tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81103355724706699712024-03-02T19:18:54.162-08:00They Came From VirginiaMy Journey to find my Ancestors Denise Muhammadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04029531203426898401noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8110335572470669971.post-6546133264082843902018-03-02T07:27:00.001-08:002021-02-22T19:16:26.012-08:0052 Ancestors, Week 5: in The Census<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiefluqBP7u21sr3cBsj05DpAoP_kN_MrnHnIeIKMllVTlpJAox-SGsgxl3BD3cFPMqLOzCCAmjXFPjZrC3kN37y8vR9ndAs6aasi03PhyUqeHmMr-UcAz4UP0A4xVwn9MBPERViEsGGNY/s1600/Mariah+Hall+Conoway+%2528Dad%2527s+great+Grandmother%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="540" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiefluqBP7u21sr3cBsj05DpAoP_kN_MrnHnIeIKMllVTlpJAox-SGsgxl3BD3cFPMqLOzCCAmjXFPjZrC3kN37y8vR9ndAs6aasi03PhyUqeHmMr-UcAz4UP0A4xVwn9MBPERViEsGGNY/w300-h400/Mariah+Hall+Conoway+%2528Dad%2527s+great+Grandmother%2529.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mariah Hall Conaway</td></tr>
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I'm playing catch up with the 52 Ancestors challenge. It's funny how quickly you can get behind. The prompt word for week number five is "In The Census". I thought about what was the most interesting discovery that I've made using the census records. I decided to talk about the person that took the longest to find in the census for a particular year. I settled on my paternal 2x great-grandparents, Mariah Hall and Curry Conaway.<br />
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Mariah Hall was born in 1839 in Franklin County, Missouri to parents Myra and Alexander Hall. her husband, Curry Conaway was born in about 1820 in Kentucky. Parents unknown. My search for Mariah and Curry had taken me through all census years up to 1920. Except the 1870 census. That's where I was stuck. Family oral history says that Mariah was a slave in Missouri. If this was true, then the 1870 census would possibly hold clues to her slave owner and may help me get back even further. In this census for Franklin County, Missouri, I found Mariah's mother, Myra. Living next to her were Mariah's brother's, Rufus and Wesley, also a sister Sedonia Hall Taylor with her husband Charles. I searched that entire census, more then once. I tried every spelling of the name Conaway that I could think of. Absolutely could not find Mariah and Curry. I became so frustrated, I decided to take a break for awhile.<br />
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After a few years, I decided to search the 1870 again. By this time I had read an article about using the Nettie Rule. I thought is was so interesting. The idea is to look at the census, ten households forward, ten households back. Paying attention to first names.<br />
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I searched the 1870 Franklin county, Missouri census again. Looking a little closer this time. Paying attention to first names as well as surnames, and there at the at the bottom of the page, names terribly misspelled, was Curry and Mariah with their oldest son Joseph. They had been there the whole time. Only their last name was not Conaway. It was Hunter! Apparently Curry changed his name from Hunter to Conaway. This led me to find Curry's former slave owner, a man named Valentine Hunter. Curry was given his freedom in 1849 along with several others. I later wrote a blog post about this discovery.<br />
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Searching for Curry and Mariah taught me a lesson in my research. Not only should you pay attention to surnames, but pay attention to those fist names as well.Denise Muhammadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04029531203426898401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8110335572470669971.post-13967673064249230752018-02-10T17:23:00.001-08:002018-02-10T18:21:50.894-08:0052 Ancestors, Week 4: Invite to Dinner<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm a bit behind on the 52 Ancestors challenge so it's week four for me. Week four's prompt is invite to Dinner. Just the thought of inviting one of my ancestor's to dinner was exciting! I sat at the kitchen table, cup of coffee in hand and imagined what ancestor would sit in the chair across from me. I chose my maternal great-grandmother, Mary Belle Carr as my dinner guest. Although my mother told me that she took care of me as a toddler, she died when I was three and I do not remember her at all. I've always heard so much about her.<br />
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I imagine that's it's a warm summer day in Iowa. When I came to the door she would say, in her southern drawl, "How are ya honey?" she would instruct me to put on an apron and snap those string beans as she prepared to fry the chicken. She had already made the potato salad along with her famous lemonade the day before so that they would be nice and cold. She had made plenty of biscuits earlier that morning, which were sitting on the table covered with a kitchen towel. The peach cobbler was bubbling in the oven filling the air with the smell of cinnamon and warm peaches. As I snapped the beans, I would ask her about her recipes and who taught her to cook. After dinner, we would sit on the porch, and I would ask more questions, like where her mother was from and when was she born. I would ask about her mother's family and what she knew of her father. I would ask if the family story was really true. Was her father really a German doctor? Did he really take advantage of her mother? I would ask her how she came to Iowa before she married her husband Peter.<br />
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Mary Belle Carr was born May 27, 1886 in Lynchburg, Virginia to Nellie Goggins and James Carr. She had one brother, John W. Carr. She married Peter Doyle in 1903. It appears that she certainly had her share of hard times. She began having children very young and lost several children, some stillborn and some that died in infancy. One child died after another until about 1910. Out of thirteen children in total, seven lived. My grandmother always said that her mother, Mary Belle never worked a day in her life. Her husband Peter always cared for her and after he died in 1934, she had his pension. A "Widow's Pension" as grandma called it. I have yet to find this pension. She later became an evangelist. She preached the word of the gospel to the sick and shut in in the neighborhood. She would also visit women in prison. She re-married in 1940 to William Martin. She did not stay married for long. She died in 1966 in Des Moines, Iowa.Denise Muhammadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04029531203426898401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8110335572470669971.post-44701171602218558572018-01-30T20:45:00.000-08:002018-01-31T17:29:14.187-08:0052 Ancestors, Week 3: I Remember Grandma<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandma Margaret</td></tr>
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Week three of the 52 ancestors challenge is about Longevity. I thought that I would share my maternal grandmother, Margret Doyle James. She was the longest living person in my family. Grandma lived to be 94 years old, outliving all of her siblings. Grandma was always there throughout my life. From a child to an adult with a family of my own, she was always there when I needed her. This picture is one of my favorites. She was about three years old when it was taken. I remember that she always got a kick out of looking at this photo. She would fall out laughing at her fat cheeks and high top boots. <br />
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Born February 4, 1916 in Danville, Illinois. She was the ninth child born to parents, Peter Doyle and Mary Belle Carr. Her parents came from Virginia to the coal mining camps of Buxton, Iowa. Over the years, they moved from Iowa to Illinois and back to Iowa again, eventually settling in Des Moines. It was clear to me that my grandmother learned at an early age about the value of hard work. That was what she often repeated, always speaking of how hard life was. She never failed to remind me that you had to work hard for what you want in life. She said that they were poor. Even so, they were never without food to eat and they were shown lots of love. Growing up, her job was to help with the younger children as well as wash the diapers, a task that she often told me how much she hated. No automatic washer in those days, just a large tub and a wash board. <br />
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Sometime around 1933 she came to Minneapolis, Minnesota to visit her sister Rose. She ended up staying and in 1935 married Anthony Bannarn. Together they had two daughters, Shirley Ann and Gloria Jean. After several years they divorced. In 1947 she married Donald James, together they had two sons. Grandma worked as a social worker for many years and also worked at the Halle Q. Brown center in St. Paul, Mn. She loved children and cared for many over the years.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifMr3hzV8FVaRfnje43vLRYyBWgOEd93hFDCj7EIG1N_7PKRzIPbv9_4RTwx1RvXzaogfVhoL_BOZ76fLatSV5oZF9-Wsgdy-GQQi0RzWr5CiQfMWJdBpAv2qmc8mtstm9qbbQfY7YPbY/s1600/Mary+belle+doyle%252C+margaret%252Ctony+Bannarn+1934+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="636" data-original-width="424" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifMr3hzV8FVaRfnje43vLRYyBWgOEd93hFDCj7EIG1N_7PKRzIPbv9_4RTwx1RvXzaogfVhoL_BOZ76fLatSV5oZF9-Wsgdy-GQQi0RzWr5CiQfMWJdBpAv2qmc8mtstm9qbbQfY7YPbY/s400/Mary+belle+doyle%252C+margaret%252Ctony+Bannarn+1934+-+Copy.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandma, w/mother Mary Belle, Tony Bannarn 1935</td></tr>
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My grandma was hot tempered, charming and very funny. She had a million quirky, funny little sayings. She loved to dance and was always the life of the party. She sure knew how to make you laugh! She was the only one I knew that carried a bottle of hot sauce in her purse. She was a true DIY queen. Many days you could find her painting or fixing something. Grandma was one of a kind. </div>
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I miss our talks. I miss drinking tea and looking at the family photos together. I miss sewing and shopping for fabric. I miss hearing the family stories. I miss her Raisin Pie, no one made it like her.</div>
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I think of grandma, and it makes me smile, and I'm happy that I always asked questions about the ancestors, and she was always there, ready to answer as many questions as she possibly could. </div>
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<br />Denise Muhammadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04029531203426898401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8110335572470669971.post-6790829465361816482018-01-18T11:49:00.000-08:002018-01-18T11:55:27.772-08:0052 Ancestors Week 2, Favorite Photo: Peter Lee Doyle <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj__9q9D3MiPUMWGvEbupQxmT8BRTbEimQEYPsWOWiO7gDoqJdTBBPRl5ZsxOOAQ6pF10kcVVMkoPHAfc6EZoQGVJY_q4OM3Sv9hVgQy51JoO-nDSHXZcHmE09tXNCJtLFPOoTZKHmMNO4/s1600/Peter+Doyle+and+daughter+Rose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1010" data-original-width="675" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj__9q9D3MiPUMWGvEbupQxmT8BRTbEimQEYPsWOWiO7gDoqJdTBBPRl5ZsxOOAQ6pF10kcVVMkoPHAfc6EZoQGVJY_q4OM3Sv9hVgQy51JoO-nDSHXZcHmE09tXNCJtLFPOoTZKHmMNO4/s640/Peter+Doyle+and+daughter+Rose.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Great-Grandpa Peter Lee Doyle with his daughter, Rose</td></tr>
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Week 2 of the 52 Ancestors in 52 weeks challenge is to choose a favorite photo.<br />
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This was a bit challenging for me since there are so many great photos that I love. I chose to share this photo of my maternal Great-Grandfather Peter Lee Doyle and his daughter, Rose. For some reason, I have always been drawn to this picture. I have wondered what was happening in his life on this day. They seem dressed up to me. Was it a holiday? maybe some other special occasion? This photo was taken in about 1912 most likely in or around Buxton, Iowa.<br />
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My grandmother Margaret, talked about her father all the time. It was plain to see just how much she loved him. Every time she spoke of him, her eyes lit up, and she smiled. I can still hear her voice saying.."Papa wasn't very tall. His hair was carrot red and his eyes were blue. He never learned how to read or write, but he sure knew how to figure math!" Grandma said that he was the kindest man that you ever want to meet. Very kind and gentle. He often took neighbors in need a box of food. My grandmother often spoke of how life was in the old days compared to the modern conveniences we have today. Life in the coal mining camps wasn't easy. She said that her parents worked very hard. She remembered, washing diapers outside in a big pot on an open fire and hanging them on the line to dry. She laughed as she told me, how the diapers dried stiff as a board on the line and had to be brought inside the house to warm.<br />
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Grandpa Peter was born November 27, 1869 in Pittsylvanina County, Virginia. He left Virginia in the late 1800's becoming part of the great migration from Virginia to Buxton, Iowa. He worked as a Coalminer for many years. In about 1916 he moved his family to Danville, Illinois after the mines closed down. He married his first wife in Virginia, Mary Johnson. He had three daughters, Hattie, Mattie and Letha. In 1903 he married Mary Belle Carr in Buxton, Iowa. Together they had 7 children. Lonnie, Eliza (both died in infancy), William, Rose, Margaret, Leonard, Edythe (Pie), Johnny and Esther pearl. The family moved back to Iowa in about 1922. After moving around they eventually Settled in Des Moines. He died September 1934 in Des Moines, Iowa.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Great-Grandpa Peter</td></tr>
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Denise Muhammadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04029531203426898401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8110335572470669971.post-60004140525203535272018-01-07T22:12:00.001-08:002018-01-07T23:13:04.287-08:00"52 Ancestors" Inspiration: Cousin Martha I am excited to participate in Amy Johnson Crow's "52 Ancestors in 52 weeks" I think that it is a great idea. The challenge is to talk about an ancestor each week based off a prompt word. I will start with Genealogy.<br />
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<b>Week 1: START</b><br />
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My interest in family history started when I was about 15 years old. Back then I didn't know what it was called, I only knew that it fascinated me. As a teenager, I was very quiet and shy. I enjoyed listening to my elders talk. I loved history, loved books and absolutely adored spending time at the library. Mom and grandma always talked at the kitchen table. The talks were often stories about the ancestors. What they looked like, what they did, recipes, sewing, old times. I was always there, with mom and grandma, between the tea cups and saucers, quietly listening, taking it all in. Looking back, I can see that my interest was a huge clue that I would one day fall in love with genealogy.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Martha Toler Brown 1908-1996</td></tr>
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Long before my interest in genealogy, there was Cousin Martha. Martha researched the family history and shared it freely. She said that she thought all the family should know their history. She talked about her difficulty getting her mother to talk. Even so, she continued to ask her mother questions, encouraging her to share information in a time when people didn't talk about the past. Many people felt that life on the plantation, family secrets, shame and painful memories were best left behind. Martha said that she finally got her mother to talk by telling her that we all should know about our history, no matter what. Martha sent a letter to my mother telling her all about what she knew. In the letter, she told her about Great Grandmother, Sarah Doyle who lived in Virginia and was a slave to the Lee family. She had six children by her master, one being Martha's mother, Mary Elizabeth. Along with the letter, she sent several copies of a picture of Sarah Doyle. She said that the photo was copied from a painting that hung on her mother's wall.<br />
