New Horizons, part II

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Yesterday I got inspired and pulled out the box with all the letters that my grandparents wrote.  Since I am going to try to post and write about them, I figured I needed to get them in order.  At some point, they were neatly tied together and labeled, most likely by my grandmother.  The bundles generally contained the letters for one month with the month, year and author written on a slip of paper.  Since the letters came into my possession, I have mostly left the bundles alone.  Occasionally I have gone hunting for some detail or another.

During the war, soldiers were not allowed to divulge to their loved ones where they were stationed in case their mail was captured by the enemy.  This practice still continues today for obvious security reasons. My grandparents knew this so they developed a code. I haven’t actually cracked the code, but I know when to spot it.  Whenever my grandparents started talking about the yard and lawn care, this was an indication of where my grandfather was currently stationed. One of the family stories that has survived over the years is about the letter that arrived the third week of September 1942.  This is the week my father was born.  My grandfather had recently arrived at his destination in the Pacific and wanted to let my grandmother know where he was. There was a mail delay of one to two weeks depending on how far out a soldier was stationed. My grandmother had been waiting for such a letter for weeks.  When my grandmother finally received the letter indicating when my grandfather was stationed, she went into labor.

When I first received the letters, one of the first things I did was to try and track down this infamous letter that sent my grandmother into labor.  I found several letters that alluded to yard care and shrubbery, but sadly I don’t know the rest of the code. Since there were also two or three letters which referenced the lawn, I can’t be sure which one it actually was.

Another instance of my digging through the letters was to follow the death of my great grandmother, Emma Foster.  I knew that she died in November 1943.  I also knew that she came to live with my grandmother near the end. By reading through the letters, I was able to see the tragedy of my great grandmother’s death unfold over the months leading up to her death.

So yesterday, I unwrapped the remainder of the letters from their little strings and neat labels.  I organized them in the box, chronologically and by author. I had already put some of the letters in sheet protectors and had previously attempted to scan them. At this point, the story begins from my grandfather’s point of view.  I’m not sure if he kept her early letters with all the moving around he did that first summer of 1942 but her narrative does not really begin until September 1942.

I also wanted to note that the letter I posted yesterday was not my grandfather’s first letter.  It was actually his second.  He wrote two letters that were postmarked May 21, 1942. Somehow the first letter received the later postmark at 5:30 PM.

Letter Transcription:

Wed. Eve
Dear Mother,

Haven’t much in the way of encouragement or discouragement as far as your coming down. Because there hasn’t been much time to think of that.
It was after 12:00 when the boat arrived. The last ¾ hour is made by boat. The train comes to one side of the bay and then all the passengers take a large steam ferry. The Y M
The Navy Y.M.C.A. is only about 2 blocks from the lang landing of the boat. So when I saw it I thought I might as well try to get a room but they wouldn’t let me have it until I showed them my orders. It cost $1.00 per day for room. The naval base is so far from town, however, that the biggest drawback – It takes about ¾ hour to get there by street car.
This first day has been somewhat like registering day at college – first here then there. I got plenty of walking and really wanted the car. A fellow in the personnel Dept. gave me the names of some people having rooms

[page 2] but I haven’t called yet. I’d sorta like to find the location of them with respect to base. The commanding Dr. seemed to be rather nice but don’t know what he will say in the A.M. When I go back without uniform. Because I just didn’t get in early enough to have them made today.
They don’t wear blue in summer. Just white and Kakai. I’m getting a white Kakai by tomorrow P.M. Each suit costs around $18.00 complete. That is the Dakin – (how do you spell that word?) Only one cap is necessary – Just change the cover. It with the white cover is $12.00 or $15.00. I’ve forgotten which. I’ll have to buy all new shirts for this summer.
I’m only about half here – That trip is a killer – only slept 2-3 hours and that not good. I’ll try to write more tomorrow. Maybe I can tell you something of a room.

Love Daddy

You may write me at the Y and if I move out I’ll come back to see if there is mail.

©2012, copyrighted & written by Deborah Sweeney

New Horizons

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On October 6, 1941, both houses of Congress passed a resolution fixing Thanksgiving as the last Thursday in November.  The practice was to go into effect the following year in 1942. Between the years, 1939 and 1941, there was much debate as to when Thanksgiving should be officially celebrated. In 1939, President Roosevelt had declared the holiday should be observed on the last Thursday of the month.  But due to football schedules and arguments between the Republicans and Democrats, Roosevelt’s declaration was largely ignored.

