2020-Favorite Photo

Picking a single favorite photo of a family member is nearly impossible for me, as I'm sure it is for many of you who are also participating in this writing exercise.  I love taking photographs, and when I look at photos, even ones I haven't taken, I often spend time studying the person and their surroundings, trying to imagine that instant in time when the photo was snapped.  What was the occasion?  What were they thinking about?  Who else was there out of the frame of the camera?  Or in some cases, who the heck are these other people with my relative?   Also, because I am our "official" family photographer, I've learned that I am often not present in the photos of our family events, a problem I've tried to remedy by lots of whining....

Papias Peru Moskal circa 1953

In any event, after an inordinate amount of time studying my collection of photos, I've selected this photo of my Mexican nana, Papias Peru Moskal (1888-1967).  In it, she is sitting on a stool at her kitchen table in El Paso, making tamales, it appears.  She is smiling, and it looks to me like it was snapped while she was engaged in a conversation with someone else in the room, probably my mother, enjoying herself while she worked.

I like this photo because I remember sitting as a very young child, maybe 2-3 years old, at that table with the oil cloth tablecloth, on the end near that hot water heater, while Nana would make flour tortillas, heating them in a skillet, and slathering them with butter for me to eat.  There was often a manual meat grinder attached to that table.  I am so emotionally attached to that image that I've kept the one my husband's grandparents owned in a box in my basement for years...just because.  No plans to use it; I have a modern one that attaches to my stand mixer.  Just because it reminds me of my nana and those flour tortillas.

That's the power of a photograph to evoke memories from an image that can make us time travelers. 

There's More than One way to Reunion

My parents divorced in 1955, and my mother and I relocated to Memphis, TN from El Paso, TX.  My father stayed in his hometown and remarried a few weeks after the ink was dry on the divorce papers.

l-r. Uncle Bill, Dad

His communication with me was sporadic for several years, and then, for reasons known only to him, stopped altogether around 1963.  His mother and his older brother, my Uncle Bill, continued to stay in touch with us, and I would occasionally write my dad a letter and send it to Uncle Bill who would take care to forward it.  But my father stayed incommunicado.

I graduated from high school, worked my way through college, got married, buried my mother, and had two children all without any acknowledgment from my dad.  When my first son was born, I told my husband I was thinking about trying to let my dad know.  My husband's wise counsel was I could do what I wanted, but I would be unhappy either way.  I decided he was right, so I did nothing.

Uncle Bill would occasionally tell me about visiting with my dad, and at one point, I guess I told him I didn't want to hear any more about him. Uncle Bill complied for several years, but sometime in the early 1980s, he told me he had seen my dad, and that he looked well.  (By this time, my dad and wife #2 were also divorced.)  He acknowledged he was going against my wishes to tell me that, but he thought I should know.  After so many years, I guess I had buried the hurt and I responded that I was OK with that, but I would never seek my dad out, and if he ever wanted to talk to me again, he would have to make the first move.  I knew that was a low risk and I had no expectation whatsoever of ever seeing the man that had fathered me.

Then...on Christmas Eve in 1987,  I got the shock of my life.  My phone rang about 9 pm, and after 32 years, I found myself having an extremely tense and awkward conversation with my father. One thing I didn't anticipate was how angry his call would make me. I'll spare the details, but after about 15 minutes, we hung up. I had offered to write him a letter, once the busy-ness of the holidays was past, and share information with him about myself.

I did write that letter, and he called me when he received it, and our conversation went somewhat more smoothly, although still awkward, given that we were essentially two strangers.  Going forward from that, he wrote me a letter every week for several years, and eventually got on a schedule of calling me every Sunday morning promptly at 9 am. He worked hard to earn my trust. We began visiting one another traveling from Arizona to Virginia, and vice versa.  While we could not regain the time we had lost, we did form a strong bond, and I'm grateful that I could muster the forgiveness needed to make that happen.

In the process of that reunion, I gained 3 half-brothers and 2 half-sisters, all of whom apparently knew of me, and they welcomed me.

2002-That's me on the right with 4 of my 5 half-sibs. 

l-r. My dad and me; Uncle Bill and Anita; Nana.  Circa 1954.

In 1995, my Uncle Bill passed away.  My dad had made several trips to El Paso to see him while he was ill, and to offer help to Uncle Bill's only daughter, Anita.  As very young children, Anita and I had been cared for by our grandmother but Anita was 4 years older than I, and we'd never been in contact as we grew up.  I traveled to El Paso to attend the funeral, and Anita and I established a lasting friendship.

Anita on the left and me, circa 2006.

Anita is truly the family historian for my ancestors on that side, having grown up in El Paso, and knowing a lot of the family lore and legend.  She's been the primary custodian of papers and photographs which she has shared generously with me.