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I felt like the photo spoke to me. I had never seen anything like it. My mother encouraged me to talk to cousin Martha. I remember that I was so shy, she made the phone call for me and put me on the phone. After that, cousin Martha began to write me. She wrote often, each time giving me more information and more pictures. She told me all about her family and encouraged me to write down the family history.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah Doyle</td></tr>
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Born in 1908, to William Arthur Toler and Mary Elizabeth Doyle. Martha was the first cousin of my maternal grandmother. Martha's mother, and grandma's father were siblings. Her father was born a slave in Pittsylvania county, Virginia, to parents, James Toler and Julia Parker. He was a Cole Miner who migrated to Buxton, Iowa. Martha's mother, Mary Elizabeth was also born in Pittsylvania County to Sarah Doyle and Burwell Lee.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiEu_hO4bKGrs1Y6ZXtnIjhgT61K6HWv3Xj6i6Ce77G08gjqSXjBxMtzu2WjdIDwRydd4FpjJo3bMoEJv-Rlu7sx0BGRZIxZVdmPCwdv84Qa-lggoa9zs2nPNC6r0xBlx9VF3T8M07nxk/s1600/Mary+E.+Doyle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="843" data-original-width="651" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiEu_hO4bKGrs1Y6ZXtnIjhgT61K6HWv3Xj6i6Ce77G08gjqSXjBxMtzu2WjdIDwRydd4FpjJo3bMoEJv-Rlu7sx0BGRZIxZVdmPCwdv84Qa-lggoa9zs2nPNC6r0xBlx9VF3T8M07nxk/s320/Mary+E.+Doyle.jpg" width="246" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mary E. Doyle 1870-1947</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtAW6dDuX2re6f5IT9CI2gigxonInsg2jV4C-9QEcics7r-rDqOApgqRCCcs2RD6HycXoz8wZChDzuBrD0pXEJQm4NJPSSuQOkkjmrusgwyD_7h6juQaZnLQjmGjV0nDHtgEGVRYpgsCY/s1600/William+Arthur+Toler.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="897" data-original-width="621" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtAW6dDuX2re6f5IT9CI2gigxonInsg2jV4C-9QEcics7r-rDqOApgqRCCcs2RD6HycXoz8wZChDzuBrD0pXEJQm4NJPSSuQOkkjmrusgwyD_7h6juQaZnLQjmGjV0nDHtgEGVRYpgsCY/s320/William+Arthur+Toler.jpg" width="220" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">William Arthur Toler 1857-1929</td></tr>
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Looking back all those years ago, I realize that I had loved ones all around that inspired me. Grandma kept the stories alive, mom pushed me to communicate, and Cousin Martha inspired me to start. ♥<br />
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Denise Muhammadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04029531203426898401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8110335572470669971.post-77570141121358682112017-08-10T20:23:00.000-07:002017-08-13T21:15:52.015-07:00Who Was Uncle Johnny?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBBfjUbbydHXCE0K9ZdchtlXF9JIRLZ8zWdxcWS9UAmK22Lct269NbV-qWTFGP01K3OuoXGAzLbZRXiyCQId8BQUpW9QHJYbRJkyWp9_MEAvJT9h_tKIeaF_NWPRwvm8vAvEDwqeeoSM4/s1600/John+wesley+Carr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBBfjUbbydHXCE0K9ZdchtlXF9JIRLZ8zWdxcWS9UAmK22Lct269NbV-qWTFGP01K3OuoXGAzLbZRXiyCQId8BQUpW9QHJYbRJkyWp9_MEAvJT9h_tKIeaF_NWPRwvm8vAvEDwqeeoSM4/s640/John+wesley+Carr.jpg" width="440" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John Wesley Carr</td></tr>
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I remember my mother talking about her Uncle Johnny. He was a Chauffeur, had loads of money, and always bought her a big can of baked beans each time he came to visit. The part about the baked beans always made me laugh..I told my mother how odd it was, most children would rather have candy instead of beans. She said that uncle Johnny knew how much she loved baked beans. So he always made sure to bring her some. I thought it was very sweet that her uncle thought of her.<br />
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As my mother shared her personal memories of Uncle Johnny, her mother, Grandma Margaret did the same. It was interesting to hear them both talk about this man who obviously meant a lot to them both. Listening to these personal recollections left me feeling like I knew him personally.<br />
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Uncle Johnny, John Wesley Carr, was the brother of my maternal Great-Grandmother, Mary Belle Carr Doyle. He came to St.Paul, Minnesota about 1920 from Lynchburg,Virginia. For many years, he lived on Portland avenue in the home of his employer, Sherman Finch. John was the family's Chauffeur for 25 years. My Grandmother, who lived a few blocks away, often spoke of the Finch family, and the beautiful mansion they lived in. Uncle Johnny came for dinner weekly. Alway's with a can of baked beans in hand for my mother. He was a member of the Sterling Club, a social club in St. Paul in the Rondo neighborhood. He went fishing and hunting often with his friends. After many years of driving he started having trouble with his legs. He also was the custodian at the Minnesota State Capitol for many years. John married Susan Sten in about 1938. Susan was from Germany. As far as I know, they never had any children. I don't think that they were married long. I have not been able to find any information about Susan.<br />
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According to my grandmother, Uncle Johnny had more money than he knew what to do with. Much of it he spent on his friends. I started wondering how he acquired his wealth. Just how much did a Chauffeur make in the years 1920 to 1935? How much did a custodian make? maybe he worked both jobs at the same time. My mother nor my grandmother never really said how he acquired his wealth. I don't think they really knew.<br />
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Uncle Johnny was later admitted to Hastings State Hospital where he died in 1959. A year after his death, an article was posted in the newspaper stating that he had left an estate of $35,385 that was being held for his sister, Great-Grandma Mary. My grandmother said that eventually, all his estate went to his fishing buddies.<br />
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Questions:<br />
1.How and why was his estate left to his friends instead of his sister?<br />
2.Where did his money come from?<br />
3.Did he have a will?<br />
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<br />Denise Muhammadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04029531203426898401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8110335572470669971.post-84087993640606028682017-03-23T21:11:00.000-07:002017-03-24T13:13:48.307-07:00My Mother, My Friend: DNA and Checking The Boxes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mother, Gloria J. Bannarn</td></tr>
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When I think of my mother. I can still see her smile and I can hear her voice. I remember her hair, how soft it was, I remember the way she smelled, always nice. I remember our wonderful conversations about everything from A to Z. Today, when I think of my mother, the thought of her makes me smile. It is with that smile, that I knew it was finally time to share her story.<br />
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My mother, Gloria Jean Bannarn, was my genealogy buddy. In many ways we were a team. I did the research, built the family tree
and kept the records. She talked to family, asked questions and
constantly reminded me about the ancestors. When she called, she would ask if I had found anything new. She was proud of her heritage and passionate about Genealogy. <br />
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My mother always wondered why she looked the way she did. People often asked her where she was from, or the question that annoyed her most,"What Are You? which she always said was rude. Although she identified with being black, or African American. She just didn't understand what it was that other's seen in her and why did they always think she was from another country. Most people just assumed that she was Mexican, Native American, Hawaiian, sometimes even Asian. Total strangers would walk up to her and start speaking in Spanish. It happened so often, that she eventually learned how to speak the language so that she could communicate.<br />
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Born to parents, Anthony Bannarn and Margaret Doyle, her mother always spoke to her about their very mixed ethnic heritage, She was told that she was African American, Irish, German, Dutch and Cherokee Indian. Her father's family was African, Irish, Seminole and Muskogee Creek Indian, I have always heard them referred to as "Black Indians". Mom said we were "Loaded With Indian."<br />
A term that both my mother and grandmother used when describing just how much Indian we were mixed with.<br />
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My mother was fascinated with race and culture. The differences in how people looked, the beauty of their hair, skin. She embraced people from all over the world and made friends where ever she went. She often talked about her concern with race boxes when filling out forms or applications, Her questions; Do I check more than one box for race? or do I check them all? do I check any at all? I would tell her that many people choose one or two to identify themselves with. Her argument was, Why should I check just one race box when I'm more that that? These conversations went on and on. After all the wondering, I suggested that she take the AncestyDNA test. Her results amazed her, and finally gave her some answers to the many questions she had longed to know. However, there was one big surprise that she did not expect.<br />
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You can probably guess what the biggest surprise of her DNA results was....<br />
Absolutely NO Native American. ZERO!..NONE!<br />
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I really thought my mother was going to be Angry that she showed zero Native American. After all, She talked about native ancestors all the time, many family members looked Indian. Her grandmother was said to have been full blooded Creek. She didn't understand the Zero.. However, she was still excited and embraced it all. She began studying all the countries that her DNA results showed, she was fascinated with the people and the culture of the areas where her ancestors came form. She told me that taking that DNA test changed her life.<br />
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If you knew my mother, then you knew that she was hot tempered and outspoken, yet lovable, fun and easy going. She stood for what she believed and fought for those that could not fight for <br />
themselves. I have always admired my mother for her strength and courage, yet I don't think I ever told her.<br />
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She no longer talked to me about her concern with checking the race boxes. She said that she believed that you had a right to choose no matter what society said you were. When I asked her why doesn't she just check one box and not worry about it, her response was..<br />
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"Checking one or even two boxes does not define who I am. For I am much more than that".<span style="font-size: large; font-weight: bold;"> </span>And so.. she checked almost every box.<br />
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<i>Denise</i><br />
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<br />Denise Muhammadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04029531203426898401noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8110335572470669971.post-90293881038451670472017-03-15T06:49:00.000-07:002017-03-15T07:07:35.112-07:00 The House on Dixon Street<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I remember my Grandmother Margaret, telling me the story of her family's home that caught on fire when she was a little girl. This story, like all the others, she told over and over again. She didn't have every detail, however, she knew for sure that the house they lived in was on Dixon street and that her Mother was in the
bed with her younger brother, Johnny, who was just a baby at the time. She also said that she remembered her mother being carried out.<br />
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I was so excited when I came across this article while searching the Des Moines, Iowa newspaper. It was an amazing feeling to read the article. The words brought life to the story grandma told me. The year was 1926 and she
was 10 years old. She lived in the home with her parents, Peter and Mary Belle Doyle, along with her siblings, Rose, Bill, Edythe (Pie), Leonard and baby Johnny. After reading the article, I wondered if her father rebuilt the house or repaired the damage. Did they move? Grandma never said what happened after the fire. I can't believe that I didn't ask her. I wish she was here today so that I could show her the article and ask more questions.. <br />
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Denise Muhammadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04029531203426898401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8110335572470669971.post-55888242669956148162016-09-20T10:57:00.001-07:002016-12-17T16:15:22.596-08:00The Memories That Take Me Back Home<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I found this picture of me as my mother and I were going through some of her old photos..Sunday school. It brought back a lot of great memories. I remember that dress. It was different shades of pink..I must of been 5 or 6 years old. I was standing in front of this great big picture on the wall in the hallway of the church.<br />
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As a child, I remember going to church and weekends at grandma's house. I think that's when I fell in love with getting all dressed up. I loved wearing pretty dresses along with my black patent leather shoes that shined. Gloves, lace tights or Bobbi socks and my little purse, Sunday was church day..it was family day. For a while my sister and I attended Forth Baptist Church Bible School. Mom didn't have a car so the bus would come and pick us up. I remember learning about Noah's Ark and the Ten Commandments. When we went to grandma's house for the weekend.. it was Church again. I still remember the gentle tap on my knee. Grandma would say, " Sit up straight, and pull your dress down..act like a lady". She'd give me a lemon drop or piece of cinnamon gum. Next she'd give me the change to put in the collection plate,which I kept tightly clenched in my hand until it was time. I was always sad when it was time to go home on Sunday
evening. I never wanted
to leave grandma's house.<br />
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Sunday dinner was one of the best parts of the day. Whatever the occasion, family was there. Uncles,aunts,cousins..and food, there was so much food! Roast turkey and dressing, greens, macaroni and cheese, potato salad, raisin pie and some sort of fruit cobbler...and ice cream, there was always ice cream. I remember that I hated potato salad. I always complained, saying that it didn't go together. "Who eats potato salad with turkey and dressing, I grumbled". Why not mashed potatoes and gravy? clearly my opinion didn't matter. When I was growing up, you ate what you got and that was it. I had no choice in the matter. It makes me laugh thinking about those times. My mother later explained to me that it was a family tradition. Her grandmother made potato salad. In fact, many of the recipes that my grandmother made were the same recipes that her mother made. My mother also made the same recipes, the same way. Now I understood..cooking and recipes came from the ancestors, passed down through the generations, mother to daughter, grandmother to granddaughter. Now I get it.<br />
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Years later, grown and married with children of my own. There I was still going to church with my grandma. I loved spending the weekend with her. Waking up to the smell of the roast turkey that she had put in the oven at the crack of dawn. I could hear the word of the gospel playing on the television that she listened to as she got dressed. As we sat in church, I'd smile to myself as she still tried to put money in my hand for the collection plate like she did when I was a child. Maybe in her eyes I would always be her little granddaughter.<br />
