question as to why he was drafted so late.

His draft card said he was working for the Texas Company (Texaco).[8]  Grandpa went back to work at Texaco after leaving the service, and he continued to work for them until 1961 when he retired with 46 years of service.[9]  I wish I knew more about his military service, sometime I will have to send for his records.  In the mean time, I’m proud he served in what ever capacity.  During both of the wars he was teased about his name Kaiser.  So on this Memorial Day, thank you Grandpa for serving our county.

MOM

On Saturday, May 9, 1987, I was in Phoenix, Arizona sitting at the kitchen table discussing with my Uncle and Brother what we were going to next when the doorbell rang, and  I answered  the door.  There stood a man smiling at me with a floral arrangement.  It was the florist delivering flowers for my mother.  I had ordered them the previous Monday for Mother’s day.  I took them to the kitchen with tears running down my cheeks and asked my Uncle and Brother, “What am I going to do with these?”  You see, my mother had just passed away an hour before.  My Uncle said, “Well, you can enjoy them, you are a Mother.”

It had been a horrible three days, and I knew there were more horrible days ahead.  It was funny how fast live could change in less than a week.  Last Monday, I ordered the flowers never knowing my Mom would never see them.  On Wednesday, it was a beautiful day in Illinois.  I was trying to start a home based business.  I was out delivering flyers for my business.  I was enjoying being outside on such a beautiful day and feeling good and excited about my business venture.  That evening, my husband, kids, and I went out to dinner.  When we came home there was a phone message from my brother.  He said, “When you get this message call me.”  I could tell by his voice that something was wrong.  I returned his call and he told me that my mother had collapsed that afternoon, and it was serious.  I didn’t know how serious.  What exactly did he mean by serious.  Serious like she will die, or it’s serious and she has a chance.  I didn’t want to ask.  So I said, “Do you think, I should come down there?”  He said, “Yes please!”  At that point I knew it was bad.  I got off the phone and tried to tell my husband, but the words were hard to get out.  My kids were little.  How do I tell them about their Grandmother?  She had just moved to Phoenix the previous year.  Until she moved, she lived nearby and my kids spent a lot of time at Grandma’s and were very close to her.  I went outside and sat on the front steps, I felt like I was dreaming.  My husband came out and sat next to me.  We talked and cried. There was a lot to be done, and I knew I would not sleep.  I thought about the day she moved.  We were at her house the night before.  I didn’t want her to go.  I sat in her house wishing this night would last forever.  I didn’t want to go home.  I now knew what a broken heart felt like.  I felt like my heart was breaking.  I even thought I might have a heart attack.  I never showed it, and I never said anything to her about it.  I don’t remember the reason I did not go over there the next day when she left for Phoenix.  At first we called each other all the time, but the phone calls were expensive and neither of us had a lot of money.  So we had to cut down on our phone calls.  We went down to visit her for two weeks that summer and she came up for Christmas.  She went back after New Year’s and my oldest son’s birthday.  When it was time for her to board the plane, she started to cry.  I thought then this is the last time I’m going to see you, and I believe she was thinking the same thing.  That was the last time, I saw her alive and well.  The last time I talked to her on the phone was Easter.  I was saving my next phone call for Mother’s Day.  I spent the rest of Wednesday night making plane reservations, washing clothes to take to Phoenix, and making plans for the kids and my husband.  I got on the plane the next morning for Phoenix.  On the plane, people are talking, laughing, and having a good time.  I listened to conversations about vacations.  I wished I was going there for a vacation, and I wished my husband was sitting next to me instead of some stranger.  All I wanted to do was cry, and I was holding it back.  I didn’t want to cry in front of strangers.  I also felt sick to my stomach.  I was hoping I really wouldn’t be sick.  It was the longest four hours of my life.  My brother and Uncle met me at the airport.  They wanted to know if I wanted to go to their house or the hospital.  I said, “Is she going to make it?”  They didn’t know, but said she had not regained consciousness and she was attached up to all kinds of machines.  I then said, “To the hospital.”  I could not believe my eyes when I saw her.  She was pale and she had all kinds of tubes attached to her, I took her hand and talked to her.  I didn’t know if she could hear me or not, but I hoped she could.  Then the doctor came in to talk to us.  He said that she had a brain aneurism and she was brain dead.  He showed us her chart with a straight flat line.  He said, “She is being kept alive on machines. You will need to make a decision whether to take her off of the machines or not.  She is not going to get better.  If she lives, she will be a vegetable for the rest of her life.  I’ll leave you alone to discuss it.”  All three of knew what had to be done.  We didn’t want to do it, but we had too.  I remember before my mother left for Phoenix she had told me, “If anything happens to me, I do not want to be kept alive on a machine.”  I tried to make light of it because I didn’t want to talk about it.  She said, “’I’m serious.”  So I knew that this is what she would want.  When the doctor came back into the room, we told him to go ahead and remove the machines.  He said, “We will do it slowly, and wean her off the machines.  We will remove one at a time.”  We went back to the hospital later, and her breathing was harder.

