tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1658075495022239362024-02-19T18:32:13.995-08:00A Family ChronicleThe Written and Photographic Record of the Jones, Moran, Myers, and Whittington FamiliesAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16879549846474515580noreply@blogger.comBlogger74125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165807549502223936.post-74032816306852118982012-05-27T12:58:00.004-07:002012-06-15T22:40:24.841-07:00Forest of Dean in the Twenty-First Century<div class="MsoNormal">With the end of the mining era some decades past, the Forest has had to adapt and find other ways to endure in the modern period. The area remains, as it has been for at least a thousand years, a royal forest. Many abandoned mines have been razed, with remnants of its past to be seen in former industrial towns. The area is now reknown for its natural landscapes. Indeed, one of its largest industries today is tourism.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Native born residents can still claim gales and become freeminers; they can also raise sheep in certain protected areas, as the law permits. But a growing number of residents are commuting to work in larger industrial cities that surround the protected forest.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For all of you Harry Potter fanatics, the Forest has been the focus of several scenes in the early movies.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKWxyU6H10sR4DMuroSKkllTMwqkdJrG6BNZkqfVlQsK2BSS3BW4Mj_uStXt2VzTmgxSAeALNHHTgT7uP9dUfk7kEAM6yYy4Jc41cq3Xh9lgd5L8uLEsbXj0BCuEn0tAhfOk1IgGZgO3g/s1600/Symonds_Yat_Rock_View.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKWxyU6H10sR4DMuroSKkllTMwqkdJrG6BNZkqfVlQsK2BSS3BW4Mj_uStXt2VzTmgxSAeALNHHTgT7uP9dUfk7kEAM6yYy4Jc41cq3Xh9lgd5L8uLEsbXj0BCuEn0tAhfOk1IgGZgO3g/s400/Symonds_Yat_Rock_View.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aerial view of the Forest of Dean looking towards Ross-on-Wye.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmEDgMvA0ev3oprT4JvIu0S9CK_tySW6nNMWKdHr1ncMpLPMB1FgNy-ljDk5un121Fz8FIOoefYG4CnKoTBxCB1GcGupkQcrCD3fb8F9zs3jsolR_ltKQOoIQIJzhW0gYNS5jomGvmhlE/s1600/forest-of-dean_hereford.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmEDgMvA0ev3oprT4JvIu0S9CK_tySW6nNMWKdHr1ncMpLPMB1FgNy-ljDk5un121Fz8FIOoefYG4CnKoTBxCB1GcGupkQcrCD3fb8F9zs3jsolR_ltKQOoIQIJzhW0gYNS5jomGvmhlE/s400/forest-of-dean_hereford.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Natural landscape of the Forest near Hereford. </td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><h4><b>Links of interest:</b></h4></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/DeansForestFlix">http://www.youtube.com/user/DeansForestFlix</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.tenwat.freeserve.co.uk/beernews.htm">http://www.tenwat.freeserve.co.uk/beernews.htm</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://vimeo.com/22740672">http://vimeo.com/22740672</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Forest_of_Dean">http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Forest_of_Dean</a> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.visitforestofdean.co.uk/">http://www.visitforestofdean.co.uk/</a> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><h4>English Bicknor</h4></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?hl=en&client=firefox-a&hs=Aqg&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&revid=424812198&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.r_qf.,cf.osb&q=english+bicknor+england&um=1&ie=UTF-8&hq=&hnear=0x4871b08fd864d933:0x95eec15ae7072dff,English+Bicknor,+Gloucestershire,+UK&gl=us&ei=qjyUT8umFuiE2QWZ44ivDA&sa=X&oi=geocode_result&ct=image&resnum=1&ved=0CCAQ8gEwAA">http://maps.google.com/maps?hl=en&client=firefox-a&hs=Aqg&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&revid=424812198&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.r_qf.,cf.osb&q=english+bicknor+england&um=1&ie=UTF-8&hq=&hnear=0x4871b08fd864d933:0x95eec15ae7072dff,English+Bicknor,+Gloucestershire,+UK&gl=us&ei=qjyUT8umFuiE2QWZ44ivDA&sa=X&oi=geocode_result&ct=image&resnum=1&ved=0CCAQ8gEwAA</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.englishbicknor.org.uk/">http://www.englishbicknor.org.uk/</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.fweb.org.uk/towns/21-English_Bicknor">http://www.fweb.org.uk/towns/21-English_Bicknor</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.walesdirectory.co.uk/Wales_Border_Towns/english_bicknor_3309.htm">http://www.walesdirectory.co.uk/Wales_Border_Towns/english_bicknor_3309.htm</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.visionofbritain.org.uk/place/place_page.jsp?p_id=10383">http://www.visionofbritain.org.uk/place/place_page.jsp?p_id=10383</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><h4>Ruardean</h4></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?hl=en&client=firefox-a&hs=yrg&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.r_qf.,cf.osb&q=ruardean+england&um=1&ie=UTF-8&hq=&hnear=0x4871b03a6d4e3fc1:0x28cbaedf1528f881,Ruardean,+Gloucestershire,+UK&gl=us&ei=LT2UT6-PFaWe2AWfptyCBQ&sa=X&oi=geocode_result&ct=image&resnum=1&ved=0CCAQ8gEwAA">http://maps.google.com/maps?hl=en&client=firefox-a&hs=yrg&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.r_qf.,cf.osb&q=ruardean+england&um=1&ie=UTF-8&hq=&hnear=0x4871b03a6d4e3fc1:0x28cbaedf1528f881,Ruardean,+Gloucestershire,+UK&gl=us&ei=LT2UT6-PFaWe2AWfptyCBQ&sa=X&oi=geocode_result&ct=image&resnum=1&ved=0CCAQ8gEwAA</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.visionofbritain.org.uk/place/place_page.jsp?p_id=11150&st=RUARDEAN">http://www.visionofbritain.org.uk/place/place_page.jsp?p_id=11150&st=RUARDEAN</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.odovo.co.uk/uk/eng/ruardean/">http://www.odovo.co.uk/uk/eng/ruardean/</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.look4photographers.com/photographers/unitedkingdom/england/gloucestershire/ruardean">http://www.look4photographers.com/photographers/unitedkingdom/england/gloucestershire/ruardean</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.go4awalk.com/uk-mountains-and-hills/walks-up-ruardean-hill.php">http://www.go4awalk.com/uk-mountains-and-hills/walks-up-ruardean-hill.php</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.hotels.uk.com/uk/Gloucestershire/Ruardean-hotels.htm">http://www.hotels.uk.com/uk/Gloucestershire/Ruardean-hotels.htm</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16879549846474515580noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165807549502223936.post-59618885895760755652012-04-21T16:49:00.034-07:002012-04-21T17:00:43.101-07:00Forest of Dean: Part 2--Coal Mining<h2 align="center" style="text-align: center;"></h2><div class="MsoNormal">I mentioned previously that one of the early industries in the Forest of Dean was timber. But there were others, including production of charcoal and mining of iron ore. Charcoal production was a rather large industry for many centuries. Timber was stacked in a very precise manner. Controlled burning of the stacked timber resulted in the production of charcoal (rather than ash). The charcoal was then used in the smelting of the Forest’s other strong industry—iron ore. It is well known that iron ore was mined in the Forest prior to and during the Roman occupation. Indeed, the industry remained strong, especially in the Imperial centuries; that is, until the late nineteenth century when mass production had exhausted most of the deposits. But there was still one industry that appears to have stood out from the others; especially in more recent centuries---Coal.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmHUIkmS_j8uhCm1KCcqt0t1uH5RRsgRL-TiVZ2P6KfGsmjHei5nJc5iVk-6veK5aaEZ9LVECQrGXuHhKh574XQ2RpkvSHCyn1LaTr3fQjtbZEgWS0gSOTBPb14pgAsWvGruQunjYOCCI/s1600/effigy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmHUIkmS_j8uhCm1KCcqt0t1uH5RRsgRL-TiVZ2P6KfGsmjHei5nJc5iVk-6veK5aaEZ9LVECQrGXuHhKh574XQ2RpkvSHCyn1LaTr3fQjtbZEgWS0gSOTBPb14pgAsWvGruQunjYOCCI/s320/effigy.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Effigy of 15<sup>th</sup> century Free Miner on display at Newland Church</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOlyyJUwWAKu_Y_Nj7VVaiFcBFyM1-RBNDqo-DzRsVOWqhIJ-tf2vQnaokWFe9RtfPkozVXMHqtHJG41Jo17xcXIrXl3FeGJvuvXNn7dwfcjUOM-j4t_CmAgr0wfwudTOlLfOfF359h-Q/s1600/effigy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><h1></h1><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Free Miners and Coal Mines in the Forest of Dean </b></span> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Coal, like its earthy cousin, iron ore, was mined for many centuries before the Industrial Revolution that made it a principal source of heat and energy. As a Royal Forest, however, mining (whether iron ore or coal) was limited to those individuals who were born within the Forest itself. These Forest natives, who mined iron ore or coal, were known as Free Miners. Under laws of the Crown (whose administrators worked from St. Briavels Castle), Free Miners could file claims (gales) and work the land. Revenues and royalties were taxed by the Crown in return for these rights. Here is an extract from the 1838 Dean Forest Mines Act:</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: justify;">"<b><i>All male* persons born or hereafter to be born and abiding within the said Hundred of St Briavels, of the age of twenty one years and upwards, who shall have worked a year and a day in a coal or iron mine within the said Hundred of St Briavels, shall be deemed and taken to be Free Miners</i></b>."</div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDox8fbcAj4nyLRC5Wa9DAaTnB3RjGff-Xpb77CwqVcNwlhLhpt1ivPIrmbs1czwjAy687InAti8NYB-mUG6zujEbIwGbC7Eowz2VRtc16iTysw93nVZj42foU4-4tTsDxjdJVe_oR7X4/s1600/ironminersfp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDox8fbcAj4nyLRC5Wa9DAaTnB3RjGff-Xpb77CwqVcNwlhLhpt1ivPIrmbs1czwjAy687InAti8NYB-mUG6zujEbIwGbC7Eowz2VRtc16iTysw93nVZj42foU4-4tTsDxjdJVe_oR7X4/s400/ironminersfp.jpg" width="326" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Portrait of iron miners in their working dress.</span></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.forest-of-dean.net/ebooks/gutenberg/24505/images/fp.jpg">http://www.forest-of-dean.net/ebooks/gutenberg/24505/images/fp.jpg</a></span></td></tr>
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For centuries, the mining industry in the Forest of Dean was characterized by small gales scattered across the countryside and controlled by Free Miners. The gales were relatively shallow; just the tip of the iceberg, if you will. These small operations, which did not have the benefit of a large labor force, or access to expensive equipment, like pumps and steam engines, could only scratch the surface of the true riches that lay beneath the hills of the Forest. Even as the coal industry was booming in other parts of the country, with large and powerful companies, medieval customs were upheld in this area of Britain. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Here are a few names of gales that were active in or near Ruardean Hill in 1787. The Hopewell had been in existence as early as 1637 when it was first mentioned in the literature, patented to Edward Terrington:<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">PROSPER OF TIME PIT</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">CROW DELF</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">LITTLE ROCKY</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">ROCK ROOF</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">LITTLE STAFF</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">HOMEFORD</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">YOUNG COLLIERS</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">LITTLE SUFF</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">CROSS KNAVE PLUCKPENNY</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">HOPEWELL</div><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span> <br />
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At the turn of the nineteenth century, the coal mining industry was well on its way internationally. Britain was an aging world empire and an economic superpower. Wealthy conglomerates and powerful outsiders were still unable to gain access to the potential of the Forest of Dean, despite attempts to abolish the Free Mining rights. However, some did manage to establish large mines in the Forest through lax enforcement of existing law, as well as having some free miners stake claims on their behalf. As the century progressed, these large operations came into conflict with the much smaller gales of the Free Miners.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Finally, in 1838, the matter was resolved with the passage of the Dean Forest Mines Act (from which I quoted above). Free Miners rights were preserved with one very significant caveat, or loophole. While the crown still granted gales only to native born of the Forest, the Free Miners were given the option of then selling their gales to anyone, including foreigners (outsiders). The era of intensive mining had begun in the Forest, with much of the coal being shipped out to other markets. Through the course of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, large coal and iron mines were established in the Forest and the mining industry exploded. As I mentioned above in the introduction, this explosion in mining exhausted the iron ore industry by the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. Below is a summary of coal and iron ore retrieved from 1841-1965.</div><br />
<center><table border="1" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; border: none; margin-left: -67.9pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;"><tbody>
<tr align="center"> <td colspan="3" style="-moz-border-bottom-colors: none; -moz-border-image: none; -moz-border-left-colors: none; -moz-border-right-colors: none; -moz-border-top-colors: none; border-style: solid; border-width: 0.5pt 0.5pt 1.5pt; color: windowtext; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 3.85in;" valign="top" width="370"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Coal and Iron Ore retrieved from Forest, 1841-1965*</span></div></td> </tr>
<tr align="center"> <td style="border-style: none solid solid; border-width: medium 0.5pt 1.5pt; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 77.5pt;" valign="top" width="103"><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Year</span></b></div></td> <td style="border-style: none solid solid none; border-width: medium 0.5pt 1.5pt medium; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext -moz-use-text-color; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 97.15pt;" valign="top" width="130"><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Coal**</span></b></div></td> <td style="border-style: none solid solid none; border-width: medium 0.5pt 1.5pt medium; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext -moz-use-text-color; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 102.55pt;" valign="top" width="137"><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Iron Ore**</span></b></div></td> </tr>
<tr align="center"> <td style="-moz-border-bottom-colors: none; -moz-border-image: none; -moz-border-left-colors: none; -moz-border-right-colors: none; -moz-border-top-colors: none; border-right: 0.5pt solid windowtext; border-style: none solid solid; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 77.5pt;" valign="top" width="103"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">1841</span></div></td> <td style="border-style: none solid solid none; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt medium; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext -moz-use-text-color; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 97.15pt;" valign="top" width="130"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> 145,136</span></div></td> <td style="border-style: none solid solid none; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt medium; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext -moz-use-text-color; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 102.55pt;" valign="top" width="137"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> 18,872</span></div></td> </tr>
<tr align="center"> <td style="-moz-border-bottom-colors: none; -moz-border-image: none; -moz-border-left-colors: none; -moz-border-right-colors: none; -moz-border-top-colors: none; border-right: 0.5pt solid windowtext; border-style: none solid solid; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 77.5pt;" valign="top" width="103"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">1860</span></div></td> <td style="border-style: none solid solid none; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt medium; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext -moz-use-text-color; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 97.15pt;" valign="top" width="130"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> 590,470</span></div></td> <td style="border-style: none solid solid none; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt medium; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext -moz-use-text-color; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 102.55pt;" valign="top" width="137"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">192,074</span></div></td> </tr>
<tr align="center"> <td style="-moz-border-bottom-colors: none; -moz-border-image: none; -moz-border-left-colors: none; -moz-border-right-colors: none; -moz-border-top-colors: none; border-right: 0.5pt solid windowtext; border-style: none solid solid; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 77.5pt;" valign="top" width="103"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">1871</span></div></td> <td style="border-style: none solid solid none; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt medium; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext -moz-use-text-color; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 97.15pt;" valign="top" width="130"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> 837,893</span></div></td> <td style="border-style: none solid solid none; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt medium; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext -moz-use-text-color; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 102.55pt;" valign="top" width="137"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">170,611</span></div></td> </tr>
