genealogy Archives - Page 6 of 7 - Ramblin' with Roger

Lillian Yates Holland

The problem is time. It’s always time.

Right after my mother’s death half a decade ago, I had this renewed interest in my family genealogy. For one thing, the family Bible had lots of information, some going back a century and a half. The matriarch of the clan was my maternal grandmother’s mother, Lillian Yates Holland.

This picture was reportedly taken when she was still Lillian Archer, and was sixteen, though she looks older to me.

She had five children, four of whom survived childhood: Gertrude, Edward, Ernest, and Adenia Yates. Gert, who married Clarence Williams, was my grandma and lived with Deana in the house I went to every day for lunch growing up. Ed lived up the hill from Gert and Deana. Ernie, the father of my mom’s four first cousins, died when I was an infant; apparently, I was afraid of him, because he reminded me of my pediatrician, Dr. Israel Rosefsky.

Lillian was married to Edward Yates, Sr., before he passed away circa 1910. She married again, to a man named Holland, who, according to various Census records, was from Texas. Or Mexico. There’s a lot of that contrary information in the minimal digging my sisters and I have done.

It’s clear that Lillian had a not-distant ancestor who was part Irish. Or English. I’ve not dug far enough back to ascertain this. I suppose I assume it was Irish because of the real-life story of a black man and Irish woman in the book The Sweeter The Juice.

Some people fret about what they would do when they retire. Surely one of my tasks would be to fill out the family tree more fully. It’s not that I don’t currently have the resources; I’ve had a membership with ancestry.com for at least a couple of years.

The problem is time. It’s always time.

The other thing my sisters and have vowed to do, sooner than later, is to get a headstone for Gert and Deana. Deana died in the mid-1960s, and Gert in 1983, but my parents, for whatever reason, never got a marker. They’re buried very near where Lillian was laid to rest, in Spring Forest Cemetery in Binghamton, NY, not two blocks from where Lillian, and Gert and her sibs, and my mother all grew up.

The royal connection

My wife and daughter, if you go back far enough, have common ancestors with the guys who are second and third in line to the British throne.

As I have alluded to before, my wife and my daughter are related to William and Harry and George, those UK royals.

It seems that:
Henry Spencer (b. 1353) married Isabel Lincoln (b. 1357)
They had at least two sons:
William Spencer (b. 1376) is a direct ancestor of Diana Spencer (b. July 1, 1961)
Thomas Spencer (b. 1378) is a direct ancestor of Susannah Spencer (b. 1680). Susannah married John Olin (b.1664) on October 4, 1708.

You may recall that John Olin, who was once a 14-year old cabin boy as an indentured servant, forced into service on the British ship Man-O-War, jumped off the boat heading for Boston harbor. He swam ashore, stealthily traveled inland for about a week, and ended up in the care of the Narragansett Indians for eight years. He became an indentured servant to a Samuel Gorton until 1700, when he became a free man.

John and Susannah had four known children, Joseph, John, Henry and Eleanor. Joseph was the ancestor, eight generations back, of my mother-in-law. Thus my wife and daughter, if you go back far enough, have common ancestors with the guys who are second, third, and fourth in line to the British throne.

This means, of course, that, as President of the Olin family reunion, New York/Pennsylvania branch, I ought to send the William and George (and Harry) an invitation to the annual event.

The end of the world

The End of the World by Skeeter Davis, which came out in early 1963, is considered the most successful crossover hit ever

I’m rushing out to go to work last Friday when my eyeglasses break. This isn’t the screw coming out, for which I have tools for fixing the problem – assuming I can find the screw, and the tools. No, this break severed the screw. AND I can’t find the lens because I don’t have my glasses. The Wife comes to my aid.

I seek older pairs of my eyewear. Even days later, I discover: 1) the previous pair of glasses is MIA; 2) the pair before that is broken. I found a couple of eyeglasses cases that are empty. Discovered an old pair from, a decade ago? or longer? that The Daughter thinks are scary because they’re much larger on my face. If I had my photos in order, I could find a photo of me wearing them.

Got through the weekend with the ancient pair. Not so hard to use at the computer, but it’s a challenge reading music at church on Sunday, especially the offertory in 5/4. Fortunately, the anthem was “Come Thy Holy Spirit” by Pavel Tschesnokoff, which I first sang 45 YEARS AGO. (Lots of versions online as “Let Thy Holy Spirit“.)