Back at her house, I looked around and saw her everywhere I looked.  Her glasses lying out and things she had been in the process of doing when this happened.  I asked my brother and uncle if she complained of headaches or anything and they said, “No”.  That morning she mentioned that she felt like she had a hangover although she didn’t have anything to drink.  She went to sit outside.  The dogs started barking and looking out the window.  My brother looked out to see what they were barking at and saw her lying on the ground with lawn chair tipped over.  He went out there and tried to talk to her and she said, “Where’s my pillow?”  And that was the last thing she said.  They called 911 and she was taken to one hospital, but then air vaced to another hospital that specialized in neurology.

We went back on Friday she was still alive, and her breathing even more labored.  Some friends of my mother and uncle came by the hospital and then invited us over to their house.  It was a pleasant relief.  It helped to take my mind off of my mother dying.   They were telling stories about my mom and about life in Phoenix.  Then on Saturday morning we went to hospital again.  Her breathing now was really hard.  I thought each breath was her last.  Her chest would rise up and then nothing and then after what seemed like minutes, but probably just seconds, she would let the breath out and her chest would sink back down. And then this would repeat.  I held her hand and talked as if she could hear me.  I told her how much I loved her and how much the grandchildren loved her.  How my husband had said she was a great mother-in-law.  I told her she was a great mother and my uncle added “and sister”.  My brother said, “I guess were not going to make it to Vegas”.   My Uncle said, “Next time”.  We decided to leave, go get something to eat and come back later.  So we went to a restaurant and then back to the house.  We were only home a few minutes when the call came that she had passed.  Later that afternoon we went back to the hospital to sign papers and make arrangements for her.  We decided that she had more family and friends in Illinois so we would have her cremated in Phoenix and her ashes sent to the cemetery in Illinois.  We would have a memorial service in Illinois.  I had to get back to Illinois because my husband was taking time off of work to stay home with the kids. I made plane reservations for my brother and me to fly back to Illinois on Monday.  My Uncle came later in the week.  He could fly for free as he was retired from the airlines.  Later in the week we had the memorial service to have our final good-bye to Mom.  It was a horrible Mother’s Day that I will never forget, and I still don’t like Mother’s Day.  I don’t like celebrating it.   I felt like I didn’t have time to mourn her back then.  My brother had no family so I felt bad for him.  I tried not to let my kids see me break down.  I had made all the arrangements so I was busy.  My brother and I were now orphan’s.  My Brother, Uncle and I were the only ones left from our original family.  In the seven years preceding my mother’s death, I lost both my grandparents, and father.  My husband had lost his mother and a brother.  So we were feeling pretty lonely especially on holidays.  Recently, a friend who lost her father asked, “Does it ever get any better?”  The answer is, “sort of”.  I don’t think about it every day, but there are days when I want my mother.  I would love to be able to talk to her.  When I have had problems over the years, I wish I could ask her advice.  I have felt so alone at times.  That’s why I say it “sort of” gets better.  I have moments when I regret that I wasn’t with her at the end holding her hand.  Why did we leave her?  I don’t remember what our thinking was that day.  I feel guilty that we said remove the machines.  I think about the “what ifs”.  What if the doctor was wrong?  What if she wasn’t brain dead?  I know this is wrong to think about the “What ifs” and most of the time I think we did the right thing.  Life does go on and my brother and I often talk about our childhood memories with Mom, Dad, Grandma and Grandpa and our Aunts and Uncles.  We have many good and wonderful memories of them all.  This Sunday is Mother’s Day so once again my thoughts are on that Mother’s Day twenty-six years ago.  Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.  I love you!