<tr align="center"> <td style="-moz-border-bottom-colors: none; -moz-border-image: none; -moz-border-left-colors: none; -moz-border-right-colors: none; -moz-border-top-colors: none; border-right: 0.5pt solid windowtext; border-style: none solid solid; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 77.5pt;" valign="top" width="103"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">1885</span></div></td> <td style="border-style: none solid solid none; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt medium; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext -moz-use-text-color; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 97.15pt;" valign="top" width="130"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> 826,167</span></div></td> <td style="border-style: none solid solid none; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt medium; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext -moz-use-text-color; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 102.55pt;" valign="top" width="137"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> 35,249</span></div></td> </tr>
<tr align="center"> <td style="-moz-border-bottom-colors: none; -moz-border-image: none; -moz-border-left-colors: none; -moz-border-right-colors: none; -moz-border-top-colors: none; border-right: 0.5pt solid windowtext; border-style: none solid solid; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 77.5pt;" valign="top" width="103"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">1900</span></div></td> <td style="border-style: none solid solid none; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt medium; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext -moz-use-text-color; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 97.15pt;" valign="top" width="130"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">1,050,000</span></div></td> <td style="border-style: none solid solid none; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt medium; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext -moz-use-text-color; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 102.55pt;" valign="top" width="137"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> 9,769</span></div></td> </tr>
<tr align="center"> <td style="-moz-border-bottom-colors: none; -moz-border-image: none; -moz-border-left-colors: none; -moz-border-right-colors: none; -moz-border-top-colors: none; border-right: 0.5pt solid windowtext; border-style: none solid solid; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 77.5pt;" valign="top" width="103"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">1920</span></div></td> <td style="border-style: none solid solid none; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt medium; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext -moz-use-text-color; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 97.15pt;" valign="top" width="130"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">1,206,000</span></div></td> <td style="border-style: none solid solid none; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt medium; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext -moz-use-text-color; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 102.55pt;" valign="top" width="137"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> 1,727</span></div></td> </tr>
<tr align="center"> <td style="-moz-border-bottom-colors: none; -moz-border-image: none; -moz-border-left-colors: none; -moz-border-right-colors: none; -moz-border-top-colors: none; border-right: 0.5pt solid windowtext; border-style: none solid solid; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 77.5pt;" valign="top" width="103"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">1930</span></div></td> <td style="border-style: none solid solid none; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt medium; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext -moz-use-text-color; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 97.15pt;" valign="top" width="130"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">1,303,000</span></div></td> <td style="border-color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext -moz-use-text-color; border-style: none solid solid none; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt medium; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 102.55pt;" valign="top" width="137"><div class="MsoNormal"></div></td> </tr>
<tr align="center"> <td style="-moz-border-bottom-colors: none; -moz-border-image: none; -moz-border-left-colors: none; -moz-border-right-colors: none; -moz-border-top-colors: none; border-right: 0.5pt solid windowtext; border-style: none solid solid; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 77.5pt;" valign="top" width="103"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">1940</span></div></td> <td style="border-style: none solid solid none; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt medium; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext -moz-use-text-color; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 97.15pt;" valign="top" width="130"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">1,204,200</span></div></td> <td style="border-color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext -moz-use-text-color; border-style: none solid solid none; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt medium; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 102.55pt;" valign="top" width="137"><div class="MsoNormal"></div></td> </tr>
<tr align="center"> <td style="-moz-border-bottom-colors: none; -moz-border-image: none; -moz-border-left-colors: none; -moz-border-right-colors: none; -moz-border-top-colors: none; border-right: 0.5pt solid windowtext; border-style: none solid solid; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 77.5pt;" valign="top" width="103"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">1950</span></div></td> <td style="border-style: none solid solid none; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt medium; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext -moz-use-text-color; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 97.15pt;" valign="top" width="130"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> 723,000</span></div></td> <td style="border-color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext -moz-use-text-color; border-style: none solid solid none; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt medium; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 102.55pt;" valign="top" width="137"><div class="MsoNormal"></div></td> </tr>
<tr align="center"> <td style="-moz-border-bottom-colors: none; -moz-border-image: none; -moz-border-left-colors: none; -moz-border-right-colors: none; -moz-border-top-colors: none; border-right: 0.5pt solid windowtext; border-style: none solid solid; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 77.5pt;" valign="top" width="103"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">1965</span></div></td> <td style="border-style: none solid solid none; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt medium; color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext -moz-use-text-color; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 97.15pt;" valign="top" width="130"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> 46,000</span></div></td> <td style="border-color: -moz-use-text-color windowtext windowtext -moz-use-text-color; border-style: none solid solid none; border-width: medium 0.5pt 0.5pt medium; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 102.55pt;" valign="top" width="137"><div class="MsoNormal"></div></td> </tr>
<tr> <td colspan="3" style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 3.85in;" valign="top" width="370"><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">* From <a href="http://www.british-history.ac.uk/report.aspx?compid=23267">http://www.british-history.ac.uk/report.aspx?compid=23267</a> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">** Measured in tons </span></div></td> </tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh97Ddyj1lbY6wY0_N59DIGMGfphUf-QxLoWsloMoQ3mCZ1tEGUhwIjDF5Kk3sDHOmSX3VYrjLkNhW2PTkn3cc96SYOFoyS-ugbIOE0V02SXQpfrQC4AvHAuDMcI3K5REE17fuM8xPShM8/s1600/LightmoorColliery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh97Ddyj1lbY6wY0_N59DIGMGfphUf-QxLoWsloMoQ3mCZ1tEGUhwIjDF5Kk3sDHOmSX3VYrjLkNhW2PTkn3cc96SYOFoyS-ugbIOE0V02SXQpfrQC4AvHAuDMcI3K5REE17fuM8xPShM8/s400/LightmoorColliery.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> Mid-nineteenth century illustration of the Lightmoor Colliery </span></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.forest-of-dean.net/gallery/the_forest_of_dean/pages/page_32.html">http://www.forest-of-dean.net/gallery/the_forest_of_dean/pages/page_32.html</a></span></td></tr>
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At one point in the late 1800s, there were more than 5,000 colliers throughout the Forest. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;">Coal production in the Forest was at its peak in the first decades of the twentieth century, but declined significantly after 1940. This increase of production was made possible through new legislation in 1904 that granted establishment of collieries to mine the deep deposits. In 1920, more than 7,000 colliers were established. Through this period of incredible growth, small gales continued to be operated by Free Miners. These gales were shallow, with limited output, the bulk of which was used for local consumption.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn0frpfu5DwrclcSMfKpjmgU6m1qpcTiMf2MxvBWkNHShstYp0_hjLzKzTFxU4i4xIKJbj8GhORxnEzS576sM0uDizg23rmfiFWaDZVIw_D-TMWHrXDbMuWrXv92vyd7nT1C2XnIdzyCE/s1600/coal-mine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn0frpfu5DwrclcSMfKpjmgU6m1qpcTiMf2MxvBWkNHShstYp0_hjLzKzTFxU4i4xIKJbj8GhORxnEzS576sM0uDizg23rmfiFWaDZVIw_D-TMWHrXDbMuWrXv92vyd7nT1C2XnIdzyCE/s320/coal-mine.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Undated photograph of Free Miners working a gale in the Forest of Dean.</span></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.royalforestofdean.info/heritage/forest-of-dean.shtml">http://www.royalforestofdean.info/heritage/forest-of-dean.shtml</a></span></td></tr>
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<div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">After its peak in 1936, the industry began to decline rather quickly. A number of mines closed in this period when drainage became more costly than the output. Less than half of the colliers were operating in 1955; within ten years as the table shows, coal mining was essentially done. Today, a very few Free Miners still have claims and mine small gales, as they have done for centuries. Several of the large abandoned, mines and collieries have been preserved as museums. But the casual tourist traveling through the countryside today will see little evidence on the landscape of the Forest’s rich history of coal mining.</span></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJe-jeK82jNt-tyz_Hg7wZFaeQSeYtzI4sTR99l4qCY7PEcmz4RyUxVOi7wzYzHSvUneeM5xEYeOBuA1Jf5yiW_3m0GtI7VJnQ0ENorzb6cWbCW_BMUBQBYb98NJJE44rr_X3snfN-ZPw/s1600/cannop_mine_1_470x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJe-jeK82jNt-tyz_Hg7wZFaeQSeYtzI4sTR99l4qCY7PEcmz4RyUxVOi7wzYzHSvUneeM5xEYeOBuA1Jf5yiW_3m0GtI7VJnQ0ENorzb6cWbCW_BMUBQBYb98NJJE44rr_X3snfN-ZPw/s400/cannop_mine_1_470x300.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Recent photograph of the Cannop Drift Mine, owned by Steve and Richard Harding.</span></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/gloucestershire/content/image_galleries/cannop_drift_mine_gallery.shtml?2">http://www.bbc.co.uk/gloucestershire/content/image_galleries/cannop_drift_mine_gallery.shtml?2</a></span></td></tr>
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Links of interest: </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><a href="http://www.lightmoor.co.uk/forestcoal/Coalopen.html">http://www.lightmoor.co.uk/forestcoal/Coalopen.html</a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><a href="http://www.minersadvice.co.uk/free_miners_forest_of_dean.htm">http://www.minersadvice.co.uk/free_miners_forest_of_dean.htm</a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><a href="http://www.fweb.org.uk/dean/deanhist/miners.htm">http://www.fweb.org.uk/dean/deanhist/miners.htm</a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><a href="http://www.clearwellcaves.com/freemining.html">http://www.clearwellcaves.com/freemining.html</a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><a href="http://www.forest-of-dean.net/ebooks/gutenberg/24505/24505-h.htm">http://www.forest-of-dean.net/ebooks/gutenberg/24505/24505-h.htm</a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><a href="http://www.forest-of-dean.net/?Photo_Gallery">http://www.forest-of-dean.net/?Photo_Gallery</a> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span> </div><div class="MsoNormal"></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16879549846474515580noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165807549502223936.post-10986396311852981212012-03-25T08:54:00.000-07:002012-03-25T08:54:35.714-07:00Forest of Dean: Part IAs stated previously, the Forest of Dean is located in the southwestern area of England, in Gloucestershire (or Gloucester) (see the figure below). The Forest is generally bounded by the River Severn and River Wye (portions of which form the border with Wales). I highlighted the two principal towns from whence our Whittington ancestors lived; Ruardean and Bicknor. The River Wye divides the historic town of Bicknor; consequently, there are now two distinct communities: English Bicknor and Welsh Bicknor.<br />
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<img border="0" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj23h1hUuVWDufX82IvbhmRDeOienM0HphrfwiiFRVs5yt82tf-PwdxguGinC05qDNoGowo5gZDn4cggsTChtRFhyXGaNV4aMisNHouVD85vH1p8Bwzw74vrHGNtj_mm7CFLHRWUMsTg0/s640/ForestofDean.tif" width="640" /><br />
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The cultural history of England spans several millennia. Stonehenge is perhaps the most popular monument in the country. Located on the Salisbury Plain, about 85 miles south and west of the Forest of Dean, this ancient structure appears to have been constructed in at least four phases spanning the period of BC 3,200 - 1,100. Within the Forest itself, a number of sites have been documented that date to the Neolithic period. Ruins of a hillside fort have also been documented that pre-date Roman occupation (ca. AD 43 - 410). Iron ore was mined in the Forest by the Romans, though settlement does not appear to have been nearly as extensive as other areas of the island. In the subsequent post-Roman period (ca. AD 410 - 650), England witnessed a barrage of intruders, including the Irish, Picts, Angles, and Saxons. The <i>Anglo-Saxon Chronicle</i> (compiled ca. AD 890) wrote that in the year 577: “Cuthwine and Ceawlin fought against the Britons and slew three kings….and they captured three cities, Gloucester, Cirencester, and Bath.”At this time (at least from what I’ve read), the Forest of Dean was not included in what would become the county of Gloucestershire.<br />
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The Forest of Dean was first mentioned in the Domesday book; a census, so to speak, commissioned by William the Bastard (aka William the Conqueror). The book was prepared in AD 1085 and includes information on several communities in the Forest, including Ruardean (sp. Ruuirdin in the book). The county of Gloucestershire under Norman rule (William and several generations of successive Kings were Norman) consisted of numerous small towns and settlements, as well as land holdings. It was the Normans who initiated the concept of Royal Forests, which were established by the monarchy to reserve the game and trees for use by the Crown. One of the area's historic landmarks is St. Briavel's Castle, which was constructed around 1209 as a protectorate of the Royal Forest of Dean. Residents born and residing within protected Royal Forests were given limited rights to land development, including rights to pasture and mining; however, outsiders could not develop within their boundaries. We all remember how Robin of Loxley became a “Hood.”<br />
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In these early centuries of Norman rule, the main industry was forestry. Timber was used by the Crown, especially for the construction of ships. Over the course of many centuries, settlement increased in the Forest, mainly by encroachment by outsiders, which was illegal. By the early 19<sup>th</sup> century, a number of small settlements and communities had developed in the Forest as a result of these illegal activities. Rather than just kick them all out, the government decided to grant legal status to these lands; from this point on, further encroachment was strongly resisted.<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">Internet links for the curious:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.stonehenge.co.uk/">http://www.stonehenge.co.uk/</a> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.domesdaybook.co.uk/index.html">http://www.domesdaybook.co.uk/index.html</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.castlewales.com/stbrivls.html">http://www.castlewales.com/stbrivls.html</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.wyenot.com/stbriavels.htm">http://www.wyenot.com/stbriavels.htm</a> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.fweb.org.uk/">http://www.fweb.org.uk/</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Forest_of_Dean">http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Forest_of_Dean</a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16879549846474515580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165807549502223936.post-42138364336487835492012-03-10T19:39:00.000-08:002012-03-10T19:39:00.234-08:00Whittington and You<div>So how exactly does the Whittington Family fit into our complex lineage? I have a completed chart that would show you, but it’s much too large to display on the blog. I will attempt to explain it in the biblical sense. Henry Horsham Whittington (1849-1902) married Anna (Hannah) Gough (1851-1923). Together they had eight children. It would appear, based on Clare’s research, that three of the children produced heirs that have extended the family line to the present. These three children included Clara Ellen Whittington (1874-1954), Mary Ann Whittington (1880-1935), and Joshua T. Whittington (1888-1959). <b></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi-UOdnxQPGO1c-PWyo0Oi_XUWrS9l0C9oN_lIPRUS6xbFKEUYCqRMo0HO76IF0DofulJDor0lLw75xrydC5kM8LftbqVoq6yAqy7OV7vEu6QCN-lgv-sx-LfqrY15CWvkZK9u7wf6gJw/s1600/Henry+%2526+Hannah.jpg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi-UOdnxQPGO1c-PWyo0Oi_XUWrS9l0C9oN_lIPRUS6xbFKEUYCqRMo0HO76IF0DofulJDor0lLw75xrydC5kM8LftbqVoq6yAqy7OV7vEu6QCN-lgv-sx-LfqrY15CWvkZK9u7wf6gJw/s320/Henry+%2526+Hannah.jpg.jpg" width="221" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Undated photograph of Anna and Henry Whittington <b><br />