Why am I talking about Thanksgiving the week after the holiday?  I started thinking about the events that led up to the United States participation in World War II.  Yesterday, my husband was watching the film Tora! Tora! Tora! which tells the story of Pearl Harbor, from both the American and Japanese perspectives.  The attack on Pearl Harbor occurred on December 7th, 1941, almost 71 years ago. I was thinking about how that event changed the lives of my grandparents. I was imagining them sitting down to their Thanksgiving dinner, not knowing their impending future.  I don’t know if they stayed in Kentland or traveled to Clay City to be with family.  One week or two weeks later (depending on when they celebrated the holiday), the United States was plunged into World War II, and their lives took a different course.

My father was born in September 1942.  If we calculate back from then, I would presume that he was conceived around Christmas or New Year’s of 1941.  The attack on Pearl Harbor was most likely very much on the minds of my grandparents, just like the destruction of the World Trade Towers lingered on my mind for months after the event.  By May of 1942, my grandfather had enlisted in the Navy.  In fact, less than six months after the attack on Pearl Harbor, my grandfather was in Norfolk, Virginia receiving his military training before he was shipped off to the Pacific.

My grandmother traveled to Norfolk soon after he reported for duty.  She stayed a couple of weeks while he settled in, and then she returned to Kentland.  She was 5 months pregnant with her fourth child.  During the War, my grandparents wrote to each other almost every day, some days more than once.  Their letters are filled with the daily troubles they both experienced: discussions over money, updates on the children, family and friends, boredom, missing one another and wondering when my grandfather would return home.

The first letter has the postmark on May 21, 1942 10:30 AM.  It was sent from Norfolk, Virginia. My grandfather was 38.  He was about to be gone from his family for two years.  He wouldn’t see his youngest son until he was 18 months old.  But he was one of the lucky ones, he made it home.

Transcription of letter:

Thurs. (I guess)
Dear Mother,

The days are a little run together but if I count up from the time I left home it makes this Thurs.
I’ve left the Y.M.C.A.  and I suppose you might address me at – 4012 Granby St.- Maybe the next letter can be addressed to the naval base but I think I’ll be at the above address for a few days (possibly 1 week). I met a Dr. from Penna and he has his car here and that is a tourist’s home, but we have to pay $1.50 each day. The best we can do so far. He paid 3.00 last night.
This is the part you’ll probably like. I met a dentist from Bloomington Ind. and He gave me a good tip. About 3 mile from the base there is a new addition going up and the houses rent for $40-$44 per month. So I’m going to see the personnel  Dept. tomorrow

[page 2] and see if I can get a leave for one. I was out today and they are writing leases for them on June 1. They are strichly new and if we are lucky enough to get one it probably isn’t built or started yet. They build them in about 10 days so maybe you’ll be down sooner than I you I expected.
My feet are tired. Dr. Lintz wanted me to play golf with him this PM but I said no-(He’s the one from Penna) so he went on and I’m waiting downtown for my uniforms. I’m writing this at the P.O.
I think we can get a gas ration card of some sort so that we could travel out to the house should we be able to rent it. Needless to say the houses aren’t so much but they all have a fire place 2 or three bedrooms, back room kitchen, etc, and furnace heat. Any one renting there must be approved by the Navy and the girl

[page 3] said that any officer of the Navy will be approved. Of course the lawns and streets are muddy & Rusty for the time being, but that isn’t so bad.
Well, I’ll try to write to the boys and others when I get more settled. I wrote to the folks yesterday.
You might be thinking of the essentials that you would want to bring down – They have stoves (gas) and refrigerators furnished.
Will write more when I get time. I was excused today to settle some of this running around.

Love Daddy

©2012, copyrighted & written by Deborah Sweeney

Roscoe S. Yegerlehner

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Had he lived this long, my grandfather would have been 108 years old today. However, he did not.  He died in 1989, a week prior to my 21st birthday. My dad had planned a celebration of my impending adulthood for months, if not years.  We were going to have dinner at a famous five star restaurant in New York City.  We had gone shopping the previous May in Florida. We had been visiting my grandparents during one of those rare trips I had to see them.  During the shopping trip, we had purchased a suitable beaded black gown for my night on the town. My grandparents had just celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary and various members of the family had flown in to celebrate.  Months later, my grandfather had a massive stroke.  My grandmother made the choice to remove him from life support and he died soon after.

