The temperature peaked someplace in the 90s on the Friday before Memorial Day in 2012, and the humidity was stifling. No one else, except one runner, was crazy enough to be hiking on Kings Mountain that day.

If Jacob Dobkins could fight for his life here, I could certainly hike in the heat.

I hiked the Kings Mountain National Military Park battlefield trail which the park service has conveniently marked with signs. There was also a cell phone audio tour where visitors call a phone number, enter the stop number, and a recording explains what happened there.

My ancestor, Jacob Dobkins, who we think was living in Virginia at that time served at Kings Mountain.

The decisive battle occurred on October 7, 1780, and amazingly, only lasted for a single hour. For some, though, it was a lifetime.

Jacob Dobkins

Jacob Dobkins was born in 1751 in Augusta County, Virginia to Captain John Dobkins and Elizabeth. I have not been able to confirm Elizabeth’s surname.

At Kings Mountain, Jacob would have been 29 years old, married to Dorcas Johnson for just over 5 years, and had 2 or 3 small children at home.

We don’t know a lot about his early life, other than he grew up and lived on the frontier.

In 1773, Jacob was found in Fincastle, Virginia on a delinquent tax list. It’s possible that he had moved on which is why his taxes were delinquent. However, Fincastle County, Virginia included a huge territory – land surrounding the Clinch River in what would become Tennessee, part of western Virginia, and what would become the state of Kentucky. Who knows where Jacob actually lived.

When Jacob Dobkins and Dorcas Johnson married on March 11, 1775, they lived in Shenandoah Co., Virginia.

Jacob’s Revolutionary War pension application says that in 1779 he enlisted in Harrodsburg, Kentucky. After the war, he appears on the 1783 tax lists in Virginia, then in the Shenandoah Co. Virginia census in 1790. He is living in Jefferson Co., Tennessee by 1792 when he sued John Sevier, also a veteran of Kings Mountain. John was at that time a member of the House of Representatives from North Carolina and would become the Governor of Tennessee in 1796.

Jacob bought land in Jefferson County, Tennessee in 1795, but by 1802 had purchased land in Claiborne County where he spent the rest of his life.

A humble man, Jacob never owned more than a log cabin – yet he and 1000 other men collectively changed the course of history.

Jacob passed away between September and December of 1835, an old man, with a Revolutionary War pension. Jacob’s pension application does not state that he was at Kings Mountain, but he is listed in Pat Alderson’s book, The Overmountain Men as has having served in that battle.

Unfortunately, there is no comprehensive roster.

The Over Mountain Men

There’s a difference between militia units and men who enlisted to serve in the Revolutionary War. It’s certainly possible to be both and it’s clear that some men who fought at the Battle of Kings Mountain were indeed enlisted.

A depiction of the gathering of militiamen at Sycamore Shoals prior to the Battle of Kings Mountain, from 1915.

Militia units were assembled locally to protect the homes and property of the community. Militia service was unpaid. Men provided their own gun and supplies and were obligated to show up and practice on the muster field where they lived.

Sometimes men from militia units did enlist in the war but being in the militia did not necessarily equate to military service. Militiamen stayed home unless there were extraordinary circumstances where they were called to action or unless they joined the military. Men who enlisted did not stay home, but they did visit from time to time.

The Over Mountain Men gathered in several locations prior to departing for King’s Mountain where they would coalesce on October 7th.

Before my trip to the Kings Mountain Battlefield Park, I didn’t realize that militia units from different locations had stayed together and fought together during that conflict. That does make sense since those men had trained together and understood their commander well. If you’re wondering about your ancestor and Kings Mountain, look for evidence of other men from his community having fought there.

I also didn’t realize that the Over Mountain Men were primarily Scotch-Irish and that they had planned to stay neutral until Patrick Ferguson, the Loyalist/British commander, threatened to “come over the mountain and lay waste their land and homes to fire and sword.” Not only did Ferguson threaten the men directly, but their wives and children. That was a very, very poor choice.

Hence, Ferguson inadvertently gave birth to their name, in part because they did indeed come from “over the mountain,” west of the Appalachians, the colonial boundary.

As the ranger said, those mountain men were born fighters and they were angered into action. Especially since the battles of Buford, known as Buford’s Massacre, and Camden had been so horrid. The British slaughtered men on the battlefield under the flag of surrender.

As the Over Mountain Men charged up the side of Kings Mountain, they shouted Buford…the leader of the massacred men.

Never underestimate the power of enraged, determined people. Not only did they win the battle, decisively, but they turned the tide of the war and showed the British that they could and would win.

The Battle of Kings Mountain was a decisive inflection point in the Revolutionary War.

Patrick Ferguson’s “Advantage”

Patrick Ferguson was so confident of his superiority over those backwoodsmen that he isolated himself on the top of the mountain with no defensive plan. He simply planned to shoot the men as they crested the hill. He did shoot a few, but what he didn’t anticipate is the sheer number – almost 1000 – men who were charging like Indians, not like the regimented English soldiers in formation.

The Over Mountain Men swarmed Ferguson with no warning, from every place all at once.

Ferguson’s hilltop “advantage” soon became a problem, and then turned into a trap from which he and his men could not escape. The British and their Tory supporters fell, and even after they surrendered, many died at the hands of the Over Mountain Men in retribution for what they had done to Buford and at Camden.

Some Tory soldiers were killed on the battlefield and others were lynched for treason. Then, within a day, the mountain men dispersed, disappearing back into the silent hills from whence they came….never to be forgotten. Names included Campbell, McDowell, Edmondson, and others.

My ancestor’s brother, Nathaniel Vannoy from Wilkes County, North Carolina was present as was his sister’s husband, Col. Benjamin Cleveland, depicted below leading the Patriot militiamen back home after battle.

Reverend George McNiel, the “elderly” minister, age 60 or so, another ancestor, accompanied the Wilkes County men as a volunteer chaplain. Sadly, his services were needed, although there is no comprehensive list of who died on either side.

Comparatively few fatalities occurred to the Over the Mountain Men, but many Tories died that day.

The Battlefield Path

The path today at Kings Mountain is paved and circles the actual battlefield which is on top of the mountain. Locations of interest are marked. The circular path is at the base of the hill.

Come along for a walk. Bring a cold drink – it’s hot😊

Glancing up the hill, above, and along the paved pathway, below.

The ranger told us that the land has been logged since the battle and the original forest was much more mature. The soldiers reported that they could see each other clearly through the trees, so the undergrowth is a function of regrowth.

Some of the area was craggy and remind me of the pictures of the Scottish highlands. Our Scotch-Irish ancestors probably felt very much at home. Many of the Highland rebels left Scotland after the 1745 Battle of Colladen Moor. These men and their sons were born fighters, ingrained in both their blood and culture.

Men were buried on Kings Mountain where they fell if they were actually “buried” at all. Anonymous fieldstones were marked with honoring plaques later, as we see below. Paths up and down the hillsides lead to the graves. Men were killed all over the hill, not just on top.

It’s hard to believe this beautiful, tranquil location was the site of such a monumental battle. Although, I can feel their presence in the silence.

Countless men lost their lives here and many more were wounded. It’s amazing that such a decisive battle was won by only 1000 or so backwoodsmen, virtually untrained, pitted against highly-trained soldiers and their backcountry brethren.

Nooks and crannies on the walkway hold stones marking fallen soldiers.

Today, on Memorial Day, we honor these men and their service. This is the Appalachian version of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier along with many more whose graves have been lost to time.

As I proceed around the mountain, the hillside becomes significantly steeper, and the woods deepen. These signs placed along the pathway were immensely helpful.

Can you imagine seeing red-coated men charging at you with bayonets?

The Patriots were longhunters, armed only with hunting rifles. Similar men had been slaughtered just weeks before. No one really expected this to be different.

The Over the Mountain Men charged the British three times and faced those bayonets. By the time bayonets were useful, the guns themselves were not.

Were they brave or foolhardy?

That third charge was successful.

The grave below is that of Major William Chronicle.

Rain

It rained the night before the battle. Wet leaves mute and absorb sound.

The Tories were confidently waiting but didn’t expect to be ambushed in silence. The Over Mountain Men had the advantage of understanding nature. They left their horses tied a mile away and approached on foot, like Indians. They fought the Indians on the frontier, but they had also learned from them. Very effectively, it seems.

Their final approach up the hill was with full-fledged war screams. The Tories found it every bit as disconcerting as did the Europeans when the Indians descended on them with war whoops.

Today, the only sound is the slightly babbling brook.

Up this hill they ran – shooting and shouting and whooping. “Buford,” they screamed with all their might.

Today, birds chirp. But on that day, the men from Virginia, North Carolina, and the area that would become Tennessee joined forces to survive the advance and crest the top of Kings Mountain. They fought their way up that hill, tree to tree. The bark was literally shot off the trees by the Loyalist’s guns.

Yes, into that horrific assault from above, the Over Mountain Men still continued to advance.

Would these men have ever dreamed that they turned the tide of the war and therefore the fledgling nation, tree by tree, as they inched up that hill? Today, the possibility for any 1000 people to have that kind of a profound effect seems nearly impossible, but it wasn’t then.

I’m sure those men never even pondered the idea that someday this would be an honored battlefield, or that their descendants would come here to honor them, their service and sacrifice, and to be with them in whatever small way we can be. That this place would one day be peaceful was incomprehensible on that October day.

Back then, there were no honored battlefields. Only bloody farmers’ fields where men were wounded and died. Honor and commemoration would come much, much later.

The Over Mountain Men were stubborn to a fault. They didn’t take orders well, if at all. Their commanders understood this – because they too were one of those men. Each man was instructed to be his own officer and do the best he could.

Family Against Family

Not everyone agreed that the colonies should become their own country. Some believed that revolting against England was wrong, for any number of reasons. Like during the Civil War that followed some 80 years later, the populace was divided.

The hardest part of this battle was probably that it turned family members against each other. In some cases, brother against brother. It’s told that one man, a Tory, was injured and asked his brother-in-law, a Patriot, for help. The reply he received was to ask his friends.

In many ways, this battle wasn’t really about sovereignty, it was about what Buford had done, under the truce flag, to the Patriots in two earlier battles. It was about Ferguson’s threat to destroy the homes, family, and farms of the formerly neutral men of Appalachia. It was about revenge and justice.

It was not a good day to be a Tory, or Ferguson.

Colonel William Campbell

Colonel William Campbell, from Augusta County, Virginia rallied the Over Mountain Men to return after they had begun to retreat and to charge the Tories once again.

He was known to the Loyalists as the “bloody tyrant of Washington County” due to his harsh treatment of Tories, but was a hero to the mountain men. He instructed them to, “Fight like Hell and shout like devils.” He was promoted to General in 1781, but died shortly after of a heart attack.

Somehow my Campbell line is related to his line, but I have been unable to identify exactly how. It’s certainly possible that my Charles Campbell was at Kings Mountain with his kinsman, Colonel William Campbell whose father’s name was also Charles Campbell.

I ponder this possibility as I walk. I can’t help but wonder how many of my ancestors fought, here, at Kings Mountain.

This tree has grown over a large rock. Was this rock a fieldstone serving to mark the grave of a quickly-buried soldier?

The previous photos were all taken at the base of the hill and slightly ascending.

Hilltop

Beginning here, the photos are from the top of the hill. This is where Ferguson and many of his men were killed. They thought that they could simply wait there for the Over the Mountain Men and pick them off with bayonets as they crested the hill. Their bayonets were “high” and did not have the effect they wanted. Bullets travel much further than bayonets and red-coated men made great targets.

On the top of the hill, which was cleared at the time, today stand two markers.

This monument is the Centennial Monument, built in 1880 to commemorate the 100^th anniversary of the battle.

This stone does not mark a grave, but honors Colonel Asbury Coward who planned the 100^th Anniversary celebration and raised the money for the commemorative statue.

We are now looking down the hill. The mountain men charged up this hill, towards Ferguson’s soldiers and Tories waiting for them, about where I’m standing.

Who Was a Tory?

It was difficult to tell who was who, well, except for the English soldiers who wore those distinctive red coats. Ninety percent of the Loyalists, known as Tories, were friends and neighbors.

Emotions ran perilously high. Family members felt betrayed and couldn’t understand how their kinsmen could feel otherwise – strongly enough to want to kill them.

The Tory Oak in Wilkesboro, North Carolina, also known as the Cleveland Oak, was the tree in which Colonel Benjamin Cleveland hung at least 5 Tory traitors in 1779, three of whom had attempted to kidnap him.

Pretty much, a Tory was someone on top of the hill trying to kill you. Once there, it was almost impossible to tell the difference.

Is an unknown soldier buried under some of these rocks?  The dead had to be buried someplace here – their graves now lost to time.

The Tories and the English soldiers were pinned on top of the mountain. Some Loyalists attempted to either escape or switch sides, but I fear their lot had already been cast given that they had already shown their true allegiance. A “conversion” under duress is likely not genuine and the Over Mountain Men knew that.

