Aunt Margaret (1906-2005), one of my Crazy Estes aunts, wrote a bombshell letter on January 26, 1978. Little did I know that I had unwittingly been the catalyst, nor that the bomb itself would explode in my own hands a quarter century later.

That letter answered a lot of questions, but it also introduced many, MANY more mysteries, some of which I’ve been able to solve. Others, however, remain stubbornly elusive, nagging reminders of how little we sometimes know about even our closest relatives.

Introducing the Characters

Before I share the letter, I need to give you a dance card with a cast of characters, and believe me, they are truly characters. Otherwise you’ll surely miss some of the essence of the soap-opera-esque plot.

Let’s start with a pedigree chart. Three charts, actually, one for each of my grandfather, William George Estes’s marriages. He’s the character in red, below.

Lazarus Estes and his wife Elizabeth Vannoy lived at the end of Estes Holler in Claiborne County, Tennessee and died in 1918.

While Lazarus Estes and Elizabeth Vannoy, called Betty, had several children, only two are mentioned in Margaret’s letter – Cornie Epperson and my grandfather who is Margaret’s father, William George Estes (1873-1971.)

William George Estes was married three times, assuming all three “marriages” were legal. I’m positive that the first one to Ollie Bolton was official, as I have the marriage documentation. The others, well, you can decide for yourself.

• William George was first married to Ollie Bolton, having a total of 10 or 11 children. Six are mentioned in this letter and five survived to adulthood. They are, in age order, Estel, my father, Joseph “Dode,” Margaret, Minnie and Elsa.
• William George’s second marriage was to Joice Hatfield and they had one daughter, Virginia Estes, also mentioned in Margaret’s letter.
• William George’s third marriage was to Crocie Brewer who had a total of four children with him, but only two of which, Josephine and “red headed” Evelyn are mentioned by Margaret.

White and Black Sheep

Lazarus Estes and Elizabeth Vannoy’s daughter, Cornie Estes (1878-1958), married Worth Epperson (1873-1959) and set up housekeeping right across the dirt road from Lazarus where they lived and died.

Cornie Estes and Worth Epperson celebrating their 60^th wedding anniversary. They seemed to be the glue in Estes Holler after Lazarus and Elizabeth died.

Cornie and Worth are buried together in the cemetery called Cedar Hill, at least it was called that by the family, on Lazarus’s land. The road between Cornie’s house and Lazarus’s was barely a two track at the time I first visited in the 1980s.

You can see the cemetery beneath the cedar tree in the center of the photo above.

William George Estes with his sister, Cornie Estes Epperson

While Lazarus seemed to have been the stable cornerstone of the family in Estes Holler, his son, William George was quite the opposite. Put bluntly, William George was unquestionably the black sheep. A very interesting black sheep, but a black sheep nonetheless who seemed to exasperate everyone around him as he drifted from one marriage and crisis to the next, leaving a trail of human carnage behind for others to unravel and clean up, as Margaret’s letter bears witness.

Aunt Margaret

William George and Ollie’s daughter Margaret, the letter-writer, born in 1906, married Edward Wyatt O’ Rourke and moved to California before 1942. The photo below was taken in 1944 and Margaret notes it was in San Francisco.

Margaret and Ed had one son who apparently married, then died (or disappeared) after having one child, a daughter, according to discussions with Margaret back in the 1970s. Unfortunately, Margaret’s stories about her son and the granddaughter were very convoluted and tangled, sometimes contradicted themselves and may have been partly the product of confusion, a propensity towards twisting the truth and mental illness that manifested as paranoia. I wasn’t sure who lived and died, when or where, but I do know it was an ungodly mess.

“Eccentric”

Aunt Margaret and her sister, Minnie, were both known to be somewhat eccentric in their later years. Ok, maybe in their earlier years too. Both were inclined to stretch the truth from time to time, and sometimes, they simply flat out fabricated stories. They were quite creative as well as experts in manipulating people to draw attention to themselves. These ladies seemed to be addicted to drama, and if there wasn’t any, they stirred some up. Before judging too harshly, read the rest of their story.

When I first read Margaret’s shocking letter, I knew that Margaret had previously been dishonest and manipulative with me. So you’ll appreciate that I had a healthy amount of skepticism about the veracity of the “truths” this letter revealed.

Margaret seemed to grow much worse as she aged as her inclination for tall tales stretched into outright paranoia. I think at one time she knew her stories were untrue, but by the 1970s and 1980s, she appeared to become increasingly unable to discern truth from fiction. The last time I spoke with Margaret who was then living in California, she insisted that I had visited her in either her second home in Hawaii or third home in Singapore and I “knew what I did.” I never met Margaret, nor did Margaret have three homes in different parts of the world, at least not to the best of my knowledge. And clearly, I didn’t “do” anything. Her accusations were nasty, unsettling and frightening. Rather than be drawn into her drama, I simply stepped away entirely, permanently.

Being aware of that history, suffice it to say, I didn’t know what to think, reading Margaret’s 1978 letter a quarter century later. I did what genealogists do, I set forth to prove, or disprove as much as possible.

Come follow along.

Solving the First Mystery

I am summarizing parts of Margaret’s 22-page hand-written tome but directly transcribing much of it, in the order in which it was written. Trust me, it needs her own words.

The letter, written in early 1978 to my step-mother, Virgie, long after my father’s 1963 death, is obviously quite friendly. Margaret opens with “My Dear,” and refers to Virgie as “my darling Sis,” although a red flag shot up when Margaret insisted on paying for a long-distance phone call by sending Virgie a check, even though “we are both on pensions.”

I learned years before that Margaret never did anything without some level of guilt being inflicted. She would voluntarily insist on doing something nice, and then inform you of what a hardship it had caused her. She seemed to live to make everyone around her feel guilty by elevating her own actions. I was a young adult when I was first exposed to Margaret’s behavior. I had never encountered anything like this before and didn’t exactly know what to “do” about it, but I did know it made me feel awful and icky. What I didn’t realize at the time is that’s exactly what it was meant to do. I’ll not ascribe motive, but since Minnie and Margaret exhibited many of the same behaviors, I suspect the root may have been family based, nature or nurture (or lack thereof,) or perhaps all three.

Margaret mentioned in her letter that she had called Virgie “a few years back” and had sent a letter as well to “the address on Hickory” in Dunkirk, Indiana which was returned.

I must say, the mention of the Hickory Street address confirmed something I had suspected from my father’s obituary and Google maps today. 501 Hickory, where Virgie lived when my father was alive is now 202 Shadyside. The houses had been renumbered, apparently between 1963 when my father died and 1978. Virgie’s home was at the intersection of the two streets.

I then thought to check in my mother’s old address book, and sure enough, Virgie’s address on Hickory had been struck through and replaced by the Shadyside address. Virgie never moved, closing her life in the house where it opened 86 years earlier.

These two side by side pictures show the house in 1919 on the left, with my father in uniform, and about 1963 on the right.

The house looks very different today, but it’s still recognizable. One mystery solved!

Margaret Thinks I Ask Too Many Questions!

Margaret begins:

“I have been trying to decide what to do about Roberta’s letter which was so abrupt and chuck full of personal questions regarding my family tree – since her mother seems to have withheld information regarding her connections with my brother, I do not feel it is any business of mine to reveal any knowledge I might have of Bill’s personal affairs or of any members of my family – and certainly not mine.”

Truthfully, this made me bristle.

All I can say is that I did ask lots of questions because there was no one else to ask and Margaret had encouraged me to do so – going so far as sending me letters with photos. I was grateful to find someone, anyone, who might have any answers. Margaret certainly never exhibited this attitude when we talked on the phone. I initially felt welcomed, even embraced. Margaret provided information, copied and sent photos and gave me the names of other people to contact. I was shocked and hurt to read that paragraph about myself.

Margaret was very uncharitable towards my mother who suffered from the behavior of my father in many ways. She didn’t live near my father’s family in Tennessee, and to the best of my knowledge, had only met his father and step-mother on one trip. She didn’t know the rest of the family, so she could hardly have withheld information she didn’t know.

Not only did Mother raise me alone, without financial support from him or support of any kind from any of his family, including Margaret, mother endured the disgrace that his choices reflected upon her. In many cases, Mother believed I was better off not knowing details of his exploits, as she did not want my opportunities to be painted with his brush after his death. Mother believed wholeheartedly that the choices she made were for my own good and in my best interest, given that she could not go back in time and “unmake” my father my father.

Ironically, Margaret closed her letter by saying exactly the same thing – that I was better off not knowing. But, now I do.

It’s wryly humorous that the very letter in which Margaret tells Virgie she isn’t going to provide me with information is the exact letter that provides me with that information. And what a revelation it was…

The First Secret Revealed

“Now I will give you a little secret of Bill’s you may have already have found out.

Our parents were divorced while young. Our father never contributed one dime to any of our support.”

Seems my grandfather had something in common with my father.

“We were all placed in foster homes and seldom had a chance to see each other until we became adults. We would then arrange a meeting at my mothers in Chicago over some holiday – never more than one or two at a time.”

I never knew that. All placed in foster homes? How incredibly sad. My heart melted. Ollie seems to have a perpetually sad look about her, even when she smiles as shown in the tiny photo at left.

My Father Ran Away to Join the Service

“Bill ran away and joined the army in 1916 by hiking his age from 14 to 18 – was a top Sargent during WWI and married Martha Dotter [sic] at Battle Creek Michigan at the age, correct age, of 16. Edna Miller was born while he was still in service. He was later divorced. My mother interfered and had the marriage annulled because of his age plus the fact that she disliked Martha who was much older than Bill.”