Copyright © 2013 Gail Grunst

Art and Agnes

Aunt Agnes was one of my grandmother’s three aunts.  Agnes Reinhardt was born in 1891 in Ottawa, LaSalle, Illinois.[1]  She was the youngest of seven children.[2]  She was only seven years older than her niece, my grandmother.[3]  Agnes grew up in Ottawa Illinois with her parents, brothers, and sisters.  Aunt Agnes is listed as living in Ottawa on the 1910[4] census and in a 1911 city directory,[5] after that I lose her for a few years.  In 1920 at age 28 she married Arthur Lightfoot in Detroit, Wayne, Michigan.[6]  He lists his occupation on the marriage record as a Traveler.[7]  The first thing that came to my mind was, “What kind of occupation was a traveler?”  I thought maybe he was a gypsy (just kidding).  I think it was a term used back then for a traveling salesman.  Later census records list him as a salesman.[8]  I have no idea how they met or why they got married in Detroit.  His resident on the marriage record is listed as Indianapolis, Indiana and hers is Ottawa, Illinois.[9] On the 1930 and 1940 census records, they are living in Chicago, Illinois.[10] [11]  Also on his WWI and WWII draft cards he is living in Chicago.[12] [13]  At some point in time, they moved to Hartford, Connecticut.  Arthur was born and raised in Connecticut.[14] When I was a child, I knew that Aunt Agnes lived in Connecticut.  Aunt Agnes and Art came to visit us a couple of times from Connecticut.  Arthur died in 1957 in Connecticut,[15] and some time after his death, Agnes moved back to Chicago.

Aunt Agnes would come to visit us on some weekends and holidays.  In her old age, Aunt Agnes was flamboyant.  She wore a lot of makeup, her hair was bleached blond, and she wore a lot of jewelry.  The jewelry had big stones and was gaudy.  One time I was looking at a bracelet she had on with big stones.  She asked me if I liked it.  I didn’t want to insult her so I said, “yes.”  She took off the bracelet and handed it to me, and told me I could keep it.  I was around 13 years old at the time.  I thanked her, but knew I would never wear it.  I didn’t like it.  After she had gone home, my mother confiscated it, and put in her jewelry chest.  The bracelet was in my mother’s jewelry chest for years.  I don’t know what ever became of it.

Aunt Agnes would come out to our house by train or bus and sometimes we would drive her back to Chicago.  One time when we drove her back, when we got to Clark and Belmont near where she lived, she said, “Now I can relax, I am home.”  I couldn’t understand why she couldn’t relax at our house.  Our house was in the suburbs and it was nice, quiet, and safe compared to the hustle and bustle of the city.  I thought it would be easier to relax in the quiet and calm of the suburbs.  Until I started delving into her life, I thought she and her husband always lived in Connecticut after they were married.  I also had the impression that they were rich.  Not sure how I came to these conclusions.  So I was surprised to learn that she lived in Chicago, most of her married life. I doubt that he became rich as a salesman.