But what would those men, on either side, have done if they discovered the person they were trying to kill was a family member or neighbor?

US Obelisk Monument

This beautiful white granite monument on the top of Kings Mountain is a smaller version of the Washington Monument.

Plaques on the sides list the commanders and known dead Americans. You can read documentation about the battle, here.

The plaques honor the fallen at Kings Mountain. I was so hoping for a complete roster of all the men who participated in this battle, but no such luck. Historians have been piecing this information together for years.

This beautiful white monument is located in the center of the top of the hill.

This nearby stone honors Colonel James Hawthorne who took command after another officer was wounded. However, this is one of the LEAST remarkable things about James Hawthorne. This man was made of steel and grit.

Ferguson’s Demise

Engraving depicting the death of British Major Patrick Ferguson who was shot from his horse, but he didn’t actually fall off entirely. With his foot still in the stirrup, he was dragged to the patriot side.

According to Patriot accounts, when a militiaman approached the Major for his surrender, Ferguson drew his pistol and shot the man. Probably not a good idea.

Other soldiers reacted in kind and 7 or 8 musket holes later, Ferguson was dead. Many, many men reported that they had fired the fatal shot. Militia accounts said his body was stripped of clothing and the men urinated on him before burial, near where he died. The militiamen hated this man who had wrought so much indignity and pain.

I don’t know who marked Ferguson’s grave, or when, but initially it was marked only by a pile of stones.

Major Patrick Ferguson isn’t very likable. He recruited Tories from among the residents of the Carolina backcountry and commanded several devastating Revolutionary War battles.

He’s not a hero by any measure, but we must give the devil his due. You can’t help but respect Ferguson. He embodies all that people love about the Scotch-Irish – the same traits that the Over the Mountain Men used to defeat him.

Ferguson was bullishly stubborn. His elbow was shattered in a previous battle by a musket ball, and he learned to ride with his other hand, write with it, fence with it, and used a silver whistle to command his men since he didn’t have the second hand he needed. He had to hold on to the reins with something. Obviously, that last stubborn shot he fired, surely knowing he would be killed immediately as a result, was fired with his one good hand.

Patrick was a one-armed commander in the Battle of Kings Mountain but never considered himself in any capacity disabled.

He was also a bit of a renegade, and the more established commanders basically abandoned him to face the Over the Mountain Men alone. Maybe they thought, “so much the better,” if Ferguson were killed, but little did they dream the magnitude of that victory would also mean their defeat.

There just seems to be some karmic justice lurking in that situation.

Ferguson famously traveled with two women, both named Virginia, leading to many untoward jokes about his ability to remember the right name in the heat of the moment, so to speak. One Virginia died on the mountain with him and was buried in the same grave.

One escaped, the Over the Mountain Men parting ranks to let her through. I can’t even begin to imagine how those women wound up on that hilltop.

Some reported that it was as Virginia escaped that she told them Ferguson was wearing a red and white plaid shirt. His men could easily distinguish him, but after that prize piece of information, so could the Over Mountain Men.

The location of Ferguson’s death is marked on the top of Kings Mountain.

Ferguson’s grave is nearby in a “can’t miss it” location right beside the path.

Marked with the original cairn and now a stone as well, it’s actually quite beautiful.

You know, the great irony is that Ferguson, born in Scotland, was probably related to at least some of these men.

The Over Mountain Men are Victorious

This stone, tucked away down a little path, commemorates the service of Colonel Frederick Hambright, a German born Patriot who urged his men to continue fighting after Ferguson famously claimed that “all the Rebels from hell” would be unable to drive him away.

Clearly, Ferguson was mistaken, as proven by Hambright and his men.

That Night

Imagine the night after the Battle of Kings Mountain.

Men of both sides would have been terribly on edge.

They would have been trying to rest, as best through could, among the moans and groans of the wounded. Men probably died during the night.

Neither side knew what the morning would bring, and both sides were afraid of each other. Other than the men in red coats, it was difficult to determine who was on which side.

The Tories/ Loyalists/Redcoats knew the Whigs/Patriots/Over Mountain Men would like nothing better than to hang them. The feeling was clearly mutual, based on past behavior at previous battles.

The Over Mountain Men knew that Loyalist reinforcements couldn’t be far behind.

Neither contingent could move under the cover of darkness.

I’d wager no sentry fell asleep that night – and neither did most of the other men.

Even burying the dead would have been risky.

The Tory/Loyalist Prisoners

It was reported that the militiamen had captured more than 700 Loyalists, be they English soldiers or Tory sympathizers. By the time they reached the Moravian settlement of Bethabara, near Winston-Salem, three weeks later, they had 300 prisoners, and by early December, only 130. A month later, they had 60. What happened to the missing men?

Some were likely hung. Some found a sympathetic ear among relatives or neighbors and were paroled or simply allowed to go home. Some could have been wounded and either left behind or died someplace. The Moravians reported that some escaped. More than 200 were reported to have been consigned into the Patriot militia but had since defected and rejoined the British to fight against the Patriots another day.

Returning Home

The British clearly hated these men who would not be subdued.

Hearty, brave, and having succeeded against all odds, the Carolina backwoodsmen and the Over Mountain Men returned to their homes, crossing the high mountain range through snow.

They would wait for the next volley from the British, prepared to meet them once again where they must. But the tide had turned, thanks to the incredible bravery of 1000 out-gunned, untrained, angry, Patriots.

The Battlefield Today

In order to protect the battlefield, it had to be purchased and then designated a National Historic Landmark. This occurred in 1930 when President Herbert Hoover, along with 70,000 people, visited Kings Mountain.

From the location above, marked by a rock, Hoover gave a speech that set the wheels in motion for the park today.

Hoover’s speech, above, marked the 150^th anniversary of the Battle of Kings Mountain.

I can’t even begin to imagine 70,000 people gathered at Kings Mountain. Seventy times as many people as there were 150 years earlier on that same day.

Kings Mountain

This then is the story of Kings Mountain, a narrative not only of military victory but the tale of a vendetta “paid” as well.

After winning this battle, these mountain men, not soldiers, but fathers, husbands, and brothers turned around, returned home, and resumed their life on the frontier. It was fall – time to lay in meat for the winter and chop wood for the stove.

They needed to tell the wives and mothers of the men who would not be returning – those who remain on Kings Mountain. The community would help those widows and families survive.

This make-shift army of volunteer men changed the course of history and shaped this country in a way no others ever would, vanquishing their enemies who laid waste to their kinsmen under the flag of truce.

It’s ironic that we don’t even know the names of the men largely responsible for America becoming a democracy as opposed to continuing as subjects of the British crown.

Had the British and their Tory compatriots not angered these men into a boiling rage, who knows, we might live under the British flag yet today. That trajectory changed, thanks to the utter bravery and sheer stubbornness of a few hardy backwoodsmen, the Over Mountain Men, brandishing axes, knives, and hunting rifles in the face of soldiers with bayonets.

Jacob Dobkins was probably among those stalwart men. Perhaps your ancestor was too.

_____________________________________________________________

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In last week’s article, The Camstra Trail, I was gifted with the beautiful miniature photo of Douwe Baukes Camstra and his wife and subsequently found the burial location of the couple, at least in general terms.

It’s interesting how publishing something like that opens the floodgates. Well, maybe not floodgates in this case, but definitely the faucet.

Three things happened.

• Another photo of Douwe surfaced
• We found the burial locations of Douwe Bauke Camstra who died in 1869
• We found the burial location of his father, Bauke Douwe Camstra who died in 1866

Douwe’s Actual Burial Plot

As it turns out, I actually HAD more information about Douwe that had been previously provided by Yvette Hoitink. Of course, I made this discovery right AFTER I hit the publish button.

Yvette unearthed a letter written almost a century ago.

Ybeltje Camstra – a granddaughter of Douwe Bauke Camstra wrote in May 1923:

“My grandfather was somebody of fairly large mental gifts. He appears to have been a good mathematician, in that we had in our family an antique silver tobacco jar with an inscription, which read that this tobacco jar was given to him for important services, rendered to the City of Leeuwarden; these services were regarding calculations that he was required to do. This tobacco jar disappeared during the theft that took place in Maartensdijk around 1895, which is a shame.”

On 12 May 1846 the family Camstra settled in Leeuwarden. For years, the family lived in the house at the Grote Kerkstraat nr. 262. From this marriage were born six children, while the family Camstra-Kijlstra also took care to raise a niece Anna Elisabeth Camstra.

Also in the house lived Catharina Proost, school teacher, charged with teaching the children. Servant was Berbertje Koopal.

The couple Camstra-Kijlstra lies buried on the old Cemetery at the Spanjaardslaan in Leeuwarden, section 3, row 26, nr. 11.

There you have it. If I were Douwe’s direct descendant, I’d be placing a FindAGrave request for a photo – even if there is no marker and even if he’s currently sharing a grave with a few of his neighbors.

Yvette provided additional information about Douwe too.

After he married, Douwe B. Camstra was first head teacher in Drachten for several years, but was later appointed arrondissementsijker [district calibrator].

He was joint founder of the “Selskip foar Fryske Tael en Skrifekennisse [Society for Frisian language and writing knowledge]” and for many years was a member as “earste skriuwer [first writer]”. Douwe also wrote Frisian novellas, of which 12 were published in “Idu[…]” and “De Swanneblom.”

In regards to his appointment as district calibrator in Leeuwarden we find the following in the Resolutiën van Burgemeesteren der Stad Leeuwarden [Resolutions of the City Leeuwarden]:

28 February 1846 – Was read a resolution of the Provincial Executives of Friesland of 24 February 1846 nr. 29 regarding information about the transfer of district calibrator D.B. Camstra from Heerenveen to Leeuwarden, to replace the fired assistant calibrator G.M. Cahais, as well as determining the time for the calibration of the measures and weights, over 1846 and all the Cities and Municipalities of the province etc. This resolution has already had the required effect, so was decided to consider as notification.

Douwes Bauke Camstra would have been very familiar with “The Waag,” or weigh house in Leeuwarden where all types of goods were weighed, located on the canal center city, a few blocks from where Douwe was born.

Speaking of a Descendant

My cousin, a descendant of Douwe, dropped me a note immediately after he read last week’s article. He had been gifted with a copy of the same photo in 2013 along with another one of Douwe apparently taken a few years later.

Douwe looked to be a bit older and his black eye seemed to have healed. So my speculation that Douwe might have been blind was clearly wrong. Now I wonder if what we thought was a black eye was an artifact of very early photography.

These two photos provide secondary confirmation of the identity of this man.

Burial Location of Bauke Douwes Camstra (1779-1866) and Anna Elizabeth Jonker (1778-1856) 

I surmised in the article that since Douwe Bauke Camstra and his wife were buried in the Spanjaardslaan cemetery in 1869, that his parents were surely buried there too. That seemed reasonable, given that his father only died three years before Douwe and since there was no other cemetery in Leeuwarden following the 1827 edict that burials could no longer occur in churches and churchyards for sanitation reasons.

Then, I received this from Yvette:

About Bauke’s burial place, all the way back in 2013, I did a research report for you with the inventory of the estate of Bauke Douwes Camstra, created on 21 July 1866, after his death.

Among the estate was:

“Graves: Four graves at the churchyard in Goutum, the fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh grave from the church in row 18, with the two grave stones, valued at fl. 20 Deducted for maintenance and prohibition to open the two graves in which the deceased will be buried within 20 years.”

So Bauke was buried in Goutum just south of Leeuwarden. I once had a McDonald’s picnic dinner there and sent you a photo.

Yvette to the rescue once again, and my bad for not rereading the Camstra reports. The great irony here is that I was very excited about receiving that picnic photo from Yvette at the time and remember it well.

I even managed to find the photo on my computer.

Yvette continues:

They owned 4 graves on the churchyard in Goutum, a small hamlet just south of Leeuwarden. They owned graves 4, 5, 6 and 7 in row 18.

Of course, this begs the question of who was intended to be buried in the other two graves, and if anyone in the Camstra family actually was ever buried there. I also thought his wife predeceased Bauke. I need to do some more reading and digging. Actually, what I need to do is write their own individual ancestor articles where I review everything.

That has to be on the north side since the south side doesn’t have 18 rows. I made a guess that they started counting the rows from the tower and indicated the location of these graves on the Google Map.

Yvette even marked their grave locations.

Google Streetview drove by the churchyard as well, but the trees were so full of leaves you can hardly see anything.

The estate bill included a provision for maintenance of the graves of Bauke and Anna Elisabeth for 20 years, so that’s long gone by now as many graves are cleared in the Netherlands after 20 years, I do not think these graves are still there. There is a small chance that they still exist because this was an owned grave, not a rented grave.

The graves at the Goutum cemetery are listed at Graftombe but the Camstra grave is not among them so it was probably cleared.

You can see the area where they are/were buried from the street beside the church. They are near the rear of the church, just the other side of the trees.

Why Was Bauke Buried in Goutham?

OK, so my logic was sound, but it was also wrong.