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It's funny how life changes. I now make the same potato salad that I used to hate, as well as all the other recipes passed down. Grandma's no longer here. But I can still hear her say. Always Thank God. Everyday. Thank him, Thank him and Thank him.<br />
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<i>Denise </i>Denise Muhammadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04029531203426898401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8110335572470669971.post-39981199261171388662016-05-23T09:47:00.002-07:002016-05-23T09:50:15.379-07:00The Day That Papa Died<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj92IgzDuKW7La_uCZub70GejJ75UQ4Cu_VXKnSmzbSc3KX_ylBeT3azZhQCKm1Q9wun24oY3OxH71Iw62In-487tH7zV43CoadXyyfz43z_WDMbaewWcxjBfIEz1DrV9zGfsKp8B0Nkx8/s1600/IMG_20130811_171842.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj92IgzDuKW7La_uCZub70GejJ75UQ4Cu_VXKnSmzbSc3KX_ylBeT3azZhQCKm1Q9wun24oY3OxH71Iw62In-487tH7zV43CoadXyyfz43z_WDMbaewWcxjBfIEz1DrV9zGfsKp8B0Nkx8/s320/IMG_20130811_171842.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
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It's been five years since grandma passed away and I miss her so. Of all the many things that I miss about her, I think I miss our talks at the kitchen table the most. The kitchen table..it was small and round and had a drop leaf on each side that made it bigger. It sat against the wall in her kitchen, in front of two large windows that faced the side of her house. She loved to watch the birds out the window as she sat there. This table is where the stories came to life. Grandma always talked about her father, Papa, as she called him. I think that they must have been very close because you could feel the love when she spoke of him.<br />
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She told me about the day that her father died. Peter Lee Doyle, Papa, died in September 1934. They brought the coffin to the house that day. Grandma said that in those days when someone died they brought the body into the living room and had the funeral service right there at your house. People would come and pay their respects. The day that Papa died brought a few surprises..The day that grandma said goodbye to her father was the same day that she met her sisters. Three girls that she had never seen before came for the funeral. She said they all were fair in complexion with long sandy brown hair and looked Indian. Her mother said, "Meet your Sisters, Hattie, Mattie and Letha. She said that she never even knew that they existed until the day her father died and they showed up at the door.<br />
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Hattie, Mattie and Letha were her father's daughter's from his first marriage. They came from Virginia to Iowa at a young age and were raised by grandma's mother. Mary Bell Doyle (Carr). By the time grandma got older they were already gone and married. She always talked about her sisters, giving me every detail.<br />
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Hattie Doyle was the oldest, born in 1895. She married Dave Turner and had many children. She raised her family in Des Moines Iowa. <br />
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Mattie Doyle was born in 1897 and married William Wheels in Buxton, Iowa.<br />
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Letha Doyle married Leonard Hale and moved to Cleveland, Ohio. Grandma always said that she ran a Tavern, but finding her in the census states that she ran a rooming house. She died in 1946 in Cleveland, Ohio.<br />
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Unfortunately I only have a picture of Hattie.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBakm8vVSjH5OZF5xIVjld3FMaqkYJZgXOjSaqkEbkjQ_YjyroNK2-r9MNmaWYROHMkBBvHUI3ELZI6Zfc06KpKywnEiNFDktSN53NT4PwqENl7CmcmV2Z8h27j-m-DWG6LPGwCKjgdn0/s1600/Hattie+Doyle+Turner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBakm8vVSjH5OZF5xIVjld3FMaqkYJZgXOjSaqkEbkjQ_YjyroNK2-r9MNmaWYROHMkBBvHUI3ELZI6Zfc06KpKywnEiNFDktSN53NT4PwqENl7CmcmV2Z8h27j-m-DWG6LPGwCKjgdn0/s320/Hattie+Doyle+Turner.jpg" width="236" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hattie Doyle Turner. Photo courtesy of Dave Turner</td></tr>
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<br />Denise Muhammadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04029531203426898401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8110335572470669971.post-45532657535575819322016-03-14T20:44:00.000-07:002017-01-16T17:25:31.008-08:00They Call My Name<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC-VHWpPi4_V1rgXupgJByYS_f5H8aR5UF99Y96PCSnFkBBT_V11YhfX1HsVu-jjOrWHEwhez3rRrOpb6fGFWVbQmDbLKafRm3796ev2IS86G7jXz6BW1-YEZ-N8BriwjQmvnn4DFPYBo/s1600/Mariah+Hall+Conaway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC-VHWpPi4_V1rgXupgJByYS_f5H8aR5UF99Y96PCSnFkBBT_V11YhfX1HsVu-jjOrWHEwhez3rRrOpb6fGFWVbQmDbLKafRm3796ev2IS86G7jXz6BW1-YEZ-N8BriwjQmvnn4DFPYBo/s320/Mariah+Hall+Conaway.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Great-Great Grandmother, Mariah Hall Conaway</td></tr></tbody></table>Some days it seems like my ancestors call my name. On Different days, it's different ancestors. If I look long enough , I swear I can see them standing there in the distance saying, "Keep looking chile' I'm right here in front of you" I had spent years searching for Mariah, my paternal Great Great-Grandmother. I could never get past the 1880 census, Just simply could not find her. Becoming frustrated with my research, I decided to put her away and focus on other ancestors. <br /><br />Last summer this picture was shared at a family reunion. I was told that the woman in the photo was my great grandmother, Barbara Conaway. Although I was excited to see this wonderful photo. Something kept nudging me. Why did her clothes look so old? I blew the photo up on my computer and searched every detail. I compared it to another picture of Grandma Barbara. They did not look like the same person. Grandma Barbara was born in 1881 and died in 1936. Something just didn't fit. The woman in the photo appears to have light eyes, her hair looks either gray or light brown.and of course, her clothes..I had a feeling that this is was not Barbara. A call to my cousin Ann confirmed my suspicion. The woman in the photo was definitely not Barbara. It was her mother. <b>Mariah Hall Conaway</b>.<br /><br />After my conversation with cousin Ann, my curiosity sent me back to searching for Mariah and her family. Family oral history says that she was a slave in Franklin county, Missouri. I had already found Mariah's mother, Myra Hall, and her siblings in the 1870 census. The same record that I had searched a dozen or more times. I felt sure that Mariah and her husband Curry had to be in Franklin County somewhere. There was something that I was missing. I got a tip about a research strategy for finding your African American ancestors in the 1870 census called the "Nettie Rule". After reading this article by Tony Burroughs, <a href="http://www.tonyburroughs.com/uploads/1/3/2/8/13281200/finding_african_americans_on_the_1870_census.pdf">Finding African Americans On The 1870 Census</a> I knew that I had to try again.<br /><br />I went back and searched the 1870 census again, going back over the same census record that I had previously found Mariah's mother and siblings listed on, only this time I payed very close attention first names as well as surnames. Suddenly there, sitting at the very bottom of the page, living a few doors away form her mother and siblings, was Mariah, Curry and their young son, Joseph. Only their surname was not Conaway. It was HUNTER! I could not believe it. How in the world did I miss this! I never noticed them. I always focused on the surnames. I guess that's why I missed them. Obviously they had changed their name, as many slaves did after they were free. Next, I began searching for the Hunter surname in Franklin County, Missouri to see what I could find.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYcgKzSQhCPGHsHbcKKCh1xjd1sU3w-qAp4lZut8gFw82w9yZaI230D9i1vE8NhpPSdhcISgUXo-uAcO9Ei6BYG9SQNBLiNCBVq4Z-tzmaeFY2P5MjS22eF9CYKP_sRzDWC-hbpFWNdjI/s1600/Curry+Conaway+Hunter+1870+census.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYcgKzSQhCPGHsHbcKKCh1xjd1sU3w-qAp4lZut8gFw82w9yZaI230D9i1vE8NhpPSdhcISgUXo-uAcO9Ei6BYG9SQNBLiNCBVq4Z-tzmaeFY2P5MjS22eF9CYKP_sRzDWC-hbpFWNdjI/s320/Curry+Conaway+Hunter+1870+census.jpg" width="237" /></a></div><br />I found a will for a man named VALENTINE HUNTER. Valentine was a slave holder from Rowen County, North Carolina. He moved to Franklin co, Missouri with his wife Margaret in about 1826 bringing his slaves with him. In 1849 he left a will freeing his 13 slaves. Easter/Esther, Nice, Caroline, <b>Curry</b>, John, George, Smith, Mary, Ambrose, Charles, Manda/Amanda, Clinton, Sarah Ann. Could this be my Great Great Grandfather, Curry? Valentine also put in his will that after the death of his wife, Margaret, that his property be sold and the money from his estate be divided among his slaves. Did they actually receive the money? According to documents in the Missouri State Archives. All former slaves actually did receive the money that Valentine wanted them to have. I wondered..Why he would free his slaves in 1849? Even more, why would he leave his former slaves money from his estate. Many of the slaves were young children and were entrusted to the care of some of the older slaves.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihDqcwcO0Xhfx6s7oJTjS6zzObo9EdwaFyYQKu0UF2t0oPJ4kZhQ14NMH-olHBQRAvYf1XA54DYYCEZqK6IHansTaxpVrh_aCXBQtQuwIfUxe2yuppEmI6XQ8cxw85ZksIcLs-I6YAfQ0/s1600/Valentine+Hunter+will+1849.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihDqcwcO0Xhfx6s7oJTjS6zzObo9EdwaFyYQKu0UF2t0oPJ4kZhQ14NMH-olHBQRAvYf1XA54DYYCEZqK6IHansTaxpVrh_aCXBQtQuwIfUxe2yuppEmI6XQ8cxw85ZksIcLs-I6YAfQ0/s320/Valentine+Hunter+will+1849.jpg" width="217" /></a></div><br />I searched for Curry with this new found name, Hunter. I found him in 1860 living as a free man in Franklin county. He was living with a mulatto woman named Maria Ferguson. I wonder if this woman could be Mariah. So many questions.. who knows, maybe this is my link to all my DNA matches with ancestors from Rowan county, North Carolina and the Hunter and Ferguson surnames. My search continues..<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><i>Denise</i><br /><br /><br />Denise Muhammadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04029531203426898401noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8110335572470669971.post-92164973825292346052015-04-24T18:32:00.001-07:002015-04-26T17:17:02.692-07:00 This Long Journey: Making a Home In Minnesota<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm9NYxxTBTltNGFk7lLOhvsB-ugcGTLwDEIGLRoWrEfW2awLH80wc2Ro8xc2A0C5KRPC-FqycJMUFVNkoHtmiylwACc35fuInyqYzhfU159sIwAWSxWLyM4mGtOoI9ah_cW1cW7AK-cTw/s1600/J.h.+bannarn+home+before.bmp.jpg" height="225" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Home of John Henry and Emiline Bannarn 5058 Humboldt ave N. 1914-2000</td></tr>
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I must have passed by this little green house a dozen times or more before I knew it's relation to my family. I had walked my daughter to school many days. Passing by the Creek, by the small church in the neighborhood. I stood on the ground where my ancestors once stood totally unaware of their lives here. By the time I found out that it was the home of my Great Great-Grandparents, John Henry and Emiline Bannarn, the city of Minneapolis was already making plans to demolish the house and my cousin Delores was trying to save it. The house sat on the corner of 50th and Humboldt avenue. It's been 100 years since John Henry and Emiline came to Minneapolis and built their home. Back in those days this area of Minneapolis was considered the country...Today it's considered the city. Funny how times change. <br />
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John Henry BANNARN was born a slave in Missouri about 1850. He was the son of NANCY SAUNDERS and his Irish slave owner. At some point John ended up in Texas where he met EMILINE SPENCER. Emiline was of Seminole Indian ancestry and was also born enslaved. She was the
daughter of Jesse and Sally Spencer, who were both from North Carolina. John and Emiline were married July 4, 1869 in Hunt County, Texas. Together they had 10 children. Thomas, Dee, John, Walter, Monroe, Albert (Goree), Ellora, Laverne. The names of two of the children remains a mystery. I have always been told that my Bannarn ancestors moved often, never staying in one place for long and always traveled by covered wagon. Maybe this is indicative of their Native American ancestry. Looking at the census records this seems to be true. Between 1870-1910 they lived in many cities throughout Texas and Oklahoma.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaMnFARvOWLlrbH6oZkCb5BtpOA0INxbTTz3SmkzdFIraXKPeYelep9tPWnnW3cv-NPWghYgrRxZ9nQJom0hyoc9AxFU1V3LJmcbd_CToeo4EiUzka632tznfbBAuxHGYsk1yfST3gd4s/s1600/ads2-15b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaMnFARvOWLlrbH6oZkCb5BtpOA0INxbTTz3SmkzdFIraXKPeYelep9tPWnnW3cv-NPWghYgrRxZ9nQJom0hyoc9AxFU1V3LJmcbd_CToeo4EiUzka632tznfbBAuxHGYsk1yfST3gd4s/s1600/ads2-15b.jpg" height="320" width="207" /></a> Around the turn of the century, the Canadian Government began advertising land in Canada. They sent newspaper ads like this to Oklahoma, Missouri, Kansas, Texas and other states. My ancestors like so many others left the south with the hope of finding a better life for their family. John Henry and Emiline along with some of their children and grandchildren, left Oklahoma in about 1912 and headed for Canada. Some family members got sick along the way and had to turn around and go back. My family's oral history says that my Great Grandfather, Dee Bannarn, John Henry's son, killed a man for making a pass at his wife Hassie. Fearing for their lives, the family left. I've wondered how much of the story is true..maybe the reason they left Oklahoma was a little of both. When they got to the border of Canada, for reasons unknown, John Henry and Emiline were turned away. Their son Albert, affectionately known as Goree, and his wife Lola, were allowed past the border and settled in Alberta, Canada. They had two daughters, Cleola and Gladys. After being denied access into Canada, John Henry and Emiline headed for Minnesota. They settled in the city of Minneapolis. They first show up in the city directory in 1913 living on 3rd street south. In 1914 John Henry and Emiline became one of the first to build a home in a small African American community in north Minneapolis called "Maple Leaf and Humboldt Heights". <br />
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<b><b> </b></b><b><b>5058 Humboldt Ave North</b></b><br />
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all efforts to save the home, the city of Minneapolis decided to proceed with their project. A decision was made to take the house
apart and study the method that John Henry built the home. Historian
Carole Zellie started researching the history of the neighborhood and
the families that migrated from the south. There were interviews with
many family members. I remember how excited my grandmother, Margaret Doyle Bannarn, was to share her memories of the Bannarn family members as well as many pictures.<br />
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<b> Demolition Begins</b> <b> </b><br />
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In the summer of 2000, family members gathered at the J.H. Bannarn home to watch the demolition. Piece by piece, brick by brick they began to take the home apart. What they found in the process was very interesting. The home was built with salvaged wood. Some pieces were charred which indicated that there may have been a fire at some point. A closer study revealed that there was not a fire, John Henry had reused the burnt wood from another home. The original house was much smaller than what the photo shows. The front half as well as the porch were later additions. The house was layered with Asphalt, Depression Brick and Tar Paper. The foundation was made of rocks and bricks that were roughly set in cement by hand. I remember one of the workers that day said that John Henry must of been a short man because the basement ceiling height was not much over five feet. I was surprised when they pulled the walls apart, and found the insides lined with nothing more than newspaper for insulation. At the end of the research. There was a booklet made, detailing the history of the families. It is now available in the local library.<br />
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Today, the homes are gone. Green grass and trees line the Greenway where the homes once stood.