Had the marriage annulled? I realize that my father’s marriage to Ilo, another wife, might have been annulled, because he married under an assumed name, but I never heard anything about his marriage to Martha Dodderer being annulled. I would think a judge, especially at that time, would be very hesitant to annul a legal marriage into which a child had been born, effectively making the child illegitimate.

My sister Edna did say something about Ollie kidnapping her and taking her to Chicago when she was young, or at least trying to. So the word “interfered” might be somewhat understated.

Margaret continues:

“Bill was born in 1902 in Springdale, Arkansas. I had two other brothers born there – older ones.”

My father, according to his delayed birth certificate, was born in Sneedville, Tennessee in 1903, but then again, that birth certificate was issued based on his father’s affidavit and a Bible, also produced by my grandfather. His father wasn’t exactly the pillar of integrity.

Who knows why that birth certificate was obtained at that time, or why in Hancock County, Tennessee. If my father was born in Sneedville, or near Sneedville, that suggests that perhaps Ollie was living with or near her family at that time.

I would love to see that Bible. I had no idea a family Bible existed, nor where it is today.

Other records indicate that my father was born in 1901, so who knows for sure.

Given that Margaret was born a few years later, in 1906, she would have been recalling from memory, and she’s correct that the older children were born in Arkansas.

Margaret was only counting living siblings when she referred to “2 older brothers.” She had 4 older brothers in total. Brother Robert burned to death in a cabin in Estes Holler either not long before or about the time Margaret was born. Brother Sammy was born and died in the summer of 1893 and another child of unknown gender was born about 1896 and died before 1900 in Arkansas.

“When you were here I gave you a 8X10 picture of Bill taken at Battle Creek during WWI. I am having copies reprinted of that picture now for other members of the family.”

Ironically, Margaret did indeed copy this photo along with several more and sent them to me. Regardless of how she characterized me in this letter, without her generosity, I would not have the pictures of my family today that are included in this article. Thank you Margaret.

“It was his second hitch in the service when he was in trouble that I had investigated for you after his death.”

My father’s time in the service, including the “problematic” second hitch is detailed in the article about his love letters to Virgie.

Whatever information Margaret found went to her grave with her. Her investigation would have been before the devastating St. Louis National Personnel Record Center fire in 1973 in which my father’s records were burned.

New Year’s Day, 1944

“I last saw Bill on New Year’s Day 1944. I think the year is correct. Mother had phoned me in San Francisco that she was ill and I took a 72 hour leave from work and caught a flight back from the airfield.”

Margaret labeled this photo, “1944 New Years,” so it must have been taken in Chicago during that visit.

“She had also contacted Bill and we had arrived at mother’s the same day – we also left the following day (New Years.) Bill had some woman with him but I don’t recall her name. I think they worked at the same place and he had promised to show her Lincoln Park Zoo. She was not dressed for the freezing weather and I loaned her my fur jacket and gloves and stayed home with mother until they returned.”

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard the phrase “some woman” in conjunction with my father.

This comment suggests that my father was coming from someplace else, since Margaret says they arrived the same day. It may also mean he came from a location significantly further south, where the weather was warmer.

On November 19, 1943, I believe my father married Ethel Hinton in Chicago, so Ethel would clearly have understood Chicago weather. However, by March of 1945, 16 months later, my father had married Dorothy Kilpatrick who lived in Richmond, Indiana. Dorothy should have been prepared for winter weather too – Richmond isn’t terribly far from Chicago. Is this woman with my father at New Year’s a new mystery woman?

Paranoia

“Then we each returned [to] our work. I never saw him again to speak to. However I’m sure I saw him at the post office in San Pedro in 1958 or 1959. He avoided me and seemed to just disappear in the crowd.”

In 1978, when she wrote this letter, Margaret would have been 71 and the paranoia that became very evident by the early 1980s had apparently begun. It may have been present back in the 1950s. I’m not entirely convinced that Margaret, as well as Minnie, didn’t have a form of mental illness that included paranoia well before dementia set in. They both exhibited the same types of behavior relative to being untruthful, as did my father (to some extent, minus the paranoia) and their father.

Another “Clink,” Another Teenage Girl

“Sometime before that I had received a letter from him in some clink in Kentucky.”

Wonderful, another jail record to search for before New Years of 1944. Or did she mean before 1958 or 1959? Sigh. Thanks Dad.

“Seems he had given some gal a ride across the line and she turned out to be [a] teenage runaway. He was caught with her and was in trouble because of it. He needed financial aid. I sent it to him. He also asked me to assist his wife Ethel. I had a letter from her also but can’t remember the details except that she was very much in love with him and would wait for him.”

Lord have mercy, here’s Ethel in Margaret’s letter waiting for Dad. Another piece of evidence that suggests that my father was the William Estes who married Ethel Hinton, and they are one and the same. How I would love to see that letter from Ethel.

If the woman at New Years of 1944 had been Ethel, Margaret would surely have connected those dots wouldn’t she?

Margaret may have been confused about the date or the state in which my father’s brush with the law over the teenage girl occurred. Here’s a brief timeline:

• November 1943 – A William Estes married Ethel Hinton in Chicago. Uncertain if this is my father, but strongly suspect so, given that Margaret also mentions an Ethel.
• New Year’s 1944 – Dad in Chicago with a woman he worked with and took to the zoo. Margaret doesn’t recall her name, but this is just 6 weeks after he married Ethel if the William Estes who married Ethel Hinton is my father.
• December 29, 1944 until March 12, 1945 – My father worked at Eastern State Mental Hospital in Knoxville, Tennessee according to their records. He was married, no wife’s name given, but a relative named Dortha Estes was also a state employee.
• By March 15, 1945 – Dad was in Walker County, Georgia marrying a teenage girl. He was roughly 43, but lied about his age.
• According to subsequent court records, at the time he married in Walker County, Georgia, he was already married to Dorothy Kilpatrick who lived in Richmond, Indiana. He was convicted of bigamy in Georgia. However, that episode doesn’t include an underage girl running away or Kentucky. My father and his Georgia bride were married where she lived in Walker County, Georgia under the nose of her disapproving father.
• March 1945 through December 1948 – As a result of his “error in judgement,” he got to spend time in jail until December, 1948 when he was released and returned to Chicago.
• February 1949 – Married Ellen in Chicago.

What happened to Ethel (Hinton?) and Dorothy Kilpatrick? Your guess is as good as mine! I’d love to know.

Ethel 

On November 19, 1943, one William Estes married Ethel Hinton in Chicago.

I have been unable, in spite of writing to the Cook County Clerk’s Office multiple times, to obtain the actual application which both the bride and groom would have signed, which would confirm if the groom was indeed my father. If any of my readers know how to obtain the application from Cook County, please let me know.

Name: William Estes
Marriage Date: 19 Nov 1943
Spouse: Ethel Hinton
Marriage Location: Cook County, IL
Marriage license: {7DD8EEDE-D87A-4D33-AF3D-EDFB858ECB23}
File Number: 1795725
Archive Collection Name: Cook County Genealogy Records (Marriages)
Archive repository location: Chicago, IL
Archive repository name: Cook County Clerk

Based on this information from Margaret about an Ethel along with his propensity for getting married, it surely appears likely that this is him.

If Dad married Ethel in November 1943, was in Chicago with another woman at New Years of 1944, in Knoxville married to a Dorothy by the 1944/1945 winter, and then marrying another young gal in Walker County, Georgia in March of 1945, when the heck did he have time to get in trouble in Kentucky? Oh, wait, it’s my Dad after all!

The logical gap appears to be between New Year’s of 1944 and late 1945 when he was with Dorothy which “should be” between Ethel and Dorothy as well. His bigamy conviction in Georgia provided me with Dorothy Kilpatrick’s name and that she was living in the Richmond, Indiana Camping Park at that time.

The piece of information that throws me, however, is that Margaret says that Ethel was waiting for him. This surely must be before March 1945 when Dad was married to Dorothy and marrying in Georgia and before 1949 when Dad married Ellen in Chicago, so maybe Ethel was waiting for him when he was in jail in Georgia? But he was married to Dorothy then. I’m really confused. Could he have been a trigamist – married to the gal in Georgia, Dorothy and Ethel all at the same time? Is trigamist even a word? I can’t believe I have to look this word up in connection with my father. Bigamist was bad enough.

I suspect there’s another juicy chapter buried here someplace. Was he in jail someplace ELSE involving a teenage runaway a different time? In Kentucky? Is Georgia the “clink” Margaret is talking about. Seems unlikely. I need digitized court records. That’s what I’m putting on my Christmas list! Santa, are you listening?

Ollie’s Death

“The next I heard was after mother had died in 55 and I had received the funeral bill some months later. I ate his bottom out about what he had done and why he had let Jean pass herself off as me in Chicago. Also why I had not been notified of mother’s illness. I had been sending money orders and cashiers checks to her monthly. They were easier for her to cash at the store, P.O. or bank than my personal check which was from an out of state bank. I don’t believe she had a bank account but she did have a safety deposit box. She told me that much.

She was also receiving a RR [railroad] pension from my step-father’s death – also her own social security check. Someone had to be cashing them and signing her name. Every time I phoned the house I was told she was out.”

During this time period in Chicago, my father was involved with two women. He had married Ellen in 1949 and my mother later. In 1955, my mother, while pregnant for me, was taking care of Ollie who lived with them, was terminally ill and had terrible bedsores. Ollie did not live in her own apartment, could no longer get herself out of bed, was gravely ill and in a great deal of pain before her death on April 9th. Her death certificate says that she had atherosclerotic heart disease for 1 year and multiple decubitus ulcers for 4 months. This was not a sudden illness.