It made perfect sense that Bauke was buried in the only cemetery in Leeuwarden when he died. It made sense, especially since his son was buried there three years later.

In fact, now I wonder why Douwe wasn’t buried in Goutum with Bauke.

Furthermore, why WAS Bauke buried in Goutum?

After all, Bauke was a deacon in the Grote of Jacobijnerkerk Dutch Reformed church in Leeuwarden, just down the street from his home. He didn’t attend church in Goutum.

The beautiful new Leeuwarden cemetery park was just across the bridge, outside the city wall, much closer than Goutum.

This doesn’t make sense, at least not at first glance.

The church in Goutum (Buorren 23) is just south of Leeuwarden, about 3 miles as the crow flies from Bauke’s home church. Bauke would certainly have been familiar with the churches surrounding Leeuwarden.

My bet, at this point, is that Bauke was NOT in favor of being buried in a grave outside of a churchyard. There were gravesites available at the church in Goutum, and Bauke took advantage of the opportunity to purchase four. I think this comes under the category of, “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” Bauke found a way to be buried in a churchyard, even if it wasn’t his home church or even inside the city of Leeuwarden. It didn’t matter. The churchyard in Goutum is where he rested until at least 1886 when his 20 years was up.

Were it not for the purchase noted in Bauke Douwe Camstra’s estate record, we would never have known.

_____________________________________________________________

Disclosure

I receive a small contribution when you click on some of the links to vendors in my articles. This does NOT increase the price you pay but helps me to keep the lights on and this informational blog free for everyone. Please click on the links in the articles or to the vendors below if you are purchasing products or DNA testing.

Thank you so much.

DNA Purchases and Free Transfers

• FamilyTreeDNA – Y, mitochondrial and autosomal DNA testing
• MyHeritage DNA – Autosomal DNA test
• MyHeritage FREE DNA file upload – Transfer your results from other vendors free
• AncestryDNA – Autosomal DNA test
• 23andMe Ancestry – Autosomal DNA only, no Health
• 23andMe Ancestry Plus Health

Genealogy Products and Services

• MyHeritage FREE Tree Builder – Genealogy software for your computer
• MyHeritage Subscription with Free Trial
• Legacy Family Tree Webinars – Genealogy and DNA classes, subscription-based, some free
• Legacy Family Tree Software – Genealogy software for your computer
• Charting Companion – Charts and Reports to use with your genealogy software or FamilySearch
• RootsMagic Software – Genealogy software for your computer
• Newspapers.com

Books

• Genealogical.com – Lots of wonderful genealogy research books

Genealogy Research

• Legacy Tree Genealogists – Professional genealogy research

The day started out just like any other day, but THIS day would hold something very special.

Hi Roberta,

I’m writing you from the Netherlands. I don’t know where you live. Your name came up in my search for the offspring of Douwe Baukes Camstra. I think you are offspring of his sister Lijsbeth. I have a little box with a photo of Douwe and his wife Iebeltje Egberts Kijlstra taken on their silver wedding in 1856! I want to give it back to their relatives.

This is a picture of it:

Can you help me? Do you know other relatives? If not, you can have it. Do you want it?

Do I Want It?

Is the Pope Catholic?

Of COURSE I want it – assuming it’s my relative.

First, I had to scurry off and search my genealogy software. Was this, indeed my family member?

Could I possibly be this lucky?

Holding my breath…

Oh my gosh – this IS the brother of my ancestor! I didn’t know his middle name, and I have a different spelling for his wife’s name, but it’s definitely the same couple.

This is so exciting!!!

I asked Marga where she found this treasure.

The little box belongs to my mother, but she doesn’t know where it comes from. We don’t have any family in the north of the Netherlands. I put a picture of it on Facebook and it is many times shared, but no reactions at all. I found on the internet that there are not many people left in our country with the name Camstra…

In the box there is a little paper. It says: “Ybeltje Kielstra en Douwe Baukes Camstra beiden geboren +/- 1810 bij hun zilveren huwelijksfeest in 1862.” Which means: Ybeltje Kielstra and Douwe Baukes Camstra both born +/- 1810 at their silver weddings party in 1862.

The date 1862 is wrong because it was in 1856.

Marga took this scrap of information and began searching, trying to find if they were related to Douwe. She fleshed out his vital information, including his parents.

Marga had clearly done her homework. I just have to say this – it’s incredibly confusing when Bauke Douwe Camstra names his first and second sons both Douwe Bauke Camstra. The first son died, but I digress.

I replied to Marga, then I tried to wait patiently for her response.

The internet/Facebook somehow bollixed things up and my reply to Marga went AWOL. Even though I could see it from my end, Marga couldn’t.

Two days later, she queried, “You’re not interested?”

You’re Not Interested?

OMG YES I’M INTERESTED!!!!!!

Thankfully, Marga received this second message and posted the envelope.

Longest 3 weeks of my life.

What if it got lost in the international mail? The mail here in the US has been taking weeks to months for some items mailed in the same county – let alone from across the ocean.

Where was it?

Would it EVER arrive?

“Be patient,” I told myself, over and over.

I did not receive the patience gene.

One Cold February Day

Finally, one cold mid-February day, almost a month later, a small envelope arrived.

I mention the envelope was small for two reasons.

First, I laid it aside in the pile of junk mail because I was expecting something larger. Who wants to sort through junk mail when you’re impatiently waiting for something VERY precious?

Second, truthfully, I didn’t expect something THAT small. It’s miniature.

Did I mention that I adore miniatures???

The little box itself is about 2.5 by 3 inches and it’s less than half an inch thick. Maybe closer to a quarter inch.

When I was sorting through the mail later, I squealed with excitement, because there it was.

I opened the envelope carefully and saw a face that looked at least vaguely familiar. Was my ancestor a female version of him, minus the beard? They shared the same parents.

Lijsbeth Bauke Camstra married Hendrik Jans Ferwerda on February 19, 1829 in Leeuwarden. Hendrik was a school teacher and they lived their married life in Blija, about 13 miles (22 km) away, near the sea.

Their first child was Bauke Hendrick Ferwerda, born January 26, 1830. He married Geertje Harmens DeJong who passed away before Bauke remarried and the family immigrated to America, settling in Indiana.

Some siblings don’t look at all alike and others are dead-ringers for each other. Did my ancestor, Lijsbert Baukes Camstra, born March 13, 1806 look anything like her younger brother, Douwe Baukes Camstra, born on May 15^th of the following year? If so, did she pass it on?

I don’t know. You can be the judge.

Douwe Bauke Camstra pictured beside his great-nephew, Hiram Bauke Ferverda, at right. Hiram was about 15 years older than Douwe in this photo and his hair is not grey. It looks like Douwe might have been blind in his left eye.

Douwe would be my great-great-great-great-uncle. I believe this is also the earliest photo of any family member.

The Camstra Home

Douwe and his sister Lijsbeth, both with the middle name of Bauke, Camstra were born in this home, in Leeuwarden.

Yvette Hoitink, Dutch genealogist extraordinaire, located this property for me in 2012. In fact, you can see my very first glimpse for yourself in this short YouTube video that Yvette recorded while walking down the street. You can hear the church bells ringing in the background.

I’ve since been to Leeuwarden myself, but there’s nothing like that first glimpse on the other side of what you believed to be an insurmountable brick wall.

Whoever would have guessed that another 9 years later, a Camstra family photo would surface in an unrelated family in the south of the Netherlands and make its way to me in America.

Of course, I had to find out more.

What Happened to Douwe Bauke Camstra?

Douwe died in Leeuwarden on August 20, 1869.

We don’t know where he lived, but it certainly could have been in the very house where he was born.

The clock tower and the gardens were at the end of the block, quite conveniently located. In fact, the Camstra home was convenient to pretty much everything in Leeuwarden.

The Camstra home was located at Grote Kerkstraat 33, shown below on Google maps today.

Tresoar, the present-day regional archives where Douwe’s father’s Pleasure Garden was located was just a couple blocks down this street in the direction we’re looking, and what turns out to be Douwe’s final resting place was across the moat ringing the old city.

Yvette also filmed the location of the Pleasure Gardens in this video.

Cemeteries

Cemeteries work differently in the Netherlands (and the rest of Europe) than they do in the US, even back then.  Real estate is at a premium, especially dry land. You really didn’t want to dig a hole and have it fill with water. Coffins aren’t supposed to splash.

People were buried on the terps, raised areas built for churches, then the plots were reused a few years later. How long? Well, that depends on the location and the circumstances. In many cases, family members shared grave spaces with other family members. If the grave was abandoned, then some years later, often roughly 20, someone else was buried in the same space.

If the original inhabitant hadn’t entirely returned to “dust” yet, no problem.

A small ossuary building allowed whatever remains remained to visit with their neighbors and continue their degradation stacked, respectfully, together. Most cemeteries in the Netherlands have an inobtrusive little building for just this purpose. No one thinks anything of it.

This little Ossuary is found in the church cemetery in Wolsum where Hiram Ferwerda lived for a few years.

Originally, the Leeuwarden cemetery would have been inside the fortified city walls, of course, beside that church tower in what is today the parking lot.

This map from 1612 shows the church and detached church tower at far left, although other records tell us that the decrepit church was demolished in 1595 or 1596. The “yard” surrounding the church would have been the cemetery.

It’s also worth noting that the Dutch Reformed Protestant church is shown at right, at the other end of “Grote Kerkstraat,” or Great Church Street.

This 1664 map shows the remains of the church, along with the churchyard in front of the bell tower. I can’t help but wonder if the little house at the base of the tower is either the caretaker’s home, or the ossuary, or both.

The red arrow points to the Camstra home. You found a church or a cemetery no matter which direction you walked. Churches, old or contemporaneous, at either end of the street.

The Protestant church, already several hundred years old by that time was a couple blocks east of the Camstra home. There were burials inside the Protestant church, Grote of Jacobijnerkerk, in crypts and in the floor, but I find no record of external burials. Surely they existed. People had to be buried someplace and churchyards were where cemeteries were located. Only the wealthy were buried inside the church, in the floor. There is space around the church on the old maps. Precious space inside the city walls was never wasted.

A royal interdiction in 1827 put an end to the unhygienic burials in and beside churches. Communities had to seek more suitable locations to bury outside the cities. In Leeuwarden, the “new” cemetery at the Spanjaardslaan opened in 1833. Of course, it’s now called the “Old City Graveyard,” but it certainly wasn’t the oldest. The churchyards were far older.

The residents were reluctant to give up their churchyard burial practices, but a Dutch landscape gardener designed a beautiful cemetery that would function as a park in addition to being a cemetery. Located on the old dwelling mound, Fiswerd, once a monastery, the beautiful, quiet cemetery allows visitors, then and now, to leave the busy city behind.

Entering these gates, between the skulls on the top of the fence, the park doesn’t much resemble a cemetery as we perceive them today.

The peaceful essence that the landscaper had in mind to lure those Frisians away from their church graveyard can still be felt today.

Trees, grass, and landscaping are found everyplace.

But where is Douwe?

The cemetery was designed in 5 “departments.” The first was for the rich middle-class and nobles. Many graves had impressive monuments which remain today. Needless to say, those graves weren’t reused. The second department burials weren’t quite as dignified but still wealthy. The third area consisted of people we would probably consider middle class, but no nobles. The fences in this area are the most ornate though. Go figure.

The fourth area is the furthest from the entrance. Many people buried here could not afford stones, so they had a simple wooden cross, or perhaps a common, uninscribed stone for several burials. The fifth is the most recent and the cemetery is now closed to new burials.

You can feast your eyes on beautiful photos, here.

As you might gather, the Camstra family was relatively wealthy. Douwe and Lijsbeth’s father, Bauke Camstra owned that beautiful home, just a few doors from the ducal residence, as in Duke of Orange, now a museum. Plus Bauke owned another property AND the Pleasure Gardens.

I fully expected Douwe to have a memorial stone, perhaps a large one.

The known burials are searchable, here.

There are indeed four Camstra burials, but not Douwe☹

This was the ONLY cemetery in Leeuwarden at that time, so Douwe is assuredly, or was, buried here. Maybe in one of those unmarked, or shared, graves., although that seems odd, given what we know about the family.

Perhaps his grave is one that had a monument that, over time, sunk.

Perhaps Douwe was not as wealthy as his father.

Wait? What?

Wait….his father.

Was Douwe buried in the grave previously occupied by his father?

As it turns out, no, Bauke Douwes Camstra, his father, died on May 24, 1866, not quite three years before his son, which means he’s buried someplace here too. Bauke’s wife, Anna Elizabeth Jonker, Douwe and Lijsbeth’s mother died in 1856, so she’s nearby as well.

Bauke Douwes Camstra was unquestionably wealthy, so there is really no question that he was not buried in section 4 of the cemetery. I can’t help but wonder if, somehow, he obtained special dispensation to be buried in the old churchyard beside his Pleasure Garden. But then again, the Dutch are sticklers for rules and organization – so I’d bet not. If they let Bauke do that, then they’d have to let everyone do that. Besides that, Bauke worked, at least for a time, for the municipality.