Roscoe Schiele Yegerlehner was an amazing man.  He was born on a rural farm in western Indiana in 1904.  His father, John Henry Yegerlehner, was the grandson of Swiss immigrants.  His mother, Lovina Jane Schiele, was the daughter of more recent German immigrants (1851) and a family of German religious dissenters who came to America in the 1730s.  I recall being told that the only way John and Lovina could speak to each other was in English.  Lovina’s German and John’s Swiss German were different enough that they could not communicate. John and Lovina had a large family.  My grandfather was the second from the bottom of seven; six boys and one girl. In a biography that my grandfather wrote of himself, he stated “that he didn’t know what sex he was until he was in high school”.  All the boys were expected to do work on the farm as well as housework in the house.  By all indications, my grandfather belonged to a large, loving family.  One thing that he did not like, however, was his name.  I am not sure where the Roscoe came from.  There seems to be an abundance of names that start with “R” in the family; Ralph, Raymond, Ruth & Roscoe.  His middle name was his mother’s maiden name.  As an adult, he was R.S., never Roscoe.  He adopted the nickname Jake early and used it throughout his life.

Although my grandfather was a raised on a farm, he did not stay there.  In 1922, he graduated from high school.  He became a teacher and taught at rural schools in his native county.  In 1929, he married my grandmother, Gladys Foster. On the 1930 census, my grandparents were living on the Yegerlehner family farm in Clay County, Indiana. They moved to Terre Haute soon after.  My uncle John was born in Terre Haute in August 1930.  My grandfather also began his studies to become a doctor.  He graduated from Indiana University at Bloomington in 1938.  After graduation, the family moved to Kentland, Indiana where my grandfather was to practice medicine for many years.  He was the proverbial country doctor.  He made house calls and delivered countless babies.

In 1942, my grandfather answered his country’s call.  He joined the Navy.  As a doctor, he served in several hospitals throughout the Pacific.  After almost two years, he returned to finish his tour of duty at a hospital in Missouri.  When the war was over, he returned to Kentland and his medical practice for a total of 28 years.  He later moved to West Lafayette where he worked at one of the teaching hospitals.

My grandparents finally retired and moved to Florida in 1978.  I remember several trips to see them in Sarasota.  During one of the first trips we made to Florida, I got to go to Disney World.  My grandparents made time to see quite a bit of the world, before and after they retired.  They were always giving us souvenirs from their world travels.  I remember that my grandfather really seemed comfortable with the grandkids, probably from all his years of being a teacher, and then a general practitioner. He was always goofing around and trying to make us laugh.

And in case you were wondering, I did get to celebrate my 21st birthday in New York with my dad.  It just got postponed a couple months.  The gown with the spaghetti straps that I purchased in Florida was not really appropriate to autumn weather in New York.  I had to go shopping again!  I got a fabulous black velvet cape to complete the ensemble.  If you look in my closet today, both the dress and the cape are still part of my wardrobe. They are a poignant reminder of the year that I lost my grandfather and the year I officially became an adult.

©2012, copyrighted & written by Deborah Sweeney

One genealogist’s journey

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The last few months have been an exciting and terrifying time for me.  I have been working on my family’s genealogy seriously since 1994. This was the year that I was married and the year that we moved near a LDS Family History Center.  It was also the year that I was diagnosed with cancer.  I think there is something very therapeutic for me that happens when I work on family history. I see all the horrible things (and the good things too!) that have occurred to the people who came before.  They survived their tragedies (although some did better than others). But I digress; I was talking about my journey with genealogy.  When I was in high school, I remember looking over all the charts that my maternal grandmother had given us over the years: Thayer, Standish, Alden, Thomas, Shirley and several others. Neatly typed charts of lineages, often back to the first comer. She and her cousin Edna spent years putting together the documentation to complete the applications for the Alden Kindred and The Mayflower Society.   If I recall correctly, this was during the 1970s while I was in elementary school.  It seems rather nerdy to me now, but I was actually a card carrying member of the Alden Kindred when I was in elementary school.

Family chart for Ferrers Shirley, created by Edna Cox in the 1970s

Enter the next generation! When I began my quest in 1994, I wrote letters to my grandmother and cousin Edna.  They gladly supplied me with copies of everything they had researched.  I had a great jumping off point with my maternal grandmother’s side of the family.  I wrote to my paternal grandmother as well.  She sent me copies of the Yegerlehner chart that she had worked on for years so I was pretty covered on that side of the family, too.  Like most family trees, there were mysteries!  My grandmother gently brushed me off when I asked about her family. I also did not know much about my maternal grandfather’s tree.  They were mostly farmers and merchants in eastern Indiana.  I had a chart that included all his great grandparents but all the lines basically stopped at 1800. My grandfather mentioned at one point that a cousin of his had joined the Sons of the American Revolution, but he wasn’t sure which branch. As I look back over the last 20 years, I sometimes amaze myself with how much I have learned about my family.