My mother was VERY unhappy with my father about the circumstances. While Mother was taking care of his gravely ill mother, he was drinking heavily and was more often absent than present. I guarantee you, if Margaret had called and my mother answered, Mother assuredly would have told her that her mother was ill and asked her to come and help.

Mother didn’t know for another year and a half or so that my father had another family and the “other wife” was pregnant too, at the same time! No wonder he was drinking.

I don’t doubt that someone was cashing those checks. It could well have been my father and he might have been spending the money on liquor. On the other hand, that money could have been buying medicine for Ollie and food. Regardless, I find it odd that Margaret didn’t realize how ill her mother, then nearly 81, was and had been for some significant time. Me thinks the lady doth protest too much, justifying her own absence when her mother so desperately needed her presence. Margaret’s mother’s care fell to my pregnant mother. I assure you, my mother would have been extremely grateful for any assistance.

“He didn’t answer for awhile and then to say he tried but couldn’t find me. My address was always on my envelopes with the checks to mother. I write fairly plain and when he needed a favor he had no difficulty in locating me very very quickly – phone reverse charges, telegrams, collect or special delivery.”

My father had a way of finding people when it suited his purposes.

The Halcombs

“A couple years afterwards I was calling on Dad in Lynch, KY. We stayed at the Cumberland motel – not with the Estes or Holcomb family.”

This would have been about 1957.

I had no idea who the Holcomb family was, but a hint like this was too important not to pursue. In fact, I had never heard that name before. How important could this be, anyway, if I had never heard this name?

Buckle up and hold on!!!

A revelation emerged around 3 AM after a long day/night of searching. Bless those Kentucky birth registers, even if they are incomplete.

It seems that both of William George Estes’s daughters by Crocie had children by Halcomb (not Holcomb) men.

On April 4, 1943, John J. Halcomb was born to William Halcomb and Josephine Estes who was then aged 20 years and one month.

Josephine, above, born in 1923, was Aunt Margaret’s half-sister through their mutual father, William George Estes and his third wife, Crocie, who lived in Harlan County, Kentucky.

I don’t know if William Halcomb and Josephine were married or not. With this family, I’ve come to view the word “married” not as a legal condition, but a description used when socially convenient. However, they must have been living as a family, because Margaret says they didn’t stay with the Holcomb’s, indicting that there was a Holcomb household.

Sadly, Josephine’s son, John Halcomb perished tragically on August 9, 1965 at 9:45 PM, at the age of 22, per his death certificate. His parents were both listed on that document, and Josephine Jackson, his mother, then married to Andy Jackson, reported the death.

John died in a car accident, immediately, of multiple internal and external injuries causing shock and hemorrhage. The note on his death certificate says, “ran off roadway” on Highway 160 near Lynch. Highway 160 is the dogleg road in Harlan County that runs upwards through Lynch, beside the creek and the coal mines, to the top of Black Mountain. William George Estes and Crocie lived in “Shack 74.” on Highway 160. Everyone there lived in shacks.

John Halcomb was buried in the D. L. Creech Cemetery, the same location where William George Estes was buried a few years later, along with John’s grandmother, Crocie, who had died 4 years before his death. Neither John Halcomb nor William George nor Crocie have tombstones. Josephine and Andy Jackson’s graves are marked with funeral home markers. Once those are gone, if they aren’t already, their graves will be entirely unmarked.

The only person in this entire family to have a stone is Josephine’s sister, Evelyn, who shares one with her second husband, Marco Pusice.

John Halcomb was Josephine’s only child. In the few pictures I’ve seen of Josephine, she is never smiling. Now I have a much better idea of why.

I never knew my grandfather had this grandson, or that the grandson was killed in a car accident two years after my father was killed the same way. William George was 90 when my father died and 92 when his grandson was killed.

The Second Halcomb

Next, I discovered in the Kentucky birth records that a daughter, Joyce Lee Halcomb was born on December 13, 1953 to a Halcomb male, who I believe is Jake (maybe Jack?) Halcomb and Evelyn Estes. The Kentucky birth index doesn’t provide the entire record, only the child’s and mother’s names. Of course, Evelyn is Josephine’s sister.

Both sisters had children by Halcomb males? What???

I had to recheck these records, because frankly, I was dumbstruck. I could find no Estes and Holcomb or Halcomb marriages for either Evelyn or Josephine.

This soap opera truly never ends, but back to Margaret’s letter.

“Bill and some woman along with mother’s dog King had been there.”

I suspect that woman might have been Ellen. Margaret apparently knew my mother, at least by name, but never referenced Ellen in her letters, although my father had been married to Ellen since 1949. King died tragically when I was about a year or maybe 18 months old, so Margaret’s visit, and my father’s, was after April 1955 when Ollie died and before 1957 when King died.

Bad Checks

“Bill had cashed a bogus check on some New York Pharmaceutical Company he was said to be working for. The store that cashed the check (Balls) was looking for him. Dad had promised to make it good but he was only drawing $10 from KY state – so I went down and paid it off. Also he later wrote one on himself which bounced.”

According to a court case, Smith Ball, a controversial man, died in 1964 and had operated a second hand store in Harlan County, engaged in the business of lending money and accepted promissory notes.

A New York Pharmaceutical Company? As odd as that sounds, my father was practicing medicine in Tennessee as he came and went, so that’s entirely feasible. Maybe by this time he was one of the early “drug reps.” At that time, doctors dispensed their own medicine when they saw patients.

“Seems mother used to sign notes for him on Chicago banks and I’d end up paying them off to save his neck. Since they were always paid his credit was good so he just kept repeating it and mother kept signing and I kept paying.”

Joe “Dode” Estes

“I was also sending Dad money and helping Joe [Dode] with his medical bills only to find out he was spending it on trips to Tazewell, Tennessee while working at the same time.”

Tazewell, in Claiborne County, the epicenter of the Estes clan, was about an hour south of Harlan County. I suspect Joe, nicknamed Dode, was visiting Claiborne County from Illinois.

“I also chewed him out in 57 when Ed and I visited Eppersons and Dode was working in the cain patch after telling me he was down and couldn’t get up. We went after him and when Aunt Corny Epperson told me Joe had come there splurging money received from his son’s death in the armed service – yet crying hard luck to me, I flipped my lid and really laid him out flat with a good lecture. I never wrote to him since and was told several years later he was killed in a accident but it’s only hearsay I’m repeating what Josephine wrote me and Edna Seal had told her.”

Above, Worth Epperson, husband of Cornie Estes Epperson, at left and William George Estes, at right.

Edna Seal (1917-1987) is Edna Epperson, daughter of Worth and Cornie Estes Epperson, who married Wilson Seal (1900-1961).

Joe Estes wasn’t killed in an accident, despite the family stories to the contrary, but died an old man in 1994. His life, like my father’s, was shrouded in mystery.

My mother also thought Joe had been killed in an accident, which suggests my father believed the same thing, but Joe died in 1994 in Fairfield, Wayne County, Illinois where he apparently had been living in 1942, according to Margaret’s letter.

Joe’s granddaughter told me that her father, Charlie, at about age 10, so about 1938, witnessed “men with guns” come and take Joe away. Joe was not seen by Charlie again until he was an adult.

I did find a record from 1926 in Fowler, Indiana where Joe was arrested for stealing a car. In a 1930 newspaper article, Joe admitted that he stole 21 chickens from the farm where he was employed and was sent to the penal farm for 6 months.

In another document, the police in Indiana were questioning my father in 1938 or so about whether or not he had seen Joe.

Newspapers.com shows that Joe’s wife filed for divorce in September 1940, giving their marriage date as 1926 and separation date as September of 1930.  Their son, Robert Vernon Estes was born in March of 1931, so she didn’t file for divorce for another 9 years, which would have been after the 1938 timeframe when Joe’s oldest son, Charlie, remembered the men with guns taking Joe away.

We know Joe was in California visiting Margaret in 1942. I originally thought perhaps Joe was involved with a witness protection program, but now, I’m thinking possibly prison. The Indiana and Illinois records might yield interesting information. An “accident” would be a good way to “cover” the fact that Joe was “missing” while in prison, although that accident supposedly occurred after 1957, not between 1938 and 1942. Like I said, this man’s life is full of inconsistencies.

Joe may well have been in an accident at some point, because his granddaughter reported that he had amnesia and would wander away. Margaret also mentioned medical bills. I surely will be glad when Newspapers.com brings the newspapers from that part of Illinois online.

Older folks in Claiborne County during my 1980s visits mentioned that at one time Joe had purchased a diner in Claiborne County with the money from his son’s death, then lost it. The son who died in the military was named Robert Vernon Estes whose family apparently discovered after the end of the Korean War in 1954 that he had perished in Korea in 1951. In August of 1952 when Robert’s mother, who had remarried, died, Robert Vernon was still listed as missing in action in her obituary.

William George Estes Dies

“Dad wrote me a nasty letter and I also cut him off. I had been sending him $25 a month and also when he was in Tazewell [Tennessee] I was sending Eppersons $25 towards his food. $50 here and there costs money and couldn’t take any more pressure. Seems I was a SOB and everyone else was just dandy.

When Dad died no one knew where to reach me and Josephine’s husband Andy arranged the funeral. Some 3 or 4 years later I learned about it and sent them double what they had paid out. Andy spent $750 and I sent $1500. Plus other amount at different times. Then I went back in the hospital for care and never contacted any of them since.”