Well, then, what about Douwe’s grandparents? Was he buried in their graves?

Nope, the last one of his 4 grandparents died in August of 1830, so they aren’t buried in this lovely park. They probably rest beneath the parking lot in front of the clock tower, today, or maybe in the churchyard of the Dutch Reformed church down the street.

My ancestor Lijsbert Baukes Camstra, probably carrying her son, Bauke Hendrick Ferwerda, about 9 months old, would have stood here too, with her parents and siblings as she buried her last grandparent. I was probably standing not only on their graves, but walking in their footsteps.

If they are buried at the protestant church a few blocks away, that’s OK, I visited there too.

Because the grandparents were the last generation of burials before the new cemetery was opened, they would never have been removed. They were, however, eventually bricked over if in fact they are buried in either location.

Good Heavens, I walked on them, probably ate fair food on top of them, without giving it even a thought. Because we don’t “reuse” cemeteries here, I should have, but never realized I was literally “visiting” their graves as I celebrated “Orange Day” when I visited the Netherlands.

Talk about oblivious. Also, talk about perfect. I hope they have a sense of humor!

My DNA is all over Leeuwarden, or maybe I should say in the earth surrounding the old churches and cemeteries in Leeuwarden.

Lighting the Way

We don’t know exactly where my ancestors Bauke Douwes Camstra (Dec. 28, 1779 – May 24, 1866) and his wife, Anna Elizabeth Jonker (Dec. 30, 1878 – 1856) are buried in this lovely cemetery park in Leeuwarden, but they are unquestionably there.

We can, however, trace their life’s path.

We can start at their home at the red arrow, walk west to the cemetery, now a parking lot (red star) in front of the clock and bell tower where they may have buried their parents. We can visit Bauke’s Pleasure Garden (red star), now the pristine City Gardens and Tresoar archives, and walk to the Durch Reformed church (red star) to the east of their home where they worshiped and Bauke Camstra was a deacon.

This church is where their lives were celebrated at their funerals.

Ironically, 152 years after Douwe Bauke Camstra died, in 1869, it was the “little box with a photo” that allowed me to find him, and his parents, in the beautiful old cemetery.

Come along for a stroll in this video and visit the final resting place of the Camstra family.

Update: I family note records that the Camstra-Kijlstra couple is buried in section 3, row 26, number 11 of the cemetery.

Thank You!

A huge thank you to Marga, her mother, and Yvette.

None of this could have happened without Yvette’s original discovery and subsequent research or Marga’s determination to return the photo to a family member, combined with her and her mother’s generosity.

Thank you! Thank you!

_____________________________________________________________

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DNA Purchases and Free Transfers

• FamilyTreeDNA – Y, mitochondrial and autosomal DNA testing
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• MyHeritage FREE DNA file upload – Transfer your results from other vendors free
• AncestryDNA – Autosomal DNA test
• 23andMe Ancestry – Autosomal DNA only, no Health
• 23andMe Ancestry Plus Health

Genealogy Products and Services

• MyHeritage FREE Tree Builder – Genealogy software for your computer
• MyHeritage Subscription with Free Trial
• Legacy Family Tree Webinars – Genealogy and DNA classes, subscription-based, some free
• Legacy Family Tree Software – Genealogy software for your computer
• Charting Companion – Charts and Reports to use with your genealogy software or FamilySearch
• RootsMagic Software – Genealogy software for your computer
• Newspapers.com

Books

• Genealogical.com – Lots of wonderful genealogy research books

Genealogy Research

• Legacy Tree Genealogists – Professional genealogy research

Ok, I’m just going to admit it. Mother’s Day is hard for me. Really hard.

Wish I could just sleep all day and wake up on Monday after it’s all over hard.

And to be clear, my difficulty with this day has absolutely NOTHING to do with my children. Thankfully, they remember me and always do something nice.

My son and family gave me Dahlias for my garden, always a favorite, last weekend and I’ll see my daughter and her husband on Sunday.

I do really look forward to seeing my family, but underneath the smile I wear that day, the tears are brimming at the surface.

And when no one is looking, they spill over.

My family will never know, because I won’t tell them or say anything, to anyone. I try desperately to hide this, to conceal my tears until I am alone. I’m good at this, having perfected it for years now. I really don’t want anyone to ask, “What’s wrong?,” because, truthfully, I’d sound like an idiot saying “Mother’s Day.” And then, they would just feel bad too, and I certainly don’t want that, especially since they are going out of their way to make me happy on mother’s special day.

But that’s just it. It’s my mother’s special day too, and she isn’t where I can reach her.

Recently, however, more than one person has confided in me how difficult Mother’s Day is for them. And I suddenly realized – I’m not alone.

I have such conflicted, polar opposite, bittersweet feelings about Mother’s Day and I’ve felt like that was “wrong.” That I was somehow being ungrateful for my wonderful kids and my incredible mother.

In reality, it’s something else entirely.

If you’re one of my kindred spirits, you’ll understand immediately, and if you’re not, perhaps this will help you understand that beneath the smiles of mothers on Mother’s Day resides a grieving daughter.

Grief is always, always, intertwined with love.

Tied Up with Other Things

For me, Mother’s Day is tied up with other things too.

My Mom had a stroke in mid-April the year she died. I won’t go into detail, but the two weeks it took her to pass over were utter living hell.

I was called at work that morning – the call everyone dreads. I left immediately but was facing a significant drive.

When I arrived a few hours later, Mom had slipped into a coma. I had quickly packed a suitcase before leaving. I knew, from what my sister-in-law had told me that the situation was critical and I’d be staying.

When I arrived in Indiana, the trees were just beginning to bud and bloom.

Mom finally passed away on the last day of April, and we buried her a few days later.

The cherry trees, dogwoods, redbuds, and other flowering trees fully unfolded and bloomed in their full glory. They were stunningly beautiful those two weeks I stayed in Mom’s apartment, visiting the hospital every waking hour, holding her hand, talking to her, and waiting for her transition.

At least there was some beauty there during that extremely difficult time. I needed that nourishment for my soul. Thank God for my daughter who took time off work to come and be with me, at least for part of the time.

The day Mom passed away was cold, dark, stormy, and grey. It felt good to let the cold rain soak through my clothes into my skin, seep into my shoes and run across my face, mingling with my tears that wouldn’t stop. Part grief, part relief that it was finally over.

Rain, the crystalline tears of angels, watering the earth. Sustenance, bringing about life and beauty, even in the midst of death.

To everything, there is a season.

The day we buried Mom was a beautiful spring day. She was finally, finally at rest.

I remember waking up the morning of her funeral and realizing as I made my way out of sleep-fog what day it was. What a horrible sense of dread. I just needed to get through it – to somehow just place one foot in front of the other and survive that day. 

Coming home after the service, a few hundred miles further north, the trees were just beginning to bloom there.

It was kind of like Mom followed along because she knew I’d need beauty and as much comfort as I could find in the following days.

Stunning blossoming trees will forever be equated, in my mind, with Mom’s final springtime journey to meet our ancestors.

On Mother’s Day, that year, I rented a U-Haul, finished cleaning out Mom’s apartment,  closed the door for the last time, and brought my share of her things home.

Worst Mother’s Day ever.

At home, my daughter helped unload the truck. Had to be a miserable day for her too. At least we had each other, but we don’t talk about it.

It wasn’t until I lost my own mother that I understood my mother.

Looking Back

Mom lost her mother, suddenly, when she was 37, and then her father when she was 39. She had already been divorced, not by her own choosing, her fiancé killed in WWII, and then my father…well that’s another story entirely.

Let’s just say Mom’s life had been filled with heartache and tragedy. There she was, alone, without either parent, or a husband, raising me as a single Mom in a time when women just didn’t do such things, all before her 40^th birthday. Her birthday, which happened between Christmas and New Year’s must have been miserable that year.

The deck was stacked against her in every conceivable way possible.

By all reckoning, Mom should not have “made it,” but she did. Not because of other people, for the most part, but in spite of everything.

That’s the woman who raised me. A tower of inspiration – but I just knew her as Mom. I never saw that until I was older and wiser. And maybe, just maybe, I began to see her in myself.

The Grieving Daughter

I never realized or understood that my mother was a grieving daughter.

How could I have missed this, you might wonder. Well, I wonder that too. Just like me, she never let on. Never told me how much those “days,” like Mother’s Day, her mother’s birthday, and her mother’s death day bothered her.

She kept it to herself…until one fateful day.

I could still just kick myself.

I don’t remember when this happened exactly, but Mom was in her 70s. As many other people do, I gauge when things occur by which house they happened in, or who was around at the time.

But first, before I tell you what happened, let’s step a bit further back in time for perspective, into the late 1980s and early 1900s.

Genealogy Adventures

Mom, my daughter, and I spent many years traveling about during our genealogy adventures.

Mom wasn’t a genealogist, but she loved to go along and bask in the essence of the places where her ancestors lived. We talked about what our ancestors did in those locations, their lives, livelihood, and challenges.

Of course, it was the genealogy research and information that were the foundation of those stories, plus a few oral history tidbits passed down along the way.

Sometimes the information we unearthed was much juicier than the “official” stories.

Mom always gave everyone the benefit of the doubt. “Everyone is human,” she would say. Like when we discovered that her grandfather had neglected to get divorced from his first wife until after he married her grandmother, or that her great-grandfather had a none-too-complimentary story in his past too.

Mom and I scouted out our ancestor’s homes and gravestones.

We found their churches, and often baptismal and other dusty church records in leather-bound creaky books as well.

We visited them all, on multi-generational trips that included my daughter, then in grade school. She didn’t enjoy those trips nearly as much as Mom and me, but she was always a good sport. I’d wager she feels differently about those trips now that she’s an adult and her grandmother has passed on.

Pictured here, reflected in the church window, Mom always wanted to go inside and pray where her ancestors worshiped. She knew that most of the important events in their lives took place in the church. Baptisms, confirmations, marriages, and funerals. Churches represented family and community.

Even today, I can see Mom sitting in the front pew in the silent, vacant Lutheran church in Aurora, Indiana, alone, head bowed, with the light streaming in through the stained-glass windows, splashed across her shoulders.

I didn’t cry at the time, but I surely do remembering it today.

Yes, Mother’s Day is hard.

I miss her.

Later Years

In Mom’s later years, after Dad died, she no longer went along on genealogy adventures. Truthfully, my life changed dramatically about that same time, and I no longer traveled either. I’m certainly glad we made those trips when we had the opportunity.

After Dad’s death, Mom’s focus was on her missionary work within the church, and her Avon route which was her way of visiting people, many shut-ins, and ministering to the needs of people who didn’t realize that’s what she was doing. Truth be told, that WAS her quietly-delivered mission.

Those “customers” thought she was coming to bring them an Avon book and see if they needed any Avon products. No one ever thought to ask why she returned again and again, like clockwork every other week, even when the answer was consistently no. Mom knew that most of those people could afford little.

Sometimes they would order something small. There’s no way Mom ever made any money driving to obtain the order and deliver the order on a 69-cent tube of Avon-brand chapstick. Not to mention she always gave those customers the “sale” price and a hefty discount. I saw her books after her death. Mom never made any money on Avon – period. In fact, she lost money every year. But making money wasn’t at all her purpose.

Mom always carried the same tan canvas bag, for years. The sides and handles were cracked and worn from the thousands of times she carried that bag with an Avon book and whatever she was delivering from her car into that particular house that day.

In reality, while she was the “Avon Lady,” Mom was bringing far more, including companionship and or perhaps the weekly tape recording of the church sermon for those who couldn’t attend. When the little country church didn’t have a recorder, she bought one, and tapes too. Then she bought tape players to leave with the people she visited so they could listen to those recorded sermons. All of that was from “the church” of course. I’m not sure anyone but me ever knew. The only reason I knew is because I had to teach her how to duplicate the tapes – one recorder and tape for each household. 😊

That canvas bag might also hold a dish she had cooked, sometimes frozen lunches for the week, groceries, medicine, clothes or whatever she thought they needed or could use. Mom always seemed to have “extra” of everything that she needed to get rid of, or at least that was her story to them.

She was checking on her “customers” without them having to feel awkward, asking if they needed anything picked up “on the way,” and notifying their family if something seemed “off.” She called each customer at least once every week, on the week she didn’t visit – and sometimes more often.

She knew about their families, illnesses, medical conditions, woes, and their joys too. She knew everyone’s child’s name, grandchildren, and every pet on the place, past, and present. She grieved with them when someone died and celebrated happy events. She was constantly attending funerals, weddings, and baby showers, often giving people rides. 

She was literally on the road or calling people every single day, in all weather, regardless of what else was happening.

Mom was responsible for saving more than one life.

And I can’t even guess how many animals she saved over the years.

Mom no longer had time to “waste” on genealogy. That would be left to me at some future date.

I realize now that Mom knew this was her “last chapter,” and she chose to write it as a legacy of service – until she literally physically could not continue anymore, at age 83.

