Scrapbook Saturday - "House of Used-To-Be"

 A page from the scrapbook of my mother-in-law, describing the early farm home of her family, now gone.

Genealogy, Family History, and Censorship

As a volunteer for Genealogy Trails, and as a person trying to be a “good neighbor” in the genealogy world, I spend a fair amount of time transcribing public domain materials that might be of help to someone else researching their family history.  While traveling, I oftentimes make unexpected stops at small rural cemeteries and snap a few headstone shots for Find-a-grave.  I’ve been helped immensely by others doing the same thing, and want to pay back as much as I can.  One never knows when some little nugget they’ve put online might be just the thing to put a chip in someone else’s brick wall.
I started a blog, Sharing Genealogy, for making available oddball items I run across, or find sitting on my office bookshelves.  Awhile back, I found a book on the history of St. Paul, Minnesota, which I picked up at a library book sale.  I personally have no ties to St. Paul, but someone, somewhere does, and thumbing through it, I found some interesting stories, and some old photos.  So I decided to start scanning and transcribing it – all 222 pages.  All was going well, until September 30, when Chapter XIII was posted – “Chippewas and Sioux.”  The next thing you know, I have an ugly, anonymous comment posted questioning my motives and calling this post “bigoted and ethocentric white man crap.”
I answered as politely as I could, but that wasn’t the end of it.  Thanks to comment moderation, no more hateful venom is online.  But it does bring up the point of censorship – is it right?  Should we, as sharers of the past, be held responsible for editing another’s work?  If yes, whose standards do we use?  Our own?  Or the standards of the most sensitive persons that might read our blogs?  If the latter, will we offend someone who resents our editing?  Is there a “happy medium”, and if so, how do we define it?   Only one thing is clear – this is muddy water. 

Voorhees Hall–There and Gone

I’m not sure of the exact date on the above postcard of Huron College (Huron, South Dakota), but would guess it to be ~1910.  I grew up looking at this wonderful old building, Voorhees Hall, and during a few times in my childhood, had occasion to enter this grand structure, always captivated by the beautiful architecture.  Eventually, I went to school there myself.  Within those old walls you could almost feel the history, and going up to the huge lecture room on the third floor you could feel the presence of one hundred years’ worth of scholars, filling their minds with worldly knowledge.

So this was a particularly sad time for me when a friend sent the photo below.  Voorhees Hall is no more – razed to make way for a swimming pool.  


It’s going to take a very long time before seeing this sight doesn’t hurt…

Photo courtesy of Michael Bonnes

Wordless Wednesday–A Warm Reunion in Kjøllefjord

She Banged the Banker

A newspaper article too good not to share.  If only they wrote articles like this these days…

This article appears to be from the Peoria Star, Peoria, Illinois, and is in a scrapbook created by the Princeville Heritage Museum, Princeville, Illinois.

Susannah was the younger sister of my ancestress Rebecca DeBolt Lair, and Peter Auten was a local banker referred to by Rebecca in her will as “my good friend.”

SHE BANGED THE BANKER

Old Maid of 85 Years Vigorously Demands Her Rights
Sunday, May 24, 1903

Unwedded and unloved Miss Susannah Debolt has lived in this vale of  tears for 85 long years, but not for (---)  is this vale a tearful one. Far from it, good Gonzago.

This antique spinster is still a woman with a vigorous constitution and a strong mind, although it runs on an eccentric.  Fourscore and five years have not debilitated her spirit though they may have somewhat warped her mentality.  She lives alone in Princeville, chiefly in communion with the spirits of those whom she knew in her youth and mature womanhood, and so intimately has she become associated with them that she has very little respect for those who still inhabit this tenement of clay.

In the exercise of his judicial duties, it devolved upon Judge Slemmons to journey to Princeville yesterday and formally adjudge her incapable of caring for her estate, which is valued at about $4,000.  The judge found her another Meg Merrilies, her eyes, undimmed with the rime of years, still flashing in anger and her tongue fluent in invective.  She has a particular aversion to Banker Auten, the Princeville capitalist and by a peculiar circumstance he was appointed her conservator.  During the judicial proceedings she created a dramatic scene by rising suddenly in her seat and after overwhelming the luckless banker with a torrent of abuse she seized a yardstick and brought it down on his venerable head with a resounding whack.  It was a yardstick made in the good old days when articles of that sort were substantial and a ridge immediate arose on the banker's bald head to indicate the point of contact and to render its interior works incapable of striking a balance for the remainder of the day. 