I think Aunt Agnes probably had the most normal life of the three sisters.  I gave this posting the title Aunt Agnes a love story because I truly believe that Aunt Agnes loved her husband and he loved her. She talked about Art all the time.  I hope they loved each other, they were married 37 years.  They had no children.  I have wondered if Aunt Agnes had a previous marriage, but haven’t been able to find any other marriage records for her.  I found no illegitimate children or any thing unusual.  I believe she led a very ordinary life and loved her husband.   She died in Chicago, IL in 1978 at 87 years old.[16]  She had a good long life, and I am glad I got to know her before she died.  As always, I wish I had asked her more questions about her life and family, but I wasn’t interested in Genealogy at that time.  So now I can only go on a few memories and documents.  I hope I did her justice today, since I had so little to go on.

Copyright © 2013 Gail Grunst

A few weeks ago a friend and I visited some antique stores, and I came across some photos , and for some reason, I felt compelled to buy them.  There were a lot more, but I couldn’t afford to buy them all.   I have seen and heard about people buying orphaned photos, and sometimes they are able to return to their families.   So I thought I would give this a try.  Then I saw that Geneabloggers had this as a Friday blogging prompt.  What better time than now to start.

The name on the back of the photo is Walter Hadler.  The photographer is Holdmann at 224 Grand Avenue, Milwaukee, Wisconsin.  I am guessing by the clothing and card style that it is the late 1800′s or early 1900′s.  I could be wrong here because this is new to me, and I am going by what I have found on the Internet.  So if someone out there with more experience knows what the time period is, feel free to comment.  He’s a cute little boy.  I wonder what happened to him?

Emma age 19

My grandmother had three Aunt’s, Aunt Emma, Aunt Liz, and Aunt Agnes.  Each one had an interesting life.  I wrote about Aunt Liz in my blog dated 4/13/2013.  Today I am writing about Aunt Emma.

Emma Reinhardt was born on June 6, 1885 in Illinois.,[1] [2]  Emma was raised in Ottawa, LaSalle, Illinois along with her two brothers and four sisters.  Not much is known about Emma’s early life.  In 1910 at age 25 she married Dr. Fredrick L. Orsinger[3] who was 33 years her senior.[4]  He had been married before and had five children with his first wife who died in 1903.[5]

Fredrick L. Orsinger came to the United States from Germany in 1871.  He arrived in Chicago on the same day as the Chicago Fire.  He decided not to stay in Chicago at this time and went to LaSalle, Illinois to work in his Uncle’s bakery.  He later opened a pharmacy in LaSalle and practiced medicine.  He studied medicine and surgery in Zurich, Switzerland and Paris, France.   He later spent five years studying medicine at the College of Physicians and Surgeons of Chicago, and later had a years experience working at Cook County Hospital. [6]   He had quite a colorful life too.  I am not going to write about it at this time as I would like to concentrate on Emma’s life.  I will write about his life in more detail at another time.

My grandmother had told me that the Reinhardt’s and Orsinger’s were friends.  I know there was an Orsinger’s Bakery in Ottawa.  I don’t know if they had another one in LaSalle or if the source is wrong about the location of the bakery.  However, Emma would have not been born yet when he came to LaSalle County.  By the time she was old enough to get married he was living in Chicago.  So how they got together is unknown.  I’m guessing that they knew each other because the families were friends.  I still can’t help but wonder how her family felt about the age difference, and how his children felt as some were older than Emma.  My grandmother would say with disgust in her voice, “Aunt Emma married old Doc Orsinger.”  They lived in Chicago and he practice medicine in Chicago. Dr. Orsinger died in 1925.[7]

In 1933 Emma married Iber Mataway in Chicago.[8]  He was from Iran and changed his name when he was naturalized from Isaac Abraham to Iabry Abraham Mataway.[9]  They must have led a quiet life.  I can’t find them in many records.  He was 12 years her junior.[10]  She went from some way older than her to someone quite a bit younger than her.

I’ve had a hard time finding them on any census records.  I do know they lived on a farm in Wisconsin.  I also know they lived in an apartment in Chicago, Illinois.  My mother loved Aunt Emma and she would stay with her sometimes in Chicago and on the farm in Wisconsin when she was young.  I believe they lived in Chicago, then moved to the farm in Wisconsin, and then moved back to Chicago.