Mom’s Avon career, after retiring as a bookkeeper, lasted a quarter-century and longer than any of us thought possible. Through a broken back, broken ribs, and pelvis broken in 3 places – in three separate accidents. The last time, she tripped over a picnic table and fell at an Avon picnic. Her biggest concern wasn’t her own health, but what her customers would do without her, and who would look after them. We didn’t think she would recover – but she did AND was back on the road in just a few weeks. Everyone, including the physicians, was dumbstruck.

She was nearly unstoppable and exceeded everyone’s expectations.

One of Mom’s customers took this picture of her final delivery at their house on her last day as an “Avon Lady,” less than a year before she crossed over. They gave it to me at her funeral.

Mom’s “retirement party,” while a celebration to many, was a bittersweet day indeed for her. She was oh-so-grateful, but she was also incredibly sad.

I was the one who sat with her in the car as she cried. She wiped her tears, freshened her Avon makeup (of course), put on Avon lipstick, stiffened her now-stooped back, and told me, “Alright, let’s go inside.”

No one ever knew how much she dreaded the next chapter.

Her Avon customers, family, and church friends honored her with a reception, a dinner, and incredibly thoughtful gifts.

Mom knew her life was changing, and she didn’t much care for the direction. She was also moving an hour away, close to my brother and his wife, as she was becoming increasingly frail and needed assistance. Her memory was also failing. We discovered later that she was having small strokes.

I had hoped Mom would come and live with me, but she was independent to the end and wanted to stay within driving distance of her home church and the people she had come to love so much.

Thankfully, I went home more often in those last few years and helped her as much as I could. At least, as much as she’d let me. Lord have Mercy, that tiny snip of a woman was stubborn!

It was during this time that I came to realize what had been happening her whole life.

The Obituary

When I drove home for the weekend, I often took my latest genealogy documents and finds along to share with her. We had long ago sifted through everything she had.

It was also during this time that she tested her DNA and I was able to share those results with her as well. Of course, compared to what we know today, those results back then seem quite primitive – but nonetheless, she was enthralled. In fact, Mom told me in her last few months that I should “do that,” meaning make DNA understandable and meaningful to people.

At the time, I dismissed her advice as a “mother thing.” Mothers have to say nice things about their kids, right?

During one of those trips, I took a folder I found at home holding several things that I think my great-aunt, my grandmother’s last living sibling, had sent me a few years earlier when she realized I was interested in genealogy.

Among those items, as Mom and I sorted them, was a newspaper clipping of her mother’s obituary.

I still remember that exchange so clearly, sitting at her kitchen table.

“Mom, look, there’s a picture of your parents in the choir on the church float.” I wondered if she had ever seen that before.

“And look here,” I continued, “it’s your Mom’s obituary.”

I had never seen my grandmother’s obituary before and had kind of assumed that because they lived in a tiny town, there wasn’t one. I never thought to ask, because surely, Mom would have saved a copy if there was one to be had. She certainly saved any variety of other things interleafed in the pages of the family Bible.

Mom was sitting across from me at the table and looked up.

I saw the tears well up in her eyes, before she even glanced at the papers I had spread across the table.

Then she reached for the yellowed obituary.

Like a dolt, I blurted out, “I’m so sorry, Mom. I didn’t realize that would upset you. I’m sure you’ve seen this before and I would have thought you would have been OK with this now.”

How could I have been so tone-deaf?

I didn’t mean it the way it came out, but exit my mouth it did.

What she said to me was a gift though and helps me so much today.

“Honey, you never get over your mother’s death. It’s never OK.”

She knew that one day, I would learn that first hand. So did I.

It’s Never OK

I didn’t expect her to “get over” her mother’s death, but she surely had seen that obituary before, right? And it couldn’t have taken her by surprise. It didn’t occur to me in that moment that maybe there was a reason WHY I had never seen that obituary. Why she didn’t have a copy.

I was truly mystified at her immediate reaction, going from pleasantly chatting and looking at photos to tears in about 3 seconds flat.

I asked, “I realize that Mom, but doesn’t it get easier with time?”

“No,” she said, “it doesn’t. Sometimes, in fact, it gets harder.”

My heart ached for her.

“Like when, Mom?”

“Like her birthday, and Christmas when no one is looking, especially late on Christmas Eve evening after everyone else goes to bed, and her death day. And on Mother’s Day.”

I had never really thought much about those, although I was certainly grieving my Dad’s death. It was fresher though, and her mother had passed away 40ish years before. It never occurred to me that it was still so raw for her.

But then again, I had never lost my mother. I had no point of reference.

Then I suddenly realized, all those years I had been making a big deal about Mother’s Day, she was silently grieving. She smiled at me as I gave her gifts, brought flowers, and did nice things, but wept when I wasn’t looking.

She was my mother, but she was also always the daughter whose mother was gone.

She stilled missed and grieved for her mother.

I hope my presence made Mother’s Day at least somewhat easier for her – although I did have to send flowers a few years when I couldn’t visit in person. Now I desperately wish I had. I know my brother and his family didn’t.

The church always had a Mother’s Day luncheon, but she came home to an empty house after Dad was gone if I wasn’t there.

Somehow though, her grief at her mother’s absence was disconnected from me – and from anything that I could have done. She simply grieved her mother at that same level – forever.

Grief is the price we pay for love. Love with no place left to go. No mother to go and see on Mother’s Day.

The greater the grief, the deeper the love.

After Mom’s Death

When my stepfather died in 1994, the man I loved as Dad, I planted a memorial tree for him – something that would go on living.

When I later moved to a new place, I planted a weeping pine tree for Dad there too. I also transplanted some of his ferns I had dug from the old farm place to plant in my new garden.

I love Dad’s ferns. They are happy here and have done quite well – peeking out already this spring.

Now, I’m digging those ferns for my kids so they’ll have some too. Pass the love on, and the ferns too.

I fully intended to plant a tree for Mom, but that simply didn’t happen, at least not intentionally. But something else did.

And it’s perfect.

The Little Tree That Could

Planting my perennial garden and the landscaping in my new home took a long time – in part because I did it myself to spread the cost and work across multiple years. Mom passed away while that was in progress.

A friend of mine worked at a plant store/nursery. They threw plants out that were dying and they couldn’t sell. They didn’t care if she took them home, so she sometimes salvaged something for me. Most of those did die, but some did not, and let’s just say I had a huge canvas to paint. I might have been a little over-exuberant in terms of the landscaping. 😊

One day, I came home to find this truly pathetic little tree leaning against the side of a too-big pot with only a little dirt sitting in my driveway. It was about 2 feet tall and consisted of about 2 branches and a few scraggly leaves. A Charlie Brown tree if there ever was one.

At the nursery, the tree’s original pot had fallen over, the dirt knocked away from the roots, and the roots dried out. In the garden community, this is known as “bare-rooting” and generally, once the plant’s bare roots are dry, the plant dies. Especially a tree.

So, this little tree was thrown on the trash heap, nearly dead. It was hopeless so no point in wasting time trying to save something that would die anyway. Even if it lived, it couldn’t be sold because it would be deformed and ugly. Trash heap.

Except, my friend noticed that a few leaves on a couple of branches were still alive and green a few days later, so she put the little tree into a pot, watered it with some fish water from the coy pond, and brought it over to me.

We agreed that it probably wouldn’t make it, and if it did, it was likely not to be very attractive, so I planted it on the perimeter of the property. If it died there, no problem. It was in the wildlife greenbelt area anyway.

I don’t remember exactly when this occurred, but it was about the time Mom passed away, maybe even that year. I did not, at that time, associate it with her passing.

Time Passes

That little tree survived. The next year, it had maybe two or three branches with a couple of blooms. I had forgotten about it, truthfully, and had no idea what kind of tree it was. It turned out to be some kind of crabapple, maybe.

The following year, it grew a little more.

The tree struggled and survived, reconstituted itself, then became beautiful, I couldn’t help but think of Mother each spring as it joyfully sprang to life – exactly when I was feeling blue.

A few years later, it was, amazingly, 3 or 4 feet tall and began to fill out. I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for rescued anything, and this little tree was no exception. It had survived despite the odds.

Now, I would be crushed if my little tree died.

It blooms every spring when I need it most, as I pass the anniversary of my mother’s death and head into Mother’s Day.

Every year, the tree is a little larger and more beautiful.

Today

This is the 15^th Mother’s Day that Mom’s been gone.

As I took my walk around the yard today, the little forlorn, forgotten, abandoned tree on the trash pile has blossomed stunningly. Don’t you think? Just like Mom did.

Other “landscape quality” trees in my yard have come and gone, but not this one. It’s a survivor, having grown substantially taller than me. It’s maybe 20 feet tall now, about half at tall as the pine growing behind it.

The little tree that could, and did, in spite of everything.

Mom’s legacy. This tree reminds me of her. In fact, it has come to represent her triumphs.

Mom’s tree.

Full Circle

Earlier today, I picked up two care quilts from my friend, Pam, who quilts the care quilts that I make.

Mom accompanies me on this journey.

She is with me in the late nights while I make the quilts. They are delivered for quilting in her now-repurposed Avon bag. Of course, Mom’s bag stays with Pam while she quilts the quilts. Then, Pam returns them to me in Mom’s bag, ready to be finished and sent to the intended recipient.

It’s a small thing, but Mom is with me and her legacy lives on in every care quilt.

Today, I took Mom’s bag and one of those care quilts with a somewhat helix-shaped fabric outside for a walk around the yard, to visit her tree. As Mother’s Day approaches and I move through my personal challenge of mid-April to mid-May, I seek beauty, solace, and peace outside.

God is in the garden and Mom is in the tree, the quilt, and the bag. Actually, Mom is in me too.

It just seemed appropriate, with Mom’s tree and Mom’s bag and the quilts that Mom’s legacy has inspired in multiple ways to take this picture to honor Mom on Mother’s Day.

The Message

I’ve really been struggling this spring, approaching Mother’s Day. A number of things have converged to make the situation more difficult than normal, including this past pandemic year and 7 Covid deaths in my family. That’s not counting my husband’s best friend, other friends and acquaintances, and their families. Yea, it’s been a rough year.

As I was trying to decide whether or not to actually publish this article, I found something remarkable. My husband had just removed an old TV to be recycled from an area that we haven’t used as a family room in more than 15 years.

As I walked back inside, I noticed something bright and yellow laying on the floor. I bent over to pick it up.

I have absolutely no idea where this came from. We never, ever had Christmas in that room or even in this house with Mom. Also, there is no tape on this tag, nor is it bent. It’s pristine and was never used.

Regardless, this little gift tag became unearthed from wherever it was and fell to the floor where I couldn’t help but find it. A message from Mom – in her own shaky handwriting.

I need more Kleenex.

Gratitude

I’m very grateful for so many things in addition to this Angel gift tag. Ironically, this little tag is a HUGE gift itself.

I’m incredibly grateful for Mom’s fortitude and her perseverance.

My God, that woman was strong.

I wrote about Mom this year on the day she passed over and posted it on my Facebook feed, although there are only a handful of people left who knew her. Maybe I was actually talking to myself, or her.

Mom has been gone 15 years today. How is that even possible?

Thinking about Mom, I realize that she instilled what I consider to be her good qualities in me, by example. I’m not sure, at all, that others or society considered them to be her good qualities.

She quietly swam upstream, trying at the same time not to get swamped or drown. She danced as a career, bought and owned her own home, raised a child as a single Mom, and in a quiet way, told society with their biased, restrictive norms about what women could and should do/not do to go to hell. Except, she wouldn’t have said Hell because it wasn’t ladylike.

She knew she really couldn’t rock the boat too much or she wouldn’t survive. Hence, her constant, and ironic, comment to me. “If you would just behave…”, which still makes me laugh.

No mom, I don’t, and won’t, and neither did you. Pushing the envelope is never comfortable.

Thanks, Mom, for your strength and bravery. Your example of quiet defiance. “And yet, she persisted.” I see you when I hear those words. Because you did, steadily, maybe in the hope that if you were quiet about it, you’d get less pushback. But you never stopped.

Guess what, Mom, you succeeded.

I miss you so much. You would be proud of the progress we have made. And we’re not done. Your legacy lives on.

It’s odd to be grateful to have loved so much as to grieve forever.

Love never dies. Neither does grief.

So, Mother’s Day is hard.

But in a very strange way, I wouldn’t want it not to be.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom, and thank you, for everything.

Seriously, I don’t know.

This man is a mystery.

Why can’t I let this go?

This man is like a ghost slipping in and out of the periphery of the Lore family story, popping up here and there shouting “Boo” and then running off again, laughing.

HE WILL NOT LET ME REST!!!

Awww, the curse of the obsessed genealogist.

I don’t even know P. L. Lore’s name, and everyone, but everyone in this family had nicknames. I think P. L. is the same man as Lon, who might be the same man as Alonzo, except neither the initials P. nor L. are A. for Alonzo. Not to mention, in one place, the name of Patrick is given. I’m flummoxed.