Through the rest of the examination the old lady sat erect in her chair and with the yardstick by her side, as a queen might sit upon her throne grasping her imperial sceptre.  From that time on the judge and examiners were studiously respectful in their demeanor toward her and felt relieved when the ordeal was over.

The old lady has outlived all her near relatives and the proceedings of yesterday were taken in order to give her proper care and attention for the remnant of her days.

Miss Birks

I don’t think about junior high without thinking of Miss Birks.  The big old school building, pictured above, was referred to in postcards as the “new high school” but by the time I worked my way up the educational ladder, a newer “new high school” had been built, and the large, historic old building had been turned over to the junior high crowd.  Even back then, I loved the old architecture of the building, although the sheer size of it scared me half to death, as did Miss Birks.

I passed Miss Birks in the hallways many more times than I could count.  She always seemed to have a stern look about her, but then, after years of dealing with youngsters of that age and hormonal status, you’d better be tough.  At one particular point in time, I recall going through a bit of a crisis, and although I don’t recollect exactly what the problem was, it was serious enough that I considered talking to Miss Birks, who was by then the guidance counselor.  However, about that time I’d pass her in the hall again, and her aura of authoritarianism quickly changed my mind.

Over the years, when I’d see old photos of that beautiful school building, I’d think briefly of Miss Birks, but I hadn’t given her much in depth consideration until tonight, while browsing through an old 1926 Huron High School Tiger yearbook, and, much to my surprise, there she was in the graduating class!  Next to her photo, the question was asked, “Will her voice resound thru the ages as it has the halls of H. H. S.?”   What?  Miss Birks was noisy in the halls?  Really!?  I wish I’d known that 40 years ago!  And what a prophetic question!  Yes, as it turned out, her voice would resound through those halls for a very long time to come.

Miss Marie Birks, 1926

I was hoping to find a quick obituary online for Miss Birks to fill in the years.  Well, I didn’t find one.  I did, however, find that her name was mentioned in the local newspaper more times than I could count – and like the young girl who was involved in so many high school activities, as a grown woman her level of community involvement was high.  She had spent the bulk of her life living in the family home on Montana street, from before she was 10 months old until at least 1992, the last year for which I have a city directory.  Her mother passed away sometime between 1940 and 1953, which was the year her father died.  After that Miss Birks continued on in the home alone.

She was first-generation American born – her father came from England in 1883, and her mother a few years later, from Denmark.  Her father was most noted for his work as Beadle County Treasurer as well as a long-time real estate agent. 

She retired from the Huron Public School district with 39 years to her credit, according to the local newspaper.

Miss Birks was 96 years old when she passed away at the Huron Nursing Home in May of 2005.  As the children were closing another year of school, she closed the book of her life.

And yes, I eventually did get desperate enough to talk to her about my catastrophic situation, whatever it was.  She was one of the nicest, most empathetic and caring teachers I’ve known.  She helped me resolve my situation, encouraged me, and afterward remembered me with a smile every time we passed in the hall.  While Miss Birks is gone, as is the old school building, I won’t forget either one of them.

A few sources -

Social Security Death Index
1926 HHS Tiger Yearbook
1910, 1920, 1930 Federal Census
Numerous Huron City Directories
Numerous old Huron Daily Plainsman, Dakota Huronite, and other local newspaper articles

© Karen Seeman, 2011

Graphics courtesy of JOD

Driving Me Crazy

One fun by-product of taking a genealogy “road trip” is all of the interesting, out-of-the-ordinary things you see. Lately, it’s been cars.

We saw this beauty recently in Waverly, Iowa. Wow. My brother used to have an old green Chevy from the 1950s, but it sure didn’t look like this!

Is this a monster truck? Or a monster van? Also seen in Waverly.

Hadn’t seen an El Camino in years! I wonder how many young ‘uns today would have any idea what an El Camino is? We saw this fine example in Mason City, Iowa.

Definitely one of my favorites – a pristine General Lee. Wow. It’s hard not to love this car! Spotted in Rochester, Minnesota.

On our way home from our last road trip, we got behind this little gem in traffic in Rochester. It’s not every day you see a Lamborghini, especially around here! I wonder how that thing would do in the snow?

And last, but not least - 

My all-time favorite. It’s hard to beat this for a “noteworthy ride.” I believe I snapped this photo in Missouri, heading for Illinois.