William George Estes, my grandfather, died in 1973, 4 months shy of his 99th birthday. Andy Jackson was Josephine’s husband by 1965. I called the house in about 1978 when I was first trying to piece the puzzle of my family together. A boy, maybe age 10, answered the phone and a gruff man yelled at the boy to,”hang up, you know we don’t answer the phone after dark.” I’ve never heard of that tradition before, but mountain people were sometimes “funny” about things.

Regarding Margaret’s hospitalization, she told me in 1978 that she had liver cancer, but when they opened her up, they found a second functioning liver underneath and removed the cancerous one. Miracle or myth? I don’t know. Amazingly, she didn’t pass away until 2005, 3 months shy of her 99^th birthday, so if she had cancer in one liver, with an extra one next door, the cancer clearly hadn’t spread which would be extremely unusual.

Bombshell – Grandpa was a Bigamist Too

Boom, mic drop!

“Dad was never divorced from Virginia’s mother.”

Virginia’s mother was William George’s second wife, Joice Hatfield, at left, with Virginia at right.

I can’t find any record where William George Estes and Joice Hatfield were actually married, although many of the Hancock County, Tennessee records were destroyed by fire. I’ve checked the records of Indiana, Kentucky, Virginia and Tennessee. If you never get married legally, you don’t have to bother to get divorced. So much less hassle. So maybe William George Estes wasn’t technically a bigamist after all. Maybe.

“Josephine doesn’t know that. But there’s something Virginia doesn’t know either.

My mother caught Joice and Dad one day in bed together and nearly beat Dad to death with a plow rope because of it and the only thing that saved Joice was her Aunt, Mrs. Tom Folley pulled mom off before she killed them both. Then is when our family was broken up. Dad later got the divorce with Mrs. Folley as witness of the beating but never the reason.”

So William got divorced because Ollie beat him after catching him “in the act” of cheating? He’s lucky she didn’t kill him.

This picture appears to be the last family picture taken, in 1914, in Fowler, Indiana. Ollie looks anything but happy. Children are Margaret at left, Joe “Dode” behind her, Estel the oldest in the middle top, my father, William Sterling at right in the rear, and Minnie, the blonde child beside Ollie.

I called the clerk and rechecked for divorce records in Benton County, Indiana, where Fowler is located, from 1908-1922, with no records found. I had checked previously, but sometimes rechecking yields different results. Those divorce records might make for interesting reading as there may be more to the story. The story at this point IS that there aren’t any records in Benton County. Were William George and Ollie ever officially divorced?

Ollie moved to Chicago by 1918. Surely Mrs. Folley wouldn’t have been testifying in Chicago about something that happened in Indiana with William George who was then living in Tennessee or Kentucky with Joice.

The Hatfield-Estes-Brewer Drama

“Hatfield forced Dad to marry Joice when Virginia was born. They sent for her cousin Crocia Brewer to come and help take care of Joice and the baby. Low and behold Joice caught them in the same way mother had caught her. Joice grabbed a shot gun and was going to kill Dad and Crocia and Aunt Corney Epperson took it away from her and Grandpa Estes [Lazarus] run Dad and Crocia both off and told them if they ever came back he’d kill them both. Aunty told me this herself years later.”

This had to occur before 1918 because Lazarus died July 7, 1918. However, Virginia wasn’t born until November 25, 1918, so clearly something is amiss with this story, because Virginia was born 4 months after Lazarus died.

I heard this same story about Lazarus running William George and Joice off because of how they treated Ollie, after Ollie caught them. Same story, but cheating on different wives.

On September 12, 1918, William George Estes registered for the draft in Tazewell, Tennessee, giving “Joisce Estes” as his wife and the address as S. Tazewell, so they were apparently “married” by this time – or at least had moved back to Tennessee and were living as a couple. Joice would have been about 7 months pregnant at that time.

Clearly Margaret’s story or dates are a bit confused.

Two years later, in the 1920 census, Joice was still living with William George in Claiborne County, and Crocie along her son Horace were living with them as well. Crocie was Joice’s cousin, 2 years younger. So it appears that the incident where Joice caught William George “with” Crocie didn’t happen before the census of 1920 – because they assuredly didn’t live together after that event. By that time, Lazarus had been dead for 2 years.

If indeed Cornie Epperson took the gun away from Joice, this tells me that they were living in Estes Holler, not in Kentucky at that time – and indeed, the 1920 census bears that out.

So, I’d wager that Lazarus actually ran William George and Joice out, that William George moved back to Estes Holler in 1918 after Lazarus died, where he was living in 1920, and that the incident where he was caught carnally with Crocie happened in Estes Holler, where Cornie Estes Epperson lived, after the 1920 census.

William George Estes was a serial “cousin cheater.”

Crocie Brewer

Margaret didn’t mention this, but according to my mother, Crocie Brewer was deaf. I don’t believe she was able to speak either. My mother accompanied my father to visit William George and Crocie just one time between 1950 and 1955 and reported that my grandfather treated Crocie terribly. Mother refused to ever return. She used to shudder discussing it and flat out refused to provide any details.

Margaret continues:

“Well, the old man took her [Crocie] over in Arkansas where he and mother had started out. He made a good living for awhile with his camera. He was also a master carpenter.”

William George was a photographer, among other things. Many people had multiple skills and did whatever combination of things they could to make ends meet.

William George Estes and Ollie lived in Springdale, Washington County, Arkansas for several years after they were married. Crocie’s first child with William George, Josephine, was born March 19, 1923 in Arkansas, so Margaret’s information seems to be accurate. Perhaps he had truly worn out his welcome in Estes Holler by that time.

Given this information, Crocie would have gotten pregnant in about June of 1922, so Joice and William George would have split sometime between mid-1920 (census) and mid-1922.

“He was pretty old when he showed up at my brother Estel’s place in Appalachia, VA and confessed he had never married Crocia but by then there was children by her also. Estel didn’t know Joice had never divorced the old man so he took them over on the KY side and got them married.”

Children implies more than one child.

We know that William George Estes was in Arkansas in 1923 when Josephine was born. Daughter Helen May Estes was born in 1925, but her death certificate doesn’t indicate where. I can’t find William George in the 1930 census, so he may have been in transit or back so far on the mountain that the census taker missed him.

We know that by 1935, William George is back in Harlan County because the 1940 census says he lives in the same residence that he did in 1935 which would have been “Shack 74.” In the 1930 census, shacks 71 and 72 exist, but shack 74, apparently “up above” Lynch towards the top of the mountain, doesn’t. His appearance at his son, Estel’s house, in Appalachia, VA would have been sometime probably between 1925 and 1935.

In 1925, when the second child was born, William George was 52. He had two more children, the last one being born in 1935 when he would have been 62.

Appalachia, Virginia is located on Highway 160, down the other side of Black Mountain, across the line into Virginia, 15 miles along hairpin turns crossing the summit of the highest mountain in Kentucky.

William George lived near the top of the mountain on the Kentucky side. My mother said the drive was harrowing and treacherous and that was before the days of guardrails and paved roads.

For most of the 15 mile distance, the road is but a thread between rocks on one side and a precipice on the other, more comfortable for mountain goats than cars. It’s easy to see why John Halcomb died when he ran off the road. Today, the road has guardrails.

The first flat land that includes houses of any kind is about a mile east of Lynch on Main Street.

When I visited a few years ago, William George’s place was described by locals as “up above Lynch.” I’m sure Shack 74 is long gone. This shows Highway 160, heading “up” out of Lynch where the last houses are found today.

Bombshell Two – Worse Than Bigamy

Wow, I didn’t expect that bigamy bombshell. My grandfather was a bigamist, assuming he was actually married to either (or both) his second and/or third wives. For all I know, he could have been a trigamist too. Indeed, William George provided a right fine example for my father and the rest of his children. It’s possible that we have double trigamists, a father and son pair.

Margaret was right. Karma struck Joice for what she did to Ollie.

“The grandparents had long been dead when Dad took Josephine over to visit her relatives at the age of 15.”

The grandparents would have been Lazarus Estes and Elizabeth Vannoy who both died in 1918. Josephine, born in 1923, would have been 15 in 1938. “Over to visit her relatives,” would have referred to “over the mountain,” meaning to Claiborne County.

“After that he went alone and stayed lengthy vacations leaving Crocia and the kids to make out the best way they could.”

This information implies that William George has been absent from Claiborne County for many years, from the time he and Crocie left before 1923 until about 1938. Yep, I’d say he wore out that welcome. After an absence of 15 years, as a fairly old man, he returned. But why, and why then?

In 1938, Crocia had two living children. Josephine born in 1923 (so age 15) and Evelyn (age 7,) born in 1931, just a month after smallpox killed Crocie and William George’s daughter, Helen May.

However, a baby boy, James, died in 1937 at 17 months of age…apparently of starvation. His death certificate generously says that he died of “acute intestinal indigestion due to improper feeding.” This was the secret to terrible for anyone to discuss openly.

Of course, when I read that, pieces suddenly fell into place. I remembered being told that my father and his siblings were fed moonshine in order to ease the pain in their stomachs so they could sleep when there was no food. And that was 24 years before baby James died, when William George was more physically able (assuming he was willing) to work.

Apparently Crocie and the children weren’t doing well at all, and Crocie was dealing with this alone. Where the hell was William George? Why was he hanging out in Claiborne County when he was clearly needed at home?

The 1940 census tells us that the neighbor families on Lynch Road in Harlan county were working most of the time and made $1350, $1820, $2600, $1190 (3 families) and $1720, compared to the paltry $144 made by William George Estes in the 12 months ending Dec. 31, 1939. William George, age 67, claimed he was unable to work as a farm hand, Crocie was doing housework and Josephine, age 17, was working at “other.” William George had worked no hours the previous week, and only 24 weeks the previous year.