I have a letter that Emma wrote to her sister Liz.   I will try to transcribe it as written with mistakes and all. 

Sat Mch. 1 – 1947 

Dear Eliz,

            Just a few lines, as we are trying to get ready to go to Saxon to shop.  We got your package yesterday.  Everything was swell.  And thanks so much.  So what do I owe you for groceries.  The shirts will come in handy this summer at laying time. Even good enough to go to town in as you don’t have to dress up so much around here.  Gosh, I’ve been rushing around, the oil man came first thing this morning, I was just about out of bed.  Iber was milking, then I had to look after him.  By the time he filled all the tanks and checked them, Iber came in for breakfast, and now I just got thru with the dishes, milk pails, and strainers.  Iber has been hauling hay everyday.  He got 4 or 5 tons of hay very cheap, but has to haul it himself.  It keeps a person busy, but it isn’t bad.  Well, I don’t know if you can say March came in like a loin or not.  It was quite warm this morning, but now it has turned a little cooler and is snowing that fine snow.  So I hope it doesn’t get too bad until we get back at least.  Well, I was so surprised at that article of Fred Orsinger.  It was funny, I opened the box and I thought it was just some paper you stuck in for a filler.  Then a couple of hours later, I was straightening everything up, so I looked again and was looking at the man with the alligator.  And, I said to myself that man reminds me of Doc.  He combs his hair just like he did.  So I threw it in with the rest of the papers.  When Iber came in he happened to see it, and asked me what he was doing with an alligator.  I said oh I don’t know let me see.  Well, when I read it, I started to laugh.  No wonder he minded me of Doc.  That was so funny.  He is quite a big shot.  Gosh he is getting old.  I figured he would be about 70. 

I suppose you received my last letter.  I too wish poor Tim could at least be able to go into the other room.  I may be down sometime in the middle of April if nothing happens.  Then he had better get up or I’ll pull him out of bed.  I hope Mrs. Fox is home by morn, poor soul.  I suppose she feels quite alone since he is gone.  Is she going to stay there in the apartment.  Have you heard yet from Mark.  Iber says to tell Tim to keep his chin up.

I do wish Iber could make a trip to Chicago.  Well, we’ll see how things turn up.  He needs a change.  I feel guilty when I go all the time.  I guess Clara is going to stay in her apt. for a while.  Well, if I have forgotten anything I’ll write it next time.  I must get ready.  Iber is almost thru shaving. 

Love to you both and God Bless you as ever.  Emma & Iber 

The Fred Orsinger she mentions in the letter is the son of her late husband.  I am posting the original letter here.

I remember visiting Aunt Emma a couple of times in her apartment in Chicago.  She made a doll bed for me out of a wooden cigar box.  I wish I had a picture of it.  She painted it white and it had a headboard.  The legs were cloths pins (the old fashioned wood ones) cut down so only the top curved part was used for the legs.  She made a little mattress and pillows.  She made a blanket and crocheted a bedspread for it.  I loved it and had it for a long time.  I found instructions for making one on the Internet, and also found pictures, but none that looked as good as mine.  Mostly what I remember of Aunt Emma was a very nice old lady and the doll bed.

I think the first half of her life was probably more eventful than the last half.  Being married to “Old Doc Orsinger” must have been very eventful from some of the things I have read about him.  Like I said, that is for another time.  The second half of her life being married to Iber, her life was quiet.  Reading the letter, her life was just about the ordinary every day things like the weather, washing dishes, milk pails and strainers.  The exciting time was going to town.  I wish I knew more about her life.  As far as I know, she never had any children to carry on her legacy.  I hope I helped a little to carry on her legacy today.

Aunt Emma, my mom, Aunt Liz 1943

Emma died on August 18, 1956, and Iber died in 1974.