Letter written to Deborah Sweeney by her grandmother Gladys, in 1995

Over the last 10 years, I have become an armchair researcher.  My daughter was born in 2001 so I didn’t really have the time or energy to drive across town to the LDS center.  In the early days of my marriage, I had a weekly night that was mine for genealogy.  I would leave work, grab a sandwich at Subway, and eat it in the parking lot while I waited for the LDS center to open at 6:00. Once I stopped going to the LDS center regularly, I remember the early days of dial-up and waiting for census pages to download. This was prior to many of the censuses being indexed so I had to browse through counties and townships to search for my family. A slow process at best and a frustrating one when the dial-up was extra slow. I also started to branch out.  Not satisfied to search my own tree, I began work on my husband’s tree.  I did some work on the tree of my best friend from high school.  I discovered we had a surname in common and soon I had tracked down how our families were interrelated. My obsession has definitely grown since then. This week alone I have figured out how two more friends are also distant cousins, one purely by accident.

For the last five years (or more), I have been a member of NEHGS. As a perk of my membership, I receive a copy of the American Ancestors magazine. Several institutions and societies advertise in the magazine.  They offer research tours and genealogy courses.  I have always wanted to be a librarian.  It’s what I wanted to be when I grew up. I am an avid reader.  From elementary school through high school, I volunteered in my school library.  When I was 14, I volunteered as a candy striper at the local hospital.  I ended up working in the library photocopying research articles for physicians. My first paying job in high school, I worked at the local public library. When I applied to college, I looked at some schools that offered degrees in library science. The university I finally enrolled in did not have a library science program, so I settled first on being a history major.

Many of the genealogy courses that were advertised in the American Ancestors magazine are far from my present home.  With a job and a growing family, going away to school is an impossible goal. For the last few years, Boston University has offered an online program.  I began to stare wistfully at the ad and   even ventured online to check it out.  But the price tag was too high, especially with the way the economy was decimated a few years back.

Last spring, I decided that I needed to do something.  I started a Facebook page. If I couldn’t take the coursework, then I would start a platform for myself.  I could give advice to my friends and share research with other extended members of the family.  This summer, I started looking at Boston University’s online course again.  I also looked at a couple local colleges who were offering similar programs, but they didn’t seem as interesting. With the support of my wonderful husband who has endured hours of widowerhood due to my genealogy obsession, I signed up for the course that starts this January. It has been just over 12 years since I last was in school.  I received my teaching credential right after my daughter was born in 2001. I am very excited to be pushing myself to the next level of my genealogy career, but I am also terrified!  I know I am probably not alone when I sometimes have nightmares about oversleeping and missing classes.  Regardless, I think the excitement with win out and the terror will fade away.  So, here’s to the next adventure!  Huzzah!

©2012, copyright owned & written by Deborah Sweeney

Family traditions

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I don’t consider myself to be much of a writer. My dad, now, he’s the writer. He is currently writing three books. He keeps a journal which he writes in every day. He has been doing this since I was about one. I’m not going to tell you how old I am, but let’s just say, he’s been writing for several decades. Every time I have ever attempted to keep a journal, I quit after a few weeks, a couple of days, whatever. It just doesn’t hold my interest.

So what does hold my interest? Genealogy! And absolutely everything related to family trees, history, old photographs, clothing and costume history, you name it. I’m one of those certifiable people who show up at family reunions and can tell you how everyone is related. I can even tell you what third cousins, once removed means. I have tracked down family trees of close friends, in-laws, co-workers, just because.  To me, it’s fun, it’s a puzzle, I’ve got nothing better to do (than cleaning house, making dinner for my family, playing with my kids, going to work). I’ve always known about my family’s history. It’s my grandmothers’ fault. I can blame them. They were both interested so they got me hooked. My maternal grandmother was a Mayflower descendant, a member of two hereditary societies. My paternal grandmother did a lot to track down and organize the tree of my grandfather/her husband’s family, Swiss immigrants who arrived in the early 1850s. They even went to Switzerland to meet distant cousins. So what I’m saying is: genealogy is in my blood.

I have become the family’s chronicler and archivist. I am the one people turn to when they have a question about the family tree. When my paternal grandmother died and my father was left with the responsibility of cleaning out her house, he was smart enough to save the things I wanted: the old photographs and the letters that my grandmother had been saving for decades. My grandfather served in the navy during World War II. Like many during the war, my grandparents wrote to each other daily. My grandmother saved all their letters. As the family archivist, this is one mighty boon. I know more about my grandparents today than I did when they were alive. We didn’t live near each other when I was growing up, and consequently only saw them, maybe once or twice a year. One of the things that I have wanted to do for years is to organize those letters and make them available to the rest of the family and frankly, the world. History is amazing! Especially the history of everyday people who live their lives around the big events that shape the world. And someday, hopefully not very soon, I will get to organize and read my father’s journals. It will be another chapter in my family’s history brought to light. And you know what; I might just turn out to be a writer, too. Some things just tend to run in the family.