Why can’t I have a normal family????

How Did This Happen?

Originally, some 15 or 20 years ago, I noticed P. L. Lore’s name in the same general place and time with my Lore family in Warren Co., PA. He’s not the only mystery person there, and I didn’t think too much about it because there WAS at least one other unrelated, as proven by Y DNA, Lore (Loree, Lour) family who lived there at about the same time.

But then, everything changed.

Perusing old newspapers, I found this in Rushville, Indiana, while researching my great-grandfather, Curt Lore:

• October 2, 1903

What?

Curt’s brother was P. L. Lore?

And Curt had a motorcycle?

And he strapped his brother’s bicycle to his motorcycle and rode home 99 miles?

And they lived to tell the tale?

Lord have mercy.

Well, truthfully, a 1903 motorcycle looked an awful lot like a bicycle with a motor, so it’s probably not as dangerous as it sounds. Just no pedaling.

But still…

No, just no. 1000 times no.

There’s no room in this story for a mystery brother.

I mean, where was this brother on the census?

Oh, yea, this is my family – the people who had absolutely NO compunction about census accuracy.

Let’s set the stage and see what we can find.

You’re not going to believe this.

Antoine Lore and Rachel Levina Hill

If P. L. Lore was the brother of Curtis Benjamin Lore, known as Curt, then at least one, maybe both, of P. L. Lore’s parents had to be Antoine Lore, also known as Anthony Lore in the US, or Rachel Levina Hill.

If P. L. Lore was only a half-sibling, he would likely have been a brother through Anthony, given the same surname, but that’s not a given either. Anthony died sometime in or after 1862 and if Rachel had another child after Anthony’s death, without remarrying, the child would carry the Lore surname. That’s unlikely for a number of reasons – but then – so is this entire scenario.

The last census where we find the family together is 1860, before Anthony died sometime between 1862 and 1868. Rachel was ill, according to the family oral history, and died not long after along with Curt’s younger sister. The children, with one exception, were cast to the winds after their father’s death, “to raise themselves,” according to Curt. The family was terribly poor, a fact we see reflected in the 1870 census where Rachel is living with another family, with only one of her children, and has not one dime to her name.

I wrote about Curtis Benjamin Lore, here, here, here and here.

Anthony Lore seemed to have actually tried to not leave any records. That could be because he was actually a river pirate, drowning on the Allegheny River – as family lore stated. Or maybe he was just a poor farmer. Poor people left few records.

We do know something about the Lore family, thanks to the two census records which I’ll get to in a minute.

The only tidbit of information we have about the man who just might be P. L. Lore, and the only reason I knew about him at all, was a story told by Eloise, Curt’s youngest daughter who was born in 1903 and lived into her 90s. I knew her but didn’t ask nearly enough questions.

Eloise provided the following information, orally:

Curtis Benjamin Lore was born in 1860 or 1861 in Pennsylvania to Benjamin Lore whose wife’s name might have been Elvira or Elvina. Benjamin was a river pirate who drowned when Curtis was about 10 or 12, so about 1870 to 1872. Curtis also had a younger sister and a brother, “Uncle Lawn.” Curtis had come to Indiana in the 1880s as a well-driller and met Nora Kirsch while drilling for gas wells near Aurora, Indiana.

The spelling of “Lawn” is mine, because that’s exactly what it sounded like when she said it.

Ok, let’s take this apart, item by item.

Statement	Accuracy/Comment
Curtis Benjamin Lore was born in 1860 or 1861 in Pennsylvania…	This is the information from his death certificate, but according to the census, he was born in 1856, in Pennsylvania. That move to Indiana took half a decade off his age.
…to Benjamin Lore whose wife’s name might have been Elvira or Elvina.	Curt’s father was Antoine in Canada but was Anthony in the US. Curt’s mother was Rachel Levina Hill according to her 1815 birth record in Addison County, Vermont. She married Anthony in 1831 in Starksboro, VT.
Benjamin was a river pirate who drowned when Curtis was about 10 or 12, so about 1870 to 1872.	Anthony died sometime after his 1862 application for citizenship and before 1868 when he could have become a citizen. If Curt were 10 or 12 when his father died, that would have been in 1866-1868, which fits Eloise’s story perfectly.
Curtis also had a younger sister and a brother, “Uncle Lawn.”	The census confirms the sister.
Curtis had come to Indiana in the 1880s as a well-driller and met Nora Kirsch while drilling for gas wells near Aurora, Indiana.	True!

Let’s Look at the Evidence

“Lawn,” more likely “Lon” as found in later records, if he was older than Curt, would be reflected on the 1860 census with the rest of the family.

I initially expected to find Curt on the 1870 census, but not on the 1860 census, believing Curt was born in 1861. However, finding Curt on the 1860 census is how I discovered his actual birth year. You can’t be in the 1860 census if you aren’t yet born.

The first census where we find Anthony Lore is 1850. He and Rachel had been married for 19 years by this time, and based on the ages and places of birth of their children, had only recently moved from New York to Warren County, PA. We don’t know where they lived in New York, although the descendants of their son Francis say he was born in Chautauqua County, near either Chautauqua or Jamestown, NY.

That’s only about 30-35 miles from where they settled in Warren County, so that would make sense.

This is so frustrating though. How can someone just disappear for almost 20 years? Anthony managed to avoid the 1840 census taker. They lived in a very remote, rugged region of Warren County, and his son, Francis, was literally the first white settler in Iron River, Wisconsin – so I’d presume wherever Anthony was living in 1840 was in essence “off the grid.” Not to mention, if he really was a river pirate, he probably didn’t want to attract attention.

The family is still in Warren County in 1860.

There’s Curtis on the census in 1860, bigger than life, age 4. You’ll notice there is no P. L. Lore or P. anything. Neither is there an L name. However, there is a Tunis which is likely short for something, probably Antoine. Tunis is never found again and likely died.

We know that Anthony is alive in 1862 when he applied for citizenship, but never returns in 1868 when he would be eligible. Apparently, Anthony died between 1862 and 1868. Obviously, before the 1870 census.

The Civil War happened in the middle of the 1860s, of course. Some of the Lore boys would have been old enough to serve and at least two, Franklin, and Francis did. That war was a great disruptor. It’s possible that Anthony’s death was related to the war.

In 1870, Curtis Lore, age 14, is living with the Morrison family – confirming his birth year of 1856. According to what Curt told his daughters, he “hired out” and supported himself from the age of 10 or 12, which would suggest this father died about 1866-1868. In1870, Curt was working as a farmhand.

We find Rachel and the youngest daughter, age 1 in 1860, living with the Farnham family in 1870.

Where are the other children?

• William Henry would have been 31, so certainly married by this time, or on his own. I don’t find him on the census, but I found his wife and children living with her parents.
• One Franklin Lore is found, age 27, in Forest County, PA.
• I can’t find Francis, who was sometimes known as Frank, but he was living as we find him later. Why the devil did Anthony and Rachel name two sons Francis and Franklin? Seriously? Were these boys twins?
• Nathaniel had died before 1860.
• Mariah was married to Stephan Farnham, the son of the family Rachel was living with.
• Tunis is not found in 1870 or after.
• Mary and Minerva have two separate line entries of the same age in 1850 but neither one is entered in 1860. I don’t know where they are. I do know that Minerva did marry Harry Ward. Is it possible that they were twins and Mary died?

I created a table to track the various family members. Note that there is room for at least 6 children who likely perished before the census could record their existence.

	1850 Census	1860 Census	1870 Census	1880 Census	Comment
Anthony Lore b 1805	40 laborer b Canada	45 farmer b Canada	–	–	D 1862-1868
Rachel b 1815 married 1831	39 b VT	45 b VT	R.L. 54 b VT living with Elisha Farnham age 50	–	D 1870-1880
Missing 3 children	gap	–	–	–	–
William (Henry) b May 3, 1838/9	12 b NY	21 b NY	Not found but wife and children living with her parents		D 1914, m first wife Eliza Davis abt 1865
Missing child	gap	–	–	–	–
Franklin b	–	17 b NY, 1862 Civil War Erie Co	27 b NY, Forest Co., PA	May be a sheriff in 1896	D 1936 buried in Petrolia (Civil War vet card)
Francis J. b Dec. 5 1843/4	(f) 5 b NY	(m) 15 b NY 1862 Civil War Erie Co	–	In Butler Co., PA in 1881, Wisc before 1883	D 1913 Bayfield, Wisc m 1879 Coundersport, PA to Loretta Hannah Butler
Nathaniel	5 b NY	–	–	–	–
Mariah b June 27, 1846	4 b NY	14 b NY	Age 24, married to Stephen, child age 3	–	M in 1862 Elisha Stephen Farnham, D 1892
Missing child	gap	–	–	–	–
Tunis (m)	–	10? b PA	Not found	Not found	Not found
Mary	2 b NY	Not found	Not Found	Not Found	Is this the same person below or did she die?
Minerva b July 22, 1848	2 b NY	Not found	Not found	31, married to Harry, child age 10 born in MI	M Henry Ward bef 1870 D 1921
Francis Brewer	60 b France	–	–	–	No known relationship
Adin (A. D.) b Oct. 20, 1852	–	8 b PA	missing	28, married with 2 year old	M Sophia Morley D 1913 Erie Co.
Simon (Solomon) b May 4, 1854	–	6 b PA	Not found	Not found	M Candace Cummings abt 1882 D 1914 Erie Co.
Curtis b April 17, 1856	–	4 b PA	Age 14, with Morrison family	Married with children	Married 1876 to Mary Bills
Missing child	gap	–	–	–	–
Marilla	–	1 b PA	Margt 12 b PA	Not found	She was reported to have died
Potential Children
P. L. Lore	–	–	Not found	–	–
Alonzo Lore b 1861	–	–	Not found	19, Crawford Co., laborer with Wells family, parents born Canada	–

If there was a P. L. Lore, or an Alonzo Lore that were brothers to Curt lore, they would have either been one of the missing children, likely between Curt and Marilla, or born after the 1860 census. Rachel would have been 45 in 1860, so it’s possible that she had another child, or even two.

If so, where were they in 1870 and why were they not with Rachel. They would have been age 10 or under.

Curt’s obit in 1909 isn’t much help. It says 4 living brothers and one sister. I can confirm 5 living brothers, plus P. L. or Lon or whatever his name is, if he was still living. None of Curt’s siblings had traditional obituaries that provided names of relatives.

For some time, I thought that perhaps A. D. Lore, or Adin, was Alonzo or Lon by another name. However, A. D. is accounted for in 1900, living with his wife and two children, plus an adopted child in Crawford County, NY where he lived until his death in 1914. So he’s not a candidate.

Let’s Check DNA

The first thing I tried to do was take a shortcut.

I’ve added both P. L. Lore and Alonzo Lore as children of Anthony Lore and Rachel Levina Hill in my Ancestry Tree, hoping to form a Thruline with someone.

No dice.

However, I do have 27 matches with descendants of Solomon, Adin (A. D.), Mary Minerva who married Henry Ward, Maria who married Stephen Farnham, Francis Lore who moved to Wisconsin and William Henry Lore who had 4 families.

But no matches with anyone who descends from P. L., Lon or Alonzo☹

I need to introduce you to one more person.

Who is Mary Frost?

I was hoping against hope that one of Mary Frost’s children would turn up on my ThruLines.

Mary Frost married a Lore man.

The Warren Mail newspaper on Sept. 16, 1884 shows:

In Glade, September 6, 1884, at the residence of the bride’s parents, by Rev. Samuel Rowland, Mr. L. L. Lore to Miss Mary V. Frost.

Is this actually P. L. Lore? Typos are easy and P and L are close on the keyboard.

Let’s fast forward to 1909 and I’ll show you why I think this is P. L. Lore.

Mary Clark died in 1909 and had a will dated in 1904. She had 2 children, one of which was a Henry Lore, the other was a daughter, Pearl Lore Haser. Mary’s probate is as follows in Warren Co.:

June 26, 1909, in the estate of Mary L. Clark, deceased, on the petition of Fred Clark of Warren Co., Warren Boro, that she died on May 8, 1909, at 10:25 AM testate, that at the time of her death she was a resident of Warren Co. and that her last will bears the date January 30, 1904, and by which deceased nominated and appointed the petitioner executor thereof, that she left her surviving a husband, the said petitioner and children as follows:

            Pearl Lore Haser, wife of Harry Haser of Warren Co., Pa.

            Harry Lore aged 15 years of Warren Co. (so born 1894)

the only heirs of said decedent and petitioner asks to have the said will probated.

1. Pay just debts and funeral expenses
2. Give to husband…all my estate, real, personal and mixed of whatsoever nature and wheresoever situate.
3. Husband Fred Clark executor.