In other words, breaking the glasses was not “The end of the world,” especially after I get them fixed Monday.
***
Sad news: Warren Olin died Sunday afternoon. He was the patriarch of the Olin clan, eldest of eight children, and the family genealogist who discovered his ninth generation ancestors John Olin and Susannah Spencer, and wrote the book – actually two books – about them and their descendants. Warren was the older brother of my mother-in-law, and my wife’s uncle.

Oddly, though, he didn’t want any funeral or public event, much to The Wife’s surprise. We’re sure all the branches of the clan would have wanted to acknowledge his passing. I can only gather that he didn’t want to be a bother.

(For my departure, you can make all the civilized ruckus you want. I’m requesting Chopin’s “Raindrop” Prelude in D flat Major, Op.28 No.15, which someone was playing after church this weekend.)
***
Some friend of my niece Alexandria was noting the passing of a huge asteroid by the Earth this past Sunday.

peaking about “The Beast”, [an expert] said: “This one would definitely be catastrophic if it hit the Earth…
“If it hit a city, it would definitely wipe out an entire metropolitan area.”
The explosion would unleash an explosion with a yield of about 2000 megatons.
“You’d end up with a crater about 4.8km (~3 miles) across… An event like that would break windows over 100 kilometres (~62 miles) away.”

Alex’s friend complained: “So why am I only finding out about this NOW?” The facts were known by astronomers two weeks ago. I wondered, “What would you do if you knew?”

Now if we knew this, or a subsequent large asteroid, WERE going to hit the earth, I wonder how we would live our lives differently?
***
All this, of course, had me thinking about music. I Googled End of the World music. Naturally, I got that REM song. But that wasn’t what I was wanted.

I had on my mind The End of the World by Skeeter Davis, which came out in early 1963. It is considered the most successful crossover hit ever, going to #2 on both the country and pop charts, #1 on the adult contemporary charts, and, surprisingly, #4 on the rhythm and blues charts, “making Davis one of the very few Caucasian female singers to have a top ten hit in that market.” I love the set on this live version.

That damn song about ancestors

My parents are gone and have joined my ancestors, and there is no one else in an earlier generation in my lineage.

Right after I got back to Albany, after my mother’s funeral in February 2011 in Charlotte, NC, I attended the church service of my current congregation. It was Black History Month, and I had helped organize the events but did not participate much in them. I’m standing in the congregation, rather than singing in the choir when we got to do Lift Every Voice and Sing.

I’m singing it, as I’ve done dozens of times in the past. We get to the lyrics:
Out from the gloomy past,
Till now we stand at last

And I start sobbing uncontrollably. Don’t know if anyone, except The Wife, noticed, but I was unable to sing anymore.

I’m reminded of this because it’s always the last song we perform at my church in Black History Month, and I am still unable to get through the song without crying at some point, and that had not been an issue before 2011. I think it’s that “adult orphan” thing, that my parents are gone and have joined my ancestors, that there is no one else in an earlier generation in my lineage – my parents were both only children – and somehow I’ve become the eldest member of my tiny little tribe on earth, the children and grandchildren of Les and Trudy Green, who were married March 12, 1950, in Binghamton, NY.

LISTEN to Lift Every Voice and Sing.

Everyone wants to be Irish, now

It seems more likely at that time that an Irish woman, who was of lower social standing, would marry a black man than an English woman would.

I go through this periodic rushes of interest in my genealogy, stifled primarily by life getting in the way. When I was growing up, I was told I was, in addition to being black, American Indian, probably Iroquois, on both sides; having seen my maternal grandmother, it was quite evident at least in her heritage. I was Dutch on my father’s side, though it COULD have really been Pennsylvania Dutch, which was actually German.

On my mother’s mother’s mother’s side, there is a picture – a daguerreotype, I think – of a white woman who is an ancestor. She came from the British Isles, but was she English, or Irish? I rather fancied the latter, especially after having read the book The Sweeter The Juice, a true story about an Irish woman and a mulatto man marrying after the Civil War. The Irish had not achieved “whiteness” in the United States right away; it took a couple of generations before beginning to assimilate.

So it seems more likely at that time that an Irish woman, who was of lower social standing, would marry a black man than an English woman would. The particulars of my specific past, however, remain a familial mystery until that purported “free time” I seek allows a greater investigation into this matter.

One thing I could easily do is take one of those DNA tests that I got from Ancestry.com several weeks ago. It wouldn’t likely distinguish between German and Dutch, or English and Irish, but it would be broadly informative.

As you may recall, it was discovered that Barack Obama had Irish ancestors; lots of O’Bama jokes ensued at the time.

I’ve always been Roger O. Green, or Roger O’Green, if you will. Some day, maybe I’ll discover whether I come by my faux designation legitimately.