When my dad turned 80, his children in Arizona arranged a surprise birthday party for him, and Anita flew to Arizona to attend the party with me and my family.   This was the first time my own two teenage kids would meet their aunts and uncles and many cousins from this side of the family.  Anita knew them, but had not seen them since they were children.  By this time, my dad and I were on solid ground, and this was a very happy occasion.

Anita and I have more than once returned to Arizona to visit with our relatives there, and we always celebrate with lots of homemade Mexican food and an all day party at my brother's home with as much local family as possible.  It's a reunion every time we visit.  I am so grateful to have these connections that I grew up thinking were lost to me.

Dear Diary

My grandmother, whom I never knew, kept a diary beginning in 1938 while she was confined in a tuberculosis sanitorium in Colorado.  Her hand-written recordings were brief, and run the gamut from descriptions of her poor health on a particular day to what someone else was wearing as they left the property.  She also commented on letters she received from friends and relatives back home in Arkansas.

I found this entry particularly interesting.  She wrote on Monday, September 26, 1938, "Listened to Hitler from 12 to 1:30.  Wonder if it means war.  Temp 101 at 1 o'clock but 100 3/5 at 2:30." I pondered what it was like to listen to Hitler, through a translator I presume, for an hour and a half.  I also felt her desperate hope when her temp had declined by a mere 2/5 of a degree.

She didn't fill in every day's entry, and in October 1938, she started writing about how discouraged she was becoming about her lack of improvement. On October 18, she wrote, "Have about reached the point where I can't hope much longer." Then on October 19, after talking with a pastor, a nurse, and a doctor, she "decided suddenly to go home.  Panicky & frightened."  Her notes say she left on the 5:15 pm train on Friday, October 21.  And that was her last entry, although she lived for another 17 months.

Then in 1942, my mother, who would have been 16, began writing in the same diary.  She was now living with her aunt and uncle who were her guardians, as her mother's death left her completely orphaned.

My mother's entries span 1942 and 1943, and are typical of what you might think a 16-year old would write:

• Music:  "Listened to Hit Parade--White Xmas is still 1st";
• Movies: "Saw 'Star Spangled Rhythms' after school"; "Saw 'My Gal Sal' with Rita Hayworth and Victor Mature."  Throughout she recorded many more movies and the stars of those movies.
• Friends:  "Nell blew her lid at noon because of something Bernice said.  Nothing else much."  I don't know who Nell was, but from other entries, she must have been quite a hot-head, as my mother remarks frequently about Nell being mad about one thing or the other.
• School: "A very dull day.  Gym starts - dancing and exercise- Mon & Wed.  Was elected Red Cross Rep." And "Had lecture on vulgarity of generation."  But in a sign of the times, she also wrote in different entries, "had practice air raid"; "everybody out on scrap metal hunt"; and "gas rationing today".
• Family: This remark made me laugh, so typical of a teenager even today:  "Damn Uncle Bud.  He wouldn't let me go to the USO Dance.  I hate him."   Uncle Bud died before I was born, but his wife, Aunt Edna, was a dear, dear person, and while she couldn't replace my grandmother in my mother's life, she was a fantastic stand-in.  She outlived my mother. 

I do plan, as time permits, to transcribe all the entries from both my grandmother and mother.  They tie me to my relatives, and give me insight to their lives, emotionally and historically.

At the Courthouse with the Lipps

I suppose we all have at least one of those ancestors whose name vexes us in our research.  One such of those in my background is my 2nd great grandmother, Mary (Maria) Hanick/Hanink/Harnink/Hannink/Henank/Heineke/Henning.  I doubt I have exhausted the potential spellings of what seems to be a somewhat common Dutch name.  Most of the census records state she was born in Michigan, and I've found a long list of family members in the Grand Rapids area with one or more of the variations above.  Then there's that one document that says she was born in Ohio.  <sad face>

A lot of what I know about Mary I've learned through articles or notices in newspapers where Mary has been in a court of one kind or another.

Mary was born in 1856, so she was barely 17 years old in 1873 when she appeared in Police Court in Buffalo, NY, to sue her future husband, John Lipp, for "seduction under promise of marriage".  An 1848 law passed in New York state made it illegal "under promise of marriage<to>seduce any unmarried female of previous chaste character".   John's bail of $800 seems to be a significant sum in that time period.  Mary gave birth to my great grandmother, Jane, five months later in January 1874, so it was probably pretty straightforward for Mary to prove she had indeed been deflowered.  But John Lipp was no "catch".

Buffalo Courier, September 3, 1873

Mary and John had their second daughter, Charlotte (Lottie), in October 1878.  Less than a year later, in September 1879,  John sued Mary for divorce.  Again the case was decided in favor of Mary.  I've no idea what this means to have had a divorce decided in your favor, because I don't know the terms of the suit.  Perhaps she counter-sued.