</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table><b>Clara Ellen Whittington</b> </div><div>Our lineage (the Jones and Myers clans) is descended from Clara Ellen, who married Thomas Arthur Myers (1862-1906). The couple had seven children before Thomas passed away in 1906, including Arthur Thomas Myers (1896-1984)--Grandpa Myers. Clara Ellen married George Hildebrand shortly after her first husband, Thomas Arthur died; they had two more children, Paul and Clara Hildebrand. You may remember Uncle Joe’s stories of his childhood talking about George, and how he wished that he had simply called him Grandpa. Arthur Thomas married Elizabeth Ann Moran (1901-1988) in 1922, and they had eight children, whom all of you know. Other descendants of Clara Ellen include the Burnett, Barrick and Reese families, many of whom still live in the Carbondale area.<br />
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<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/AVvXsEjgbnAONEFDqQuE4u0_2UPELoQ78jfL8mpxLMd-iT88zkmQ9T-uc8aMspqE2i2TRXKSxvrD8Msk3Ah2Rggg4tnaWCu3jp-sUDr-Zo1T8pg5RA8EpuNhJnKdo9b8XDpLfV82e5LqfWn4cbs/s1600/elizabetharthur1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgbnAONEFDqQuE4u0_2UPELoQ78jfL8mpxLMd-iT88zkmQ9T-uc8aMspqE2i2TRXKSxvrD8Msk3Ah2Rggg4tnaWCu3jp-sUDr-Zo1T8pg5RA8EpuNhJnKdo9b8XDpLfV82e5LqfWn4cbs/s1600/elizabetharthur1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arthur Thomas and Elizabeth Ann Myers, 1922.<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div><b>Joshua and Mary Ann Whittington </b><br />
We also have cousins descended from Joshua Whittington (1888-1959). For those of you who frequent Carbondale, you’ll recall a nice little restaurant called Ben-Mar on Main Street (<a href="http://www.ben-mar.com/index.php">http://www.ben-mar.com/index.php</a>). Marina and Patrick Whittington own and operate the restaurant with their children (Patrick the descendant). Other families in Joshuas’s lineage include <i>Chellino</i> and <i>Greathouse</i>. Of the third Whittington child discussed above, Mary Ann Whittington (1880-1935), there are the <i>Cook</i> and <i>Higgin’s</i> families. I have not listed all other related families, but will do so when the time comes. Many of these families still reside in the Carbondale area.<br />
<br />
<br />
So there is the whole story in a nutshell; the Whittington, Myers and Moran family history in just a few paragraphs. You will all be tested as soon as I find a gadget for creating multiple-choice quizzes. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16879549846474515580noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165807549502223936.post-89404206952210860882012-02-29T15:00:00.002-08:002012-02-29T19:31:48.528-08:00Whittington: Sapere aude---Dare to be Wise<span style="font-size: 10pt;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">The Whittington family name is English in origin, but is now widespread across the globe. A perusal of Ancestry.com reveals that there are more than 270,000 registered family trees that include the name Whittington; every state in the U.S. hosts one or more Whittington family. Based on U.S. immigration records, most of the Whittington’s came from England, although a small number also emigrated from Ireland, Germany and Norway.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">The Whittington roots of our family derive from Gloucestershire, England, which is located in the southwest portion of the country along the River Severn, and bordering Wales. Indeed, some of the earliest recorded records of the Whittington name derive from this part of the country, including England’s favorite, Richard Whittington (ca. 1350-1423). One can certainly argue that we are descended from English nobility; however, Clare’s descendant list extends back only to 1709. By this time, the Whittington’s were no longer held in high regard with the English nobility, having lost prestige and status. Perhaps future research will firmly associate us with the early nobles of Whittington. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">So where does the Family motto come from? I have no idea. It is printed above several variations of coat-of-arms that I’ve located on the Internet. I’ll update you whenever I find out. So what of the coat-of-arms? A Google search of the Whittington Family Crest will result in a wide variety of arms, one of which adorns the family book published in 2010. However, the Coat-of-Arms does not apply to the surname, but only to male individuals and their descendants; hence the wide variety. The College of Arms (the official repository of registered arms) provides a good definition on their website:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span style="color: #0352a9; font-size: 11pt;">Do coats of arms belong to surnames?</span></i></b><i><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> <b><span style="color: #0352a9;">A.</span></b> No. There is no such thing as a 'coat of arms for a surname'. Many people of the same surname will often be entitled to completely different coats of arms, and many of that surname will be entitled to no coat of arms. Coats of arms belong to individuals. For any person to have a right to a coat of arms they must either have had it granted to them or be descended in the legitimate male line from a person to whom arms were granted or confirmed in the past.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">In other words, we must first have a male descendant who registered a coat of arms in order for us to actually claim one. Unfortunately, the College of Arms does not appear to have an online search engine to look up coats-of-arms. Perhaps in a later post, I will display the variety of coats-of-arms related to the Whittington Family.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16879549846474515580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165807549502223936.post-6631889716676193362011-05-08T06:19:00.001-07:002011-05-08T10:22:29.686-07:00Billy's Status...I realized I've been quite neglectful in keeping my siblings and family up to date on my job status. I'll start using the blog now :-) Although now it's under construction and I have to dodge through all these piles of bricks and lumber and crap. <br />
<br />
I completed my certification training in Pittsburgh and flew home on March 26th. That ended a good month and a half certification period up there. I did quite well in the certification process and learned a lot. Since then I've been in a "mentoring" program where I'm sent to job sites as a trainee, working with experienced techs. I'll be doing this until they feel I'm ready to be on my own. <br />
<br />
I'm currently on my second visit to the Upper Peninsula area of Michigan, in Quinnesec and Iron Mountain. People up here call themselves "Yoopers" and they have that funny accent you hear in that movie "Fargo". This is my second time up here working at a paper plant run by Verso Paper. My only other trip besides these two was one in Maxwell, CA, which is about 100 miles North of Bobby and Nikki. There I worked at a Natural Gas compressing station owned by PG&E. Unfortunately I couldn't make the time to go down and visit with Bobby and family, but there will be other trips. <br />
<br />
It looks like the week of 5/9-5/15 I may be in Beaumont, TX (75 miles east of Houston), the following week sent to Detroit for a couple of weeks, and then a trip to Saginaw, MI for a week. I'm not sure why they keep sending me to Michigan. Hmmmm... <br />
<br />
I've had a lot of down time at home as well since being certified, and have been able to complete a LOT of projects. So things are going well and we're getting ready to host a cubic butt-ton of Jones family members in July. whoo hooo <br />
<br />
Lot of loving memories of Mom today, on Mother's Day.Billyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13223397805416629746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165807549502223936.post-87732997420678479532011-04-22T20:24:00.000-07:002011-04-22T20:24:58.776-07:00Memoirs of Catherine Myers<i>Mom asked her siblings to write down memories of their childhood for her volume on the Moran Family. Aunt Catherine organized her memories chronologically: </i> <br />
<br />
<b>1927 ( August) </b> <br />
We lived at 19 Pike Street. Joe was born. I went to the hospital to see Mom and the new baby. The baby was in a crib in Mom’s room. Joe came home. Mom had him in a carriage. He was crying and I tried to push the carriage, leaned on the handle and dumped him on the floor. <br />
<br />
<b>1927-1928</b> <br />
I had a toothache. Mom told me to eat my potatoes and gravy and it would get better. It did!! <br />
<br />
<b>1928-1929</b> <br />
We lived (six??) months with Grandma and Grandpa Moran while Dad went to Schenectady to find work. He got a job in Locomotive Works. I watched Grandma trim the wicks and put kerosene in the lamps every day. <br />
<br />
<b>Summer 1929 </b> <br />
Before leaving for Schenectady, Mom took us to spend a day with Romaine Myers and Dad’s Aunt Sara. Betty got stung on the neck with a bee. She also took us to Kingston to stay overnight with her Aunt Margaret and her boys. One outstanding memory of that trip was getting a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast with canned milk on it (I didn’t like it). Kate took me to my first movies at the Irving before we moved to Schenectady. It was Al Jolson. He sang “Sonny Boy’’ but I don’t remember the name of the film. Dad started calling Joe Sonny Boy. <br />
<br />
<b>1930</b> <br />
We went to Schenectady on the train. It was Mom, Aunt Kate, Betty, Joe and I. Dad was supposed to meet us but we didn’t get off the train at the right stop. Dad looked all over for us. We got off at the next stop and took a bus to Schenectady. Dad finally found us huddled in the hallway of the apartment at 19 Park Place in the wee hours of the morning. Dad had the key and let us in. <br />
<br />
<b>September 1930</b> <br />
I started to school in a public school just across the street from us. I was all dressed up: New shoes, new dress. When I told Mom I had to sit on the floor because there were no seats, she immediately took me to St. John the Evangelist School. We said our prayers and sang little songs in French. Mom started me taking piano lessons. We were only in that apartment a short time and we moved to 24 Park Place where we had a piano and our own furniture. We had a boarder in our apartment. His name was Mr. Hill. He played the xylophone and was a student at the Union Seminary Theological School in Schenectady. One night we had a fire. Dad said Mr. Hill turned his gas heater up too high and the curtains caught fire. Dad doused it with a pail of water and the fire was out before the fire trucks arrived. The thing that stands out in my mind is the fireman running up the steps with a big hose and an axe. <br />
<br />
Thibodeux family lived in the apartment below us. There were a lot of boys in the family. Several of them played instruments in a band. They practiced in our house while mother accompanied them on the piano. Kate stayed with us for a while and worked in the Mohican Market. Then she married Jack Williams and lived for a while in Schenectady. Dad and Jack roomed with Jack’s sister, Mrs. Davis. Then Mary came to stay with us, met Carl Stock and married him. While Mary was with us Mom had a miscarriage and I remember that she was very sick. She thought Betty and I were standing someplace in her room and I could hear Dad trying to convince her that we were in bed. Later, when we moved back to Grandma Moran’s house, I heard Mom tell Grandma about hearing the little person all in white tell her she would be alright. She was convinced that it was her little sister Annie. (Near death experience??) <br />
<br />
During one of the band practices, Joe was rushed to the Ellis Hospital where he had tracheal intubation. He had what Mom thought was croup but it turned out to be diphtheria. He was rocking in the chair saying, “Mommy I can’t breathe”. Aunt Mary nursed him back to health in a steam filled isolation unit. During my first year in school 1929-1930, Betty, Joe and I had chicken pox, German measles and flu. Betty started to school in September 1930. She wouldn’t be six until May but they took her anyway. She was a puny little thing and used to fall on the way home from school. Grandpa Moran came to visit us and took Better and her 21 dolls back to Finch Hill with him. When Dad was working he bought us a toy every payday. My favorite gift was roller skates. Mom told me I wore them to bed and she took them off when I went to sleep. Betty must have come home the Christmas of 1930. Mom took me Christmas shopping with her and I began my tree-trimming career (What! No Santa?). We bought two beautiful dolls at $5 each. Mine had brown hair and was dressed in pink. Betty’s had long hair and was dressed in blue. When Joe recovered and left the hospital, he had to stay in bed for two weeks so he wouldn’t get myocarditis. He was at the “terrible two “ stage and wouldn’t eat anything but puffed rice three times a day. <br />
<br />
<b>Jan-Feb 1931</b> <br />
The Moran’s big house on Finch Hill burned down and with it Betty’s 21 dolls. Also destroyed were Dad’s war souvenirs, table and chairs, ironing board and iron that dad bought Mom for Christmas when I was 2 months old, my beautiful teddy bear and many more valuable items, wedding gifts, etc that Mom and Dad had stored on the 3rd floor because there was no room for them on the truck when they moved to Schenectady. <br />
<br />
<b>April 28, 1931</b> <br />
Clare Ann was born. Dad had taken Betty and I to the movies. Mom was supposed to go to the hospital to have the baby. Aunt Gert was with her and she didn’t even have time to call Dr. Reynolds. We arrived just in time to hear a baby cry and Dad sent Betty and I to tell Aunt Kate and he called the doctor. Gert delivered the baby. It was the first time she delivered a baby. When we got back with Aunt Kate, Mom and baby were all fixed up and the Dr. was on his way out. My most vivid memory of that day was seeing the foot of Mom’s bed elevated on two kitchen chairs. <br />
<br />
<b>Summer 1931</b> <br />
We moved back to Carbondale. Dad was laid off, but before he left he had a piece of steel embedded in his cornea. He used to tell me the doctor had to take his eye out to remove the steel. When you see eye surgery it looks like that. We returned to Carbondale on the train. We had a lunch in shoeboxes. Clare Ann was six weeks old. She cried all the way home. We went to live with Grandma and Grandpa Moran on River Street in an apartment above Kaufman’s warehouse and store. We finally moved to Farview Street and Dad got a part-time job in the mines. I think it was in the Jermyn Colliery. We lived over the landlord. The No. 7 school started. I brought the measles rubella home to Betty, Joe and Clare Ann. Clare was six months old and she got pneumonia. She was very sick and Grandpa’s doctor Dr. Dixon wanted to give her the “new” sulfa drug. The nurses in the family, Gert, Mildred and Mary, were against it. So, Dr. Fineran doctored us through the measles. Sometime in November they started to give out diphtheria toxoid. I brought my slip home to get signed but the day before it was given out I got diphtheria. Aunt Mary took care of me and the house was quarantined. We didn’t get much school in that year. The doctor gave us all a dose of Diphtheria antitoxin and nobody else got it and it shortened my illness. For Christmas in 1931 dad made us a doll house out of orange crates and Mom made curtains for the dollhouse windows. It was all furnished, with four rooms of furniture. He also made us a little table and two chairs. Our big dolls got all new clothes. When we lived on Farview Street, Aunt Kate took me, Betty and Joe to sing on the Carbondale radio. I sang Ramona, Betty Springtime in the Rockies and Joe sang Pop Goes the Weasel. <br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><b>January 1932</b> <br />
Right after Christmas we moved to 4 Spencer Street. Mom and Dad said the landlord couldn’t stand our noise – Roller skating, running around, jumping off furniture, etc. We went to the No. 8 school on Belmont Street. Dad was then working only 1 day a week in the mines. Mom used to send us to Dad’s Aunt Mary Ann Cook (Dad’s Aunt) to borrow bread and anything else she could spare; food was very scarce. We enjoyed our summer. Our playmates were Julia Ross (sic)(big family next door to us). Mrs. Ross baked bread and put olive oil on it. We got invited in every day to sit on her kitchen floor and have a slice. Alice and Gerald Robinson played with us. We lived in half a double house. The landlords Zimmermans lived next door. They were very kind to us. This was our first berry-picking summer. I was 9, Betty was 7. Dad was laid off that summer. <br />
<br />
<b>September 1932</b> <br />
Mom took me and Betty to register us at St. Rose School. She didn’t like the language we were bringing home from the public school. Mother explained to Mother Borja that she couldn’t pay our $2.00 a month tuition, and $0.50 for stationary. The principle told Mom not to worry. She would get books etc., for us. It was a long walk for two little girls; the winter was hard on us. We had no gloves, no boots. I remember having constant frozen hands and wet feet. We had the flu very bad that winter. A milk program was started in the school and we all got a half pint of milk in the morning and afternoon. We went sleigh riding on Reynolds Avenue that winter. Mom had all her teeth out that winter and I remember that she hemorrhaged sometime during the night. Dad started working at the St. Rose Convent and school on Saturdays after I told my teacher my Dad could fix her blackboards and do anything else they wanted done. He had a steady job on Saturdays and during summers there for several years. The Zimmermans gave us a huge box of crayons, paints and coloring books for Christmas. Apologetically, they told us we would have to move because we didn’t pay the rent. <br />
<br />
<b>Feb 1933-1935</b> <br />