Signed in front of Mrs. Flora Davis and R.C. Davis

In 1912 we find the following in the orphan court records:

Estate of Mary L. Clark decd – June 24, 1912 at orphans court petition of R. H. Winger, guardian of Harry R. Lore, a minor child of Mary L. Clark, setting forth:

1. That on June 7, 1909 your petitioner was appointed guardian of said minor
2. That your petitioner has in his hands funds of said Minor to the amount $220.21 and that the said minor has no other property of any kind. That since the appointment of your petitioner as guardian as aforesaid the minor has lived with his Aunt Mrs. Ella House in the Borough of Warren and has been employed by the Hamond Iron Company and has supported himself.
3. That during the last winter the said minor was sick for some time and unable to work, that after he recovered and commenced work again, on January 24, 1912 while sliding down hill, he met with an accident in which one of his legs was broken; that he was at once taken to the Warren Emergency Hospital where he remained until April 11, 1912.
4. That while he was sick during the last winter and since he came from the Hospital on April 11, 1912, he boarded with his aunt the said Ella House for a period in all of fifteen weeks and that the said minor has not funds with which to pay for said board except said funds in the hand of the said guardian and that Ella House charges $4 per week for said board.
5. Your petitioner therefore prays that this court authorize and direct him to pay to the said Mrs. Ella House from said funds the sum of $60 for said board.

June 12, 1912, court so ordered.

The 1910 census shows Ella M. House born in 1873. We initially find Ella in the 1880 census with her parents and her sister, Mary L. Frost in Warren Co. as well.

• James L. Frost, 32, a laborer born NY
• Margaret 25 born Pa, father Pa, Mother NJ
• Mary L 9 born Pa, father NY and mother PA (born 1871)
• Ella M. 6 (born 1874) born PA, father NY and mother PA. (matches up with 1920)
• Cora 4
• Flora 2

Mary Frost married L. L. Lore – so now we’ve come full circle.

And, P. L. Lore has something to do with Fred Clark.

P. L. Lore and Alonzo Lore Timeline

I’m resorting to my tried and true timeline method to see if I can sort through the P. L. Lore mystery, or at least organize the evidence. I’m adding Alonzo to the timeline as well.

• 1880 – Alonzo Lore in the Crawford County census, age 19, so born in 1861. The only other Alonzo Lore I can find is in the NJ Lore family. He’s not the right age and otherwise accounted for.
• 1884 – Warren Mail newspaper on Sept. 16, 1884 – In Glade, Sept 6, 1884, at the residence of the bride’s parents, by Rev. Samuel Rowland, Mr. L. L. Lore to Miss Mary V. Frost.
• February 1886 – Pearl born to Mary Frost and her Lore husband.
• 1887 – Mary Lore is sued by C. Lauffensberger
• April 4, 1887 – A dead baby was found in the river by fishermen. L. Lore speared “something” which turned out to be the body of the child that was about 6 months old. He brought it to the surface and testified in court about what occurred.

Is this actually P. L. Lore? If not, who is L. Lore?

• September 1893 – Henry R. Lore born to Mary Frost and her Lore husband according to the 1900 census and Mary’s 1909 will and later probate where his age is given.
• Warren County, Newspaper – Dec. 26, 1894 – P. O. Lore of Erie spent Christmas in Warren, the guest of J. L. Frost, East Warren

That O. looks like a typo. J. L. Frost is Mary’s father.

• 1894 – The Erie City Directory shows P. L. Lore as a carpenter.
• January 7, 1895 – Maria Schatzle leased land to R. P. Dodsworth and P. L. Lore for oil drilling.
• March 1896 – P. L. Lore is sued by Maria Schatzle to force him to perform on a lease contract for oil/gas drilling.
• May 1896 – Maria Schatzle files a lawsuit against R. P. Dodsworth and P. L. Lore.
• November 4, 1896 – P. L. Lore and wife, Mary, sell 1/10^th interest to H. J. Muse
• November 26, 1896 – P. L. Lore sells half of his share to Mary Lore
• 1896 – Mrs. P. L. Lore whose name is Mary is sued by W. J. Muse for debt.
• 1897 – P. L. Lore is sued twice for debt by Fred Clark, whose wife in 1909 is Mary Frost who has two Lore children, Harry and Pearl.

Yes, I know you’re scratching your head. So was I. Just hang on.

P. L. Lore Oil Drilling Lawsuit

• January 1895 – Maria Schatzle leased land to R. P. Dodsworth and P. L. Lore. She is noted as “of Warren Co.” and both of the leasees were “of Erie Co.”  The verbiage is shown below in Maria’s lawsuit.

In May 1896, Maria Schatzle files a lawsuit in Warren Co. against R. P. Dodsworth and P. L. Lore saying:

1. That upon Jan. 7 1895 your orator entered into a contract with the defendants in writing, a copy attached hereto annexing and marked Exhibit A wherein she leased to them certain lands for oil mining purposes and wherein she became a partner with them in said mining operations; that she has performed her part of the contract but that they have altogether neglected to carry on the operations as intended, to her great damage, and are playing “Dogs in the manger.” (Dogs in the manger means a person who has no need of or ability to use a possession that would be of use or value to others, but who prevents others from having or using it.)
2. Your orator is informed and believes that the defendants started to drill a 3.5 inch hole, inadequate in size for the development of oil, upon the property described in Exhibit A. The usual depth of oil wells in the vicinity being 1433 feet. After one year and about 3 months they have only drilled to the depth of 4 to 6 hundred feet, though often requested to complete the same.
3. Defendants by color of that lease, Exhibit A, are holding the plaintiff’s land in restraint of business and to her great injury.
4. Your orator duly notified defendants to surrender the land referred to in exhibit A and they have refused and neglected to do so. See Exhibit B served on date it bears and upon both defendants.

Your orator prays:

1. For an injunction to compel defendants to proceed forthwith to perform the duties on their part to be kept and performed or to surrender claim to the property and for cancellation of leave Exhibit A.
2. That a decree for an account be made between the parties.
3. For an injunction to discover whether or not any such conspiracy as described in section 5 exists or existed and if so the name of the party or parties thereto.
4. Further relief.

Sworn March 25^th, 1896

Exhibit A

This agreement made the 7^th day of January 1895 between Maria Schatzle of Glade Township, Warren Co. PA, and P. L. Lore and R. P. Dodsworth, both of Erie, PA of the second part.

Witnesseth that the said party of the first part in consideration of the sum of $1 (one dollar) paid by said second parties the receipt of which is hereby acknowledged as well as the stipulations, and agreements hereinafter contained, does hereby grant bargain demise and lease unto the said party of the second part their heirs, assigns and for the purpose of operating for and obtaining there from oil, gas and other minerals and of saving and transporting the same, the following described piece of land, situate in the township of Glad, County of Warren, State of Pa, bounded as follows to wit:

On the North by lands of Henry Conam, east by lands of Mr. Frost, south by lands of Levett W. Clark and on the west by lands of Dr. R.B. Steward containing 20 acres.

Said second party, their heirs and assigns, shall have full free and exclusive possession of said premises for all the purposes of this lease including the erection of all necessary or convenient buildings and structures, with the exclusive right to lay pipes for the transportation of oil and gas and to erect and keep tanks for the storage thereof, together with the rights of way and of water courses and the right to lay, use and maintain water pipes and to utilize the water on said premises and adjoining lands of the first party for operations under this lease.  Second party to have the right to subdivide and sublease the premises or any part thereof.

Second party shall not unnecessarily interfere with the use of the said premises for agricultural purposes by first party and at the expiration or surrender of this lease shall have the right to remove all structures and property by second party placed hereon.

This lease is for the term of 20 years with the right of renewal and if at the end of that time oil or gas is still produced from said premises in paying quantities. Second party is to render to first party one-eighth of all the oil produced from said premises and one-eighth of the net proceeds of all gas obtained and sold therefrom.

The said parties of the second part shall have the right at any time, at their option, to surrender this lease to said first party and upon such surrender shall be released from any obligations thereunder.

It is hereby mutually understood and agreed by and between the parties to this agreement that the said Maria Schatzle of the first part shall be entitled to an undivided one fourth of the working interest in the first well drilled on the premises herein before leased. In consideration of which interest the said party of the first part agrees to pay to the said parties of the second part the sum of $100 when the first well shall be cased and a further sum of $100 when the first well shall be completed.

Signed and witnessed January 8, 1895

On November 4, 1896, P. L. Lore and wife, Mary, sell 1/10^th interest to H. J. Muse as follows:

Whereas P. L. Lore by an instrument in writing under his hand and seal bearing date the 4^th day of November 1896 and duly acknowledged by him before Samuel G. Allen, notary public, granted and assigned for a valuable consideration to him paid unto William Erhard, Fred Clark and George Erhard an undivided 1/10^th of a certain leasehold estate situate in Glade Township Warren Co, PA of land owned by Maria Schatsle or Maria Schatzle bounded north by land of Henry Cobham, east by land of Lavett W. Clark, south by land of Levett W. Clark and west by land of the late R.B. Stewart, containing 20 acres more or less and the same leasehold which said Maria Schatzle or Schatsle granted unto R. P. Dodsworth and P. L. Lore by an instrument in writing dated January 7, 1895 duly recorded in the office for recording of deeds in Warren Co, PA in deed book 76 page 540 and 541 in which instrument the said lands are inaccurately bounded on the east by land of Mr. Frost and whereas said interests of William Erhard and George Erhard have become vested in H. J. Muse by purchase and a sale upon writs of execution upon judgment against them. And whereas the interest of Fred Clark has become vested in said H. J. Muse by purchase and assignment in writing and whereas P. L. Lore by an instrument in writing dates November 26, 1896 recorded in the aforesaid office in deed book __ vol __ page ___ granted his share unto Mary Lore said interest at the date thereof being known and understood by said grantee to be the undivided one half of said leasehold less the 1/10^th of said leasehold which had theretofore been conveyed by said P.L. Lore to William Erhard, George Erhard and Fred Clark subject to the interest of the grantor of such leasehold in the working interest in the first well to be drilled upon said premises as specified in said original grant, now, therefore we the said P. L. Lore and Mary Lore, his wife, do grant and confirm unto said H. J. Muse, his heirs and assigns the undivided 1/10^th of said leasehold subject to the interest of Maria Schatsle in the working interest in the first well to be drilled and completed upon said premises being the 1/4 thereof and in all benefits of the said base creating it.  Recorded August 28, 1897.

Then we find the deed where P. L. Lore sells his share to his wife, Mary, as follows:

Know all men by these presents that a P. L. Lore of Warren, Warren Co, PA for valuable consideration to me in hand paid by Mary Lore at and before the unsealing and delivery hereof the receipt of which is hereby acknowledged and have granted bargained, sold, transferred, assigned and set over unto the said Mary Lore all my right title and interest in and to all that indenture of lease from Maria Schatsle to myself and R. P. Dodsworth bearing date of January 7, 1895 which lease I am now operating and together with my right and title in and to all the personal property located thereon thereto attached or in anywise appertaining…to have and to hold the said interests unto the said Mary Lore and unto her heirs and assigns forever.  Signed Nov 26, 1896, and recorded May 7, 1897.

However, that last deed says Mary Lore, but NEVER says she is his wife. Clearly, based on the preceding deed, Mary Lore is P. L. Lore’s wife. It’s still a very odd combination of deeds.

Ok, I think that the link with the Frost land, the Clark land, and Fred Clark pretty well cinches that P. L. Lore’s wife is Mary Frost who eventually marries Fred Clark.

I suspected that Mary was P. L. Lore’s widow, but there’s a twist, of course…

Alonzo Lore

We find a Mary Lore divorcing Alonzo Lore in Warren Co. in the following court record:

• February 3, 1898, Book 59-49 Mary Lore libellant vs Alonzo Lore respondent. Subpoena files and returned unable to find respondent.
• February 8, 1898 – Alonzo lore is served in Warren Borough.
• April 9, 1898 – Libellant bill of particulars filed. Mary Lore vs Alonzo Lore (I hunted for this in the courthouse in Warren County which they could not find due to remodeling. They were to mail when remodel was done, but they didn’t.)
• April 11, 1898 – Mary Lore vs Alonzo Lore – Case heard and respondent not appearing.
• April 12, 1898 – Mary Lore vs Alonzo Lore – Respondent files answer.
• April 13, 1898 – Mary Lore vs Alonzo Lore – Divorce granted.
• 1901 and 1903 – Mary Lore vs Alonzo Lore fees finally paid.

Who the heck is Alonzo Lore?

P. L. Lore Gets in Trouble

As fate would have it, P. L. Lore is in court on EXACTLY the same day, in the same courthouse as Alonzo Lore when Alonzo was being served with divorce papers. What are the chances? Are P. L. Lore and Alonzo Lore the same man?

Alonzo’s wife, Mary, filed for divorce in February 1898, filed a bill of particulars on April 9^th and the divorce was final four days later. That’s the fastest divorce I’ve ever heard of.

• April 9, 1898 – P. L. Lore was arrested April 8^th, charged with larceny and brought before Squire Meacham. He gave bail in the sum of $50 for his appearance at the June term of court.