Buffalo Courier, September 22, 1879

A third child was born in November 1879, a few months after the divorce was settled, a son named Eugene.  I've found no record of his ever being referred to by the surname "Lipp".  It appears he lived his life using the surname of Mary's second husband, John Henning.  Yes, she married someone with a name sounding similar to her maiden name, adding even more confusion to my ensuring I'm looking at the proper ancestor.

I would say that Mary was lucky to be rid of Mr. Lipp, but for this.  In the article below, one year after her divorce, Mary would be a single mother with three young children to care for, so desperate circumstances must have led her to put one child out for adoption.  This case was settled in the County Court.  It doesn't say which child, so I don't know whether it was my great grandmother, Jane, or her younger sister, Lottie.   What a scene it must have been in the court room for the two women involved going at each other!

In her 1950s correspondence with my mother, Lottie wrote that, as a child, she had lived for a time with an aunt during hard times, so for all I know, the Lowe family below could have been relatives, although I've not yet found any evidence to support this premise.

Buffalo Morning Express, November 2, 1880

Censuses from 1900 and on show at different times the three women living together.  The son, Eugene, is not listed in any of the censuses, but turns up later in various newspapers around the country as a professional billiards player.  Lottie married and moved to Ohio, and later to California after she was divorced.  Jane was married twice, and as a widow turned her home into a boarding house in Niagara Falls.  Mary, once in her dotage, lived with Jane until she died on Christmas Eve in 1936.

When I read these articles as a sequence, as well as other information I have about these women, I feel deep sorrow for the difficulties they all endured in just day to day survival.

Family Photo

I had many group photos from which to choose, and decided to mix things up a bit this week to write a little about my husband's family.  His mother, Jackie, organized this photo shoot and hired a pro to come to their home while we were visiting them in Texas.  Based on our clothing, I believe this was late winter or early spring.

I don't really have too many specific memories about this event.  One thing I do remember is the photographer had a particularly hard time with my younger son squinting when he smiled.  The photographer would call it to his attention, then gesture like he was turning a reel, making a squeaking noise at the same time, as if that would control Kevin's eyes.  It's probably why we all look like we're laughing.

I don't know for sure, but most likely my father-in-law was grumbling about having to do this, because that's just what the men in this family do (ahem).  My husband is no fan of having his photo taken, but he knew better than to fuss too much to his mother.  She didn't care.  This was taken circa 1990, and by October 1991, she had succumbed to pulmonary fibrosis at age 62.

My sister-in-law and her husband had two daughters, and we had two sons.  In this photo the older niece, Angela, is about 11-12.  Her younger sister, Carissa,  and my older son, Justin, are about 9-10, and Kevin is about 5. Even though the cousins usually only saw one another once a year, they still had a good time together.  Jackie, a former elementary school teacher and librarian, was a great organizer, and she always planned at least one day where she had all four kids together.  Just about anything went at Grandmother's house.

I was blessed to have great in-laws, and Jackie has been my role model for being a mother-in-law (rules: bite your tongue; avert your eyes; bite your tongue some more) and for being a grandmother (rules:  there's no such thing as too much banana pudding; bubble gum? sure; drop bouncy balls from upstairs to the first floor when I'm babysitting you? of course!)   Whenever I question my judgment about what to do, I've co-opted the phrase from the 90's, "WWJD?"  In my mind, though, it means, "What Would Jackie Do?"  It's still my guiding principle.  I may not get it right, but I try!

After Jackie died, my father-in-law soon remarried a really nice woman, and she also has been a role model.  She was sensitive to our grief from losing Jackie, and just let us all take our time to adjust to the new normal.  She and L.A. were married for 19 years before he passed away from lung cancer.  They came to visit us in Virginia before he started treatments, and I was shocked as I listened to him tell my husband what it meant to have been his dad.  It was startling for me to hear him open his heart and share it, as he was usually taciturn about his emotions.  I will always regret that I didn't take the opportunity to tell him what a great father-in-law and grandfather he was, but I was totally unprepared for that conversation.

When my father-in-law died in 2010, I snapped this photo of the cousins, now grown-ups with kids of their own. Four more little ones have been born to this group since then.  This is the last time they were together, the realities of adulthood--kids, jobs, finances--making long distance family gatherings more infrequent, at least for now.  It would be a joy to pull us all together with all the kids, spouses, and grandkids without a funeral as the occasion.  Who knows?

April 2010

It's not Romeo and Juliet, but a tragedy still...