Reblogged from 1st Sense Photography:

I have always been a fan of American Nostalgia, and what better way to start a blog today than talk about America. Today April 15 , 2013 We as a nation were once again attacked on our own soil. Yet we do not know whether it was a terrorist attack, or a person just trying to gain notoriety by doing something that would harm innocent people.

Read more… 465 more words

Aunt Liz is the smaller one.

My grandmother had three aunts, her mother’s sisters, Aunt Liz, Aunt Emma, and Aunt Agnes.  I had the privilege to know all of them, some better than others.  Today I’m writing about Aunt Liz as I think she is the most colorful one of the three or led the most secretive life.

Aunt Liz was born Elizabeth Reinhardt on February 10, 1881 in Amana, Iowa[1].  Two Years later the family moved to Ottawa, Illinois.[2]  Aunt Liz had two brothers and four sisters.[3]  Her father worked as a shoemaker and owned a shop in Ottawa.[4]

I knew Aunt Liz probably the best out of the three.  She lived in Ottawa, Illinois with family friends.  We would go down to Ottawa from Villa Park, IL several times a year to visit Aunt Liz.  My parents and grandparents were friends with the family she was living with, and I was friends with their daughter who was near my age.  I went down there for a week or two every summer to visit my friend.  Of course, Aunt Liz was there, and I would talk with her.  This was long before my interest in genealogy so we never talked about her family or her parents.  By the time I knew her she was old, and I would have never imagined that she was a sort of rebel in her youth.

It was always known in the family that Aunt Liz had an illegitimate son, Milton. I wrote about Milton on my blog dated January 14, 2013.  Milton was born in 1900[5] and Aunt Liz kept Milton and raised him.  Unfortunately, Milton died at the young age of 17.[6]  I had heard about her son Milton, but thought OK she made a mistake so what.  I knew she married later and was married a long time, but never had any more children or so I thought.

While researching Milton, I remembered my grandmother talking about how Aunt Liz went to California to visit her daughter.  I’m not sure of time frame, but I estimate that it was around 1964 or 65.  My grandmother was shocked to learn that Aunt Liz had a daughter. Everyone who knew Aunt Liz was surprised to hear that she had a daughter.

I decided to look for information on this child.  I found that she did have another child born in 1905 in Chicago, Illinois. The father is listed as Timothy Farrell on the birth record, and she named the daughter Helen.[7]  I found this strange because Aunt Liz was married to Timothy Farrell.  So why didn’t she keep her?  Now I needed to find out when she got married to Timothy.  The search continued on, and I found she married Tim in 1920.[8]  Now my question was why did she wait until 1920 to marry Tim?  I thought maybe he was married.   I next search the census records for 1910 and he was single, I found him on the 1900 census also single.[9] [10] I found her on the 1900 and 1910 census listed as single also.[11] [12] They lived a couple of blocks apart in Ottawa.  Why did she give up this child and not marry the father when she found out she was pregnant?  She kept one child, but not the other.  I find this odd.  I don’t know if I will ever know the answer.  I continued to search for Helen Farrell.  I found her on the 1920 census living at the Mary A. Judy Industrial School for Girls in Middlefork, Vermillion, Illinois.[13]  An Internet search turned up that the school was for girls who were having a hard time adjusting to foster care or had difficult family situations.[14]  I lose Helen after that.  She probably married, but I have no idea where or to whom and there are a lot of Helen Farrell’s.

In the mean time, my son, who into photography, found a picture I had of Aunt Liz when she was 18 years old with some things I have of hers.  She is in a fancy gown standing on a winding stair case.  It looked like it had been cut out of magazine because it was on magazine type paper.  Someone had written on the photograph Elizabeth age 18. My son knew someone who was into period clothing, and asked her to date the picture.  She said it looked like it was from around 1900 and it wasn’t the kind of dress that you would wear on the street.  It was more like a theatrical dress.  Aunt Liz would have been 18 in 1899.  So this information was correct.  Maybe the picture was from a play bill. What was she doing in play?  What was the play?  What part did she play?  These questions are still unanswered.  She never said anything about being in play to me, and I don’t remember any one else in the family talking about it.