We moved to 17 ½ Belmont Street. Betty got Scarlet Fever in April of 1933 or 1934 and we were all quarantined for 30 days. Dad started working on the W.P.A. for $15 a week. Our playmates were Marjorie and Ralph Pierce. We spent most of our free time roller skating, jumping rope and playing marbles. Art was born August 8, 1933. I went to Camp Coffey for a week, paid for by the parish. Mom got a washer. We started this year to have our annual May 30th outing at Grandma and Grandpa Moran’s. Mary was on vacation and stayed with us for Art’s delivery. Art was 2 weeks late. Mary stayed only for the delivery and had to go back to Schenectady. At this time Aunt Mildred lived nearby on Belmont Street and Aunt Katie lived on Cherry Avenue. The day after Art was born Mary left and Dad took Betty to Grandma Moran, and Clare and Joe to Grandma Hildebrand. When Art was 24 hours old, Mom asked me to hand him to her from the crib. He slid out of the blanket and I dropped him. After that Mother kept the crib by her bed. Dad continued to work at the Jermyn Colliery one or two days a week. John L. Lewis came to the Anthracite region to form the Mine Workers Union. All the miners went on strike. For two reasons that I can figure out, Dad broke the picket lines and worked as a scab. There was a lot of violence and I heard Mom begging him not to go because she was afraid he would get shot. We had no other income and I think he felt he had to feed us and I know from talking to him later that he did not believe in unions. He felt workers had less freedom and he said union leaders were out to make money on the miners. Needless to say when mine unions were organized, Dad never worked in the mines again. During this time I remember him cleaning his carbide lamp, which he wore on his hat while down in the dark mines. The miners had what they called “shifting clothes” which they put on when they got to work. Eventually the clothes got so stiff with coal dust and dampness, they were hard to work in. Then Mother got them to try and make them wearable for a while longer. <br />
<br />
During the 1930’s the country was in bad shape. The veterans were demonstrating on the lawn of the White House for the bonus and back pay. Roosevelt came into office with the country in a terrible mess. There was drought in the west and Midwest. An outspoken advocate of political and social reform was Father Coughlin, whose hour-long radio broadcast every Sunday afternoon from the Shrine of the Little Flower drew national attention. This was the only radio program Grandpa Moran would listen to. He was deaf so the volume was turned up all the way and he sat with his ear glued to it so he wouldn’t miss a word. If we were visiting Grandma Moran we went to the cemetery for a walk with her so we wouldn’t hear it. It was unbearable and hard on the ears. Dad thought he was radical and would never listen to him. <br />
<br />
<b>Fall 1935- Spring 1936</b> <br />
Clare Ann and Art went to WPA Nursery School at YMCA. Clare was not talking and she learned quickly at the nursery school. We used to take them on our way to school and pick them up after. Dad said we had to move from Belmont Street because we broke the landlords bushes sleigh riding. Dad went looking for a house. <br />
<br />
We moved to Willow Avenue. Mom was 5 or 6 months pregnant. There was no inside plumbing, only a kitchen sink, and no heat, but we had the biggest and best garden ever that summer. Mother stuffed us full of vegetables. We had cooked vegetables twice a day; Spinach, beets, beet-tops, carrots, peas, sweet corn, tomatoes and lettuce twice a day. Our playmates on Willow Avenue were Kathy Brain, Ann and Jimmy Swanick, and Dorothy Burnett (one of my classmates). There was a small grove (clearing with trees) very close to our house…part of our yard. We used to pretend we were on a picnic and liked to eat our meals there. We picked black berries every day. To get to school we had to cross two railroad tracks, the O&W and the D&H. We took short cuts where there were no gates and one day when I was trying to beat the train I fell on the track, got a big cut on my thigh and almost got killed. The cut was a long time healing. Sometime in June Aunt Loretta took me for a swim at Newton Lake. I also went in July to Camp Coffey for a week. We went berry picking every day in July and August, and I would get scratched. Every place I had a scratch running sores developed on my legs. Mom and Dad said it was from swimming in the lake with the open cut on my thigh. Sometime in July Mom fell and broke her ankle and until Leo was born she hobbled around with one leg on a chair. I went to the General Hospital every day to get my legs washed and dressed. Leo was born on August 20. They kept Mother in the hospital only 5 days instead of 10 because they needed the bed. Leo was the first one to be bottle-fed. I started back to school in September with my bandaged legs, but only went 2 weeks when I got very sick. The sores were spreading on my arms and I couldn’t keep anything in my stomach. One night I had a fever and chills. About 11 PM Dad and Uncle Bill took me to Dr. Finneran’s office. They pounded on the door of his house until he got out of bed. Dad had me in his arms. By this time, there was no skin on my legs and they were covered with sores. Dr Finneran found one identifiable spot and diagnosed ringworms. We finally got the right medicine and Uncle Bill bought it on the way home. Again we got a druggist out of bed to fill the prescriptions. Dad had to scrub my legs 3 times a day and I cried so much Mother had to go down to Aunt Gert’s, two houses down the hill on Willow Avenue so she wouldn’t hear me. Bobby McDonnell was born on Willow Avenue that summer also. My legs quickly healed. I missed 2 months of school that year. In early October we moved again, this time to 46 Brook Street next to Stephens Brothers’ Dairy. Our playmates were Patty and Georgie Webb and Elva and Harry McCullough. <br />
<br />
In November of 1935 after Thanksgiving, Mom had what I now think was a post-partum psychosis. She would jump and start to scream and Dad used to hold her to stop her from screaming. Then one night he couldn’t stop her. The doctor came and gave her an injection to put her to sleep. The next day, Uncle Bill and Dad took her to Scranton where she stayed with Kate for almost 6 weeks. Kate lived on North Bromley Avenue in Scranton. Those 6 weeks were the most traumatic of my whole life. Leo was 3 months old and was supposed to go to Schenectady with Aunt Mary, but Mary left him with Betty and Grandma and Grandpa Moran. Art was supposed to go with Aunt Mildred, but she brought him back the next day. Clare stayed with Grandma Hildebrand. Joe and I were supposed to go to school, but I ended up staying home with Art.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16879549846474515580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165807549502223936.post-26949550497229060112011-04-22T20:23:00.000-07:002011-04-22T20:23:52.910-07:00Memoirs of Uncle Joe (Pt. II)<div style="text-align: left;"><i>This is a short of George Hildebrand, who married Grandpa's widowed mother, Clara Whittington (our Great Grandmother): </i></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>We Called him George</i></div>A man with powerful arms and a barrel of a chest, George always wore his gold rimmed glasses, but kept his teeth in a bowl of water on the shelf in the old barroom. He met our widowed Grandmother in a boarding house where she worked as a cook. The work must have been very hard in those days, and the days were long. He married our Grandmother, and the big man with the big heart took on the responsibility and labor of providing and caring for her and the children.<br />
<br />
Eventually George bought the old hotel they called The Halfway House on Finch Hill (it was halfway between Carbondale and Clifford). Dad said it was a stage stop at one time, before the auto was invented. I do know for sure it was a famous watering hole during and after prohibition; for many years afterwards the raw materials for producing wine, cider and whiskey continued to grow behind the hotel. The huge apple orchard stood upon the hill, and the rhubarb, elder berries and grapevine grew and bore fruit for years after the bar closed.<br />
<br />
Dad took care of the bar after dark when he was young and single. When a customer said “Have a drink with me”, he would reach for his bottle of tea, pour it carefully into a shot glass, and down the hatch, pick up the money for two shots and wait on the next customer. They said the reason he held his liquor so well was due to his red hair. When the farmers from Clifford dumped their produce in Carbondale, it was their custom to stop there on the way home. As long as they kept both elbows hooked behind the ridge that ran around the bar, they stayed on their feet. When the elbows came loose they would fall on the floor. If a customer was too drunk to walk, George and Dad would carry him out to his wagon, lay him down comfortably in the back, untie the horse, and with a gentle slap on the shank and a giddup, the horse would take his master home. There never seemed to be a problem with drunk driving then, but I wager there was many a farmer who woke up next to his barn in the morning wondering what happened.<br />
<br />
Grandmother tended the bar during the day. They had a bell on that door and she could hear when someone entered. She would leave her canning and cooking and go into the barroom. Being alone in the house, she would have the big collie with her. He would also answer the bell and sit in the bar watching the customers as long as they were there. No one spoke too loudly, or made any sudden movements.<br />
<br />
George worked steady night shift, seven days a week, as a fireman in the D&H Roundhouse. It was his job to fire up and prepare the big steam locomotives for their runs. Dad said the Roundhouse crew called him the Iron man because he worked so hard. He rarely slept more than four hours a day. After his supper he would light up his corncob pipe and sit next to the potbelly stove in the old barroom (at this time, of course, the bar was no longer in operation); when we heard the pipe fall on the floor, he was sleeping. Grandma had his lunch pail packed at ten p.m., after which, she would wake him. Farm work on Sundays was limited to milking the cows (when George and Dad had the twelve head in the mid 1930s), and feeding the horses and chickens. On Sundays, he drove Grandma and Uncle Paul to Mass, when they were well enough to go; he would wait in the car, and then drive them home.<br />
<br />
Some mornings George would not make it home; as 8:30 a.m. came and went, Grandma would tell me to open up both garage doors wide. I sat on the porch waiting for him and was amazed how well he drove the car into the garage. One time he didn’t come out of the garage for a long time, I went in to help and found him sitting on the running board of his new 1939 Plymouth. His legs would not work, but he was all right otherwise. Dad said he would drink whiskey from a beer glass, he didn’t believe in those small shot glasses. This did not happen every day, however; George loved his land too much to neglect it. The trees in his orchard were always trimmed and the trunks whitewashed. The two large gardens up on the hill and the small ones down by the house were always free of weeds and neatly cultivated.<br />
Many mornings my Mother or Father would wake me early, so I could walk across town and wait near the garage for George to come from work and get his car. On such days when I rode back to the farm with him, he went straight home. I did not suspect it then, but now that I am older, I believe Grandma may have called Mother or Dad to send me out, or perhaps Dad surmised that George might stop that day.<br />
<br />
Summer and fall were the busiest and best seasons of the year. I would watch in awe as George drove his team of horses cutting hay; so close to the trees, rocks and walls, raising the cutting arm at just the right moment, and sideways on the hill without tipping. The mower was the hardest pull for the horses. Every muscle in their body would be straining and their tongues hanging from the side of their mouth. I noticed how George would drive the harnessed team to the machine so they could see what they were about to pull, then back them into it. The brown horse, Bob, always seemed to hesitate and stall, only at the mower; he must have known it was going to be a hard day. I was always on hand to hook up, but too small to throw the harness over the horse. George would then take his knife and cut a switch (a small branch from a tree) in front of the horses so they could see it. He would take a little time right there at their nose, and swish it back and forth just gently before going back to mount the mower. I never saw him use the switch, but I could hear him curse and yell when Bob lay back in the traces. When the hay was cut and raked it was always my job to go ahead of the hay wagon and cock it—that is to say, stacking and piling the hay, so Dad could throw it easily onto the wagon. George would load and drive. It was that summer in 1938 that I was feeling my job was not very important. Somehow George sensed this and yelled down from the wagon “How old you gonna be next month?” I told him I would be 11 and he said, “Next year you will be old enough to drive the team.” And I did. Years later I realized why I had to wait until I was 12; my voice would have been so high, the horses would never have listened to me.<br />
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The Fourth of July was a big day. George would stop at our house after work and take us all to the farm. If he could not get us all in one trip, he made two trips. George, Dad and I would go to Clifford to buy the cabbage plants. By the time we had the plants in the big garden on the hill, the party was ready with plenty of ice cream and watermelon.<br />
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When I left for the Army he was there at the train station with my parents, and a big ten-dollar bill. I was in Japan when the big heart finally gave up. Maybe it was too much whiskey, too much work and not enough rest; but the Iron Man died. <br />
I am so sorry we did not call him Grandfather—I think he would have liked that.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16879549846474515580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165807549502223936.post-81092255962595134392011-04-22T20:22:00.000-07:002011-04-22T20:22:26.264-07:00Memoirs of Uncle Joe (Pt. 3)<i>These were stories Uncle Joe told of his childhood:</i><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b>How to Weasel a Dog</b></div>I suppose during that particular time period in the early 1900s, there must have been an infestation or overabundance of weasels in the area. The long, thin rodents could find a way into a chicken coop at night regardless of how tightly locked it may be, stealing eggs and sometimes, killing chickens. To solve this problem the farmers would look for a dog, probably of the short-haired terrier breed. The dog was taken to a farmer or neighbor (who sometimes lived a great distance away) lucky enough to have trapped an elusive weasel. The squirming rodent was dumped from a burlap bag into a large steel drum. The dog owner then dropped his dog into the drum, and the action began. After a period of time, when they felt the dog was thoroughly weaseled, they tipped the barrel over, bagged the weasel (if he was still alive) for the next session and cared for the dog's wounds. Some dogs were so mutilated they had to be shot (a shotgun stood nearby). Those who survived became the best weasel dogs in the county. They could probably smell a weasel from half a mile away.<br />
It was this particular story that made me lose grandma's favorite cat. He was a huge, one eyed, battle-scarred, gray colored tomcat. He would go in and out of the house anytime he chose; no other cat had such privileges. He would go to the door and yowl when he wanted out, and yowl again to come back in. When he was in, the tomcat followed grandma around the house and they talked to each other. On one particular day at 4:00 p.m., I took the pail to the barn where the grain was kept, in order to feed the chickens. The lid on the big steel drum was ajar. As I lifted the lid to dip the pail, I encountered the biggest barn rat I had ever seen. He evidently jumped into the drum and ate so much grain he could not jump out. I shut the lid and went back to the house for the tomcat. Grandma was not around and the cat came to the door as I entered. I carried him to the barn and dropped him in the barrel. As soon as he hit the bottom he sprang from that drum like a shot from a gun and ran straight into the woods without stopping. We never saw that cat again. Grandmother asked me a few days later if I had seen her cat around, and I told her I hadn't seen him for three days. I had to get that rat out of the barrel with a hayfork, which I would have done in the first place, if I hadn’t heard the weasel story.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b>The Cat Family</b></div>Domesticated animals on the farm were not always considered pets. Certainly there were favorites now and then who received special attention because of their appearance or disposition. Our cat family seemed to be the most ignored and self-sufficient animals on the farm. They dropped their litters either somewhere in the barn or underneath the back porch, nobody seemed to care much if they survived or died. I never saw them being fed, only during the milking in the evening and morning. At that time they would sit in a straight line approximately four feet from Dad's milking stool. When he was sure I was watching, he would give each one a squirt from the cow's teat. That was fascinating to see each one in turn rise on his haunches and catch that stream of hot milk in the mouth. This was the only time they appeared for a head count. If a cat didn't arrive for the milking, it was either dead or in labor. After the milking they would receive more milk in a large round pan. When that was thoroughly clean they were on their own.<br />
It was the cat family's job to keep the rodent population down to a minimum; the family ranged from five to eight, or more. When numbers were reduced (bad timing on the roads, or just missing in action), one or two young kittens were introduced from another house hold. The first thing Grandma did before turning the new cats loose in the barn was very important. She put them in the hen house with that flock of fifty or so screaming, pecking, laying hens and the big mean rooster. The cats kept a good distance from chickens the rest of their lives and so did their offspring.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b>You Too Will Cry</b></div>We received the telephone call around 8 p.m. that night. Grandma said, “You have to walk up to your other Grandmother's house and tell her that her brother Denny is dead. He was found frozen in a snowdrift.” She gave me a flashlight to swing back and forth in my left hand as I walked up the right side of the road; Uncle Paul reported on my progress from the bar room window. Grandma Moran was alone in the house and knew something was wrong when she saw the light swinging down the road toward her. As soon as she opened the door, I casually gave her the message as instructed. When she sat down at the table and began to cry, I put my hand on her shoulder and asked, “Why are you crying, Grandma?” She replied, “You too will cry when your brother dies.”<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Little Red Wagons</b></div>It's just not possible to buy a little red wagon for a five-year-old who has a three-year-old brother. We will never forget the pulling and shrieking that took place Christmas Day on Franklin Street. There was no other way but to come up with another dollar, hurry down to Shaws on Main Street, and rush back with another red wagon just like the first. I don't remember who made the run to Shaws that morning, but it probably was the same culprit who made the mistake in the first place.<br />