"It was a blessing they were taken together for they were deeply in love and neither could have lived without the other",  wrote my 2nd great aunt, Charlotte (Lottie) Deacon, to my mother in a note scribbled in pencil in 1955.  She was referring to her niece, Frances Leary Schooley (1890-1918) and her husband, Vincent Leroy Schooley (1890-1918). She had also enclosed a photograph of Frances, supposedly on the day of her marriage to Vincent, June 26, 1915.  Frances looks relaxed and happy.

Frances Leary Schooley, June 1915

Vincent is described on his WW I draft registration card as tall and slender, with blue eyes and brown hair .  I wish I had a photo of him.  I've no idea how the two of them met.

Their impending nuptials were reported briefly in the Niagara Falls Gazette (Frances used her stepfather's last name for the newspaper).  Her parents stood as witnesses for their marriage.

Niagara Falls Gazette, June 23, 1915

In only the way a love story about ill-fated lovers can end, this one ended tragically in 1918, the year of the Spanish flu pandemic that afflicted about one-third of the world's population.  With no vaccine to inoculate against the flu, and no antibiotics to treat secondary infections, it's estimated there were fifty million deaths worldwide; 675,000 in the US alone!  And just like today, the very young and the elderly were most at risk,  but inexplicably this pandemic also uniquely affected a high number of people between the ages of 20 and 40.  (Source: https://www.cdc.gov/features/1918-flu-pandemic/index.html) Apparently, my ancestors were not immune.

Frances's death was first on November 29, 1918.  She suffered from chronic myocarditis, an inflammation of the heart muscle.  The most common cause of myocarditis is a viral infection, so perhaps she became infected with the flu first which led to her heart attack.  Vincent died about a week later on December 6, 1918, from the Spanish flu.   It is hard to imagine the grief the families of these young people felt to have lost both of them so young, and so early in their marriage.  They were buried separately:  Vincent in his family's plot in Canada, and Frances in Forest Lawn Cemetery in Buffalo.

2019--Week 6 Surprise...I'm pregnant!

I doubt this is what my mother said when, at age 20 and unmarried, she realized that she was pregnant.  I suspect it was more like, "Oh, *#!  I'm pregnant."  There are a lot of unknowns around the circumstances of her first pregnancy, and she died without ever sharing her secret with me.

What we do know is that she traveled from her small city in Louisiana to Dallas, TX, where it appears she lived for a while with the childless couple who would become the adoptive parents of her baby.  We believe she was connected to this couple by someone in Louisiana, as the couple had lived there prior to moving to Dallas.  After her baby girl was born, she went on to El Paso, TX, to live with a friend. And if she timed her travel just right, no one in Louisiana would have known she was pregnant, unless she had chosen to tell them. Going to El Paso afterwards where she was unknown would also keep her secret safe. We believe we know who the father was, confirmed by DNA matches with my niece, the daughter of my mother's first daughter, and my co-conspirator in trying to piece this together.  We don't know with 100% certainty why my mother didn't marry the father, whom we believe was not yet married.

Surprise does not even begin to describe my reaction when I stumbled upon my mom's secret through my genealogy research and, ultimately, DNA testing.  I mentally floundered trying to think of any living relatives to whom I could turn for enlightenment.  However, my mother and most of her cousins who might have known her secret were all deceased.

My niece was just as surprised when I emailed her late one April night in 2016, because based on research done by one of her relatives, she thought I was also deceased.  So we approached each other somewhat cautiously.  I confirmed my identity by sharing with her information that only a close family member would know.  She confirmed her relationship to my mother, her grandmother, by sharing copies of her mother's adoption papers and  birth certificate.  A close match with our DNA tests sealed our familial connection. 

My niece shared as much as she could remember about her mother.  Sadly, she was only 8 years old when her mom passed away suddenly from a heart attack at age 41, leaving a husband and 3 young children.  Evidently, my sister had a history of heart disease, and had begun searching for her birth mother several years prior to her death, which led her to legally open her adoption records.  

In my estimation, my mom had a couple of distinguishing features that made her beauty stand out.  She had big soulful hazel eyes, black hair with a widow's peak, and full lips upon which she wore the reddest of lipsticks.  When I looked at the photos of my sister, also beautiful, I couldn't see my mother in her features.  (Of course, my face is almost literally 1/2 of my father, and 1/2 of my mother.  And my coloring is neither.  DNA's like that, right?)  Nevertheless, as my niece shared more and more photos of her mother I started to see a resemblance, especially if her head was tilted a certain way.  And then I could see she had my mother's jawline.

I realize other people have been confronted by surprises like this through their DNA testing.  I wish for them the best of experiences in handling the emotional turmoil such a revelation will most likely cause, not only for themselves but for those around them as well.  My own immediate family has been supportive of me, and welcoming to our newly found relatives.  And our newly found relatives have happily accepted us ..... I think!

Leilani's senior picture circa 1965

My senior picture 1968

Mom circa 1945