Aunt Liz in theatrical dress

I kept on searching the Internet and found that a Thomas Farrell owned a theater in Ottawa, Illinois.[15]  Now things were starting to make more sense.  At first I thought this was Timothy’s brother because on the census records he had a brother Thomas.[16]  But then when I researched the Thomas Farrell who owned the theater his age didn’t match Timothy’s brother Thomas.[17] Perhaps the Thomas Farrell that owned the theater is an uncle or cousin.  I do feel that they are connected somehow. Maybe Aunt Liz knew Timothy Farrell and this helped her get a part in a play or maybe she met him because she was performing at this theater.  Maybe it was neither.

After Aunt Liz married Timothy Farrell in 1920,[18] they lived in Chicago;[19] and they were married until Timothy died in 1947.[20]  Aunt Liz died on 5 August 1966[21] and is buried in the Ottawa Avenue Cemetery in Ottawa, La Salle, Illinois along side her husband Timothy Farrell and son Milton[22]

Aunt Liz 1963 or 64

Just think about it, our kids don’t know what it was like to grow up in the 50’s, 60’s let alone our grandchildren or their children someday.  Think how nice that would be for them to read about your ordinary life in the 50’s.  They don’t know about some of the things that we had in our lives or didn’t have in our lives.  Tell them about the milkman coming and your mother leaving empty bottles for him to pick up with a note in the empty bottle for what she wanted next.  My mother would put the money she owed him in an envelope and put it in the empty bottle with it sticking up enough that he could get it out.  We didn’t have two cars so we would walk to the A & P.  My kids never heard of an A & P or a National Food Store.  One day I mentioned a dime store to my grandson and he said, “What’s a dime store?” I had to explain that it was like a dollar store today.  Actually, I think the dime stores were better.  What about soda fountains in drug stores, you don’t see those around now.  The library was actually a library where you went for books and were told to be quiet.  Now it’s not just for books, but for videos, video games, Cd’s, computer, Internet, programs, etc., and your not told to be quiet.  Television was new then too, just black and white, a tiny screen, and 3 or 4 stations.  I remember thinking that Milton Berle was my Uncle because my dad always said it was time for “Uncle Milty”.   I found out he wasn’t my uncle when I asked my mother why we never saw him and why he was never at grandma’s on holidays.  What about going to the dime store for penny candy?  Where I lived there were little mom and pop stores in almost every neighborhood.  My mom sent me to one near us with a note that she wanted some napkins.  I was about eight years old and I thought I was old enough to buy napkins without a note.  I argued with my mom that I didn’t need a note.  She said, “Just give Eleanor the note.”  When I got there, I asked for napkins and did not give her the note.  When I got home and gave my mother the napkins, she said to me, “You did not give Eleanor the note did you?”  I shook my head no.  What she really wanted was Kotex.  When my brother was little, he found the box of Kotex and thought they were bandages.  He played doctor or Veterinarian with the family dog and bandaged up the dog with Kotex.  My mom would send me to the store with a note for cigarettes. You can’t do that today! Write about your friends, parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and first boyfriend. Write about holiday traditions, birthday parties, picnics, your house, and your room.  You could write about how you met your spouse and your wedding day.  I could go on and on, but this gives you an idea about the ordinary things you can write about.  Just stop and think about your life, and it will help you recall the funny and sad events in your life.

Write about the historical events that happened in your life time.  For me it is the assassination of President Kennedy, first man in space, first man to orbit the earth, first man on the moon, Vietnam War, the assassinations of Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy.  I lived through these things and many more.  My kids and grand kids only read about them in history books.  Wouldn’t it be nice for them to read about what we were doing when these things happened, what we thought about them, and how these events affected us?  I have started my life story, and I hope this inspires you to start writing your life story too.