Our little brothers felt very proud and important with their wagons. They finally found a way to contribute something to the family. They would circle around the field behind the house, loading the wagons with scrap wood and branches for the kitchen stove. This was very helpful to our little Mother, especially on bread baking day. The young ones were kept busy all day while the rest of us were in school, and could be seen from the kitchen window. The hungry stove took all the wood they gathered to bake bread. Mother would mix her dough in a very large silver pan, punching and kneading until it was right. Then it was put into the bread pans and placed high out of reach on racks and shelves around the kitchen to rise, and then put into the oven for baking. <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Huckleberries</b></div>There is a unique skill and dexterity in berry picking. You only approach the bushes that appear to hold the most and biggest berries. It is a serious crime to pick on a bush owned by someone else, unless, of course, a brother or sister owns it. This could result in bloodshed. Ownership is immediately established by the first person to reach the bush. The right hand is held palm upward, fingers bent, and thumb rolling back and forth across the fingertips. The left hand is used to gently move the branches of the bush, or to hold your small picker. As your right palm fills, you fill the picker (a small cup or can). When the picker was full, it was dumped into a large pail, which was kept carefully in the shade, but not out of sight.<br />
Cooking and canning huckleberries seemed to be a necessary requirement during the Great Depression. The whole family was involved, from old Grandfathers to pre-schoolers. If we left earlier than our brothers, sisters or friends, we told them which path we would take—Path No. 1 or No. 2. As the latecomers arrived, they sang out our names. When the pail was full we hurried home, usually with enough light for a game of softball. Our softball had been taped and re-taped so often, that it could not be hit much farther than the pitcher. Before each game I had to lock my dog Buddy in the cellar; otherwise, he would lurk behind a tree or in the tall grass, field the first hit, and take off for the woods with ball in mouth. When both teams failed to catch the dog, they began chasing me.<br />
In later years we picked berries at Newton Lake. The pails were easier to fill because these were High Huckles (big berries on high bushes). The distance to the Lake was much greater; if we could not catch a ride, we walked five miles. My brother Art went with me, but only if I promised to take him for a swim after we filled the pail. That was not a hard promise to keep, since we both loved the water and still do. We would dig a hole in the ground for our berries, beneath a shady tree, and cover it with branches until we left.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Pee Gerard</b></div>My last chore at the end of the day was to supervise the emptying of baby brother's bladder. This was a very important task, since we had only three to four beds, and nine in the household; sometimes we slept as many as three to a bed. On my way upstairs, Mother would say, “Don't forget to pee Gerard.” I would lift the little brother from the bed, holding him underneath the arms from behind, and gently, but quickly walk him to the bathroom. Once there I dropped his drawers, aimed for the toilet, and commanded, “Pee Gerard”; little brother always complied after four or five commands. He never woke up, and we would have a dry night, but rarely a restful one. When the brothers were small there was no problem pushing them back to their side of the bed after one of their rollovers, but as they became heavier a push became impossible. I soon discovered that a quick pinch on the upper leg was very effective.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b>My Father: The Family Physician</b></div>He said his neighbors and friends often asked for his help when their mares or cows were having difficulty giving birth, or when any of their animals were sick:<br />
<ul><li>If a horse had the heaves (similar to asthma in humans), the prognosis was to wet the hay and make an adjustment in his grain intake.</li>
</ul><ul><li>A dog with a dry nose that expelled everything he devoured had distemper. A mixture of raw eggs and whiskey was forced into the dog; very soon, the dog was able to hold food. </li>
</ul>For those of us requiring medical attention, the following remedies were commonly applied: <br />
<ul><li>A shot of whiskey, one tablespoon of honey and the juice of a lemon were mixed for the night cough. One teaspoon of this elixir was taken as needed. </li>
</ul><ul><li>Octagon soap with a pinch of sugar was squeezed into a paste and applied to bring out the infection in boils. </li>
</ul><ul><li>Castor oil was delivered with a tablespoon (to those who didn’t gag), or mixed with orange juice (for those who did). The oil was mandatory for constipation anytime, but also deemed necessary in the Spring of each year to cleanse the system—whether or not it was necessary. </li>
</ul><ul><li>One teaspoon of Mercurochrome was used to gargle the throat when it was raw and infected (but you couldn’t swallow any).</li>
</ul>In the early days, the kitchen coal stove was allowed to burn out every night, to be restarted each morning; this not only conserved coal, but also eliminated the inhalation of coal gas during the night. Each night enough kindling had to be cut to start the morning fire. One cold winter evening on Franklin Street, I cut my second toe right to the bone, as I was cutting kindling with Dad’s small hatchet. I limped upstairs with a shoe full of blood; removing the shoe and sock, Dad cleansed the wound; pushed the skin together over the bone; taped it tight, and told me to walk to school on my heel for a few days. When we lived on Pike Street, my knee slipped out of the socket during a football game. Somehow he slipped the kneecap back in, and bound it with an ace bandage. Within two weeks, I was playing football again. On Willow Avenue, during a game of Kick the Can, I was too close to the kicker, and received a deep wound in the head. He calmly cleaned and closed that wound.<br />
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One early morning in the Autumn of 1954, Uncle Paul called and said his Mother fell down the stairs and could not get up. Dad and I drove out to the house and found her lying at the bottom of the stairs. Together we were able to move her to a chair underneath the kitchen light. While we were waiting for the ambulance, he began to work on her head, which was bleeding badly. He had her head shaved and the bleeding stopped before the ambulance arrived. Our Grandmother died in the hospital some days later as a result of that fall. It is still a mystery to me how Uncle Paul was able to climb over the top of his Mother on one leg to reach the phone. After the funeral as we walked together Dad said, “I wish I could have done more for her.”Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16879549846474515580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165807549502223936.post-46733775859599490992011-04-22T20:21:00.000-07:002011-04-22T20:21:23.426-07:00Elizabeth A. Myers<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA3bZqxbxh8jrqbocMNnW_5xpIhCDOlIfzdMM1i7wqH1804AjDsPSQOAHxJmc4wjsJdx6KDgd9vXAE0utlECeIzBBhyphenhyphenRrFr9nRiklSUg9tdX3-dph6SkHInTZVcPQVTy2v0DiBramyzys/s1600/Sheet_3_crop3.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA3bZqxbxh8jrqbocMNnW_5xpIhCDOlIfzdMM1i7wqH1804AjDsPSQOAHxJmc4wjsJdx6KDgd9vXAE0utlECeIzBBhyphenhyphenRrFr9nRiklSUg9tdX3-dph6SkHInTZVcPQVTy2v0DiBramyzys/s640/Sheet_3_crop3.jpg" width="320" /></a> <br />
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<b><text size="10">Betty and Clare with John and Kathy Williams, August 1947 <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZM0MLJdi_yoqDLSZsCl-Rap4VV00xRXnGQACnX4xFFfrGJo_jjbBX4kXEOz2NKzIMbvsjQO7sr0C6pHQCS5ooztDIY3mKs86l7cQOPd2dz28dofS91QEWfLMWhud4Nt_5WXEstlQb30s/s1600/Sheet_4_crop1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZM0MLJdi_yoqDLSZsCl-Rap4VV00xRXnGQACnX4xFFfrGJo_jjbBX4kXEOz2NKzIMbvsjQO7sr0C6pHQCS5ooztDIY3mKs86l7cQOPd2dz28dofS91QEWfLMWhud4Nt_5WXEstlQb30s/s400/Sheet_4_crop1.jpg" width="281" /></a> <br />
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<b><text size="10">Betty in Detroit, 1947</text></b> <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJe6b45WwME4kDblYfxXQngpQYpUdleDDrV8PRm5AkPRkzc9auy1NULUGzOhge9LANsb3egJtTDcXrr6PWMnKrKENeneHXhoe1k2C8J9N3r4_Qpdoy2Sc3uhWKR6l-PchfK-QOx1v0G6M/s1600/Sheet_4_crop2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJe6b45WwME4kDblYfxXQngpQYpUdleDDrV8PRm5AkPRkzc9auy1NULUGzOhge9LANsb3egJtTDcXrr6PWMnKrKENeneHXhoe1k2C8J9N3r4_Qpdoy2Sc3uhWKR6l-PchfK-QOx1v0G6M/s400/Sheet_4_crop2.jpg" width="265" /></a> <br />
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Betty 1948 <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaqCiKmomyBPv5FlBIetkT7WoXatQ54ot1FdgqcKrQblu7F2YGYw6JfpEm_qRppHWDFMgM5H5qrNseEE2OQEviSCl1mtSLguorWbJm2ld4fqZ98me01A6HgpRJX63g32_3b-dE1h17jLg/s1600/Sheet_4_crop3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaqCiKmomyBPv5FlBIetkT7WoXatQ54ot1FdgqcKrQblu7F2YGYw6JfpEm_qRppHWDFMgM5H5qrNseEE2OQEviSCl1mtSLguorWbJm2ld4fqZ98me01A6HgpRJX63g32_3b-dE1h17jLg/s400/Sheet_4_crop3.jpg" width="237" /></a> <br />
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Betty and Clare, August 1948 <br />
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Betty in Indianapolis, 1952 <br />
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Myers Family, Christmas 1953 <br />
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Betty, Leo and Clare in Heidelberg Germany, February 1956 <br />
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Betty and Art in Heidelberg, Germany, March 1956</text></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16879549846474515580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165807549502223936.post-66124386963096214252011-04-22T20:18:00.000-07:002011-04-22T20:18:44.920-07:00Grandpa Myers<i>Grandpa wrote this short biography in 1976 for Susan. Again, I assume it was a class assignment. Mom must have digitally transcribed the original letter; or maybe one of the kids:</i> <br />
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When my mother came to this country she was 15 years old. She went to work as a cook for a boarding house in a place called Rock Lake. That’s when she met my father. He was hauling timber to a place called Forest City and it took him 12 to 15 hours to make a trip with horses; that’s all the power they had them days. So he would always be telling tales. I remember a couple of them. There was a barber that committed suicide so when he passed this place he wanted to hear some one say “do you want a shave.” Another one was he had to drive through a woods and he seen something cross the road as big as a telephone pole. The horses were so scared they ran until they got home. In the Depression of 1930 It was very hard you see at that time there was no welfare, no unemployment compensation, no Social Security. Not until President Roosevelt was elected. But the people shared what they had. The people then were much closer together than they are today. <br />
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People who could picked coal. They had gardens and then they put all men who were able to work on what they called the W.P.A working on high wage and also working around hospitals or other public buildings and they done very good work. You can still see some of their work along secondary highways. There were no crimes those days like there are today, the people of today don’t have what it takes they are used to soft living. We have progressed too fast for the good of our own people. We should never have to be dependent on other nations for oil or gas. We have thousands of acres of coal in Pennsylvania and in other states. <br />
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The influenza broke out in 1918. All of our family on both sides survived it, but others did not.They could not bury them fast enough so they piled the dead bodies in the morgues and the only thing seemed to help the people that had it was whiskey. I was in the army at this time. <br />
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My father was a deputy sheriff of Wayne County. He caught the first man who was hung in that county. This man was wanted for murder. Them days they worked in the woods cutting timber and taking bark off hemlock trees. These two men were friends so they got drinking very heavy and they got quarreling and one of them hit the other one over the head with the axe. They were also a friend of my father’s. He hid in a cave for a week. My father knew where he was, so he told him if he would give himself he would do what he could for him because they were both chums. So he took him in. But at the trial he was convicted of first-degree murder and was hanged. My father turned in his badge because he thought he didn’t get a fair trial. <br />
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My Grandfather on my mother’s side came from Gloucestershire, England also my Grandmother. My father’s parents came from Germany. When my grandparents on my mother’s side came here, my grandfather worked in the coal mines. In them days they worked long hours. They lived in a company house and traded in a company store and no matter how much they made they still owed the company store. <br />
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A typical day: Back them days going too school and remember the old hickory stick that was in the corner of the schoolrooms. And that’s what we need now. After school we picked coal. On vacation days we would pick berries and work in the garden. I also sold papers after school. My father died when I was 7 years old. I got as far as 5<sup>th</sup> grade when I was 11 years old and then I went to work in the coal mine. I went to 9 o’clock mass on Sunday morning, went to Sunday school in the afternoon, and came home and played baseball. My big day was on a Sunday when I played ball. I was not the only one who went to work so young. Not very many boys or girls went through high school them days. The boys got jobs in the coal breakers picking slate out of the coal or working in silk mills. Those were the days of child labor. I worked in the mines tending door for 90 cents a day. I worked in the silk mill at night 11 hours a night for 10 cents an hour. <br />
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They were a lot of contagious diseases those days. It was just a matter of the strong lived and the weak died. I remember they had what they called the Black Maria. It was a black ambulance pulled by a pair of mules they used for mine accidents and there were a lot of them those days and we only had one hospital and if a man got killed in the mines before they took him out,if his shoes were any good some one would take them off him. And also his lamp and his water bottle. I remember a story one poor fellow was taken to his home on Electric Ave. He had a wife and 4 children and when they took him home his wife met them at the door and told them to take him out of their a dead was no good. The Coal Co. was very ruthless them days they thought more of the mules than they of the men. Mules cost 300.00 a piece the men didn’t cost them anything. Those were the days when they used mules in the mines for power. I worked in them before it was electrified, but we had some good days. <br />
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We would save a 1.50 a month and get a horse and buggy from the livery stable and go on picnics out to Crystal Lake for the day and my mother in the evenings would put her shawl on and go visit the neighbors. I can remember my father and mother was in big demand at house parties. My father was one man band. He played a mouth organ and a violin. He had both around his neck so he played the mouth organ and violin at the same time and my mother would call off the square dances. She would also sing. So you see they had good times in the good old days. There were no cars them days so they made use of their legs which God gave them. <br />
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Dear Susan I hope you can read this letter, and get something out of it, your mother and your Dad will help you, they are the last of the old generation. You must be a big girl now, looking forward to see you in the Summer. Please excuse this writing I am getting a little shaky. <br />
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God Bless You, <br />
Grandfather Myers <br />
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<i>Written in January, 1976, Arthur Myers, age 79, DOB 1896</i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16879549846474515580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165807549502223936.post-11245579851137270642011-01-23T19:30:00.001-08:002011-04-22T20:20:55.265-07:00In Remembrance of Elizabeth A. Myers Hernquist<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwe9C7fjgwMfLVf8xJOOkUuUYed9nTHewNvbvLGC2Cgk1mrD9Mv5T_UIsFzDcdSCq39iTxsPrzShB9Zx2ayH4BIEHgflXRLv_Y4MuqU24kOY4aU4VZFbitQVvmRBcpKsRuo31Bay6Gtqg/s1600/BettyObit.jpg" width="400" /> <br />
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<b>Elizabeth A. Hernquist passed away peacefully on January 18. 2011 in her home. <br />
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Born May 30, 1925 in Carbondale, PA she was the daughter of Elizabeth Moran Myers. On January 12, 1957 at St. Rose Church in Carbondale she married E. Theodore "Ted" Hernquist, Jr., who survives. <br />
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Mrs. Hernquist was a graduate of St Rose High School in Carbondale and of St. Joseph's School of Nursing in Carbondale. She was first employed as a registered nurse in Indianapolis during the polio epidemic. In 1954 she enlisted in the U.S. Air Force where she served as a Registered Nurse First Lieutenant for the 388th Fighter Bomb Wing at the Air Base in Etain, France. She then worked for a short time for the former Allegany Nursing Home and the Cattaraugus County Nursing Home in Olean after which she stayed home to raise a family. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdaDIFxYrOb7mApR8524GijjNAxOtykyaK4QPHJNGGqD4sxR1synKWk9t1P_ATM4bMB37f-yDZiwSyfgV2N78t3uFcEXlL-U5fPMDYkiQblHT11lw-sEAWg9SALJGnoEDfs0dY9VTDXOA/s1600/Sheet_3_crop4.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdaDIFxYrOb7mApR8524GijjNAxOtykyaK4QPHJNGGqD4sxR1synKWk9t1P_ATM4bMB37f-yDZiwSyfgV2N78t3uFcEXlL-U5fPMDYkiQblHT11lw-sEAWg9SALJGnoEDfs0dY9VTDXOA/s320/Sheet_3_crop4.jpg" width="320" /></a> <br />
