"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.

Week 1: START

                                               
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.

Martha Toler Brown  1908-1996

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.

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.

Sarah Doyle

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.

Mary E. Doyle 1870-1947

William Arthur Toler  1857-1929

           


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. ♥











                             

Who Was Uncle Johnny?

John Wesley Carr

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.


Questions:
1.How and why was his estate left to his friends instead of his sister?
2.Where did his money come from?
3.Did he have a will?

My Mother, My Friend: DNA and Checking The Boxes

My mother, Gloria J. Bannarn

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.


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.

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.

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."
A term that both my mother and grandmother used when describing just how much Indian we were mixed with.

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.

 You can probably guess what the biggest surprise of her DNA results was....
 Absolutely NO Native American.  ZERO!..NONE!

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.

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
themselves. I have always admired my mother for her strength and courage, yet I don't think I ever told her.

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..

"Checking one or even two boxes does not define who I am. For I am much more than that". And so.. she checked almost every box.

Denise

The House on Dixon Street

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.

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..

The Memories That Take Me Back Home

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.


Denise

The Day That Papa Died

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.

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.

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.

Hattie Doyle was the oldest, born in 1895. She married Dave Turner and had many children. She raised her family in Des Moines Iowa.

Mattie Doyle was born in 1897 and  married William Wheels in Buxton, Iowa.

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.


Unfortunately I only have a picture of Hattie.

Hattie Doyle Turner. Photo courtesy of Dave Turner

They Call My Name

My Great-Great Grandmother, Mariah Hall Conaway

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.

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. Mariah Hall Conaway.

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,  Finding African Americans On The 1870 Census  I knew that I had to try again.

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.

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, Curry, 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.

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..








Denise