In addition to bootlegging, William George reportedly cut timber to shore up the mine shafts. I don’t know how a man could be an unsuccessful bootlegger on a mining mountain, but apparently he was.

Oh, and if you think we’re done with the bombshells – we’re not!

Bombshell Three – A Third Halcomb?

“I helped Estel and I helped out as best we could. He wasn’t working half the time and I helped out all the way around doing without myself.

Aunt Corny was sick [died in1958] and Bill Epperson’s wife Lou wasn’t well [died 1962] but was taking care of everyone else. Meanwhile, my step-father died [1941] and I had double responsibility, no help from the others. Somehow we [we is struck through] managed to plug along – dishing out here and there and raising our own son. Both Ed and I was well fed up with the whole mess but continued to do the best we could by all of them until we caught up with what was going on. Seems like the old man would roost at Eppersons until the red headed Evelyn would go after him to come home and sign for my registered check. He’d cash it, give it to Crocia and catch the next bus back to Tazewell.”

For “red-headed Evelyn” who was born in 1931 to have been old enough to drive, this would have had to have been after 1947, or so, assuming she drove a car.

“Uncle Worth was pretty disgusted and so was everyone else. Lou wrote me and explained they hardly could feed themselves as I would send one check to Lou at Tazewell, one to Dad at Lynch so everyone didn’t show up to be fed free. It seems because people who live on farms is expected to have a generous supply of food on hand at all times and all relations welcome. First one and then the others.

I contacted the undertakers at Tazewell for an estimate of funeral cost for the old man and was going to make arrangements for his internment at the family burial plats on Cedar Hill. I was afraid he would get down sick at Eppersons and no one to pay for his funeral bill. I would have prepaid when the estimate came back. Well I never got such an eaten out as to mind my own business. His son-in-law would take care of his expenses, etc., etc. So I washed my hands of the whole shebang.

Later I was told his son-in-law, Jake, walked out on the whole mess when he learned that Evelyn, his wife, was not Dad’s daughter, but his own uncle’s daughter by Crocia. Yup!

Then the fat was in the fire. Seems Jake had been working in the mines and paying the bills. Now they were all out on their cans.”

OK, now I’m really confused. Jake was a Halcomb. If Evelyn was Jake’s uncle’s daughter, that means that Jake and Evelyn were first cousins. That’s not so unusual, but that also means that if Evelyn’s daughter or granddaughter ever DNA tests, and that’s a true allegation, I’ll never know because Evelyn wasn’t an Estes. Of course, if they test and match me, then obviously Margaret was wrong.

So both of William George’s daughters AND his wife were carrying on with and having children by Halcomb men? Lordy, I want to see what these men looked like!

I can’t exactly piece the Halcomb line together, but this is Philip Halcomb from Letcher County, KY, born in 1898, probably from the same line. He is quite handsome, but still…

In the 1930 census, there are two William Halcomb’s in Harlan County, both sons of different William Halcombs. The only Jack of even approximately the right age was born in 1926, son of Melvin and Armilda Halcomb. There’s another Jack born in 1928 to a mother named Susie – the Kentucky birth indexes don’t provide the names of the father.

So, we’re left with the question – who is Jake’s uncle? For that matter, who, exactly, was Jake?

Margaret STILL isn’t done!

The State Mental Hospital

“From what Estel told me the red headed one [Evelyn] done a time for drunkenness in the State Hospital.”

That doesn’t surprise me, given what we know about William George’s bootlegging, not to mention that Estel (left, below), Evelyn’s half-brother, reportedly continued that family tradition – having his daughters (also below) deliver moonshine in the mining town of Fleming, Letcher Co., KY where they lived in the 1940s.

Furthermore William George Estes was the grandson of Joel Vannoy (1813-1895), one of the first patients in the Eastern State Mental Hospital in Knoxville, TN when it opened it’s door in 1886. Some of Joel’s descendants were patients there as well. According to Uncle George Estes, Joel’s great-grandson who was born just 16 years after Joel died and clearly knew the family, Joel simply “lost his mind.” There is no evidence that Joel drank, but the Estes clan certainly did, and mental illness and alcohol are a very, VERY bad combination.

Unfortunately, I don’t have any pictures of “red headed Evelyn” but she is reported to have been stunningly beautiful.

The “State Hospital” in Kentucky at that time was located in Lexington, KY. Unfortunately, admissions records aren’t public after 1913.

Josephine and Andy Jackson

“Dad went to live with Josephine. Crocia died [1961]. All a mess. But my guess is with all the trouble Josephine and Andy [Jackson] went through with them it must have been a relief when both old folks died.”

I don’t know when Josephine and Andy Jackson married, but it was before her son, John Halcomb, died in 1965.

I also never knew that William George lived with daughter Josephine, apparently after Crocie’s death. He would have been 88 when Crocie passed away.

Dumping Evelyn

“Bill tried to dump Evelyn off on some of the kin folk and it didn’t work. I will always believe that’s what he was up to when I saw him in San Pedro. I think he got cold feet.”

Margaret’s paranoia was showing. The first flaw in her logic is the question of why my father, who lived in either Chicago, Illinois or northern Indiana at that time was in any way involved with Evelyn’s life in Harlan County, Kentucky, hundreds of miles away.

If my father wanted to dump Evelyn off with kinfolk, there were a heck of a lot closer places than California. Not to mention, where would he have gotten the money for that trip? My Dad was always poor as a church mouse.

Evelyn was with Jake Halcomb by 1952 when her daughter was born, so this “dumping” attempt in Margaret’s mind that supposedly happened in 1958-1959 would have been after Evelyn had been with Jake for at least 6 years and was 27 or 28 years old. That just doesn’t make sense.

Foster Homes and Elsa, the Lost Sister

“Elsa my younger sister was born 5 months after my parents was separated.”

Oh my God, poor Ollie. Forty years old, five living children, pregnant for the sixth, and a husband cheating with her 20-year-old cousin. The only child old enough to be on their own was Estel who married in February of 1914. Elsa was reported by Margaret to have been born in 1914.

“My mother had placed the rest of us in foster homes by that time. I was with the Freeman family. Dad’s x-boss, Bert Freeman was a building contractor. Dad his master carpenter. Minnie was with the Hamptons and Dode was at Pete LaFountains in Royal Center, Indiana.”

Abuse and Near Starvation

At one time, Margaret told me that my father had been married to Laila LaFountain. I wonder now if Margaret had the names Laila and Ilo confused, and the surname LaFountain mixed in for good measure. Joe was associated with that family, not my father. After all, it had been more than 60 years by the time Margaret was recalling that information.

Margaret told me that Laila used to hook Dad to the plow like a mule and whip him to plow the field. Said she saw it with her own eyes in Indiana. I was horrified and at that time, couldn’t even imagine such a thing.

The 1910 census shows no Laila LaFountain in Benton County. I’m relieved, but did someone hook Dad to a plow and whip him? Or Joe? Why would Margaret make something like that up? There is surely some grain of truth someplace. Did someone really do that to my father? Is this really why he ran away and joined the army in the middle of a war? My heart just aches.

“Sterl [my father’s nickname] had just arrived from Tazewell all tattered and torn – hungry and hollow eyes – he had stayed behind with Dad but it seems he got run off. Mother sent her cousin Ebb Cook money for his train passage and Cook sent him on to mother. “

Ebb Cook was Albert Rice Cook (1860-1942) who married Mary Jane Bolton, daughter of Milton Halen Bolton, half-brother to Ollie’s father. Ebb was Ollie’s half first cousin.

Obviously, Ebb was someone Ollie felt she could trust, and indeed, he did prove trustworthy. He probably saved my father’s life.

“A more pitiful sight you never saw. Mrs. Freeman would send me over every night with fresh milk and food for mother, Bill and clothing for the baby. Grapes were ripe so there were always plenty of juice for them. Later mother hired out as a cook in a café. Elsa was turned over to Dr. Nellie Green to care for. Dr. Green had no children of her own.”

Oh NO! Ollie had to give up her baby too??? Margaret once told me that “something was wrong” with Elsa and she died as a child, but Margaret never mentioned that Elsa was placed outside the family. Downs syndrome of course was my first thought, given Ollie’s age, but nutrition or birth trauma may have been a factor as well. I doubted the story of a female being a doctor in Benton County, Indiana, in 1914, but lo and behold, according to the 1910 census, it’s true and indeed, Nellie Green had no children.

In 1920, Nellie was still practicing, and her 19 year old nephew was living with her, but no Elsa. There are no Elsa’s or Elsia’s listed in the 1920 census that look to be candidates with the possibility of Elsie D. Bonham born in 1912. Did Elsa die in Benton County? Did she go to Chicago with Ollie and die there? Did she actually exist at all? I can find absolutely NO RECORD of this child’s birth or death, anyplace.

Margaret also told me that Ollie had twins about 1913 that both died as well, and again, no records. How can so many records be constantly missing for the same family?

1914 must have been the bottom of the barrel for Ollie – reduce to accepting charity, twins dead, another child born with challenges, no way to feed your children, and a  husband cheating with your cousin who also betrayed your trust.

“Bill was placed out on a farm with some people named Harkrider. Later mother also went to work there. Bill was at Harkriders when he ran away and joined the Army.”

For obvious reasons, my father never spoke of any of these dark and terrible days. They must have seared his soul. In 1914, he would have been between 11 and 13. So much death, grief, fear, hunger and pain.