• June 9, 1898 – P. A. Lore is on trial for larceny as we go to press this (Thursday) morning.
• June 16, 1898 – In the larceny case of Patrick Lore finished Thursday, defendant was found not guilty and the prosecutor ordered to pay the costs.

Wow, that must have been some trial. It took a week.

Patrick Lore. We have a name, except there is no other Patrick Lore in the county, ever. Is this the right name?

This is getting even more confusing.

What else can we discover about Mary Frost? Maybe there’s something there.

Mary Frost Lore Clark

Mary Frost Lore Clark is buried in Oakland Cemetery in an unmarked grave.

Fred Clark is buried in the same cemetery, having died in 1941, but he has a stone. His only child is noted as one daughter named Mary born September 23, 1897 and died on September 23, 1898. If this is his child, then either he was married before Mary Frost (Lore) or this was their first and only child and was born before she divorced P. L. Lore.

Note that P. L. Lore signed over half of his rights to that mining contract to Mary on Nov 26, 1896, and it was recorded May 7, 1897. If this is the same Mary, she would have been five months pregnant with Fred Clark’s child when that deed was signed.

The 1900 census shows Mary and Fred Clark in Brokenstraw, Warren Co., PA. She was born August 1871, is age 28 and has been married for 2 years which suggests before April 1898, which is the exact month Mary Lore divorced Alonzo Lore and P. L. Lore was prosecuted for larceny, but acquitted.

According to the census, Mary Frost Lore Clark had given birth to 5 children, with only 2 living. One death was probably Mary Clark in 1898, and the other two babies would have been born to Mary and P. L. Lore between Pearl and Harry.

Daughter Pearl born in February of 1886 is living with them as is Harry, born in Sept of 1893.

Whoo boy!

I’m guessing there was a LOT, and I mean a LOT of drama surrounding the Clark/Frost/Lore families in Warren County between 1895 and 1898. It’s amazing nobody shot someone else.

A records search of all Lore names that begin with P gives us 4 males with P names, Philip, Peter, Paul, and then one with Payne as a middle name.

The closest and only P. L. match is Phineas L. Lore. This Phineas was born in 1872, which is too late. Phineas is well documented in the NJ group. Clearly, P. L. Lore is not Phineas, so that door is closed.

I have not found any P. Lore in the 1880 – 1910 census in Warren or Erie Co., PA, or anyplace close. Maybe there are additional records in Erie Co. where it was stated that P. L. Lore lived. 

Quandry

For the past two decades, I figured P. L. Lore wasn’t our line – but I couldn’t forget about him entirely. Between no P. L. or Alonzo Lore in the 1860 census as a child of Anthony and Rachel, along with Rachel being age 45 in 1860 – P. L. simply didn’t seem to fit. Nor was there a P. L. Lore in the records of “Uncle Stanley” who lived locally in Warren County in the early 1900s, a grandson of Solomon, and recorded a great deal of family history that would not have otherwise been available. He correctly documented Curt Lore’s two marriages, long before we, in Indiana, descended from the second marriage, knew anything about the first one.

But then, those pesky newspaper articles referring to Lon and then P. L. Lore as Curt Lore’s brother surfaced, along with Eloise’s stories of Uncle Lon who she thought was named Alonzo.

They can’t all be true.

Can they?

Did P. L. Lore become Lon Lore in Indiana?

One way or another, it looks like P. L. Lore’s wife, Mary Frost, had enough of him. He signed half of his share of that oil and gas well over to her. They sold one-tenth of their interest to Mr. Muse who sold it to Fred Clark. She married Fred Clark in what appears to be short order after Mary divorced Alonzo Lore. Mary Lore appears to have had a child with Fred Clark the year before she officially divorced P. L. Lore – if indeed P. L. is the same person as Alonzo and Mary is one and the same.

Otherwise, if P. L. and Alonzo aren’t the same man, we know that Mary Lore DID divorce P. L. Lore, but we don’t know when. They were living in Warren County at that time so that’s where they would have divorced. Mary is married to P. L. Lore in November 1896 when they sign a deed together and he signs property over to her, and Mary had been married to Fred Clark for two years by the 1900 census taken in April of that year. That pushes their marriage to April of 1898, which is when Mary Lore divorced Alonzo. That’s after the baby, Mary Clark, was born, but before she died.

Did P. L. Lore leave and head for Indiana to join his brother’s well drilling operation where no one knew about his somewhat checkered past? Curt Lore had a past himself. He left one wife and family and married a second wife before divorcing the first.

Those Lore boys were pretty wild. Their eldest brother, William Henry Lore had four families, and it’s unclear whether or not they all knew about each other. Or, put another way, his descendants were certainly surprised to make that discovery. We still don’t know what happened to one wife who disappeared, and there are questions about two of his daughters who may have been institutionalized…but I digress.

Did P. L., Patrick or Alonzo Lore simply leave and become “Lon?”

• Rushville Newspaper – September 8, 1903 – list of unclaimed letters in the post office includes P. L. Lore.
• Greensburg Standard newspaper – October 2, 1903

• Rushville – August 22, 1905 – Lon Lore left today on a business trip to Cincinnati.
• Rushville – November 8, 1905 – P. L. Lore of Cincinnati among those who came home to vote.

Apparently, P. L. Lore had moved to Cincinnati. Perhaps he is looking after business interests for his brother.

• November 6, 1906 – Curt and Lon Lore who have been working on the Indianapolis and Louisville traction line, near Scottsburg, returned home to vote today.

Curt and Lon must have returned to Scottsburg and were probably living there, at least temporarily. On January 7, 1907, the newspaper reported that Curt Lore “who has been employed with the…interurban line at Scottsburg has returned to this city.” No mention of Lon, and Curt was ill with both Typhoid and TB, although the newspaper doesn’t mention that until January 22^nd.

Connect the Dots

• I think we’ve connected the dots and it’s safe to say that P. L. Lore in Rushville, Indiana, with Curt Lore, identified as his brother in the Greensburg newspaper is indeed Lon Lore.
• It would be an incredible coincidence if the L. L. Lore (probably a typo) who married Mary Frost in 1884, and the P. L. Lore who came home from Erie to visit Mary’s father at Christmas in 1894 wasn’t the same man.
• It would be remarkable if this P. L. and Mary Lore who were involved in the land transactions and lawsuits involving both the Frost and Clark boundary lines, and Fred Clark isn’t the same P. L. Lore who after being sued signed half the rights to the oil and gas well to his wife Mary a two years later.
• It would be even more remarkable if this wasn’t the same couple who sole one-tenth of their interest in the oil well to Muse who sold it to Fred Clark.
• It would be pretty unbelievable if that Mary Lore isn’t the Mary Lore who married Fred Clark about 1898 and had two Lore children living with them in the 1900 census.
• The biggest hurdle to overcome is the name P. L. Lore in every other Warren County record (excluding typos) and Alonzo Lore in the 1898 divorce proceedings. However, L might stand for something that sounded like Alonzo. These records may have been reindexed or recopied, too. Alonzo’s wife, Mary, was finally able to serve him with divorce papers on the exact same day in the same courthouse as P. L. Lore, whose wife’s name was Mary, was tried for larceny. That would be some coincidence, but those two men might not be the same.
• And for P. L. Lore’s former wife to just happen to marry Fred Clark after signing property rights to him – that’s no coincidence.

So yes, if I was P. L. Lore aka Alonzo Lore, striking out for the oilfields in Indiana where my brother owned a drilling company might just sound like a wonderful idea.

I do wonder what happened to Lon, by whatever name, and his two children. I found absolutely nothing about his children.

Oil drilling was a dangerous occupation, and I suspect those roughnecks were pretty lax about safety measures, at least by today’s standards.

The last we hear about Lon was in 1906 when he was apparently living in Rushville and working with Curt in Scottsburg on the train line between Indianapolis and Louisville. That’s about the time that Curt Lore got sick, very sick, with both Typhoid and Tuberculosis.

According to Eloise, Lon stormed out after he sat on a pin that her sisters, Edith and Curtis, “always devils,” put in the horsehair sofa especially for him and “he never came back.” Perhaps the girls didn’t like him.

It’s truly sad that Lon left when he did, because just a couple months later, Curt and his family desperately needed help. Not only then, but for the next three years as Curt slowly became weaker and died.

Maybe his departure when Curt got sick wasn’t a coincidence either.

I wonder if Lon knew how sick his brother became, or that Curt died. Did he leave because he knew Curt had TB? Maybe because Curt couldn’t manage the drilling and construction projects anymore? It seems that Lon could have helped him a great deal.

I’d hate to think that Lon actually left because Curt wasn’t useful to him anymore. He worked for and with Curt for at least three years. Staying to help wouldn’t have hurt him – unless, of course, maybe he became ill too. After all, those two men had been living together.

Maybe Lon died before Curt. According to Eloise, Uncle Lon simply disappeared and they never heard from him again.

What happened?

Finding P. L. Lore?

I was bemoaning P. L. Lore to my friend, Maree, who often sends me tips and hints.

Sometimes she wades through the weeds I’ve already waded through, sometimes different weeds, and occasionally, she hits the jackpot – or at least a hint that leads to a pot of gold. She’s more patient and thorough than I am and I’m ever so grateful.

In this case, Maree turned up something VERY interesting!

She may, in fact, have found our P. L. Lore.

Maree found a death certificate for a man named P. L. Lore in Florida in 1917, a decade after he disappeared from Indiana.

Florida doesn’t seem very likely, but then again, we really have NO idea where Lon went. I wasn’t very hopeful because I’ve been on so many wild goose chases with this family.

One thing is for sure, I should have learned long ago to expect the unexpected.

At first glance, when I looked at this record, I focused on the cause of death, the date, his age which is kind of close, and pertinent information like his parents.

When finding all of his vital information entirely missing, I thought “how odd,” and looked further.

His death occurred at the Florida Hospital for the Insane and he was buried in the hospital cemetery. He’s listed as married, but no wife’s name is given.

Fifty is a round number for an age, and I’d wager that it was someone’s best guess.

He died of chronic kidney disease, interstitial nephritis, but had never been seen by the doctor until the day he died. That’s very strange.

Interstitial nephritis can be associated with tuberculosis or syphilis – and can also cause mental changes, psychosis, confusion, or in the terms of 1917 – insanity.

P. L. was married, but his wife or family did not come to retrieve his body. Perhaps they simply couldn’t, or perhaps there was more to that story.

Is this him?

I was desperate to find out more.

Believe it or not, Patrick, Patrick L., and P. L. Lore aren’t actually common names, so I started digging again.

In the 1913 and 1914 City Directory for Jacksonville, Florida, I found an entry for Patrick L. Lore, a well driller.

A well driller. What are the chances of another Patrick L. Lore being a well-driller, given that this is such an unusual name?

There’s the name Patrick again too, just like that newspaper article from Pennsylvania all those years before.

In 1915, 1916 and 1917, he’s listed at 19 Lackawanna Av, wife’s name Ella.

In 1918, Ella is listed as the widow of Patrick L. Lore, so we’ve probably found the correct person that died in 1917.

One fly in the ointment might be that Jacksonville is some 200 miles away from Chattahoochee, but the only insane asylum in Florida at that time was in Chattahoochee.

These puzzle pieces seem to make sense. Beyond this reconstruction, I don’t know that we can ever connect the rest of the dots. I can’t even find all the dots.

However, I did find one more.

After compiling this information, I went back once again and searched the Warren County, PA, census for 1870. P. L. or Lon would have been about 9 years old at that time, if my theory is correct.

This time, I searched for any “Patrick” with no surname. I didn’t see anything that looked terribly interesting, but I read every single record anyway. Then I found him.

Maria Lore had married Stephen Farnham. They had a three year old child. Living with them was Pat Lannagan. Pat Lannagan, age 9, so born in 1861?

Census taker: Who’s that, over there?

Maria: Why that’s Pat Lannagan, my little brother. He’s 9.

Census taker: Writes “Pat Lannagan,” says goodday, and moves on to the next house.

Lannagan could actually be Lonnigan. Either way, certainly, “Lon” could be the logical nickname of either. Not to mention, nicknames don’t have to be logical – especially not in my family.

I think we’ve confirmed the identification of and found the final resting place of Curt’s brother, P. L. Lore, by whatever name.

I believe that Patrick, P. L., Patrick L, Pat Lannigan, Alonzo and Lon were one and the same person. I still don’t entirely understand Alonzo, unless Lannigan was actually Alonzo misstated or misspelled, or vice versa.

In the 1870 census, Pat Lannagan was living with Maria, his sister, but we found Alfonzo in the 1880 census working as a laborer. In 1884, L. L. Lore married Mary Frost – and you know the rest of the story. This all adds up, finally.

This adventure was anything but easy.

We’ll likely never discover the rest of P. L. Lore’s story – although you know, given what few pieces we have – it’s bound to be one humdinger. I keep hoping for a DNA match that can perhaps fill in some of those blanks.

I’ve (finally) laid “Uncle Lon” to rest by creating a memorial for him at FindAGrave.

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