There is a plaque that sits in the middle of the block, implanted on a large rock, in memory of my ancestors along with the many other families who
migrated to the Minneapolis Shingle Creek area, Maple Leaf and Humboldt Heights community and made a home
there in the early 1900's.<br />
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I am reminded of John Henry and Emiline each and every time I drive down Humboldt avenue..Occasionally I stop, and walk on the grass where the house once stood. As I stand there in their footsteps, I try to imagine what their life was like 100 years ago. I can see Grandma Emiline in her garden..I can see her gathering eggs in the chicken coop, there's Grandpa John Henry down at Shingle Creek fishing for today's supper.. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaPy7XWc0BtsqufbkXlx-Bypwfrtdm0vJ23DZgotW67BzPI6xFPzX_hlkTT7uHr5FowIIfuhPI1IoAuBlgHR8MrefsheY-o4cfEe1I9VLoWj77iYuCoyAUmT3R0gKtMSjDQ3Sam5N4ojE/s1600/bannarn+family+and+community+members.bmp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaPy7XWc0BtsqufbkXlx-Bypwfrtdm0vJ23DZgotW67BzPI6xFPzX_hlkTT7uHr5FowIIfuhPI1IoAuBlgHR8MrefsheY-o4cfEe1I9VLoWj77iYuCoyAUmT3R0gKtMSjDQ3Sam5N4ojE/s1600/bannarn+family+and+community+members.bmp.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">L. to R. Bannarn family members..Carla Pryor, Gloria Bannarn Pryor, Deloris Grigsby, Denise Wooley-Muhammad,<br />
Neighboring families: Lillian Schoefield, Cecil Adair and Cherie Adair. 2000</td></tr>
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© 2015 Denise Muhammad, They came from Virginia<br />
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Denise Muhammadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04029531203426898401noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8110335572470669971.post-56611162225791366272014-11-20T20:15:00.001-08:002015-01-13T09:20:46.918-08:00The adventures Of Rose And Bill: Fried Chicken Was The Plan<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>Laughter is a powerful antidote to stress, pain, and conflict. Nothing
works faster or more dependably to bring your mind and body back into
balance than a good laugh. Humor lightens your burdens, inspires hopes,
connects you to others, and keeps you grounded. Sometimes we all just need a good laugh. Laughter is good for the soul..</i></span></b>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTBoD2C2ecnwSbFAM7khMj_uMHafsi-NlH0zxjXRtZOemK54fZwX2Mvk-BcSWckvVoBLXZLE65_OPVu5ZZYZiB1mtKz-ANxpobAjvcHAg8Hr334N0OpPC0gSzAlNH05qAV_ZXH6ncBTqk/s1600/IMG_20131221_210605.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTBoD2C2ecnwSbFAM7khMj_uMHafsi-NlH0zxjXRtZOemK54fZwX2Mvk-BcSWckvVoBLXZLE65_OPVu5ZZYZiB1mtKz-ANxpobAjvcHAg8Hr334N0OpPC0gSzAlNH05qAV_ZXH6ncBTqk/s1600/IMG_20131221_210605.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rose and William "Bill" Doyle abt.1917</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When I think of my grandmother, a picture of her laughing comes to mind...She always had a story to tell.
Funny stories, quirky little sayings, events that happened in her childhood. There was always another
story to tell, she always had something to talk about. One of my favorites is the story of Bill, Rose and the Chicken. I
think part of why I am fond of this story is because it reminds me of how
simple life was in her time..and every time grandma told it, she would
be almost on the floor laughing.<br />
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Rose and Bill were my grandmother's older sibling's. Rose, born in 1910 was the oldest of all the children. Bill was the second child, born in 1913. According to grandma, Rose and Bill were always getting into trouble. And so we begin..<br />
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"Most of the time, they fought like cats and dogs, arguing and calling each other names..they drove my mother crazy! Rose being the oldest, usually bossed us around..One day when Mama and Papa left the house to go into town. Rose decided that she would fry some chicken. We watched out the window as Mama and Papa drove away..back in those days Papa drove a horse drawn wagon. Well, Rose told Bill to go out to the coop and get a Chicken. While Bill did as Rose told him to do and went out to catch a chicken, Rose got busy preparing the stove. In those days we had a little stove that you had to add coal to to keep the fire going. Rose got the skillet out and melted the lard. They were so exited, laughing and talking about how they were going to have them some good ole' fried chicken today! Bill got the chicken, rung it's neck and brought it in to Rose. She started plucking the feathers off the chicken. Before she could get it cooked, here comes Mama and Papa up the road! You should have seen them scramble and jump!. All of a sudden, Bill grabbed the coal bucket and shoved the chicken in the bucket attempting to hide it under the coal! Rose grabbed the skillet with the hot grease, opened the back door and threw it out the door. It was so funny! I laughed so hard! they knew that they didn't ask permission to kill that chicken and they also knew that they would be in big trouble if Mama found out! They never did get fried chicken that day. The chicken went to waste. That was a terrible thing, it's a sin to waste food". I don't know if Mama ever did find out what Bill and Rose did that day".<br />
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How times have changed..<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Denise </i></span><br />
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© 2014 Denise Muhammad and They came from VirginiaDenise Muhammadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04029531203426898401noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8110335572470669971.post-74899665054041155012014-10-05T19:19:00.001-07:002015-12-15T18:28:56.822-08:00I Recieved A Very Nice Surprise ~ "One Lovely Blog Award"Last week I received a very nice surprise. I was so excited! I was nominated for the<br />
"One Lovely Blog Award" by Bernita Allen of " Voices Inside My Head". http://alhupartu.blogspot.com/<br />
<br />
Thank you Bernita. I am truly honored and humbled to be nominated by you. Bernita has an Awesomel blog! I enjoy reading her posts. <br />
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<b>Here are the rules for this award:</b><br />
<ol>
<li>Thank the person who nominated you and link to that blog</li>
<li>Share Seven things about yourself</li>
<li>Nominate 15 bloggers you admire (or as many as you can think of!)</li>
<li>Contact your bloggers to let them know that you’ve tagged them for the One Lovely Blog Award </li>
</ol>
<b> </b><br />
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<b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWN2i5SIxaZ_MMcIIBHqNTQOqMCuNEZD-yTp48VeSThbeFSasS8TdKsgHA3XMv9s64LDJfjHy7UZzooUdWhN3-ZtUWfYf0Uh1z0axTgN8EU6fbpKXzVVoRshpOgpb0QdGIwVQVUsqJmSA/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWN2i5SIxaZ_MMcIIBHqNTQOqMCuNEZD-yTp48VeSThbeFSasS8TdKsgHA3XMv9s64LDJfjHy7UZzooUdWhN3-ZtUWfYf0Uh1z0axTgN8EU6fbpKXzVVoRshpOgpb0QdGIwVQVUsqJmSA/s1600/download.jpg" /></a></b></div>
<br />
<b>Seven Things About Me:</b><br />
<br />
<b>1. I found a Sister through Ancestry.com. We met for the first time a few years ago.</b><br />
<b>2. I have two older brothers and three younger sisters.</b><br />
<b><b>3.</b></b><b> I love DIY projects. I put in my bathroom floors and a new sink all by myself. </b><br />
<b>4. I enjoy gardening. Every summer I plant two large vegetable gardens. One in my backyard and one in my community.</b><br />
<b>5. I have three grown children and three grandchildren. </b><br />
<b>6. I am a Seamstress. Many of my ancestors were Seamstresses' also. </b><b> </b><br />
<b>7. A few years ago, out of curiosity. I researched the previous owners of my home. It took me back to 1852 with the first person who owned the land before the homes in my neighborhood were built. Her name was Rhoda Bean.</b><br />
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<b><br /></b>
<br />
<b><b>It was difficult to choose, there are so many great blogs out there. Here are 15 Bloggers that I Admire:</b></b><br />
<br />
1. <a href="http://findingeliza.com/">Finding Eliza</a> by Kristin Cleage<br />
<a href="http://mytrueroots.blogspot.com/"></a>2. <a href="http://mytrueroots.blogspot.com/">Notes To Myself</a> by True Lewis<br />
3. <a href="http://ouralabamaroots.info/">Our Alabama Roots</a> by Luckie Daniels<br />
4. <a href="http://www.railroadsandcotton.com/">Railroads and Cotton</a> by Nia Jai<br />
5. <a href="http://howdidigetheremygenealogyjourney.blogspot.com/">How Did I Get Here?</a> by Andrea Kelleher<br />
6. <a href="http://theancestorshavespoken.blogspot.com/">The Ancestors Have Spoken</a> by Yvette Porter Moore<br />
7. <a href="http://rootstories.wordpress.com/">RootStories and More</a> by Tiffany Neal<br />
<a href="http://shinaultfamilygenealogy.wordpress.com/"></a>8. <a href="http://rootedinyou.blogspot.com/">Rooted In You</a> by Delores Summons<br />
9. <a href="http://genealogybreakingdownthewalls.blogspot.com/">Breaking Down The Walls</a> by Monique Crippen-Hopkins<br />
<a href="http://tracingmypetersancestry.blogspot.com/">10.Tracing My Peters Ancestry</a> by Angelo Andrews<br />
11.<a href="http://ouralabamaandgeorgiaancestors.blogspot.com/">Our Alabama and Georgia Ancestors</a> by Dante Eubanks<br />
12. <a href="http://traceystree.blogspot.com/">Tracey's Tree</a> by Tracy Hughes<br />
13. <a href="http://mejewell66.wordpress.com/">Jewells In Dem Kentucky Hills</a> by Mary E. Bright-Jewell<br />
14. <a href="http://www.ancestorscall.blogspot.com/">Answering The Ancestors' Call</a> by M Dawn Terrell<br />
15.<a href="http://luckfamilydna.blogspot.com/">Tracing Gardner's Footprints</a> by Ressie Luck<br />
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<br />
<br />
For those on my list, if you have already been nominated I'm pretty
certain that you don't have to nominate a group. There are so many
more wonderful bloggers out there whose work I admire. I have learned
so much from the more experienced members of the genealogy community. I
enjoy our interactions and appreciate their support. <br />
<br />
<b>Contact Bloggers</b><br />
I will be contacting the 15 bloggers on my list, unless they see this
post and contact me first. Thank you Bernita for nominating my blog for
the "One Lovely Blog Award". I am honored to be included in your list
of nominees.