My father would have lived and worked on that farm for about 3 years. At least he ate. This also explains why he enlisted on May 14, 1917 at Fort Benjamin Harrison, near Indianapolis. Apparently Ollie and the kids were still residing in Indiana at that time. I thought they had already moved to Chicago by then, but this explains why Dad enlisted in Indiana. The military was his escape from worse – never mind that the US was heavily engaged in WWI. War was better than Hell.

“Mother didn’t know where he was for several months and by then decided it was a good place for him. In the mean time Dode was lonesome for the hills and mountains so he left LaFountains and hopped a freight train back to Tazewell only to find Dad was no longer there. Hungry, cold and rejected by both Dad’s people and mother’s, the boy was afraid of being beaten and worked to death so he stretched his little skinny neck another foot tall and hiked up his age, borrowed some long pants off a clothesline and hiked over the mountains to Fort Monroe, VA and enlisted in the army. I’ll send you a picture of the lad in uniform. You can judge for yourself what a scared dejected little boy looks like trying to be a man of war.”

“He and I was always very close until he just didn’t give a hoot about anything but wine. I sent for and had him come out here and work in 42 but he just couldn’t adjust to California life.”

Joe in California in 1942, photo from Margaret.

I had heard from other sources that Joe had an alcohol problem. This means that all 3 of William George’s sons had alcohol addiction issues, along with at least one daughter. It’s no wonder.

“He went back to Fairfield, Illinois.

My brothers were very tall tho they were very young. Hard life gave them the older appearance.”

Minnie

“Minnie was about 8 when she went to live with Dr. Pierce in Rose HiIl, VA. She was with mother very seldom after that.”

Photo of Minnie, age 8, Rose Hill, Virginia, according to Aunt Margaret.

Minnie was born in October of 1908 according to Margaret, but Minnie’s actual birth record says she was born on September 13, 1909 in Tazewell, Tennessee, so that would have meant she went to Rose Hill in about 1916. Dr. David Q. Pierce and his wife Kitty, a childless couple, raised Minnie. Margaret told me they wanted Minnie to help take care of the doctor’s wife who was somehow disabled. In the 1920 census, Minnie is age 13, listed as their granddaughter, and shown living with them. Minnie married John Raymond Price (1896-1977) in Lee County, Virginia about 1926, when, according to Minnie years later, “I was young and he was old.” By 1934, they were apparently divorced, because John R. Price married Marie Anderson in Claiborne County.

Minnie, above.

Margaret Talks About Herself

Margaret moved to Chicago with Ollie. I don’t know exactly when, but Margaret sent a photo with the words, “Mother, Franklin Park, Illinois 1918” written on the back. Given that we know that Ollie was still in Indiana in August 1917 when my father enlisted in the military, and was in Illinois in 1918, the move was apparently either in late 1917 or  1918.

Ollie looks extremely old in this photo, so much so that I wondered if this was actually Ollie’s mother, Margaret Clarkson/Claxton, of whom I have no photos. In 1918, Aunt Margaret would have been 12, Ollie would have been 44 and her mother, Margaret Claxton Bolton would have been 67. Given that Aunt Margaret labeled the photo and is in the photo, I suspect the picture is Ollie. After the living Hell Ollie had been through in the past several years, it’s no wonder she looks ragged.

“I worked for one family after another till I could get into the Cook County Hospital in Chicago and took nursing. Married young and like many other teenagers in and out of pitfalls of troubles but always managed to come out on top. Mussed up but never beaten down where I couldn’t catch a handful of hair to pull to my feet. It was not been an easy life by any means but I’ve managed to keep a fairly decent one.”

Margaret, modeling in 1925 in Chicago. Margaret was in Milwaukee in 1937, then in California by 1942.

The Plain Facts

“I’m giving you an outline of the plain facts. You will hear various tales. Just sort out facts for yourself and go from there.

I don’t think there’s anything in the family history that could be of any help to Roberta but only dampen her spirit, so I would not divulge any of this history to her. She no doubt feels she’s entitled to know but she better off to leave well enough alone. She may not be any better received by the relatives than I was. All had plenty of bread but only Uncle Howard Friar and Aunt Mary shared theirs with Mama and her Estes brats.”

James Howard Friar (1875-1962) was married to Mary Ann Bolton (1873-1942), daughter of Daniel Marson Bolton (1841-1924,) half brother of Ollie’s father. That made Mary Ann, nicknamed “Ropp,” Ollie’s half first cousin, who just happened to be her best friend as well.

Mary Ann Bolton and Howard Friar, above. The photo was probably taken by William George Estes. Notice that Mary Ann is dressed to the 9s, but Howard has worn through his shoes.

This photo taken about 1913 in Fowler, Indiana shows William George, at far right rear, with Ollie to his left. I believe the lady that Ollie has her arm around is Mary Ann “Ropp” Bolton Friar, and her husband beside her. The two men in the front right are “Smith cousins,” but I don’t know who they are or how they connect. Margaret is in the middle, Minnie in front of her mother, my Dad front left and Estel beside him. Joe was absent from the photo and at scouts, according to Margaret. It’s amazing with all of the poverty, pain and grief how these people put on happy faces for the few photos of that time. You’d never guess their struggles.

Little did Ollie know that in just a few short weeks or months, her life and that of her children would be shredded so tragically, traumatically scarring all of them permanently, the devastation rolling like an avalanche downhill to the next generations, yet to be born.

“Now you know your husband’s secret. We all loved our parents and tried to understand their motives – never loved or cared for by either and all going in different directions. Just a bunch of scared lost lambs that grew up to be a herd of hard fighting black sheep.”

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You know, I was already feeling bad enough that I hadn’t been back to visit my father’s grave, but then…well…this. My father’s life, it seems, was never straightforward and was always twisted around, backwards, and confusing. Dad hasn’t changed one iota, not even now in death.

His grave is backwards. Seriously.

You know, I swear…I think he was laughing at me!

The “Accident”

My father, William Sterling Estes, died following an automobile accident on August 27, 1963, in Jay County, Indiana where he lived with my step-mother, Virgie.

It was just a week before the beginning of my third grade year. For many reasons, none of which I understood at the time, I was not allowed to attend his funeral. Back then, children were often “protected” from sadness and death, but retrospectively, that was a very bad idea. For years, I never really believed he was dead.

The following summer, Virgie invited me to visit and I went to Dunkirk for a week.

I adored Virgie. She was a lovely, kind woman and I looked forward to spending time with her. She told me stories about my father, some of which I never forgot. All of which I wish someone had written down.

Her mother, “Grandma,” who lived with Virgie, was the grandmother I never had and spent long hours reading to me, playing Barbie, making doll clothes and telling me fascinating stories about the cards I viewed through a stereoscopic viewer, like the one below.

Grandma, born in 1878, was a bit more reserved and didn’t say much about Dad at all, except for a grunt now and again which I found interesting, but I didn’t exactly know how to interpret. Grandma was very kind to me and I have very fond memories of long hot summer afternoons spent playing with Grandma. She was one of the few adults that actually had time and enjoyed spending it with children.

I think her own grandchildren had grown up far too fast for her liking.

Hidden Messages

My mother and father hadn’t seen eye-to-eye for years, to put it mildly. I think it might have had something to do with the fact that he was married to another woman at the same time, but I’m just guessing😊

After being divorced from both women, however that worked, he then married Virgie, his teenage sweetheart from when he was enlisted in WWI, on April 24, 1961.

While my mother had absolutely nothing nice to say about my father, when she said anything at all, Virgie had nothing bad to say about him. Virgie truly loved and cherished my father. I’m glad, I think he really needed that.

Dad left Virgie love notes scattered in hiding places around the house. She found them for years after his death, tucked behind photos in frames and other out-of-the-way places.

Dad’s death was ruled an accident, but retrospectively, I believe it was a suicide based on what his employer, ironically, the funeral director, told me and things Mom said combined with tidbits like those loving mementos. If you didn’t plan on “leaving,” why hide things for someone to find after you were gone?

The First Cemetery Visit

My visit during the summer of 1964 was spent talking with Virgie about Dad. We both missed him.

We spent time going back to the places we three had visited together, like the VFW post. Dad and Virgie played the two slots that sat on the end of the bar, and Dad let me pull the handle. I thought that was loads of fun, especially when it was followed by that nice clanging sound! What fun. Mother would have had a fit.

Everything however, wasn’t fun and games.

Virgie took me to visit the IOOF Cemetery where Dad is buried. I recall that the grave she showed me that summer didn’t have a headstone. Virgie explained that when Dad’s sister, Aunt Margaret, whom I had never met, came from California to visit, they would select a headstone together.

I stood looking at the barren dirt that marked the location of the grave that Virgie told me belonged to my Dad. It seems so raw, so unkempt. The grass was just beginning to grow over the barren grave in raggedy tufts. The earth was still mounded up, washed round by rain but quite pregnant with a casket underneath. In there, Dad’s body.

Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

I desperately wanted to reach out those few feet to touch him one more time, but I couldn’t. Standing there in the glaring sun, looking at the all-too-silent grave of my father ripped my heart out. I had no idea a child could feel grief so profoundly. Tears streamed down my face in the searing heat. My heart ached too badly to even sob. I just stood trance-like as the waterfall tears wouldn’t stop.

Was Daddy really there? Really dead? If anyone would have told me the truth, surely Virgie would have. I didn’t want to believe it.

At Virgie’s house, the cemetery was visible from the end of the street. She allowed me to walk across the field to the cemetery. I could find Dad’s grave, because it was in the new row, towards the back, closest to the house.