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She was a member of St. Mary of the Angels Church and the Olean American Legion Post #530. She was a charter member of the Women in Military Service for America. For several years she volunteered for Meals on Wheels. Along with her husband she traveled to Florida each year for seventeen years until 2008. <br />
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Surviving besides her husband are two daughters Mary (Don) Chuboff of Watkinsville, GA and Anne (Bob) Rueppel of Lancaster, PA; five grandchildren, Derek Chuboff, Sarah Chuboff, Kelly Chuboff, Katie Rueppel and Colleen Rueppel; one brother Arthur Myers of Owego; one sister Sister St. Gerard, IHM of Scranton, PA and several nieces and nephews. <br />
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsVUKVK7hHmcTHcKYQ-FTCtBD3_MVdS9qOFudwIwBIAr1k-wkxoaA4ajnIGEM2AoAAf870lu2p6UtsTHiuHpCs3t-0bwIOB9M3h-DmLqsamWbzkwQnx1yt8haqRiuIUsmtJ2EPnBJ7KFc/s1600/july1972.jpg" width="320" /> <br />
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilsx7YxQ7pWpalNpKX9za-VABsSGQSen7vNFvGkrwo24zfYXCDQDGhpnDKcmggBndXVHC5Fse95IDlpO6HZb_gL6UUDucwWDKiCZKspCTKkKsiMtgoOmo6SChGalEibeU-zW0IuLEju-I/s1600/family20001.jpg" width="120/" /> <br />
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjMANiNNrHAhAqcScH8bJg0yFNxRjr-Xsc82R_FyNFreHrMRvbV9NeYeUTKLsjRBk4Ugiq1p8aY8roLFzOehmxVkowZa52GnDSXAJpeJoVEFWwFhxsOnOGnW35wTWGi2sgXGL7OvZkD3k/s1600/chuboff2k2.jpg" /> <br />
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She was predeceased by two sisters infant Mary Myers and Clare Jones and three brothers Leo Myers, Joseph Myers and Gerard Myers.</b> <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGo7c8G_4AgZjHvM5vOGyAPuYo4lrj6LfFXr8C0JK8QgOi1TMxD-B1jSTbYV-jzTa9wWoywyI0OmAWlFeMPbKNMdQgxIdqUzHM39GSplTpT8d8U6HWpzfMbY1hGKHMfZXXGm9lSDkV_T8/s1600/myersfamily.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGo7c8G_4AgZjHvM5vOGyAPuYo4lrj6LfFXr8C0JK8QgOi1TMxD-B1jSTbYV-jzTa9wWoywyI0OmAWlFeMPbKNMdQgxIdqUzHM39GSplTpT8d8U6HWpzfMbY1hGKHMfZXXGm9lSDkV_T8/s640/myersfamily.jpg" width="320" /></a>Billyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13223397805416629746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165807549502223936.post-697223721131176272010-11-10T05:20:00.000-08:002011-04-22T20:23:09.689-07:00Memoirs of Uncle Joe<i>These first stories presented below were written by Uncle Joe regarding his father, Arthur Thomas Myers (Grandpa Myers). I'm not sure what order they should be in, but here they are:</i><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Hard Times</i></div>He went to all the saloons in Carbondale every evening selling newspapers after his Father died. It must have been a terrific shock for a 10 year old to lose his Father; I know it was for me and I was past 56. Grandma made him a little moneybag with a shoelace for a drawstring on top so he wouldn’t lose any change. When he came home at night they would count it together on the kitchen table and decide what they could afford to buy. There were so many young ones in the family to feed and care for; now he had become the provider.<br />
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The bars at that time were many and well occupied, mostly with black covered coal miners washing down the dust; no women were allowed. Saw dust covered the floors and cuspidors were placed here and there to catch finished tobacco chews. They served schooners of draft for a nickel, with huge trays of sandwiches spread around at various points to eat when desired. He was not allowed to linger in any saloon too long, just one pass around the bar, after which the owner showed him out, shoving a handful of sandwiches inside his shirt. He would eat one or two and still had plenty to carry home.<br />
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Later, when he grew enough to lie about his age, he was able to find steady work in a silk mill. Whenever she could Grandma would send him to Uncle Henry’s farm to stay overnight, or perhaps a weekend. He told me, years later, he believed she did this because she felt he needed the companionship of a Father. As soon as he arrived he would begin asking his Uncle, “When are we going fishing?” His Uncle would say “As soon as the moon is right in the sky, we will go.” Whenever the fish question would arise, his Uncle would look at the sky and say “The moon is still not right.” Then one day while he was there, his Uncle said “Now the moon is right.” They caught so many; they were up most of the night cleaning fish. When Uncle Henry’s dog dropped her first litter, he was presented with one of the pups. This dog became not only his constant companion, but also a hard worker. The dog hauled all the coal he picked for the fires at home.<i><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><i>The Courtship</i></div>He said he worked for John Booth at that time between 1920 and 1922. He operated and maintained a large steam powered roller when the roads were being paved between Finch Hill and Clifford. He walked back and forth to the job every day, past the four corners toward Clifford. When he passed the Moran farm he could see this young girl working in the fields with her large sunbonnet and shiny black hair flowing in the wind. He looked for her every day as he passed the farm. He would see her driving the huge team of horses, walking the cows into the barn for milking, or working in the gardens. Then there were days, perhaps, when he did not see her at all and wondered if she were sick or had gone away.<br />
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He was determined to see this young lady close up, at least one time. One day, when he was sure she was in the house, he knocked on the door, introduced himself to his future father-in-law, and asked to borrow a tool he was in dire need of. After this incident, there began a constant borrowing and returning of tools (which he perhaps never used). Eventually, after a reasonable length of time and Grandpa's approval, he walked to the house in the evenings and sat in the parlor with Mother. She would play the piano for him and at times, Uncle John and Aunt Gert, the youngest of the Moran’s, would help entertain by singing. Dad always carried gum and candy with him on these visits; when he passed it to the young ones, they knew it was time to leave the parlor. At 10 p.m. every night Grandfather Moran would take the raker and shake down the fires, probably creating as much noise and hee-hawing as possible. Dad knew it was tine to leave the house.<br />
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Apparently after some time elapsed, Grandpa decided to take advantage of this strong, red headed light heavyweight. At the time, aside from farming, Grandpa was also a fight promoter and trainer. Whenever he needed a sparring partner for one of his fighters, he would take Dad into Carbondale with him and put him in the ring. Dad wasn't particularly interested in this sport, but he certainly wasn't about to disappoint his future Father-in-law. His game was baseball. On his tour of duty with the Army in the Panama Canal Zone, he was a very accurate fastball pitcher; he threw no fancy curves, just a quick fastball over the plate.<br />
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As time passed, and most likely after their engagement, they would walk together across the fields—a short cut, as Mother said, to the dances at Newton Lake. Mother liked to dance but Dad wasn't too interested. He would move away from her a little, at her request, so the other young men would ask her to dance. Sunday always seemed to be their special day together. Dad had a fast horse and a surrey he was very proud of (the story was he sold the car he had and bought the horse and carriage). They drove this surrey into Carbondale to Mass at St. Rose, sometimes racing other young drivers coming or going. Most of the time they would take the long way home around Crystal Lake. Dad always left the house an hour or so earlier for work so he could stop at the Moran's barn to help mother milk her cows. Each of the five elder Morans had their assigned cows to milk before school. He told me once I wouldn't believe the language and bickering he heard as he approached the barn, and Mother and Uncle Bill, the two oldest, trying in vain to keep peace.<br />
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In the Spring of 1922, Grandpa gave Mother a piece of land to use for herself. She put in potatoes and with the money she made in the Fall of that year was able to buy her complete outfit for her wedding. With her brother, Uncle Bill, and Dad's sister Loretta in attendance, they were married in St. Rose Church on November 22, 1922.<br />
Many years later, as I drove our little Mother to Carbondale down Fallbrook Street, she would point and say, “Look Joe, there is the first house your Father and I lived in after our marriage. It is still there.”<i><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><i>The Dry Cow</i></div>He had an old cow in his dairy herd whose milking days were over. She still looked good for her age and moved with the quickness of a young calf. Somehow he heard of a man from Jermyn who was looking for a dairy cow. After the deal was made and before the buyer arrived to pay for his cow, Dad took a bicycle pump and pumped air into the cow's udder. When the man arrived Dad cautioned him to walk the cow home very slow, and again stressed this point as he was leaving. The next day the man claimed he couldn't get milk from the cow, only air. Dad appeared very upset at this saying, "I told you to walk that cow slow – now you have ruined a good milking cow!” <i><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><i>The Churn Dog</i></div>He told me making butter from that top cream of the milk in a small churn took a lot of time and effort. One summer day, a salesman came along with a churn dog, and naturally, all the necessary equipment to make butter the modern and efficient way. He made the sale and unloaded the harness, treadmill and dog, with instructions to set it up. Grandma and Dad put the dog on the treadmill and when they elevated the treadmill the dog had no choice but to run and churn the butter. I suppose they would leave him on there for the one or two hours it would take, while they devoted their time to other chores. As she did with every chore, a certain day of the week was scheduled for this particular job. Everything went smoothly for several weeks. The old dog would hang around outside, following Dad around, perhaps in and out of the house, sometimes becoming a nuisance under foot. As time passed, however, the dog became harder to locate on churn day. Eventually he became lost for the whole day and churning had to be postponed until his return. This would upset Grandma's entire schedule. I can imagine that poor dog running continuously on that treadmill for perhaps two hours. Dad said it was uncanny how that dog knew when churning day was approaching. To solve this problem the dog had to be tied up the night before the scheduled day, and eventually, butter was churned on different days each week.<i><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Measure of Wealth</i></div><div style="text-align: left;">He told me this was the measure of a man's wealth; I never understood why canning and preserving every Fall was so important. The cold cellar, built beneath the ground and house in a special way, maintained the same temperature all year. Nothing froze during winter or spoiled in summer. The potato bins were full and the winter apples stored in the same manner. Quart and pint canning jars were neatly arranged on shelves with the date and contents. Everything possible was cooked and carefully preserved, such as beans, beets, tomatoes, chili sauce, sauerkraut in crocks, pears, peaches, applesauce, berries, jellies and much more. Grandma was almost totally blind from cataracts. She would set up her jars on a worktable near the window in direct sunlight to pour. She would point with her finger to a line on the jar and tell me "When I reach here, tell me to stop." I was too young to pour the hot contents of the pots for her, during those early years, but pleased to be a part of the fall canning.</div>Billyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13223397805416629746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165807549502223936.post-62379571451871422112010-09-27T21:34:00.000-07:002011-04-22T20:25:28.829-07:00Thanks Tom...Here's a hug from Mom. Very nice post...<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSSVQXKd9dcooCpAHg8A3gnUqNlz6bHJdcqmTG8x4ZHabJ_SdPCz0f3KEvtmxPcSpAwwZdVm_nVRxuLrQQtdEiMlae53qQqWvrJPoDQ-kojJH3dhJmdOJh8USBRc80jRY5hLOfMt5S8bs/s1600/DSC00789.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521819004761529714" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSSVQXKd9dcooCpAHg8A3gnUqNlz6bHJdcqmTG8x4ZHabJ_SdPCz0f3KEvtmxPcSpAwwZdVm_nVRxuLrQQtdEiMlae53qQqWvrJPoDQ-kojJH3dhJmdOJh8USBRc80jRY5hLOfMt5S8bs/s200/DSC00789.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 150px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 200px;" /></a>Michael Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08093715539648554642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165807549502223936.post-5089963103989813652010-09-24T07:03:00.000-07:002011-04-22T20:20:06.138-07:00Clare Jones, A Life Story<i>Mom wrote this informal bio on January 18, 2005. I think it was prepared for Nikki as part of one her school classes. Judging by the way she organized her memories, it would appear that she was answering questions from a questionnaire. Since we don't have the questions, however, I rearranged the short dialogues in a chronological manner for better reading:</i> <br />
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My first memory was being in a large crib in a room off the kitchen. My Mother and her sisters were sitting in the kitchen visiting and I was amused with their chatter. I was standing up in the crib with my hands on the rail looking and listening through an open door. <br />
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Another memory was at 5 years old when I had my first death experience. I spent a lot of time at my Grandma’s house in my young years, mainly because I was one of the children who resembled the Myers family. My sister Betty looked like the Irish Morans, so she wasn’t welcome in the English Grandmother’s house. The English and Irish did not get along well in those days. My Father’s sister, Aunt Loretta, gave me special attention when I was in the house. I remember standing on the kitchen chair while she fussed with my pretty dress and fixed my hair. One day when I was 5, I was in the kitchen of Grandma’s house with other people when the Doctor came down the steps and announced that Aunt Loretta died. Her casket was in the parlor in front of the windows. The men gathered on the front porch and the women were inside. The Funeral Director put a black wreath on the front door. <br />
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My Father’s Mother came from Gloustershire, England in 1889 when she was 15. I remember that she had a strange accent ‑ cockney it was called. She pronounced eggs, “heggs”, and hammer and house were “ammer and ouse.” <br />
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We lived in a small coal mining town when I was growing up. My Mother took me to Scranton on my first bus ride when I was about 10 or 12. On the way back home the bus driver had to stop a couple times to let me out to vomit. That was my first experience of car sickness. There were no black people in our town, and I was surprised to see so many on the streets of Scranton. Around those same years my Grandfather Moran took me on a special trip to Gettysburg. We went on the train to Wilkes Barre, and rode the bus to Gettysburg. We ate lunch in a café. The battlefield was huge and it seemed we were the only ones visiting. I still don’t know why Grandpa chose me out of all the other grandchildren living in town, but it was a very special time. Those were the days of the steam engines, and by the time we arrived at our destination we were covered with soot. <br />
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I don’t remember having any fears while growing up, we lived a peaceful and happy life even though we didn’t have much. I’m sure my parents had fears because my Father did not have steady work and we had to move frequently because the landlords didn’t like noisy kids or they raised the rent, which my Father couldn’t afford. I hated washing the dishes after supper. When it was my turn I left the pots and pans soaking. My Mother never complained and in the morning everything was washed clean. <br />
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My Mother gave us chores according to our age and gender. The boys filled the coal pails, emptied ashes out of the coal stove and furnace. My sisters took the smaller kids out for carriage rides so Mother could get the supper ready. I used to sweep the porches and sidewalks and sometimes scrubbed the porches with a pail of soapy water and the broom. We had a parade for every holiday and I was always excited when I saw one. It wasn’t much, lots of fire engines and some horses and bands and special marchers like the VFW and American Legion members. <br />
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My Mother was probably the one who had the most influence in my life. I watched her as she struggled to raise my siblings and me. She never complained even though she had to bake bread 3 times a week, drag the washer out to wash clothes 3 times a week, can fruits and vegetables all summer. She was a wise person, knowing how to deal with each child and his/her needs. <br />
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We always had a table radio and sat around the dining room table listening to special programs, but only after the homework was done. Some of the programs were <i>The Inner Sanctum</i> (that was scary); <i>Little Orphan Annie</i>; <i>Jack Armstrong</i>; <i>The Lone Ranger</i>; and <i>Fibber McGee and Molly</i>. On Saturday night <i>The Hit Parade</i> was popular, playing the top ten songs of the week. <br />
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In fourth grade some times I would be the first one in the classroom and the Sister brought out a big bowl of hot oatmeal and milk that was left over in the kitchen. <br />
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I think the best gift I ever received was my first book; a 25 cent Christmas gift from my brother Joe when I was 12. It was <i>Little Women</i>. I must have read it three times. He gave me other books for other occasions: <i>Black Beauty</i>, <i>Little Men</i> and <i>Jo’s Boys</i>. That began my love for reading that has lasted all of my life. <br />