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-size: large;">Denise</span></i>Denise Muhammadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04029531203426898401noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8110335572470669971.post-50510166400170919962014-08-23T20:00:00.000-07:002017-01-16T17:48:51.770-08:00Following The Voices In The Picture<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivUyKWOytM4RvlS8UjhkwF7jEEjiiiJEChZGhEZrwmtEMCmcN5Lc501GmrBeDBOVlJzp8KVXLtItl00tx8HRZgq4FXLyzaiLJ8hdtTBU_6Abq9hYcBwnd7Od3bN86wTf0r5MoKJuR8fms/s1600/James+&+Barbara+Fowler.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivUyKWOytM4RvlS8UjhkwF7jEEjiiiJEChZGhEZrwmtEMCmcN5Lc501GmrBeDBOVlJzp8KVXLtItl00tx8HRZgq4FXLyzaiLJ8hdtTBU_6Abq9hYcBwnd7Od3bN86wTf0r5MoKJuR8fms/s1600/James+&+Barbara+Fowler.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Paternal Great-Grandparents James & Barbara Fowler (Conaway)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Lately I've been wondering when or if I would get my spark back for genealogy. That extreme, almost 24/7 passion that has kept me up many nights pondering over the life of my ancestors. Over the past six months, work, family and just busy living life have taken over and I've struggled to keep up with my ancestors. I felt uncomfortable at first, almost like I was letting them down by not penning a blog post, not researching, barely giving them a thought. I knew that the story must continue to be told, there was so much more to share. How could I stop? as I tried to fight the feeling, I suddenly remembered something that Luckie Daniels once told me. She said, "Just Go With The Flow". Sometimes their voice speaks loud and clear, sometimes they barely whisper and sometimes you don't hear them at all. Whatever it is, it's alright. Just when I began to let go and make peace with myself and this new hiatus, a package in the mail found me and the voices of my ancestors were no longer silent.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPRgAvsrAHiUtPmrdfQhU4D5vUT8QIca1IaQ7G6d6unEjlZrZ5JIL564DmVZAft87uvWBA8SlYH3RCYhxCFTNwRB8YlBZTcO0yPI5MGPUhRUqTWtdHxtK9V-dITv05z8S5fDGdRxfcBck/s1600/IMG_20140827_130909.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPRgAvsrAHiUtPmrdfQhU4D5vUT8QIca1IaQ7G6d6unEjlZrZ5JIL564DmVZAft87uvWBA8SlYH3RCYhxCFTNwRB8YlBZTcO0yPI5MGPUhRUqTWtdHxtK9V-dITv05z8S5fDGdRxfcBck/s1600/IMG_20140827_130909.jpg" width="240" /></a>Several months ago, my cousin Darren told me about an up coming family reunion in Missouri this summer. I couldn't wait to meet the cousins that I had connected with online. Finally I would get to meet my Paternal Grandmother's side of the family. For months I made plans to make the trip..Imagine my disappointment when I wasn't able to attend. A few weeks later my cousin Elizabeth, whom I've yet to meet, sent me items from the reunion. A Family reunion book, full of pictures, names, dates, kinship reports along with T-shirts and a DVD. I nearly fell off my chair when I opened the package! Smack dead on the front of the book was a picture of my Paternal Great Grandparents, James & Barbara Fowler! I had wondered for so many years what they looked like. It's such a good feeling when you connect with cousins through genealogy and they embrace you as mine have. I've never met any of them, yet we are family. Looking at their faces, I see my father, my grandmother..I see me. <br />
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Pictures really do speak a thousand words. They capture moments in time in the lives of our loved ones and serve as inspiration and encouragement to continue to find ancestors and share their story. I hear them saying "Get up Girl! there's more to find!". I am dedicated to finding my ancestors and sharing their stories, however, the lesson that I'm learning in this journey is that it's alright to take a break from time to time...even our ancestors stopped to rest on their journey. <br />
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Following the spirit of the ancestors and going with the Flow..<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy5_E_qfpzefh9Pkz6Ia2QRdeZc6y1CXFqT4CUzbueu45VZvo6nMLXnMaZnr1r97jz2ZG0HsntpP-Av7Tq21WkACQkPUJz5-QUzRJ2MSGEnWXVwYK-KT3nO67ndhz1Af4d0FGGNLh_gDk/s1600/IMG_2812.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy5_E_qfpzefh9Pkz6Ia2QRdeZc6y1CXFqT4CUzbueu45VZvo6nMLXnMaZnr1r97jz2ZG0HsntpP-Av7Tq21WkACQkPUJz5-QUzRJ2MSGEnWXVwYK-KT3nO67ndhz1Af4d0FGGNLh_gDk/s1600/IMG_2812.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cousins at the family reunion 2014</td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Denise</i></span></b><br />
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© 2014 Denise Muhammad <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNpPuHuvZZ6YomXgspJY4mvOsBAi4MUlJifO6L8IJx0azFBl8g3vaSG3OtNC6_cs1soScJ6ccV6Yc9LxnB7tsgEUGPmd_H8vXfEec4Xpl5q082tdkqXArrUazFBcGYikYgjHdu7J48yP8/s1600/IMG_20140515_144133.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNpPuHuvZZ6YomXgspJY4mvOsBAi4MUlJifO6L8IJx0azFBl8g3vaSG3OtNC6_cs1soScJ6ccV6Yc9LxnB7tsgEUGPmd_H8vXfEec4Xpl5q082tdkqXArrUazFBcGYikYgjHdu7J48yP8/s1600/IMG_20140515_144133.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Grandmother, Margaret Doyle (standing left) with her mother Mary Belle Carr and siblings, Bill, Johnny and Edythe. 1930</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
While looking further into the past of the men on my maternal side of the family, who worked as Coalminers in Buxton and Enterprise, Iowa. It was my Great-Grandmother, Mary Belle Carr, who caught my attention and sent my thoughts in another direction. So here I am, going with the flow of my ancestors...<br />
<br />
When my grandma Margaret, talked about her mother. She
never failed to mention what a hard life that her mother had. When I asked her why, she said that her mother worked so hard, and had suffered through
the heartache of losing many children at a young age. From all that I know about my great-grandmother, I think that she must of been very strong. I wondered what life was like for a woman 100 years ago. The infant mortality rate was pretty high. Unlike today, most women gave birth to their children at home. Many women lost children due to stillbirths, illness, inadequate medical care, and accidents of the time. <br />
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Great Grandma Mary was just a teenager when she married her husband Peter Doyle. On their marriage record it states that she was 19. Born in May of 1886, she was actually 16. She came from Virginia to Iowa and married Peter in 1903. She started her family life there in the Coal Mining town of Buxton, becoming a mother to his three young daughters from his previous marriage, Hattie, Mattie and Letha.<br />
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My Grandmother, who was born in 1916 always said that she was the ninth child born to her mother. She had two older siblings, Rose and Bill. Rose, who was the oldest of all the children. Was born in 1910. William was born in 1913. Between 1903 and 1907, Grandma Mary lost babies, one right after another. All stillborn. In 1908, she gave birth to a baby boy named Louie. He was the first child born alive. He lived for just two months before his passing in January of 1909. My Grandma used to say that she remembered hearing her parents talk about the baby boy who lived the longest. She never could remember his name exactly, she said she thought his name was Lonnie???,.. or something like that,..she wasn't quite sure..I have since come across Louie's death record and realized that he was the baby that grandma tried so hard to remember. There was another baby, named Eliza. She was born and died in March 1907. She was most likely named after Peter's sister Eliza.<br />
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Mary went on to have seven children that survived past infancy. I'm told that she thirteen in total. Years later she lost two more children. Her youngest child, Little Esther, died in 1931 at age 3 after eating poison berries while playing in the yard. Her son John was just 20 years old when he died in 1945 during WWII in France. <br />
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I've always been told that Grandma Mary was a spiritual woman of faith. She put her trust in the Lord and prayed continuously. Eventually becoming an Evangelist. I'm sure that her faith is what helped her through the most difficult times in her life. ♥<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Denise</span></i><br />
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© 2014 Denise Muhammad and They Came From Virginia<br />
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Sources: Interview with Margaret D. James<br />
Monroe county Marriage record<br />
Buxton Iowa Cemetery Records<br />
Polk County Iowa Death Records<br />
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<br />Denise Muhammadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04029531203426898401noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8110335572470669971.post-1775962802395032522014-04-18T19:34:00.003-07:002014-10-21T16:27:03.566-07:00Remembering Uncle Mike<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ycO9E0ai6_EsrZ5YwnkrqLu-OFPrRpjUNOKcKpgwsUL26uXt6MosyqCBMYA4u7lh_vyVdKTHO2BjUWrc7teaQW8wU1ePcbOqK3eZipQZsJHGF27EAcFB5fL-sOXyYEUkgceACno4z24/s1600/Henry'+Mike+%27Bannarn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ycO9E0ai6_EsrZ5YwnkrqLu-OFPrRpjUNOKcKpgwsUL26uXt6MosyqCBMYA4u7lh_vyVdKTHO2BjUWrc7teaQW8wU1ePcbOqK3eZipQZsJHGF27EAcFB5fL-sOXyYEUkgceACno4z24/s400/Henry'+Mike+%27Bannarn.jpg" height="400" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Henry Wilmer Bannarn "Mike"</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">For as long as I can remember. I've heard my mother and grandmother talk about "Uncle Mike". I never met him, but I sure felt like I did. He was like a celebrity in my family. They were obviously very proud of him. Mom always said that my oldest brother, who was and still is very artistic, got his talent from uncle Mike. Growing up, I remember that he could draw anything. Mom always said that artistic expression ran in the BANNARN family and that many relatives were talented in one way or another. I knew that Uncle Mike was the brother of my mother's father, Anthony BANNARN. I also knew that he was an artist. But It wasn't until I got older, and became more curious about my family history, that I began to ask questions about the man called "Uncle Mike". Curious me..I always wanted to know more. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Grandma always had so much to say, and never seemed to mind my
questions. Especially when she was in the mood to talk. I knew that she knew the
Bannarn's well, I also knew that she had been best friend's with Grandpa Tony and Uncle Mike's cousin, Cleola Bannarn...Grandma was just the right person to talk to.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdl9aX64rYQQ77rHXY9TZJhVykShlp-WrhG6WJQX9wjmTqO2OTERkWWrBd8PyJrJsaPww5N5HfZuLHsh0mgKl3RscFHm-3o1Z9cTFElzNNatS7m64IgwQ9cpxuaWJkjasCkIcRUIKODek/s1600/Cleo+&+grandma.bmp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdl9aX64rYQQ77rHXY9TZJhVykShlp-WrhG6WJQX9wjmTqO2OTERkWWrBd8PyJrJsaPww5N5HfZuLHsh0mgKl3RscFHm-3o1Z9cTFElzNNatS7m64IgwQ9cpxuaWJkjasCkIcRUIKODek/s1600/Cleo+&+grandma.bmp.jpg" height="400" width="232" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cleola Bannarn Davis & Margaret Doyle Bannarn 1939-Minneapolis</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>Grandma Margaret's memories of Uncle Mike:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Henry Wilmer Bannarn, known as " Mike" to many, was an
Artist and Sculptor. He was born July 1910 in Wetumka, Oklahoma to
parents, Dee Bannarn and Hassie Thompson. His family came to Minnesota a
few years after he was born. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">"Mike was one of the nicest guys you'd ever want to meet". He was very good looking, of course all the Bannarn boys were. He was very sweet, a real good guy". I think that grandma admired how good he was to his mother because she mentioned it quite often in our talks, she always said that he came home from school and took care of her. She said that Mike was extremely talented and could always draw well. She remembers him going to art school. He later went off to the war and moved to New York. She remembers his wife Mayola and always talked about how beautiful she was. Together they had three children.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Growing up I never payed much attention to the sculptures that my grandmother had sitting in her home. It wasn't until many years later that she told me that Uncle Mike made them. His sculptures and artwork remain throughout my family today. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I never did ask my grandmother, but I now wonder if she knew all those years ago that he would be so popular one day, his works so great. Mom used to say that she always told them to hang on to his sculptures, they were something to treasure. I wouldn't be surprised if grandma knew after all.. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHZuZtZfaRmcffXShJnB_sMrnRojapnfKEoIJsD3WdbuoAqofg2yv5jeW6StpTYMCokejl6RjZ_BZxi7Ol4uaJo2UrYujfU4WwXCZ7hSSZFeXH-oFk-bToomUFvXT_9z-V5lgzUsfgSTU/s1600/Henry+Bannarn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHZuZtZfaRmcffXShJnB_sMrnRojapnfKEoIJsD3WdbuoAqofg2yv5jeW6StpTYMCokejl6RjZ_BZxi7Ol4uaJo2UrYujfU4WwXCZ7hSSZFeXH-oFk-bToomUFvXT_9z-V5lgzUsfgSTU/s320/Henry+Bannarn.jpg" height="320" width="286" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Henry Wilmer Bannarn</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Wikipedia has a pretty cool description about Uncle Mike and his work.</span><br />
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_Bannarn">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_Bannarn</a><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Denise</span></i><br />
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© 2014 Denise Muhammad, They Came From Virgina <br />
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Source: Interview with Margaret Doyle James<br />
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<br />Denise Muhammadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04029531203426898401noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8110335572470669971.post-89491879975067420772014-04-13T12:25:00.000-07:002017-01-16T17:25:31.151-08:00Digging In Franklin County: The Search For Mariah Hall Conaway<br />Growing up, I remember my conversations with my grandma Luella, my father's mother. As a teenager, I was already curious about my family history and wanted to know more. The day that she told me about her family, I quickly grabbed my yellow notebook and began writing as she talked. Grandma began to rattle off names of her parents, sisters and brothers..and then she began to talk about her grandmother.. Mariah. She said that her grandmother looked like a white woman and could have easily passed for that. Even though she looked white, she was made a slave. I still remember the tone in her voice that day, she said it like she was surprised, she just couldn't believe that she was a slave. I remember having the feeling that Grandma wanted me to know. I was 16 at the time and little did I know that this would be the last time that I spoke with my grandma Luella. I still have that yellow notebook, the one that I wrote in as she spoke to me. Over the years I have referred back to this notebook often, searching for clues to find the woman named Mariah.<br /><br />I found that Mariah Hall Connaway, was born in or around Franklin county, Missouri in about 1839 to MYRA and Abraham HALL. She married Curry CONWAY around 1865. Together they had children; Joseph, Daniel, Maggie, Sarah, Frank, Louis, Benjamin, Barbara. I descend from Barbara who was grandma Luella's mother. I have found CONWAY spelled at least six different ways. I'm not sure what the original spelling was, perhaps Conway turned into Connaway, Connoway, etc. As a result of how the name sounded to the census taker. Mariah and Curry lived their life in Franklin county, Missouri with most of their family members. Looking into my father's family I found that their roots run deep in Missouri. My search for Mariah led me to find her mother MYRA HALL as well as some of Mariah's siblings; Rufus, Sedonia and Wesley Hall. Aunt Frankie, my father's sister, remembered Mariah, her mother Myra and Mariah's daughter, Barbara all being light skinned with long brown hair. Being that I've yet to find any photos of Mariah, Myra or Barbara, I really enjoyed hearing about what they looked like. Mariah died in 1928 and is buried in the Old City cemetery in Washington, Missouri along with her husband Curry and several other family members. Sadly, there are no headstones for any of them.<br /><br />Researching slave ancestry has been challenging to say the least. Spending hours searching slave documents trying to find ancestors is painful. Although I have yet to find the owners of Mariah and her mother Myra, I have not given up the search. The ancestors are calling, and they have a story to tell.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Denise</i></span><br /><br />© 2014 Denise Muhammad<br /><br />Sources: Interviews with Luella Pryor<br />and Frankie TaylorDenise Muhammadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04029531203426898401noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8110335572470669971.post-39534637746838576432014-01-15T07:36:00.003-08:002014-01-15T07:41:35.605-08:00A Friend Of Friends: Lessons From The Underground Railroad #TALIAFERRO<h2>
<span style="font-size: small;"> <b></b></span> </h2>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">By sjtaliaferro</span></span></h2>
One night during the holidays I watched one of my favorite movies,
Roots: The Gift. The movie stars LeVar Burton and Louis Gossett, Jr., in
their roles as Kunta Kinte and Fiddler from the television series
Roots. In this movie, Kunta and Fiddler accompany their owner to another
plantation at Christmas time for a party, and become involved in a plan
to help some runaway slaves escape via the Underground Railroad to
freedom. A simple, yet powerful story. There are many messages and
lessons to be learned from Roots: The Gift.