I walked to the cemetery every day, a heartbroken little girl. I sat and talked to Dad, and cried, for hours, as curious cemetery-goers looked on but eventually left me alone again. I missed what we had, Dad’s visits, fishing, our special coffee each morning which was mostly milk and sugar with a splash of coffee for color. I grieved for what we would never have.

I grieved and grieved and grieved with no respite.

The Accident

Virgie told me little about the accident, other than Dad had hit a pole after having a heart attack. At 8, that’s all I needed to know.

She never told me the rest of the story, if she even knew it herself.

The unanswered question wasn’t so much his official cause of death, but why he had the accident in the first place.

What Virgie did say is that his last words, in the hospital before he passed away at 1:10 AM, were about me. Messages of love and encouragement, telling me to never give up and to graduate. I assumed then that he meant high school, but Dad may have had far more in mind.

A Decade+ Later

Virgie wrote letters to both me and Mom over the years, but the next time I would see her would be more than a decade later. In true Hoosier fashion, I just decided to drive to Dunkirk one day a few weeks after my son was born. I wanted to see Virgie and to visit Dad’s grave.

Truth be known, I wanted share my baby with Dad.

I had slowly come to believe that Dad probably was dead. Not because my mother or even Virgie told me so, but because I knew he would never willingly stay away from me that long if he had any choice.

I had also grown up, matured and realized that just because I didn’t want him to be dead was no reason to believe that he wasn’t. 99% of me believed that he was gone. But then, there was that skeptical 1% that still stopped and stared at men who resembled him – to the point of approaching a man on the sidewalk just a couple years earlier, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would burst through my chest.

I wish I had been allowed to say goodbye in the casket.

Calling Virgie in advance to ask if a visit was convenient, for some reason, never dawned on me. She was family – of course it was OK.

I pulled up to Virgie’s house in my bright red Chevy and knocked on the door. Cars were parked outside, and she was hosting a ladies’ card luncheon. She graciously introduced me and her grandbaby that she had never seen before. The women, grandmothers all, ooed and awed. After Virgie finished her hostessing, we caught up on news for awhile before I suggested that we take a ride to the cemetery.

Dad had been gone a decade. The grass had long ago covered the scar of his burial. The earth recovered, flattening itself, as if nothing had gone wrong.

Why was there still no stone on his grave? Aunt Margaret obviously came and went, if she had come at all.

At that time, I was in no position myself to purchase a headstone. It was all I could handle to buy baby formula and diapers.

A headstone in place would have quenched that tiny flame of doubt, but it wasn’t to be.

Another Three Decades

Time passed, life changed. As they say, life is what happens when you are making other plans.

I did graduate from high school and then college with degrees in computer science, a field completely foreign to my father’s world. I left Indiana as a single parent for an opportunity working for a think tank. My trips back to Indiana were to visit my Mom and step-father on the much beloved farm.

The raw urgency of my father’s death had faded and was now only a distant ache, and sometimes a painful stab. Dunkirk wasn’t close to or on the way to anyplace.

I still wrote to Virgie from time to time, always pleased to receive her letters which took me back to a much gentler time and place. She was a lovely lady.

When I remarried, she wrote that she was having health issues and trouble leaving the house for shopping and such, so there would be no wedding present. I didn’t care about presents, but I did care about her letters, and her, and told her as much.

I wanted to see Virgie again and called her from time to time, but in 1989, Virgie died.

After Virgie’s death, her daughter found items of my fathers and sent them to me. I am forever grateful for receiving the veteran’s flag that was placed on his casket at his funeral, then folded and presented to the widow. Oh how I wish I had been present.

Virgie had shown me something signed by President Kennedy after my father died, and now that “something” was mine.

Virgie’s daughter also sent 11 love letters that Virgie received from my Dad when he was young and in service – when they first met in 1919. Virgie saved these for 42 years, thinking of course that she would never see him again, let alone marry him one day. Love letters that would steal your heart, written in his own hand. Hers to cherish then, and mine decades later.

Reading those letters, I understood why they had married 42 years later and why she missed him so desperately. She used to tell me that no matter what anyone told me, he wasn’t all bad, and that no one understood the things that had happened to him. She was right, I had absolutely no idea and wouldn’t for several more years.

2003

In 2003, 40 years after my father died, Virgie’s daughter found a letter from Aunt Margaret, written in 1978, to Virgie. It was this letter, written some 15 years after my father’s death, and coming into my possession another quarter century later that finally shed light on the hole in my father’s soul. That letter is the subject of a future article and it’s a bombshell, believe me.

About this same time, I asked Virgie’s daughter if she could show me where my father was buried, convinced that I would never be able to find it myself. She graciously agreed, and I traveled to Dunkirk.

We met at the cemetery. I had presumed that when Virgie died, that she and my father would share a headstone, but I was wrong.

Virgie did have a stone, beside my father’s grave, but he still had no stone. I was both shocked and saddened and couldn’t help but wonder why.

Virgie’s daughter suggested that we request a military stone based on his service. I didn’t realize that military stones were available. She contacted the funeral home and was informed that they would order the stone, and the family was only responsible for having it set once the stone arrived.

Dad would finally, finally, 40 years after his death, have a marked grave.

Meeting Elizabeth Wilson Ballard

I had meant to visit again shortly after the headstone was placed, but once again, life simply got in the way. Mother became ill, passed away, and suffice it to say, I simply didn’t make it back to Dunkirk. At least, not until this summer.

My 52 Ancestors series has had the effect on me of highlighting unfinished business in terms of research. However, in this case, the unfinished business was visiting my father’s grave.

I was making a trip back to Indiana for research in Fort Wayne, a trip to visit mother’s grave and a class reunion – fully aware that that trip was probably my last trip back – except perhaps to the library in Fort Wayne.

I refer to this as the “Goodbye Tour,” like rock stars😊

For me, in many ways, it was about unfinished business.

After a highly emotionally couple of days, I was messaging back and forth with a genealogy friend from Indiana, Elizabeth Wilson Ballard who writes at Diggin’ Up Graves.

Elizabeth asked where I was, and did I want to meet in person to say hello. I did, but it occurred to me that she was actually relatively close to the cemetery where my father is buried – and what better thing to do with a fellow genealogist.

We agree to meet for lunch, and then drive cross-country on an adventure.

The Cross Country Journey

Indiana farmland is a lot more fun with someone else in the car. Elizabeth and I had never met personally before, but we are convinced that somehow we are related and just can’t figure out how. “Sisters from another Mister,” as Elizabeth quips. Our conversation picked up like we were old acquaintances and had never not known each other.

Using our phones for navigation, we set out cross-country for Dunkirk and the cemetery. My father’s grave is listed on Find-A-Grave, so I at least had an idea of where the cemetery was located.

Leaving Cracker Barrell, the first thing we found was a pink farm, or better stated, a B&B with pink outbuildings. We laughed and joked about how they gave directions, such as, “When you see the pink barns you’re there. Yes, really, you REALLY CANNOT MISS IT.”

And then we laughed all over again.

Comic relief perhaps, but the cornfields and scarecrows felt good as we laughed and chatted our way across the Indiana backroads.

As we approached the cemetery area, from the country side, our tone became more somber, in part, because we had to pay close attention to find the cemetery since we were approaching from the backroads side.

In part, because we both knew what was lurking ahead and neither of us really knew quite what to expect.

The Cemetery

Finding the cemetery was a bit comical. Two experienced genealogists really shouldn’t have had this much trouble, but the corn was high and the address was not available from Find-A-Grave so we were doing what I call “dead reckoning.”

I had always approached the IOOF Oddfellows Cemetery from within Dunkirk, and I knew it was within sight of Virgie’s house. But that wasn’t how we arrived. The GPS had a mind of its own.

On the map below, you can see the location of Virgie’s house marked with the red pin, along with the cemetery directly across the field to the west, with the curved end. That part is new and did not exist when my father was buried.

I couldn’t remember where Dad’s grave was located, except that it wasn’t near the county road, and it was near an internal road. It was at the back of the cemetery in 1964.

I looked for the stones that showed burial dates of 1963 and finally found him in the quadrant below with the red arrow.

Finding Dad’s Grave

Finding Dad’s grave in the cemetery was somewhat more of a challenge. We finally found it by finding Virgie’s stone, which was larger and her name faced the main road, or west, as you see it below. This is what we saw driving down the internal cemetery road from the main county road.

The “other” side of Virgie’s stone, which I would have considered the front, is where the dates are carved, and that side faces towards her house, or east.

Before we move on, I want to mark the location of Dad’s stone for posterity. I don’t know who would ever want to visit, all things considered, but if someone does, the red arrow below is pointing to his stone.

Here’s the location from a different perspective.

In the cemetery, you’ll notice that Dad’s small white stone is directly behind and to the right of the red McGraw stone, and to the left of the Brown stone when driving in from the main road.

Here’s my vehicle parked in front of the spruce tree in the photo, at the intersection of the little cemetery roads inside the cemetery. You can see the red McGraw stone directly behind my rear bumper.

Ummm, But Where’s Dad?

Ok, now we found the stone, but where is Dad actually buried? And why would I even ask a question like this? It’s obvious, isn’t it?

Nope!

Of course, the first thing you’ll notice is that while Virgie and Dad both have carving on the front (West) side where his dates are carved, Virgie’s birth and death dates are carved on the “other” (East) side. His East side is blank, above.

Which begs the question of where the bodies are buried.

What the heck???

This is beginning to sound like a murder mystery, not cemetery stomping!

I thought burials were on the “date” side, so you’re standing on their head as you look at their birth and death dates. After all, it’s called a headstone.