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When Franklin Roosevelt became President he began the WPA (Work Projects Association). That’s how I got some of my clothes that I wore to school in the early grades. I called the dresses my WPA dresses: red and white checked, brown and white checked and black and white checked. <br />
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I used to play the piano until I was in High School, but lost interest, as I got older. I really don’t know what my strongest asset is, maybe the gift of understanding and intuition. <br />
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When I was dating I remember going to a movie, swimming at a lake, and double dating with my sister and her date. One day we went to a fancy restaurant called O’Brien’s outside of Endicott, NY. We ordered fried chicken. When the plate arrived I was shocked, thinking to myself, how do I eat this? It was my first time eating fried chicken. I did my best to cut it off the bones and did a fair job. I think the most extravagant thing I ever did was buy clothes with my first paycheck. It was a wonderful feeling. <br />
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My family was Democratic. When I turned 21 my Father marched me down to City Hall to register to vote. The first President I voted for was Eisenhower. (even though he was Republican, he was remembered as a great General). <br />
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When I was in the Air Force my sister and I were stationed in Etain, France, with temporary duty in Bitburg, Germany and Madrid, Spain. It was the most memorable time of our lives. We met our husbands in the Air Force, and we were able to travel in many countries and enjoy different cultures. Over the years I have collected some interesting coins from countries other than the U.S. Someday the collection will go to a Grandchild. <br />
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I always loved to travel, and that bug is still with me. I want to go to the land of my ancestors, to Ireland, England, and now Wales. <br />
On my Wedding Day, the Mass was scheduled for 10 a.m. My brothers insisted on driving me through town tooting the horn, consequently I was about 20 minutes late and the Priest and groom were up at the altar waiting. <br />
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In my early days of marriage I did some amusing things. Bob worked at Bethlehem Steel in Seattle, on the open hearth. One day I put jello in his lunch pail and he came home laughing and showed me the liquid jello. Another time we had a couple visit us for the first time in our apartment and I made a huge bowl of dip. I must have used a pound of cream cheese. Well, we all laughed about that and had dip forever. <br />
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Bob and I had 9 children (2 of which were adopted). There are 7 living scattered throughout the country. Being a young parent was difficult at times, but I credit my Nurse training and experiences to its success. We rocked the kids until they were too big for the laps. Most of the time, Bob had one on his lap and one on each handle of the rocker. <br />
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My profession was Nursing, and if I had to do it over again I would still choose that work. It was very satisfying and rewarding. As a young adult I remember meeting many more friends, especially after we married and moved to Seattle. <br />
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I am satisfied living here in Phoenix, and would never want to move again. Our living arrangements are satisfactory; I find it easier to live on one floor where everything is handy. My husband is still working so we feel we don’t have to adjust to another way of living right now. There is someone in my life with whom I have a warm relationship. She is the young lady who calls me just to chat and find out how I am doing. She’s the other daughter in my life who calls me “Mom”. <br />
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I try to stay healthy by eating well, taking vitamin supplements, and exercising at Slender Lady. We have 7 grandchildren and 4 great grandchildren. Our children call us frequently, especially daughter Mary, who calls every day. The older grandchildren are not good about calling or visiting, but we see the younger ones more often. I’m the one who keeps in touch with other family members, getting and giving news. Maybe I do that because I’m the family historian. We aren’t alone much with the young grandchildren. When they visit with the parents, and the parents aren’t watching them and they get into mischief, all I do is lift them up and carry them to a safer place, or just snap my fingers and when they look at me I shake my finger, no, and they walk away. I have learned that Grandma doesn’t have to say a word. <br />
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I am very proud of all of my children and their successes, but most proud of the family history book that I put together three years ago. I feel that my grandchildren will know where they came from someday. <br />
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I love my main hobby, genealogy. It’s a never ending job. I have traced my English ancestors to 1709, and the Irish ancestors to 1809. <br />
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The most important rule I lived by was don’t offend God, don’t hurt my parents, and don’t hurt myself. With those three things in mind I was able to face all temptations in life, and I felt better mentally. It showed that a person doesn’t have to follow the crowd to be popular. My best advise for today’s youth is do good in school, enjoy your job, travel as much as you can, and remember that learning doesn’t end when you get that diploma.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16879549846474515580noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165807549502223936.post-62846027894347957622010-09-22T12:19:00.000-07:002010-09-22T12:19:04.323-07:00Our Family RootsI believe that it's important that we all travel forward in our lives with at least a rear view mirror on the past. Understanding our family roots provides a the context by which we view ourselves and our role in this world. Knowing who our ancestors were--and the sacrifices they made to enrich the lives of their children and grandchildren--encourages all of us to lead enriching lives and extend the healthy growth of our family tree. The following quotes explain this much more eloquently than I can: <br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="bodytext">A man rising in the world is not concerned with history; he is too busy making it. But a citizen with a fixed place in the community wants to acquire a glorious past just as he acquires antique furniture. By that past he is reassured of his present importance; </span><span class="bodytext">in it he finds strength to face the dangers that lie in front of him.</span></i></div><span class="bodytext">Malcolm Cowley <br />
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<span class="bodytext"><i>History cannot give us a program for the future, but it can give us a fuller understanding of ourselves, and of our common humanity, so that we can better face the future.</i><br />
<span class="bodytext">Robert Penn Warren</span></span><br />
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<span class="bodytext">After Mom passed away, I spent some on her computer, copying files and photos related to her extensive genealogical research. Over the next few weeks, I'll start putting stories and other items on the blog. Maybe we'll all learn something new about our past. </span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16879549846474515580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165807549502223936.post-3948154755431067422010-07-07T18:35:00.000-07:002010-07-07T18:35:06.232-07:00Aunt CatherineThe following day, Saturday May 29, we all visited Aunt Catherine at Marywood. She looked very alert and healthy, as the photos indicate. She was very glad to see us, even though she wasn't quite sure who we were. She told me in a conversation about her childhood growing up in Carbondale. She asked where we were; when I told her we were at Marywood, she was pleasantly surprised. Aunt Catherine has the best care one can possibly want. God bless her.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgulXpLRShMXVyDzo4jNSjPj8UEPorYncXm_-_FCnVVfmFj2S3kFI75IEhj4Qcv4vSoRFFdx_OBylqu6Be1C7sopbbNpnX8JhQBjafMtdjWyRhcZo-YfeNFss7pl5zjaEyye1xpbLtx0S0/s1600/IMG_2955.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgulXpLRShMXVyDzo4jNSjPj8UEPorYncXm_-_FCnVVfmFj2S3kFI75IEhj4Qcv4vSoRFFdx_OBylqu6Be1C7sopbbNpnX8JhQBjafMtdjWyRhcZo-YfeNFss7pl5zjaEyye1xpbLtx0S0/s1600/IMG_2955.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgulXpLRShMXVyDzo4jNSjPj8UEPorYncXm_-_FCnVVfmFj2S3kFI75IEhj4Qcv4vSoRFFdx_OBylqu6Be1C7sopbbNpnX8JhQBjafMtdjWyRhcZo-YfeNFss7pl5zjaEyye1xpbLtx0S0/s1600/IMG_2955.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgulXpLRShMXVyDzo4jNSjPj8UEPorYncXm_-_FCnVVfmFj2S3kFI75IEhj4Qcv4vSoRFFdx_OBylqu6Be1C7sopbbNpnX8JhQBjafMtdjWyRhcZo-YfeNFss7pl5zjaEyye1xpbLtx0S0/s1600/IMG_2955.jpg"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgulXpLRShMXVyDzo4jNSjPj8UEPorYncXm_-_FCnVVfmFj2S3kFI75IEhj4Qcv4vSoRFFdx_OBylqu6Be1C7sopbbNpnX8JhQBjafMtdjWyRhcZo-YfeNFss7pl5zjaEyye1xpbLtx0S0/s200/IMG_2955.jpg" width="200" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKhGEaz85no1jY8JoCY_qZA9DW3D9QZrM_PHpaOFA-65FKGCtuBuVrEnS2fKVNHtOeA-d7UxEs1-Uq1PHtDfEjwJMh8e6iHcwqiSN9zbg0P5cPDfkuLlmTv57UeOj5zn23nZ69qUeHtqk/s1600/IMG_2957.jpg"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKhGEaz85no1jY8JoCY_qZA9DW3D9QZrM_PHpaOFA-65FKGCtuBuVrEnS2fKVNHtOeA-d7UxEs1-Uq1PHtDfEjwJMh8e6iHcwqiSN9zbg0P5cPDfkuLlmTv57UeOj5zn23nZ69qUeHtqk/s200/IMG_2957.jpg" width="200" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6rguUP8hE9E0LgQa4q0hYPFVpzVn1HJ-hoxKa_55IRcWPb1vwkrUEEgsUlvWvCOHX8VYcvkE4-PESXUfbHqT82HdU0CrY3VwzUxFWyMSOJKDKVh3Dp-OrE26yAG4_anDJz4iY2D4Om-g/s1600/IMG_2959.jpg"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6rguUP8hE9E0LgQa4q0hYPFVpzVn1HJ-hoxKa_55IRcWPb1vwkrUEEgsUlvWvCOHX8VYcvkE4-PESXUfbHqT82HdU0CrY3VwzUxFWyMSOJKDKVh3Dp-OrE26yAG4_anDJz4iY2D4Om-g/s200/IMG_2959.jpg" width="150" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Ehtc8TalWoxGoLdlnV9PTcWk6eBlU57BycJSR2abjgPuojp1kEzT2JvjoLlVUEdB6oXAkb7mePqOjDpTANsCOAK_I4sG0zNR3kGGmZg5xAYk6xxsHSG0ir5qxt4OeFOd4EhZaO9jrBw/s1600/IMG_2961.jpg"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Ehtc8TalWoxGoLdlnV9PTcWk6eBlU57BycJSR2abjgPuojp1kEzT2JvjoLlVUEdB6oXAkb7mePqOjDpTANsCOAK_I4sG0zNR3kGGmZg5xAYk6xxsHSG0ir5qxt4OeFOd4EhZaO9jrBw/s200/IMG_2961.jpg" width="150" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16879549846474515580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165807549502223936.post-69334369956762316452010-06-30T19:05:00.000-07:002010-06-30T19:06:51.764-07:00Carbondale ArchitectureCarbondale, like so many all cities on the east coast, has a very long history. At one time, this small community was the center of coal production in northeastern PA. The fascinating architecture offers a glimpse of its former glory. I could show you lots of pictures of nifty buildings, but will instead entertain you with the timeless characters that continue to haunt the historic structures. Jim took the photos of the lions for Mary. I took a few shots of the really interesting faces.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2H-wb0I2EThyphenhyphenQ3mi3OFX7_fP-xJtF48XY-gITqaOhs-987Xw_sMY6EQh12NY4Z2mdyfNdzdOPYWljTOYcdn-OUn2JGdWYGOQ4eQNlKUtarDlmP0kptQ2ZXS0w35qHzhNlRfoDax9kH4o/s1600/IMG_2905.jpg"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2H-wb0I2EThyphenhyphenQ3mi3OFX7_fP-xJtF48XY-gITqaOhs-987Xw_sMY6EQh12NY4Z2mdyfNdzdOPYWljTOYcdn-OUn2JGdWYGOQ4eQNlKUtarDlmP0kptQ2ZXS0w35qHzhNlRfoDax9kH4o/s200/IMG_2905.jpg" width="150" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxJ49TGtXYg-B1sXMwt8M1Vc6IIiV2S08cXPq5AKc4knnc_R4gvqpMm-QT-7tnPQy-NKt5IhMP4UFwIpfmuZd59T0Woded-k-My-CttYTy09S-toMOl6iEVMonePvhqpr7wIegnEZouw4/s1600/IMG_2906.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxJ49TGtXYg-B1sXMwt8M1Vc6IIiV2S08cXPq5AKc4knnc_R4gvqpMm-QT-7tnPQy-NKt5IhMP4UFwIpfmuZd59T0Woded-k-My-CttYTy09S-toMOl6iEVMonePvhqpr7wIegnEZouw4/s320/IMG_2906.jpg" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMJ2Xov7NyrJA_ZeIgOdEiH8oErIIVggN1qC-HJNoztGFVaWYjWQQKCIBNVdbwV0RNDXhr1GfzH75y5wmg-H5M61h6sqWWfL6G0HXwqrcHtDVWu0iu5do2ZccCY5v-SmeFOFNlE57PGVg/s1600/IMG_2907.jpg"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMJ2Xov7NyrJA_ZeIgOdEiH8oErIIVggN1qC-HJNoztGFVaWYjWQQKCIBNVdbwV0RNDXhr1GfzH75y5wmg-H5M61h6sqWWfL6G0HXwqrcHtDVWu0iu5do2ZccCY5v-SmeFOFNlE57PGVg/s200/IMG_2907.jpg" width="150" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCgq_ArDTbX5CcdYwnD0xhrOU54S8RbB52Ajum-KKCKxRGZ_Ypc-Xg6589_2c6fedrg6yOS2aewPkf_qezLiqWFg1eUrebjDcQS8Wf7NlpjnH4ciWf2vWuOWveN3b8Cy5Zhu7se85pgKs/s1600/IMG_2908.jpg"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCgq_ArDTbX5CcdYwnD0xhrOU54S8RbB52Ajum-KKCKxRGZ_Ypc-Xg6589_2c6fedrg6yOS2aewPkf_qezLiqWFg1eUrebjDcQS8Wf7NlpjnH4ciWf2vWuOWveN3b8Cy5Zhu7se85pgKs/s200/IMG_2908.jpg" width="200" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjshsLMPZPy-IeT5WeNApt-gM5zs84hCaiBVkxqdAMrUlfRtv_cXtmAmyWZ5AB0eau9Y4eRwJqLVK-mp42KTwriBA63uOiJYg-n5HAilksYp2AUPfuvvh2JZO0GaSxLjU8HwZr9BAts-Uo/s1600/IMG_2948.jpg"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjshsLMPZPy-IeT5WeNApt-gM5zs84hCaiBVkxqdAMrUlfRtv_cXtmAmyWZ5AB0eau9Y4eRwJqLVK-mp42KTwriBA63uOiJYg-n5HAilksYp2AUPfuvvh2JZO0GaSxLjU8HwZr9BAts-Uo/s200/IMG_2948.jpg" width="150" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16879549846474515580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165807549502223936.post-45447060538413323602010-06-30T19:04:00.000-07:002010-06-30T19:10:20.344-07:00Finch HillNaturally, we had to drive by Grandma and Grandpa's house on the way into Carbondale after the funeral. I managed to get a couple photos of the old house as well as Uncle Gerard's barn (photos below). I manged to get a glimpse of Grandpa's old barn in the tall grass, but I couldn't get a shot.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPQaPHNvgPYRL2UiQOMPnK0B7MxU_ktcPCkPEzoL20RDzw7nyT-8hoZiJABojJX6pFil3PRHnltTEOBJTKOHxO1-GHFby8idbpDtnrBdDvewrqDOocy-H1kgiVzMu18ePpVTzqBCJesq0/s1600/IMG_2867.jpg"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPQaPHNvgPYRL2UiQOMPnK0B7MxU_ktcPCkPEzoL20RDzw7nyT-8hoZiJABojJX6pFil3PRHnltTEOBJTKOHxO1-GHFby8idbpDtnrBdDvewrqDOocy-H1kgiVzMu18ePpVTzqBCJesq0/s200/IMG_2867.jpg" width="200" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPnKZ1TBgvCK-QPIKWysLoP1Q9ErBWHMa71XPbXXfjEBOHDq9yb4Jt6GWqentfP7DhAAe_X0Njnc426VoAfISsuFlNn7zlg-IXQ7UauD-rI5rOIfF6-sk_bA63iOu_V4fXda4ZYLUZYfs/s1600/IMG_2866.jpg"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPnKZ1TBgvCK-QPIKWysLoP1Q9ErBWHMa71XPbXXfjEBOHDq9yb4Jt6GWqentfP7DhAAe_X0Njnc426VoAfISsuFlNn7zlg-IXQ7UauD-rI5rOIfF6-sk_bA63iOu_V4fXda4ZYLUZYfs/s200/IMG_2866.jpg" width="200" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIs0zoQfuV-hwND-zI2qAKEtYAWENICgP82e3p_YNjAMYxYRHxckqSRVg9biJkyDjjtItV7bhmJR4JSn_F24rKgPNHocjBZp9mgTmoX_jlwUreXc77y1nvHvHu7BolXBzVfjBX-4CNN5A/s1600/IMG_2868.jpg"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIs0zoQfuV-hwND-zI2qAKEtYAWENICgP82e3p_YNjAMYxYRHxckqSRVg9biJkyDjjtItV7bhmJR4JSn_F24rKgPNHocjBZp9mgTmoX_jlwUreXc77y1nvHvHu7BolXBzVfjBX-4CNN5A/s200/IMG_2868.jpg" width="200" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16879549846474515580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165807549502223936.post-16543492991416564202010-06-21T17:59:00.000-07:002010-06-21T18:01:28.127-07:00A View of CarbondaleIt felt really good to be sitting at McDonnell's again. While I'm sure I've been here in recent years, I hearken back to my youth when we first tried the Peanut Butter Pie. Michael requested some of Aunt Gert's famous cheeseballs. I'm sure we harbor fond memories of eating at Aunt Gert's house and enjoying cheeseballs and pasta on an exquisitely prepared table. It was good to visit with our McDonnell cousins (okay, there was only one---young Robert).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHlWPriuUkwORTDjOYq5oSOVfRHpRs3r7-CskOgTRP5cotFiJdFokrWYlrNmi7Yyaz44svn0kJWc3R5Ta-9FHdTNNbKWCfoeK3bQvwZdUMJaFfDh9-zv4ofFRbzyOWJ8mEojAOosLhV4U/s1600/IMG_2892.jpg"><img height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHlWPriuUkwORTDjOYq5oSOVfRHpRs3r7-CskOgTRP5cotFiJdFokrWYlrNmi7Yyaz44svn0kJWc3R5Ta-9FHdTNNbKWCfoeK3bQvwZdUMJaFfDh9-zv4ofFRbzyOWJ8mEojAOosLhV4U/s320/IMG_2892.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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Fortunately, all of our destinations were within walking distance. After lunch we journeyed over to Ben-Mar; a restaurant and bar just down the street from McDonnell's. Our cousins Pat and Marina Whittington operate the Ben-Mar; unfortunately, Pat was out of town that day. Marina was quite excited to see all of us and very delighted to receive the completed Whittington Family 2010 book. We had several drinks at the Ben-Mar as we visited and introduced ourselves. Marina recently emailed me to express her gratitude for the book and meeting her Moran cousins. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWsvd15Dgp_CMJeif_yCb4yg5IuJqLZNdoCj9AcEBMZj_tkIt8b0kquKHGgHYOi47gN4aqxo6VTzoLC-4brqJtDGBtWtqOjwUD4DDmohG2lpz-ltEii7NfSA01-fO0YRCmJhaMJN-ROqI/s1600/IMG_2896.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWsvd15Dgp_CMJeif_yCb4yg5IuJqLZNdoCj9AcEBMZj_tkIt8b0kquKHGgHYOi47gN4aqxo6VTzoLC-4brqJtDGBtWtqOjwUD4DDmohG2lpz-ltEii7NfSA01-fO0YRCmJhaMJN-ROqI/s320/IMG_2896.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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Danielle desired to visit one of Gerard's favorite haunts in Carbondale. Sisko's is a small, but quite the perfect small town bar with a wonderful owner and clientele who loved and adored Gerard. I can't remember her name (sorry Danielle), but she was very nice nonetheless. So who were we (at least Mary and I) to turn down the chance for another drink? We stumbled down the street to Sisko's to enjoy company with Gerard's friends.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD-NIdaxiDGqVfz7f28I4fNmSY7JNj-r424CxrjABttScoCYs-8j9TqxFZfdK2xpr9MxVLDXEsRKCh4DYiUTEdqo9RfqQ6FpuHI6uPZunODbkiHE6KGdx8yIqlP88jjZJ4flE6wKiQaa8/s1600/IMG_2903.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD-NIdaxiDGqVfz7f28I4fNmSY7JNj-r424CxrjABttScoCYs-8j9TqxFZfdK2xpr9MxVLDXEsRKCh4DYiUTEdqo9RfqQ6FpuHI6uPZunODbkiHE6KGdx8yIqlP88jjZJ4flE6wKiQaa8/s320/IMG_2903.jpg" /></a><br />