<br />
In one of my favorite scenes, Fiddler and Kunta are helping the group
of runaway slaves get to the river where they are to meet a boat that
will take them further on their journey to freedom. Along the way they
make a stop to pick up other “passengers” on the Underground Railroad.
When they come to a farmhouse, Kunta approaches and knocks. The man
asks…”who goes”? Kunta responds “Friend of Friends”…in acknowledgment,
the man replies “Friend of Friends”. A group of “passengers” exit the
house. Kunta, Fiddler, and the group continue their journey.<br />
This year, I was particularly moved by the Underground Railroad
scene, and even more so by the phrase uttered by Kunta- Friend of
Friends. The phrase, and variations of it, was used along the
Underground Railroad as a password or signal to those assisting runaway
slaves on their journey North…to freedom. The traditional response to
the “who goes there” password is said to have been “A Friend of a
Friend”.<br />
A Friend of Friends. Say it… A Friend of Friends, again…A Friend of
Friends. It evokes such a comforting, welcoming feeling. A feeling of
trust, of sharing, of caring, of kindness, and of friendship, however
brief. At the same time, it is transient…adjusting and changing with the
circumstances. I’m A Friend of Friends….you don’t know me, but I
require assistance…I need your help, and guidance…some information to
aid me on my journey…then I’ll be moving on…to the next stop along the
way.<br />
The phrase, and the underlying concept, seems particularly
appropriate and relevant for those of us in the genealogy community;
aren’t we all on some level really just A Friend of Friends? Strangers
helping strangers. Friends of friends with a common bond that ties us
all together….the desire to know our ancestors, and to tell their
stories. A common goal, with different methods, different paths that
cross and intersect along the journey. As we travel this road to
uncovering our ancestors and their stories we should all embrace the
concept…we should be A Friend of Friends. Don’t be afraid or reluctant
to share, to care, to guide, or to assist your fellow researcher along
their journey.<br />
As an African American researcher my task is two-fold; I research my
family, but inevitably I must also research the family of my ancestor’s
slave holders if I want to know more about my roots. Often we must seek
information (assistance) from those that we do not know to aid us on our
journey. It is an unavoidable truth – the descendants of our ancestor’s
slave holding families may hold the key to our enslaved ancestor’s
past. Slavery is an ugly truth of our shared history. I am not angry
with you because your ancestor held my ancestor as a slave; don’t be
angry with me because I seek those records that may shed more light on
the lives of my people, and help me to tell their story more completely.
Some who were members of slave holding families assisted passengers
along the Underground Railroad. I challenge you to be A Friend of
Friends.<br />
We, as researchers of our African American ancestry, must also
remember to share, to care, to guide, and to assist our fellow
researchers; reach out, take time….no, make time. Can you request and
expect the assistance of others, yet not expect the same of yourself? I
urge you to stop being selfish with your research. Don’t miss out on a
connection or a long lost cousin because of fear or uncertainty. Post
It, Blog It, Share It, and Publish It. Many who were passengers along
the Underground Railroad returned to assist others on their journey to
freedom. I challenge you to be A Friend of Friends.<br />
True genealogists know all of this, and understand the necessity of
it. Indeed, the concept is nothing new in the genealogy community.
Random, and not so random, acts of kindness occur every day. So,
consider this a wake-up call, my challenge to you. When a fellow
researcher comes calling…for info…for guidance…for knowledge…for support
– be there – to share, to care, to guide, and to assist.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
KNOCK, KNOCK!?!<br />
WHO GOES THERE?<br />
A FRIEND OF FRIENDS</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://thetaliaferroproject.wordpress.com/2013/10/17/a-friend-of-friends-lessons-from-the-underground-railroad/">The Taliaferro Project</a> <a href="http://coaagdreamforward.tumblr.com/">#DREAMFORWARD</a></div>
Denise Muhammadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04029531203426898401noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8110335572470669971.post-80049394625574957192014-01-14T11:46:00.000-08:002014-01-14T11:48:14.438-08:00 The family History Project: An Interview With Grandma Margaret<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOGEKy6C6p2782_gMvcFNpTfiicBP8t_0EhNZdV-fu8LB3fNCm5gYlbdu-xHQP1VjoTwGe0emVVmN3l8VzBNXLTnE2PXZ-myAGmBw7IJdhnob21C9Y7PJH-ZtTnRmM_EYZ95F5ULm5y8s/s1600/084+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOGEKy6C6p2782_gMvcFNpTfiicBP8t_0EhNZdV-fu8LB3fNCm5gYlbdu-xHQP1VjoTwGe0emVVmN3l8VzBNXLTnE2PXZ-myAGmBw7IJdhnob21C9Y7PJH-ZtTnRmM_EYZ95F5ULm5y8s/s400/084+%25282%2529.jpg" width="285" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandma Margaret 14 yrs old.with siblings, baby Esther, Edythe (Pie) and Johnny.</td></tr>
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Many years ago, my oldest daughter came home from school and told me that her class was doing a family history project and she had to interview an older relative that had lived during the depression of the 1930's. She chose to interview her great-grandmother, my grandma Margaret. I was beyond excited! At the time she was 12 years old and was so excited. She is now 32 and has no interest what so ever in family history. Sad to say, neither do my other two children. I keep hoping that maybe it just hasn't manifested itself in them yet. Only time will tell. <br />
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When I told Grandma that her young great-granddaughter wanted to interview her, she was excited. She loved to talk, and talking about her history was even better. I started the kettle that day before she came in the door. My grandma was a die hard tea drinker. She loved a good cup of hot tea. When she came to visit, you would be wise to have the tea kettle on because that would be one of the first things she'd asked for. She would always ask. " Do you have any tea Honey? " Makes me chuckle just thinking about that.</div>
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My daughter began by asking her when and where she was born?<b> </b>What was it like when you were growing up and during the depression?<br />
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Grandma replied: <br />
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I was born on February 4,1916 in Danville, Illinois. Life was not easy. Papa and Mama worked so hard. My Papa was a Coal Miner. When I was very little, we lived in the coal mining camps. Sometimes we would move to different towns in Iowa. Before we had a car, Papa drove a wagon pulled by mules.We had to wash clothes by hand. Mama had a great big tub that she put on the fire outside to boil water in to wash the clothes. When I got older, It was my job to help with the laundry and look after my sisters and brother's. We washed the clothes outside in the warmer months. I always had to wash the diapers, which was a terrible mess! I scrubbed them on a wash board and then beat them with a rock.After that they were layed in the sun to dry. In the winter, they were still hung outside. The clothes would be hard as a brick. Eventually Mama got a winger washer, which made washing a little easier. Saturday night was bath night, everyone took a bath and got ready for church the next morning. Some mornings, my papa sent me to the butcher on the corner to get a slab of bacon. When the depression came, it was hard. Many people lost their jobs. Papa no longer worked in the mining camps, many had shut down. He did odd jobs and hauled things for people with his truck. Food was rationed. I don't remember us ever going hungry. We always had enough food to eat. Mama had a big vegetable garden. She would can vegetables, spiced peaches, apples and jam. The jars would look so pretty lined up on the shelf. She baked her own bread. There was no money for fabric. So mama made our dresses out of flour sacks. She used scraps here and there to make quilts. We had chickens in our yard. Papa would slaughter the chicken and mama would fry it up. Sometimes she made gravy and biscuits with it. My papa would help the neighbors that needed food. He would take a box and pack up some vegetables, bread, a slab of bacon, what ever he could spare and take it to them. My papa was a good man."<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandma's father, Peter Doyle, siblings, Johnny and Edythe. Mary Doyle (in Car)</td></tr>
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<b>What did you do for fun?</b><br />
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"We didn't have Television back then. For fun we would have Taffy pulls, Pop popcorn, make fudge, We would play the piano and sing . In the summertime, we had picnics". <br />
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<b>What was the cost of rent?</b><br />
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"Well, when I first got married and came to Minneapolis,MN we lived in what they called "Cold Water Flats" they called them that because there was no hot running water, only cold. You had to boil the water to take a bath. Rent was $10 a month. That was about 1936. Bread was .10 cents a loaf. A good dress was $3.00. I would put my dress on Lay-A-Way. Every week I would walk downtown to pay .50 cents on it until it was paid off". Life was very different back then. People don't realize how easy they have it now compared to the old days.<br />
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My daughter put her project together. It came out beautiful. She had to read it to her class. That day she brought home an A!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandma and my daughter, Aiesha in 2006.</td></tr>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Denise</span></i><br />
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© 2014 Denise MuhammadDenise Muhammadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04029531203426898401noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8110335572470669971.post-77024614213564422942014-01-11T09:24:00.000-08:002019-01-07T16:46:12.560-08:00Meeting Grandma Prater: The Fleming's of Brownsville,Tennessee<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwr7kPovrQ97nwc2_jTkqQZ8jCrQ4e8GVllKF8Xs1Nc1XXJHjKgU9ki56hh34XsWDSt3vGkzmmBoUDNg2F8k878a1WY0djw-Y1lP3Kt0MJTw-zI10KMmTS1UdnfNF8wSxZYgMesj2QDrM/s1600/edith+flemig+at+16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwr7kPovrQ97nwc2_jTkqQZ8jCrQ4e8GVllKF8Xs1Nc1XXJHjKgU9ki56hh34XsWDSt3vGkzmmBoUDNg2F8k878a1WY0djw-Y1lP3Kt0MJTw-zI10KMmTS1UdnfNF8wSxZYgMesj2QDrM/s1600/edith+flemig+at+16.jpg" height="400" width="237" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Edith Fleming-Prater 1922</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>I remember the day that I met my husbands paternal Great Grandmother, Edith Elizabeth Fleming Prater. He had always spoke of her, saying that she had this tiny voice. It was soft, yet high pitched. Making her sound very young. He told me that when he and his sisters went to grandma Prater's house as children, there were never any other children or family around. No cousins, aunts or uncles. It was so strange. Different than most families. Already the curiosity about grandma Prater's family history was brewing. Where was her family? It was Thanksgiving day that year and my father in law had brought her home from the nursing home to spend the day with the family. I approached the woman in the wheelchair with caution. Looking back, I think I was a bit nervous. When she spoke, I noticed her very tiny voice. It was my children's first time meeting her also. She seemed fascinated with my son, who was just a little boy back then. She hugged him and started to cry when she heard his name. He is the 4th generation of the family name, Charles. I could see that she had a very special bond with her grandson, Charles, ( my father in law) who she raised as her son. Meeting her that day only made me more curious to find out all about her history. And so the questions began..<br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"></div>Edith was born in November of 1904 in Memphis,Tennessee to Robert Fleming and Jennie King. As far as I know she only had one sibling, a sister named Vivian. I began searching for her in the census records and was surprised that I found her so easily. For every census year up to 1930, I found Edith living with her grandparents,<b> Emmet </b>and<b> Elizabeth Fleming </b>and her father <b>Robert Fleming</b>. It appeared that she was raised by her grandparents. Her mother, Jennie was no where to be found in the census. I wondered where she was? After the death of Edith's grandmother, Elizabeth. Edith and her family moved to Cincinnati, Ohio. According to the story my Father in law told me, Grandma Prater (Edith) was expecting. Being an unwed mother, she was being sent away to stay with relatives in Buffalo New York. The picture shown above was taken when she was getting ready to leave. I wonder who lived in New York..Another clue to figure out. After her daughter, Mary Louise was born, Edith came back to Cincinnati, Ohio. It was there that she met Albert Thomas Prater. They were married in 1925. He was from Newman, Georgia. His parents were Israel Prater and Cornelia Huggins. Thomas had three sisters, Lola, Ida Belle and Sarah. <br /><br />Edith and Thomas moved to Minneapolis, Mn about 1946 with their young grandson Charles.Thomas opened a grocery store called Prater's Grocery. The family lived in the back of the store. They later moved to a house in south Minneapolis. Years later Thomas and Edith both worked for the U.S. Navy department. Thomas died in 1977 and Edith died in 1990.