And regardless, if it’s the other way around, and they are buried on the back side, you’d think it would at least be consistent in the same cemetery. And if not in the same cemetery, at LEAST consistent with a couple who share the same burial plot? But their dates are carved on opposite sides.

What happened?

And where are they actually buried?

Clearly, one is not buried on one side and one on the other, so one is buried on the date side and the other is buried on the “other” side – since I’m making a leap of faith here and assuming that they are actually both buried side by side on the same side.

Elizabeth and I were both confused, and we were not leaving without figuring this out.

But how does one do that?

Thank goodness we were the Genealogy Dynamic Duo!

Sleuthing

The first thing we did was to look around at the other graves. If you look behind me as I’m leaning against Dad’s grave (the blank East side), you’ll notice that the stones behind me aren’t consistent either.

Rats!

We realized that some graves have flat stones that look to be between graves, which was very confusing. A grave consumes a certain amount of space.

However, I walked until I found a flat one that was a footstone for the headstone in the same row as Dad’s grave. AHA!

This footstone confirmed that the bodies were buried on the “back side,” meaning the side with Virgie’s dates and the side that is blank on my Dad’s stone, that I’m leaning against, above. So I was sitting on Dad in that picture.

Why the heck would someone set the stones for a couple differently? Why would they set Dad’s stone with his body on the blank side, and Virgie’s the opposite? Her’s was already in place when they placed his. Wouldn’t they have faced it the same way?

Elizabeth remembered that she had been told that cemeteries always face the east so that when the Rapture comes, the bodies will “rise up” from the graves facing east. If this is the case, then Dad’s head is indeed at the headstone, right where this headstone/footstone grave down the row would seem to indicate. And true to the religious custom, if he stood straight up out of his grave, he would be facing east.

So this is where Dad is actually buried, below, at the back of his marker.

NOT on the date side (below). All I can say is that I’m EXTREMELY glad I didn’t exhume Dad for DNA testing, given the possible confusion. Whoever considered that he might have been buried on the OTHER side of the tombstone?

I hadn’t thought about taking flowers, since this visit was very much a spur-of-the-moment event, so Elizabeth and I picked some wildflowers and decorated their graves as best we could. No, these are not weeds. Weeds are a matter of perspective:)

I can tell that Virgie’s family comes to visit her grave.

Dad’s grave looks naked by comparison.

Truthfully, I still wasn’t convinced, so after returning home, I called the funeral home and the cemetery sexton. When I said I was confused, they both started laughing. Apparently there is no consistency and yes, the bodies ARE BURIED, at least in this section, on the east side of the markers.

So, Dad is buried on the blank side and Virgie is buried on the date side and they are buried side by side. That explains why the little angels and things her family leaves sit on that side of the stone.

For the record, I did inquire as to how much it would cost to turn his tombstone around. I never heard back after three calls, so I’m not going to have it rotated. However, if anyone should ever visit and discover that it has been turned, someone did a veteran a favor.

One mystery solved, but now a difficult decision.

To Go or Not to Go?

My father died by suicide. I didn’t know that until I was an adult. I found the newspaper article and using Google maps, I had determined where his accident occurred.

When I was a child, clearly Virgie never discussed this nor took me to the place that claimed his life.

As an adult, should I go or not?

Grief is an exceptionally private emotion – especially when it involves suicide. So many thoughts swirl through your brain.

Elizabeth already knew about the circumstances of my father’s death, and she and I had previously talked about all sorts of difficult topics, of which suicide was only one. Her understanding, nonjudgmental presence was comforting to me.

Was I prepared to see where my father died?

Did I even want to?

I knew it was either now or never.

What would it be?

I asked Elizabeth her opinion, as we sat in my car in the cemetery, beside my father’s grave.

If I could have only turned and asked him why.

Elizabeth and I discussed the pros and cons, and eventually reached the consensus that I should “go for it” and that we were both mentally prepared. Neither of us quite knew what to expect. How do you prepare for something like that?

How could I anticipate how I would feel? It’s not something I’ve ever done before – and not something I ever want to have to do again either.

The first thing I did, however, was to drive to where I thought I remembered Virgie’s house being located.

Virgie’s House

I remembered, as a child, walking from Virgie’s house, directly down the street, across the field, to the cemetery. It was a straight shot. As I drove to where I thought it was, I was rewarded with this vision. This is the same view I remember from those hot summer days that I spent sitting beside my father’s grave.

I drove on down the street and indeed, found Virgie’s house. It looks a lot different today, of course, but it’s still the same house. That window above the kitchen was the upstairs bedroom where I slept. I pretended it was a fun secret room in a castle.

The porch looked so familiar. Grandma and I used to sit there, fanning ourselves during the heat of the day. Sometimes Grandma would read and I would sew my Barbie clothes, with her looking on watchfully, of course. The address on the porch confirms that indeed, it’s 202 Shadyside.

Mt. Auburn at Main

My father died at the location of Mt. Auburn and Main. The newspaper article about his death stated that he “was traveling westbound on Mt. Auburn at the time of the accident and his car struck a pole 100 feet west of North Main Street.

Using Google maps, I had already determined that the pole he hit was the one at the location of the grey pin on the map, below, far left. What looks like a street where the pole is located is actually an alley.

Once again, Elizabeth navigated using her phone as I drove.

This time, we proceeded in silence, except for an occasional “turn right” or “turn left.”

Sitting at the corner of Mt. Auburn and Main, I can see the pole in the distance in the alley, beside the yellow garage and behind the trash container, dead center ahead. This would have been where he sat, or didn’t, those last few fateful minutes.

I felt like I was in a time warp. There it was.

Looking up the street, there isn’t another pole that could be hit without going through a house and the article would surely have mentioned hitting a house had that occurred.

No other poles were visible in either direction.

Did he intentionally aim between the houses?

Why this location? Was it a split second decision? Had he been drinking? Or was he remorseful because he had fallen off the wagon.

Or, was there something else? My mother thought that he was ill at the time of his death, based on his health when they lived together. More specifically, she thought he had cancer, but there was no mention of that and he had an autopsy.

Elizabeth and I knew that particular pole was the only candidate, and it was located exactly as the article described. Utility poles aren’t often moved because the wires are attached.

We pulled down the alley.

A fist-sized lump appeared, not in my throat, but in my stomach as we approached.

That pole is old, bearing the scars of many years of climbing. It’s possible that it could be the same pole that was there at the time. Or was the pole was replaced when he hit it?

Looking back from the other side, it’s somehow ironic that red paint had been sprayed on the pole. I know it’s meaningless, but just the same…

Physics of the Accident

Because I’m who I am, I have to understand this.

Dad would have hit the pole from the back side, towards the road and away from the alley. Given the speed involved, I suspect that the pole would have been damaged, and this pole does not seem to bear that kind of scar – although I’m certainly not an expert in utility pole collision damage. Wooden utility poles are generally expected to survive for about 40 years although some last much longer. He died 55 years ago.

How fast was he going, and what would have happened to the pole?

At 40 MPH, your body (and car) are moving at 58 feet per second. This was also before seat belts, so his body would have crashed into the steering wheel, which was moving towards him at the speed in which his car, a Rambler, crashed into the pole. The pole would probably not have fractured at those speeds, according to impact studies, but would clearly have been damaged.

At 40 MPH, his car would have traveled that entire distance of 100 feet between the intersection and the pole in less than two seconds. If he was traveling at 20 MPH, the distance would have taken a total of 3.5 seconds. In a Road and Track article, Lt. Dan Bates says that in older cars, just 20 years ago, one stood a good chance of dying if you were traveling at 20 MPH and had a head-on accident into a stationary object like a pole. Dad didn’t die right away, so he probably wasn’t traveling at a terribly high speed.

This causes me to ponder another question.

If Dad had floored the gas pedal, he would have hit harder and faster – at least I would think so.

Did he change his mind part way through a suicide attempt, but too late to stop?

That thought nauseates me.

Closure

Elizabeth and I sat in the alley for several minutes and discussed the dynamics of the situation – both physical and personal. I’m surprised no one called the police.

She asked me if I was alright. I tend to “go silent” at times like this and just think. My thoughts were swirling and tumbling over each other in a 55-year-delayed grief-filled blizzard of emotions.

I was more saddened by visiting the place that took his life which looks so innocuous than by visiting the cemetery where he is buried. The place where he decided to die. The place where uncontrollable grief and agony of some description overtook him, then took him. The place where the darkness won and death seemed like the best option. The place where his heart ached enough to end his life and remove himself from mine.

I could feel it all, sitting there, just a few days shy of that terrible anniversary – a summer day much like when he pushed that gas pedal, knowing full well what would happen.

Seeing that pole rush towards him – what was he thinking?

All parents pass away eventually. We will all one day have a cemetery to visit, but not everyone has a utility pole. Not everyone has to deal with the knowledge of suicide and wonder why? What pained a loved one that much?

Did he think or know that he was ill and dying? If so, that’s easier to handle than other demons that might have driven him here.

Did he fall off the wagon, again, as Virgie’s daughter suggested, and unable to deal with the guilt, personal disappointment and pain it would cause others, decide to end that never-ending battle with alcohol forever? God, I hope not.

I wonder what might have been different had he lived? How would my life have changed? And would it have been for the better or worse?

Unanswered questions. Unremitting pain and sorrow. But there’s no turning back time. No other road. Just this one – the path he chose.

He’s my father. The childhood me adored him. I love the man I knew.

I ache for his pain and the loss that affected us both so tragically. His pain ended that day, but mine was just beginning.

Heartfelt thanks to Elizabeth, indeed, sister-from-another-mister, for her support and encouragement during the final chapter of this part of my journey.

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