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By this time (late afternoon and several stiff drinks and beers), we had exhausted the downtown haunts and made our way to the haunt near Gerard's house---Orazzi's. The place was closed, but Art used his name and prestige to persuade the owner to open up for us (Art told him there were many, many thirsty Myers'). Even Bob McDonnell was able to stop in for a drink and a visit. We shared much laughter and good drink at Orazzi's before retiring back to our hotel where we went swimming with the kids (Gracie and Michael). I wisely decided to drink Iced Tea the rest of the evening. Afterall, this was only Friday; I had at least two full days of gluttony before I went home.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLBj8QBe-a7w4CgZ9OGiP3feXNMJCB5pFSGXfQwpuRJqbnvHJ9AR6f0QeJuz2OIzmTQxx5cLDtKrULURvxYyfXcWjhApIWKnJOQcUg_mQV6vMcbGA2sA7LJP7Oit6ty6Ah8qVYGMEs-EM/s1600/dannysgroup1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="88" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLBj8QBe-a7w4CgZ9OGiP3feXNMJCB5pFSGXfQwpuRJqbnvHJ9AR6f0QeJuz2OIzmTQxx5cLDtKrULURvxYyfXcWjhApIWKnJOQcUg_mQV6vMcbGA2sA7LJP7Oit6ty6Ah8qVYGMEs-EM/s200/dannysgroup1.JPG" width="200" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioAycLSwt_C_RTUp6sOQZp2siBU0RUdWO_ug3HSteWksUxt9mJb6X9WO4bo5obLinomzktK2XYpdrHoTGgDUfP_1q0PulCyYLK9V-I_xdU3lxgmXuRiMceg_NeIydH39WrI1U1fZkAh0o/s1600/IMG_2923.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioAycLSwt_C_RTUp6sOQZp2siBU0RUdWO_ug3HSteWksUxt9mJb6X9WO4bo5obLinomzktK2XYpdrHoTGgDUfP_1q0PulCyYLK9V-I_xdU3lxgmXuRiMceg_NeIydH39WrI1U1fZkAh0o/s200/IMG_2923.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4jVTU4U0kSKaUWbeF1P3UopMOQ8e902b_omgtdVDM_bPOA_SuG9FXa5WnJiYmzT9hmaV8fqyV36QhCnCufV1WssQya_RyuFTwF4fUgwuiXnx4lVzpkutQTY9246qzg-4SkHbp-oieSzQ/s1600/IMG_2910.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4jVTU4U0kSKaUWbeF1P3UopMOQ8e902b_omgtdVDM_bPOA_SuG9FXa5WnJiYmzT9hmaV8fqyV36QhCnCufV1WssQya_RyuFTwF4fUgwuiXnx4lVzpkutQTY9246qzg-4SkHbp-oieSzQ/s200/IMG_2910.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmoOlOvaO9HEoYOuYGpLUhRbdLmmGRHe0v6ve-ih30bYE-w4MrliWAuR8zU9ih_Ljo2I0hxwadYQRWe10Qi5BDR08iQmNaJvccIOxyF_T7MSaBK_zSOJKJB37JdyM3KrSthq101LjnMtU/s1600/IMG_2916.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmoOlOvaO9HEoYOuYGpLUhRbdLmmGRHe0v6ve-ih30bYE-w4MrliWAuR8zU9ih_Ljo2I0hxwadYQRWe10Qi5BDR08iQmNaJvccIOxyF_T7MSaBK_zSOJKJB37JdyM3KrSthq101LjnMtU/s200/IMG_2916.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgECcbudxuyHkHfm4TW0MC8xOqpNYnLFYKkKNhkY9ZmM-A65UThRahyphenhyphenDltW1lrnZyONHIQO7ZUfXGPeQqDqBgWIxBz1ZE9dkGV7MLnWDZKzF3sSA8Tldy8Uqaga4Ase4mjdlx7FvNOPyu4/s1600/IMG_2912.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgECcbudxuyHkHfm4TW0MC8xOqpNYnLFYKkKNhkY9ZmM-A65UThRahyphenhyphenDltW1lrnZyONHIQO7ZUfXGPeQqDqBgWIxBz1ZE9dkGV7MLnWDZKzF3sSA8Tldy8Uqaga4Ase4mjdlx7FvNOPyu4/s200/IMG_2912.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMBWIzxGD_8cxlKTMx2afUEVKsY52fAcEjUjCot0PPo3n1ZRUPxn8-_vZjNv0RjJBVcWtkulMb9QYQ7xPXcdugdqjcjrq_eRfDoDDn_fr7uUT_ZHLJMSRnMOm3wnFHplDnKkQjNor9MIA/s1600/IMG_2922.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMBWIzxGD_8cxlKTMx2afUEVKsY52fAcEjUjCot0PPo3n1ZRUPxn8-_vZjNv0RjJBVcWtkulMb9QYQ7xPXcdugdqjcjrq_eRfDoDDn_fr7uUT_ZHLJMSRnMOm3wnFHplDnKkQjNor9MIA/s200/IMG_2922.jpg" width="200" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16879549846474515580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165807549502223936.post-6409931164019683812010-06-05T18:13:00.000-07:002010-06-14T20:26:17.141-07:00Mass Service and Funeral Ceremony<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhC9R6sJx7ODlieSXm6MhmwkNHkiRTlEdTftN3FP6jc-DSDYHjD-Xu02pkx26ij0uL9K9xtsI9oqVlCqx7QH2JnoXIoYxMN7hSRXLbtcUUHRDGQd5jxadRzINXUM5M6W3-x7_AkSHmJWE/s1600/IMG_2876.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiplCUS0tenjJbh00wgDfkd5WLcLndWNFdFqXWiyrx0PsjHaRBOkmAYNVhxRBi_l2LVHANYDXd9CTGTy-PA9RYXH1RWaJGKFCyuVZHevv9J6X2_7sq1szTpEAttJ0L-cZr3GVHrNCwRWLY/s1600/IMG_2875.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiplCUS0tenjJbh00wgDfkd5WLcLndWNFdFqXWiyrx0PsjHaRBOkmAYNVhxRBi_l2LVHANYDXd9CTGTy-PA9RYXH1RWaJGKFCyuVZHevv9J6X2_7sq1szTpEAttJ0L-cZr3GVHrNCwRWLY/s200/IMG_2875.jpg" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5NwP-WzVDqcnKr-PuHfUcDHtz0HToISGmpXJAjjKeJYxeG7X4mfTJ_QLiyf-NGChBiFI_MJQEsUpUpS6KODbzehj0DyBjGWXLmKWMGdm2w1l4wUCY4hqPlJoOR5BdM7GnaXVHqOE2xoo/s1600/IMG_2858.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5NwP-WzVDqcnKr-PuHfUcDHtz0HToISGmpXJAjjKeJYxeG7X4mfTJ_QLiyf-NGChBiFI_MJQEsUpUpS6KODbzehj0DyBjGWXLmKWMGdm2w1l4wUCY4hqPlJoOR5BdM7GnaXVHqOE2xoo/s200/IMG_2858.jpg" width="115" /></a><br />
We all attended a mass service at <i>St Rose of Lima Church</i> in Carbondale on Friday May 28. There was quite a showing of our Moran Family in attendance, as shown in the first photograph (don't mind the laughing buffoons in the rear). After the mass, we gathered at <i>Our Mother of Sorrows Cemetery</i> for the funeral ceremony. Dad led us in prayer as we laid Mom to rest with Grandma and Grandpa. It was a beautiful ceremony.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhC9R6sJx7ODlieSXm6MhmwkNHkiRTlEdTftN3FP6jc-DSDYHjD-Xu02pkx26ij0uL9K9xtsI9oqVlCqx7QH2JnoXIoYxMN7hSRXLbtcUUHRDGQd5jxadRzINXUM5M6W3-x7_AkSHmJWE/s1600/IMG_2876.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhC9R6sJx7ODlieSXm6MhmwkNHkiRTlEdTftN3FP6jc-DSDYHjD-Xu02pkx26ij0uL9K9xtsI9oqVlCqx7QH2JnoXIoYxMN7hSRXLbtcUUHRDGQd5jxadRzINXUM5M6W3-x7_AkSHmJWE/s320/IMG_2876.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
Earlier that morning, we met Uncle Art and the cousins to visit the graves of our family members that have also been buried at the cemetery. The Myers' traditionally come to the cemetery on Memorial Day to lay flowers and touch-up the plots. I took many photos of various headstones and gravestones, but there are too many to insert here. Shown below is Danielle touching up Gerard's gravestone, as well as a pretty flower pot painted by the Myers grandchildren for their Grandmother Patricia. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhC9R6sJx7ODlieSXm6MhmwkNHkiRTlEdTftN3FP6jc-DSDYHjD-Xu02pkx26ij0uL9K9xtsI9oqVlCqx7QH2JnoXIoYxMN7hSRXLbtcUUHRDGQd5jxadRzINXUM5M6W3-x7_AkSHmJWE/s1600/IMG_2876.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhC9R6sJx7ODlieSXm6MhmwkNHkiRTlEdTftN3FP6jc-DSDYHjD-Xu02pkx26ij0uL9K9xtsI9oqVlCqx7QH2JnoXIoYxMN7hSRXLbtcUUHRDGQd5jxadRzINXUM5M6W3-x7_AkSHmJWE/s1600/IMG_2876.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFs4rewMoeu6_R49V8vgyp-z7mRzu1M_cXOyTbrM6mDDv-W6W5tycB1lff-jTzw3q99XtpjfXf1H7hl9wqqLtKp-ZWBJtNLyyjU1u4GBQeCnFVSeHbF0YtIABUrWGRnt_RmuHJ6jsiEiI/s1600/IMG_2853.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFs4rewMoeu6_R49V8vgyp-z7mRzu1M_cXOyTbrM6mDDv-W6W5tycB1lff-jTzw3q99XtpjfXf1H7hl9wqqLtKp-ZWBJtNLyyjU1u4GBQeCnFVSeHbF0YtIABUrWGRnt_RmuHJ6jsiEiI/s320/IMG_2853.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhC9R6sJx7ODlieSXm6MhmwkNHkiRTlEdTftN3FP6jc-DSDYHjD-Xu02pkx26ij0uL9K9xtsI9oqVlCqx7QH2JnoXIoYxMN7hSRXLbtcUUHRDGQd5jxadRzINXUM5M6W3-x7_AkSHmJWE/s1600/IMG_2876.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhC9R6sJx7ODlieSXm6MhmwkNHkiRTlEdTftN3FP6jc-DSDYHjD-Xu02pkx26ij0uL9K9xtsI9oqVlCqx7QH2JnoXIoYxMN7hSRXLbtcUUHRDGQd5jxadRzINXUM5M6W3-x7_AkSHmJWE/s1600/IMG_2876.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvNdiyNcX0v4n_6oPl38LaIi14aR4d_gyHB_o7247BIS6DutaZ-klaT1JPz0epz0HbSczRdWLIUdGzHI40QVMOnULUMKYSS52oj10aJq80gbUhEp2aqz2xegbOTnTh4fPLLZ_xtN9d8p4/s1600/IMG_2857.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvNdiyNcX0v4n_6oPl38LaIi14aR4d_gyHB_o7247BIS6DutaZ-klaT1JPz0epz0HbSczRdWLIUdGzHI40QVMOnULUMKYSS52oj10aJq80gbUhEp2aqz2xegbOTnTh4fPLLZ_xtN9d8p4/s320/IMG_2857.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhC9R6sJx7ODlieSXm6MhmwkNHkiRTlEdTftN3FP6jc-DSDYHjD-Xu02pkx26ij0uL9K9xtsI9oqVlCqx7QH2JnoXIoYxMN7hSRXLbtcUUHRDGQd5jxadRzINXUM5M6W3-x7_AkSHmJWE/s1600/IMG_2876.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a> From the cemetery, we gathered at McDonnell's Restaurant in Carbondale for a nice lunch and a chance to reconnoiter with distant relatives.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16879549846474515580noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165807549502223936.post-5480277436214025562010-06-04T20:05:00.000-07:002010-06-14T20:24:57.554-07:00Granting Mom's Final WishAs you all know, several members of our family traveled to Carbondale, PA to lay Mom's ashes at <i>Our Mother of Sorrows Cemetery</i> with her parents. We all met in Carbondale over Memorial Day weekend, which was appropriate in my opinion. After a mass service at St Rose of Lima Church on Friday (May 28), we laid Mom to rest with Grandma and Grandpa Myers. It was a memorable trip with tears and much laughter with our distant relatives. We also had the pleasure of meeting new acquaintances like Marina Whittington, for whom one of the Whittington books was prepared for. There are too many stories and pictures to insert into one post. So for those of you who read this regularly, I will publish posts over the next couple of weeks. <br />
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For those who have publishing privileges (oh wait, that's every damn one of you!!!!), please feel free to publish your posts as well. A wonderful evening to all of you. I look forward to sharing the wonderful memories of our trip to all of you.<br />
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</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitkugO9YUXchf2pdz0xNL-jx1q1gFmSObRq7wus7MEsUSHPhXJYegE4bN9MOzmNmpZelhSua6emJH9FbhqOK0wrjGC5vDRgo664DnLBu1PW9NwGtIH4QOhM26Ncbgrar3rhjepeTkLLJE/s1600/IMG_2887.jpg" imageanchor="3" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="3" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitkugO9YUXchf2pdz0xNL-jx1q1gFmSObRq7wus7MEsUSHPhXJYegE4bN9MOzmNmpZelhSua6emJH9FbhqOK0wrjGC5vDRgo664DnLBu1PW9NwGtIH4QOhM26Ncbgrar3rhjepeTkLLJE/s320/IMG_2887.jpg" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16879549846474515580noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165807549502223936.post-41999100082352386812010-02-14T18:42:00.000-08:002011-04-22T20:24:31.527-07:00An Unusual Dedication for MomWhitney Grey is a good friend of mine; I've known him for almost 15 years. He lives on the Salt River Pima-Maricopa Indian Reservation in the east valley (he's a Pima). Since I've known him, he's been a very sick man. He has so many ailments, I couldn't possibly describe them to you. I always joke with him that he'll never die.<br />
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Whitney is also a well-known artist, at least to those with an interest in Native American art. His works are in water color, with abstract themes using various symbols and designs of his people. The images he paints always come to him, he says, in dreams or spontaneously. I've wondered aloud if he gets his visions the same way Edgar Allen Poe got his story ideas; he just laughs. His work is in demand these days. He has been commissioned by Marriott to complete a series of paintings for the new casino hotel. He just finished three that will fetch about $3500.00. He may even get to work on a very large wall mural in the casino. <br />
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I called him the weekend after Mom died to let him know. He did what he could, saying prayers to his God. Some weeks later, he presented me with a painting he had done for the Jones Family as a memorial to Mom. It's presented below. I especially love how he used green on the painting. The painting is approximately 12in X 15in. When Mary gets time, I'll have her frame it. I know some of you are looking at this and thinking, what's the big deal? <br />
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But hey, in this day and age when someone can pee in a jar and stick in a crucifix, or insert an American flag in a toilet and get reviews from it, I would consider this to be a genuine work from a real artist. I thanked him profusely for his work.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWviJlkW9OibjZfaORLu4gxngOgX05t_JSKkBTAlllS0JdfqKRpI7Qz1CmKZ6YwR3pRNrJiMeOu4SlQd82_dW523j8tI4ax1aa36sC0Qd8ubMPo0epFgCad9D-NQVBo6afUUbcagXqWlE/s1600-h/WhitneyGreyforMom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWviJlkW9OibjZfaORLu4gxngOgX05t_JSKkBTAlllS0JdfqKRpI7Qz1CmKZ6YwR3pRNrJiMeOu4SlQd82_dW523j8tI4ax1aa36sC0Qd8ubMPo0epFgCad9D-NQVBo6afUUbcagXqWlE/s400/WhitneyGreyforMom.jpg" width="400" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16879549846474515580noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165807549502223936.post-66824930187683273982010-01-29T11:15:00.000-08:002011-04-22T20:26:07.923-07:00Hello from MississippiHey all, I have a very weak signal where my trailer is, so I don't get to use my phone as often as I would like. But things are going well. I am being used like a mule at work. It is as if I never left. There are a few changes and procedures I will need to get more familiar with, but other than that. The weather today is terrible. Lots of rain, and the temp is dropping. It is part of that storm that hit TX, and OK. Corol says that it is icy up where she is in Hot Springs. I went to Wal-mart this morning, pulled into a gas station, and there was 5 ENTERGY linemans trucks fueling up. They were headed for Arkansas and Texas to help out. The trailer is doing fine...except, I think my power convertor went out. I came home one night and my lights were very dim. All the lights, pumps, and motors run off the batteries. The batteries are supposed to be charged by the power convertor, which in turn converts AC into DC. I borrowed Harrys' charger, so they are still being charged. Now my next project is to locate this convertor and take it into work so the electricians can rebuild it for me :)). I think about all of you often. I was in Hot Springs helping Corol move into her new house, and we managed to watch the AZ game and the Colts game. I was shocked that there were a few AZ fans amongst all of the Saints fans! But, we had a good time. We went to Buffalo Wild Wings. Well, about all for now. Will talk to ya later! Love, JoeJosephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05331688085581749339noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165807549502223936.post-38643675205104732212010-01-04T18:41:00.000-08:002011-04-22T20:26:55.497-07:00... and a Happy New Year!Here's a few pics from the New Year's Eve bash. Tom, if you or Cheryl's Ma have more, may as well edit this post and add 'em.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ZiSgpdZVHwd_bv6qBL5K47pPcR69kY2mniFjBtfkfsUYx0Pyjro7dT_aISW412VSWJ8Ke8pzQbQ9NNJtDRkWg-Zb_TqmsBYkw3g5f-pDu5CCK8-untpm61YIyPTW9av46Fh1h8iWBEE/s1600-h/CIMG6953.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423082614514670642" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ZiSgpdZVHwd_bv6qBL5K47pPcR69kY2mniFjBtfkfsUYx0Pyjro7dT_aISW412VSWJ8Ke8pzQbQ9NNJtDRkWg-Zb_TqmsBYkw3g5f-pDu5CCK8-untpm61YIyPTW9av46Fh1h8iWBEE/s320/CIMG6953.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 240px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></a> I wanted to go as one of the signers of the Constitution, but most of the costumes from the period were a little "<span style="font-style: italic;">flamboyant</span>". I ended up getting a soldiers outfit. Julie's Ma was a flapper.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdkorB17rw3yeHSuwqde7uW_3XR_-wlsB67mZQ0uuRDgm8Bklz0O0bRsk5s7lfe18bjTGEWawDEMSbfvAfOQ_fHJRxxWLATqPZH8O_KxsxzEKjuMl0VJNMIadR3rq5zD7sBGDFD2nKyWA/s1600-h/CIMG6952.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423080984051913698" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdkorB17rw3yeHSuwqde7uW_3XR_-wlsB67mZQ0uuRDgm8Bklz0O0bRsk5s7lfe18bjTGEWawDEMSbfvAfOQ_fHJRxxWLATqPZH8O_KxsxzEKjuMl0VJNMIadR3rq5zD7sBGDFD2nKyWA/s320/CIMG6952.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 240px;" /></a> <br />
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Julie went as a disco chick, but as her sister pointed out, she looked more like Sharon Stone in Casino.<br />
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Some came dressed from the 2000 decade. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpOyKzQcI49Qd-xKvdx1qA-aY4uHkYbf-ZcKIerkklTCENVxt9nrbylV4AKMvSRnJnU90aT7d2j1Z5m4eZwXGLZ7LKJ8zPnkBko0AU6ZhLXBeNuvnl7_5rufIHZCFfyCMDZrQC8j6O-xI/s1600-h/CIMG6976.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423084982661214082" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpOyKzQcI49Qd-xKvdx1qA-aY4uHkYbf-ZcKIerkklTCENVxt9nrbylV4AKMvSRnJnU90aT7d2j1Z5m4eZwXGLZ7LKJ8zPnkBko0AU6ZhLXBeNuvnl7_5rufIHZCFfyCMDZrQC8j6O-xI/s320/CIMG6976.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 320px;" /></a> <br />
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The Sipes were representin' too...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgymHi6SXQZe_iwdsN_aWDJc4ojSb4M7d7bD3gSo2rKWH5iNFHmRo16G6rwDuBtxUXAHeZDGJjQO7G8IiXzXrpNBlAJkf-plYjYmeTmOr8hvuAnL1LxrOekawQO-AgZtw-7ysu8Vl-B80/s1600-h/CIMG6990.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423086642719504482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgymHi6SXQZe_iwdsN_aWDJc4ojSb4M7d7bD3gSo2rKWH5iNFHmRo16G6rwDuBtxUXAHeZDGJjQO7G8IiXzXrpNBlAJkf-plYjYmeTmOr8hvuAnL1LxrOekawQO-AgZtw-7ysu8Vl-B80/s200/CIMG6990.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 150px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 200px;" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_AVEL4WiVloGhunvaCEF2nqC4MidpWX4P8ZUqKw6uzLefNCsHil73BasBTMXbzeGmGfi1o-hFNL_5Bi75Ki2m7Olxrg5RpAsc2BpzYpnCRjtSIahZXIkqZ4gxLg4SSWoqFiDjHcq4JT4/s1600-h/CIMG6959.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423086545543961330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_AVEL4WiVloGhunvaCEF2nqC4MidpWX4P8ZUqKw6uzLefNCsHil73BasBTMXbzeGmGfi1o-hFNL_5Bi75Ki2m7Olxrg5RpAsc2BpzYpnCRjtSIahZXIkqZ4gxLg4SSWoqFiDjHcq4JT4/s200/CIMG6959.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 150px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 200px;" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM0BoRg1zo0RaWFZq5U-yGwKVULlkuPq9kpZLFZ3BbS_RKiLJE_nGnl4nyETR4PDQXV33yrjNM7Vc4KaPiLgbqEx58MXGefCv7NKkyJLQpK9v4lTCoO7tfQrXLqd4ScJuGKJnmXbd31sw/s1600-h/CIMG6989.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423086439721910882" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM0BoRg1zo0RaWFZq5U-yGwKVULlkuPq9kpZLFZ3BbS_RKiLJE_nGnl4nyETR4PDQXV33yrjNM7Vc4KaPiLgbqEx58MXGefCv7NKkyJLQpK9v4lTCoO7tfQrXLqd4ScJuGKJnmXbd31sw/s320/CIMG6989.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 240px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></a> <br />
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I sure wish I had a photo of Tom going ballistic when I told him is answer to the decade trivia was wrong. If anyone has that (or his angry march to the office computer to prove he was right) it would be great to post... By the way Tom, you were right... The Bill or Right's was "adopted" in... uhh... whatever decade you said.Michael Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08093715539648554642noreply@blogger.com1