<br /><br /><br /><b>Looking For the Fleming Family:</b><br /><br />As I continued to trace the history of Grandma Edith Prater. I started searching for her father Robert. I found him living in Brownsville, Haywood county, Tennessee. As I sifted through census records, and went back further. I found Robert along with his parents and siblings. By the time that I reached the 1870 census I felt like I found gold! There was Robert's father, Emmet, his parents Thomas and Harriet Fleming and a load of brothers and sisters and their families. A whole page of Flemings! Peter and Melissa Austin were living next door. I had heard the name "Austin" before. I have a hunch that Melissa was Thomas and Harriett's daughter. From 1870-1940 they stayed in the same place. Brownsville, Tennessee. According to the census, they were all farmers. I wondered how life was for them. So this was Grandma Prater's family. Now I have to try to put the families together and find out who they were. along with locating the slave owner..more to come. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjHGp4ZwrTONJmxJBBBMjPNUAlDBNl9n7hHE2IfNqr16JURDKlxP681y8zQQVtVk9EJKSz7rU1LSNjDF4KTWpXEu35dj_m2qOdQ4IN3C_Fs7-Xm_3EmWhXopLB2Kf6x2GX3W-JtA5dFyE/s1600/1870census+thomas+fleming.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjHGp4ZwrTONJmxJBBBMjPNUAlDBNl9n7hHE2IfNqr16JURDKlxP681y8zQQVtVk9EJKSz7rU1LSNjDF4KTWpXEu35dj_m2qOdQ4IN3C_Fs7-Xm_3EmWhXopLB2Kf6x2GX3W-JtA5dFyE/s1600/1870census+thomas+fleming.png" height="207" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1870 Census- Brownsville,Haywood co, TN</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7XxRrIS_WcyHC5n7DtG5fICu4b7_SXgSSeK6vxAZMcgXz0hMNeFOoQxI7vS5gpr_98TojCZqkqRDd7mLtF0B0y5WoMBfqb6lLRrYVX3MnloRbzoiNC1Pwy0tETm5XAs36cUsWY16HMoU/s1600/Robert+Fleming.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7XxRrIS_WcyHC5n7DtG5fICu4b7_SXgSSeK6vxAZMcgXz0hMNeFOoQxI7vS5gpr_98TojCZqkqRDd7mLtF0B0y5WoMBfqb6lLRrYVX3MnloRbzoiNC1Pwy0tETm5XAs36cUsWY16HMoU/s1600/Robert+Fleming.jpg" height="400" width="250" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Robert Fleming-Father of Edith Fleming Prater</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><i><span style="font-size: large;">Denise </span></i><br /><br /><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">© 2014 Denise Muhammad </span> </span></i>Denise Muhammadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04029531203426898401noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8110335572470669971.post-41507607413017364092013-12-29T21:32:00.005-08:002014-01-06T22:02:48.414-08:00Shirley Bannarn Tanksley: Positive Affirmations<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijwb_9tyLLV_72j9UKliF1QFkU8ih8ctVfFmQYNVRCD5RGOqPjPwWiJqYCojCLoxn4-SzuBe_mO5W-Nd1VdLGp4Y1W7_LDxpPPqRC8DWN_xxed3a5mW4qwjFabh10cfAkhbQILGI60K88/s1600/1004817_3334604101311_1786910718_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijwb_9tyLLV_72j9UKliF1QFkU8ih8ctVfFmQYNVRCD5RGOqPjPwWiJqYCojCLoxn4-SzuBe_mO5W-Nd1VdLGp4Y1W7_LDxpPPqRC8DWN_xxed3a5mW4qwjFabh10cfAkhbQILGI60K88/s400/1004817_3334604101311_1786910718_n.jpg" height="400" width="305" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shirley Bannarn Tanksley-1967 ( photo courtesy of Shari Doyle-Chandler)</td></tr>
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As this year comes to an end. I find myself reflecting on the past, counting my blessings, and looking forward to the new year. Clearing out the old and making room for the new. I remember my new years resolutions that I made at the beginning of this year. Talking out loud to myself..a trait that I know I inherited from my mother. I had firmly declared that this would be the year that I would take my genealogy research to the next level, I wasn't exactly sure what the next level was. I just knew that I had to do more. I told myself that I would push harder, strive to invest more time and find an improved strategy to find my ancestors.<br />
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Looking through my genealogy files I came across some papers that reminded me of my Aunt Shirley. She had given them to me several years ago. It was Thanksgiving day and my family gathered at my brother's home for dinner that year. She smiled, handed me a stack of papers and said. "Here Honey, take these papers",You will know what to do with them more than I will". I was surprised that she gave them to me. knowing how interested she was in genealogy, she had also been researching our history. The papers contained names of family members that she had written, generation after generation with birth and death dates. Included were her notes of some of her research that she had done and information on the Seminole Indians. Once again, I was being handed family information and being told that I would know what to do. <br />
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Shirley Ann Bannarn Tanksley was my mother's sister.The oldest child of Anthony Bannarn and Margaret Doyle. She passed away in May of this year at the age of 73. Growing up, we called her the Cool Auntie. A name that we made up for her because of her laid back and soft spoken personality. I never once heard her raise her voice. She was so proud of her family. Always smiling, always optimistic, she could see the sunshine even on a dark cloudy day. I've always admired her for her positive outlook on life and loving spirit. She truly believed in the power of positive thought and the power of prayer. She used to say that there was energy contained in positive and negative thoughts. Be careful of what you say. Your words carry weight, once released into the universe they have the power to change things. Speak what it is that you want into existence. You can achieve anything you want. You must see it and believe it. Positive affirmations being used to manifest change in your life.<br />
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When I reflect on this year, the resolutions that I made in the beginning. I realized that my genealogy research has indeed reached another level. I didn't even notice, It swept right past me. Somewhere in the midst of finding the Facebook group AAGSAR (African American Genealogy & Slave Ancestry Research), starting a blog and sharing my family history. It happened. I was at the next level. This was the improved strategy that I had been looking for. <br />
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If Aunt Shirley were here, maybe she would tell me that by talking to myself I had called what I wanted into existence. She would love the blog and would be proud that I was sharing the stories. People are placed in our lives for reason, and a season. They touch us in one way or another and become part of the story. Aunt Shirley is still with me, she is with us all. Smiling, turning cloudy days to sunshine and encouraging us with her loving, positive words and thoughts..<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihbXcqwpJvDO3z28ELA63yLQluiTS2fpYqAPQPl5HXWkNd-7Xoyco2zVWvozoTlJTjG56EGEMiVVTU5xe6t8nUJjxin07mHC8Y0vkmQF2fKQw6bqCpOvSG5VU0l9ydhWp4x0gI-tJ4eik/s1600/Copy+of+family+045.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihbXcqwpJvDO3z28ELA63yLQluiTS2fpYqAPQPl5HXWkNd-7Xoyco2zVWvozoTlJTjG56EGEMiVVTU5xe6t8nUJjxin07mHC8Y0vkmQF2fKQw6bqCpOvSG5VU0l9ydhWp4x0gI-tJ4eik/s320/Copy+of+family+045.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aunt Shirley 2011</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Denise </i></span><br />
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© 2013 Denise MuhammadDenise Muhammadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04029531203426898401noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8110335572470669971.post-84932602258043992742013-12-18T22:12:00.002-08:002013-12-19T19:27:49.756-08:00Mary B. Carr Doyle: Who Is Frank Molloy?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW6WzfANy-cY1EFEq6w85GFzGpuhXuUvG2dTENxqR9xu5xS5Rns0wi_AvnIhI2_1rgvLLF3E56-CNlGeAPqyrPRWbgZdkOVtA-eKOMFG6Hbf3SAjEfazlldhLRk25IjtA0H8uHDnC5ZiE/s1600/Frank+Molloy+News+Clip.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW6WzfANy-cY1EFEq6w85GFzGpuhXuUvG2dTENxqR9xu5xS5Rns0wi_AvnIhI2_1rgvLLF3E56-CNlGeAPqyrPRWbgZdkOVtA-eKOMFG6Hbf3SAjEfazlldhLRk25IjtA0H8uHDnC5ZiE/s640/Frank+Molloy+News+Clip.JPG" width="220" /></a> <span style="font-size: large;">If you like a good mystery..read on!</span><br />
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This past summer my cousin gave me this funeral announcement hoping that I could figure out the mystery of who Frank Molloy is, and is he related to our family. This article was found in a large old bible, that was published in 1882. This bible, with pages crumbling and falling apart had an ornately engraved black leather cover and had belonged to my Great-Grandmother, Mary Belle Carr Doyle. There are no inscriptions inside. Neither one of us had a clue of why it was in the bible, nor had we ever heard the name MOLLOY in our family. <br />
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According to this announcement, Frank was a young man who drowned in a boating accident at pine lake in La porte, Indiana. In July of 1886. A young woman by the name of Mrs. Rose Stern was in the boat with him. She drowned as well. <br />
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I began researching Frank, trying to find a connection. I found that he was just 16 years old at the time of his death. The news of this accident was printed in several local newspapers, even in the new york times..which I thought was strange. Why so many newspapers, in different states? I also found that Frank was the son of a very well known Evangelist named Emma Molloy. Emma was known as the Temperance Evangelist. She also was an editor of a newspaper that she ran with her husband, Edward Molloy. Frank was her only natural child. She had adopted a few other children. So far I've only found her daughter Cora LEE. Emma became a part of a huge scandal when a murder took place on her farm. <br />
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<a href="http://www.murderbygaslight.com/2011/04/graham-tragedy.html"> The Graham Tragedy and the MOLLOY-LEE examination</a><br />
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<img alt="" height="97" src="data:image/png;base64,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"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<b>My Thoughts: </b><br />
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Mary B. Carr was born the same year that Frank Molloy died, 1886. So obviously she didn't cut that news clip out of the paper. Maybe the bible belonged to her husband Peter LEE DOYLE. And the news clip was sent to him. Maybe there's a connection between him and Cora LEE. Maybe it belonged to her mother. So who was Frank MOLLOY and how does he relate to my family? I have really tried to think out side of the box on this one..and still, no answers. <br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Denise</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></i>© 2013 Denise Muhammad<br />
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Denise Muhammadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04029531203426898401noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8110335572470669971.post-87719527937056226572013-12-13T19:32:00.000-08:002013-12-19T19:33:24.982-08:00Mary Belle and John CARR: The Big Puzzle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Mary B. Carr-Doyle </b></td></tr>
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My maternal Great-Grandmother Mary Bell Carr has always been somewhat of a mystery to me. Grandma Margaret talked about her mother often. However, she hardly knew anything about her family history. Mary was born in 1886 in Lynchburg, Virginia. She married Peter Doyle in 1903 becoming a step mother to his three young daughters from his first marriage; Hattie, Mattie and Letha. Mary Belle never talked about her past, not her parents, not her grandparents..nothing. Grandma always said she thought that it was very strange. Who doesn't talk about their family? she always thought there was some big secret she was hiding. Mary had one brother, John Wesley Carr. Known as "Uncle Johnny". The only thing that was known is that they were from Lynchburg, Virginia. Their mother died when they were children and that they were raised by an aunt. John and Mary were very close. Uncle Johnny didn't talk about his past either. He only said that his mother told him on her death bed to take care of his little sister, Mary. I remember my grandma telling me that in her day, children were seen and not heard. As a child, you just simply did not ask questions. And she never did. She wished that she had known her grandparents. She asked me if I could find out who they were. She said that it would be great if she could just find out what their names were before she died.<br />
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As I started looking more into Grandma Mary's past. Cousin Martha, who was very
close with Grandma Mary, told me all about her past. She said that Mary
Belle and her brother John were the illegitimate children of their
mother and the German doctor that she worked for. This doctor took
advantage of their mother. The mother died when they were very young.
After her death, the father wanted to take Mary and John and raise them,
however the mother's family would not have it. She said that they were
raised by the mother's family. Aunt Bert or Bertie..she never could
remember the name exactly. According to cousin Martha, this was part of the
reason why she never spoke of her family. She was too ashamed of being an
Illegitimate child.<br />
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<b>Looking for Her Parents:</b><br />
I put up many posts on various message boards hoping to find a
connection. Finally a cousin, who seen my post and contacted me. She was from the CARR family. Said that she found the marriage record of Mary and her husband Peter Doyle.
This record listed her parents names as Nellie GOGGINS and John CARR
There it was! Grandma Margaret was so excited! She had finally found the
name of her grandparents.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSF6gDGl0xzB3ys_Oz9H4b4jWRjFGhfMcKiLu2McOOqh2dyzanoP1ch9yaudv2dZGKv27bk3utSAZ8ufed_KX9R2fVMAifwdFoL5HP8QmSQQ92FhgaqoO-fx9i9j1ZBTTUHFxNHKkp3dc/s1600/John+W.+Carr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSF6gDGl0xzB3ys_Oz9H4b4jWRjFGhfMcKiLu2McOOqh2dyzanoP1ch9yaudv2dZGKv27bk3utSAZ8ufed_KX9R2fVMAifwdFoL5HP8QmSQQ92FhgaqoO-fx9i9j1ZBTTUHFxNHKkp3dc/s400/John+W.+Carr.jpg" width="275" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>John Wesley Carr 1884-1959</b></td></tr>
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John W.Carr was born in Lynchburg, Virginia about 1884. I'm not sure when he came to Minnesota. He first shows up in the 1920 census, where he is shown living with the Sherman Finch Family in St.Paul, MN. He worked as a Chauffeur for the family for 25 years. Mom remembers that he loved to go fishing. He married Sue Sten in about 1938-39. Sue was from Germany. I'm sure that STEN was a shortened version of her original name. After he and Sue divorced he came to live with grandma Margaret. My Mom was a little girl then, she remembers Uncle Johnny bringing her baked beans all the time because she loved them so much. John was a member of the Sterling Club in St.Paul, Mn. To my knowledge he never had any children. He always took care of his sister. He bought her a house after her husband died. Grandma said he had a lot of trouble with his legs from all the driving he did. He died in Hastings, Minnesota in 1956. John was wealthy and left most of his money to his fishing buddies. Grandma always fussed about that.When he died Grandma Mary had him brought to Iowa to be buried in Glendale Cemetery where the family was buried at.<br />
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The latest mystery. A cousin who was contacted by a Carr family member, who found adoption records in Iowa stating that that John and Mary were actually NICHOLS and were adopted by the Carr family. She said that the Carr and the Nichols family were related...Hmmm..this is strange being that they were born in Virginia. I'm Still researching this one.<br />
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Other than her marriage record. I've never found Mary in any document before 1910. She first shows up in Mahaska county Iowa in the 1910 census, living with her husband and children. As I said earlier, John doesn't show up in the census until 1920, in Minnesota. I realized that searching for my ancestors who were light enough to be taken as white. Makes it more difficult when you don't know exactly what location they were in. Throughout the census records after 1920. John was listed as white and black. Talk about confusing!<br />
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<b>Just a few of my endless questions:</b><br />
Where were Mary B. and her brother John between 1884-1900?<br />
When did Mary come to Iowa?<br />
Who did she go to Iowa with?<br />
Were they really adopted?<br />
It makes me dizzy..So many unanswered questions. Wait..There's another mystery to this story about Grandma Mary! more about that in my next blog post.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHFln50hAKDV0Sp4KKtoWolgaCM_tb7eJBaNQUV7GFl1EBfaTCGXGTiyE__VoycxpQMFyMMKslMFM3vyrgNXeNSkNpLvLfisLZ2gZFuC4wfjAQXcdvEpA6vweOZpl2L4EgOGw_QsKL-Yk/s1600/100_7764.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHFln50hAKDV0Sp4KKtoWolgaCM_tb7eJBaNQUV7GFl1EBfaTCGXGTiyE__VoycxpQMFyMMKslMFM3vyrgNXeNSkNpLvLfisLZ2gZFuC4wfjAQXcdvEpA6vweOZpl2L4EgOGw_QsKL-Yk/s400/100_7764.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Siblings: Mary B. Carr Doyle and John Carr-photo courtesy of Shari Chandler Doyle</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Denise</i></span><br />
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© 2013 Denise MuhammadDenise Muhammadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04029531203426898401noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8110335572470669971.post-62104773189756434492013-12-04T21:26:00.000-08:002014-01-04T08:04:52.844-08:00Finding Hassie Bannarn<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyBSVkagkBr7nVoV6m7haqdxUDuxxG3sv91vVEytog5VwlvaTR5ZEhGD5HO_tqxly5KTzjY5iZo6qZJoIQhqr6nVNdJr6kt5MSDTVENh08GlQl2L9S6mHZ7bqK_qTM9cUsg_QQB_0s2wE/s1600/thompson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyBSVkagkBr7nVoV6m7haqdxUDuxxG3sv91vVEytog5VwlvaTR5ZEhGD5HO_tqxly5KTzjY5iZo6qZJoIQhqr6nVNdJr6kt5MSDTVENh08GlQl2L9S6mHZ7bqK_qTM9cUsg_QQB_0s2wE/s400/thompson.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hassie & siblings- with parents, Steve Thompson & Alice Fuller</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I came across this photo once again today and knew that it was time to pen</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> this blog which is long over due. </span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">This past summer, my mother called to tell me that she had received a picture of her paternal grandmother, Hassie Thompson Bannarn. She said that the picture was of Hassie as a child with her parents and siblings. She knew that I would be excited, being that in all these years we've never been able to locate a picture of her. Once I saw the picture, I was even more curious because I've never heard of Hassie having any siblings except for one sister named Lela. I wondered if they were really her siblings..if so, why hadn't I ever heard of them.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje5JWOpj9V3AQurUoKD-JicTWJU_3yiA5CrER1i3j4iPL6Eug5KogQaf5Y4rnmzy1kb_jhgaRYp7r2xd3U3zGfPX8kJQkzoq7LIQB9YADwc7Etq_R-yNEPcy_JPm3YWbjr6mtMTUNfeRs/s1600/IMG_20130625_130719.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje5JWOpj9V3AQurUoKD-JicTWJU_3yiA5CrER1i3j4iPL6Eug5KogQaf5Y4rnmzy1kb_jhgaRYp7r2xd3U3zGfPX8kJQkzoq7LIQB9YADwc7Etq_R-yNEPcy_JPm3YWbjr6mtMTUNfeRs/s400/IMG_20130625_130719.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>The Photo </b></span></span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I have been looking at this picture for months trying to figure out why it looks so strange to me.</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I've looked at every detail, searching their faces, looking at their clothing. And it occured to me, that the little girl on the right is leaning back. Her eyes look strange, slightly off. Actually both girls are leaning a bit. I wondered if they just had bad posture or if they were deceased. What a morbid thought. However, I know that there was a time when they took photographs of the dead.They all look so sad to me. Still and solemn. I wonder why they didn't smile back then.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My mother never met her grandmother. She died in 1942, when my mother was just a baby. I've always wondered what she looked like, as did my mother. My Grandma used to tell me all about her mother-in-law, Hassie..Mrs. Bannarn as she called her. She said that she was an Angel and the sweetest woman that she knew. Hassie and her husband Dee Bannarn had come to Minnesota from Oklahoma in about 1913. Hassie later developed severe arthritis that left her body deformed. Her arms and hands were drawn up to her chest. She couldn't walk and was confined to her bed. They took her to many different doctors, even to some place were they had hot springs. They still could not figure out what was wrong or how to cure her condition. Her husband and children took care of her. </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Grandma Hassie's hair was so long, they would have to drape it over the iron bed rail to brush it and it almost touched the floor.</span> My G</span>randma remembered Hassie's son, Mike, being very close with his mother. She said that he came home from school everyday and took care of her. My cousin, Mike's daughter, remembered a similar story. She said that he would sleep on the floor next to his mother's bed. Grandma was there the day that Grandma Hassie died. She said that when they lifted her off the bed that the bed springs played a song. " My God Near To Thee". I've never fully understood that, but grandma swore by that story and told it to me a million times.</span></span><br /><br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdE9pNRrAtI7QHlXEvHaZhdqwj2dy9UY_vYzO6xm_SuGXeINBTuompheN2eru-XRHvT8UWK647D4v3se2ZM8Vq1_Yz8RCuDgkfXLv-FmLE0ikZNpjIDbk2PtmxDImY1QIZXuEKRXxn1BE/s1600/mama.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdE9pNRrAtI7QHlXEvHaZhdqwj2dy9UY_vYzO6xm_SuGXeINBTuompheN2eru-XRHvT8UWK647D4v3se2ZM8Vq1_Yz8RCuDgkfXLv-FmLE0ikZNpjIDbk2PtmxDImY1QIZXuEKRXxn1BE/s400/mama.jpg" width="302" /></a></span></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My Mother at 23 years old.</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">When I asked my grandma Margaret what Hassie looked like. She replied "Like an Indian woman". They were all Indian, meaning, Grandma Hassie's husband Dee and his family. The Bannarn's. She followed that by telling me that if I wanted to know what she looked like, just look at my mother, because she was the spitting image of her. Same long black hair, same skin tone, same features..she looked just like her. Aunt Jewell, who was Hassie's daughter always told my mother the same thing. That she couldn't believe how much mom looked like her mother, Hassie. </span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoEBbGLbYmSfqb6oBb0xebWOtoSyEWzHldNeSzAx-BOSpTzkYTZio-C5ZeFSZqnP_j8PjwdkKzd3Gxbsp6NItb0HgOl7po-M5XqdZVkf7Yp8H0terYzYW14vx5efNhmz-uvaB1ZQTXVfg/s1600/Lela+Bannarn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoEBbGLbYmSfqb6oBb0xebWOtoSyEWzHldNeSzAx-BOSpTzkYTZio-C5ZeFSZqnP_j8PjwdkKzd3Gxbsp6NItb0HgOl7po-M5XqdZVkf7Yp8H0terYzYW14vx5efNhmz-uvaB1ZQTXVfg/s320/Lela+Bannarn.jpg" width="226" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lela Thompson Bannarn: Hassie's Sister.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Hassie was from Texas. According to her death certificate she was born in 1880 in Lonestar, Texas to parents Stephen Thompson and Alice Fuller. I have always been told that she was full blooded Creek Indian, however some say that she was also part Cherokee. The first census that I found Hassie in was the 1880 census for Cherokee county, Texas. She was five months old and is shown living with her parents, who were also from Texas. Her race is listed as Black.There is also another child shown living in the same house. Her name was Rosey. She</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> was 3 months old,</span></span> and also is listed as being the daughter of Steve and Alice. Her race is listed as white and according to this record, her mother was from Georgia and her father was from Alabama. Now I'm trying to figure out , who was Rosey? maybe she was a family member that they took in. It doesn't seem like she was the biological child of Steve and Alice. I've wondered if Rosey is one of the little girls in the picture. Being that they were close in age. It could be. If these are her siblings in the picture. Who are they? and what happened to them? At this point. I have found no information about Rosey or any other siblings besides her sister. Lela. Lela married Dee Bannarn's brother John, and was part of the migration to Minnesota with the rest of the Bannarn family. </span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I continue to search for Hassie, she's so interesting. I've traced her in the census from 1880-1940. </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I know that she was Indian. However, I've yet to find her listed as that. Always mulatto or black. There's still so much more to find. The search continues..</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">Denise </span></i></span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">© 2013 Denise Muhammad</span></span>Denise Muhammadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04029531203426898401noreply@blogger.com8