We’re moving! After almost 38 years in one house, we will be moving to a smaller home in a few months. Oh, my. We have an attic and basement full of the accumulation that comes with raising a family and losing grandparents and parents over decades. I’m trying to balance the desire to hold on to family memories and my readiness to be less tied to generations of material things. It’s more than a little overwhelming.
Tucked into all this, there are boxes of surprises. Things my mother packed in the Hartford Courant’s January 5, 1976 edition before a move. Two moves later she put boxes in our attic in 1995, saying “These don’t belong to you,” and she never touched them again. I’ve started unwrapping them and I’m finding finds.
Mind you, the goal here is to pare down, deaccession, simplify. But So. Much. Stuff.
If you’re reading this you already know that I’m enthralled by family stories and the things that remind us of those stories. But the sheer volume has to go. So, as I go through this tender process, I’m going to share an object and its story now and then.
The tea cart pictured above was bought by my grandmother about 1945. My mother’s family had lived in Beirut, Lebanon, and moved to the United States when World War II ended. I remember the cart in their little house in the woods in Dover, Massachusetts throughout my childhood. A silver tea service that had belonged to Granny’s mother, Mary (Hill) Mills, sat on it.
My grandfather gave my grandmother a budget for the new household they were setting up in New Hampshire. The figure he told her was their modest total household budget for the year, but apparently Granny misunderstood. She bought a houseful of furniture, spending every bit of their year’s funds. I have no idea how they sorted that out, but the furniture stayed.
Elsie (Mills) Oliver, Celia Oliver, and Kenneth Oliver, my grandparents and mother, at Goucher College graduation, 1954.
After moving with my mum several times, the sweet tea cart has been collecting dust in my basement for several years. I’m thrilled with how it glows now, but I don’t have a spot for it when we move. It’s headed to Circus Lane, a friend’s antiques and vintage shop in search of a new home.
I’d never noticed the little drawer. I hope its new owner does, because I’m going to leave them a note with its story.
Engagement photograph of Elsie Mills and Kenneth Oliver, date unknown.
Kenneth Oliver (1898-1975) and Elsie Mills (1899-1993), my grandparents, were married 100 years ago on February 18, 1925 at the Church of St. Ignatius Loyala in Manhattan. Like so many good love stories, theirs had its twists and turns, including the classic “boy-meets-girl;-boy-loses-girl;-boy-gets-girl” plot line. It also had parental obstacles, a rival, and international adventure.
Elsie was the eldest of four children of James Mills, a physician and faculty member at Johns Hopkins University Medical School and his wife Mary (Hill). She studied art at the Maryland Institute in Baltimore, graduating in 1921 as winner of the fine art prize.
Maryland Institute, Baltimore, where Elsie Mills studied art.
Ken graduated from Haverford College in 1920 and arrived in Baltimore later that year to study medicine at Hopkins. He must have studied with his future father-in-law that first year, because the Baltimore Sun reported on July 13, 1921 that James Mills and Kenneth Oliver were sailing to Beirut on July 20th. They visited Ken’s parents at their orphanage near Beirut, returning to Baltimore in October.
From the Baltimore Sun, 13 July, 1921
I don’t know any details of the start or early stages of my grandparents’ romance. Elsie continued her art studies and painting and Ken focused his medical studies, specializing in eye, ear, nose, and throat, his future father-in-law’s specialty. They were probably engaged sometime before the summer of 1921, but James Mills would not allow his daughter to marry Ken until he finished his residency, which was several years off. I imagine they were disappointed, but even my headstrong, free-spirited grandmother would not have disobeyed her father.
James Mills, 1914 Elsie’s father and Ken’s professor at Johns Hopkins University Medical School.
Sometime after their engagement, Ken believed he had tuberculosis. TB was highly contagious and still usually fatal, so he broke off his engagement to Elsie. She spent the summer of 1921 studying art in Woodstock, New York with Leon Kroll, George Bellows, and other major artists.
Leon Kroll, self-portrait, lithograph
Kroll (1884-1974), who had also taught Elsie at the Maryland Institute, seems to have taken a particular interest in her. He worked side by side with her, each completing a portrait of his Haitian maid that summer, and he used Elsie as a model for several of his paintings.
According to my grandmother, Kroll also asked her to marry him that summer after her engagement had been broken off. Fortunately for my grandfather and their descendants, she turned him down in order to stay true to Ken. And in classic romantic movie style, Ken turned out not to have TB, so they reconciled.
During the next several years, Ken continued his medical training and Elsie continued to study, exhibit, and teach art. Elsie’s father, James, died unexpectedly at age 61 on January 2, 1925, and the young couple seems to have wasted no time, marrying just six weeks later.
Left: 116 East 63rd Street, New York, Elsie’s apartment building in February 1925; Right: Brearley School, 60 East 61st Street, New York, where Elsie taught art. Photo credit:Daytonian in Manhattan
At the time of their marriage, Elsie was living in New York at 116 East 63rd Street. She was continuing her art studies and teaching art at the Brearley School, a prestigious private school for girls, located two blocks south at 60 East 61st Street in a building designed by McKim, Mead & White.
I wish it had ever occurred to me to ask my grandparents about their wedding, but it didn’t. The marriage certificate fills in a few details. Given how soon after James Mills’s death they were married, I imagine that it was a very small ceremony. The marriage certificate lists the witnesses as Daniel and A. Douglas Oliver, Ken’s father and elder brother. Daniel Oliver lived in Lebanon, but traveled occasionally to the United States for his work. It is possible that the wedding was the first time Daniel met his new daughter-in-law.
Ken and Elsie were married at the Church of Saint Ignatius Loyola at 980 Park Avenue in Manhattan. An imposing edifice built from 1895-1900, it was the scene of many high profile occasions such as the funerals of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, Lena Horne, Oscar de la Renta, and Mario Cuomo. It was also the filming location for the funeral of Logan Roy, central character in the recent streaming series, Succession.
Following their marriage and a honeymoon in Atlantic City, New Jersey, Ken and Elsie settled back in Baltimore in an apartment on Eutaw Place. Elsie’s newly widowed mother sold the family’s house and moved with her twenty year old son, Jimmy, to an apartment across the street from Ken and Elsie. Ken continued his medical training at Hopkins and Elsie continued to paint. In January 1926 she had a one-woman painting exhibition at the Maryland Institute.
James and Maria (Milnes) Mills
Coincidentally, Elsie and Ken shared their anniversary with Elsie’s paternal grandparents. James Mills (1824-1904) married Maria Milnes (1825-1892) 180 years ago on February 18, 1845 at St. Werburgh’s Church in Derby, England. And the 200th anniversary of Maria’s birth in Gloucester, England just passed on March 19th. So many milestones!
Relationships
James and Maria (Milnes) Mills, 2nd great grandparents
I recently had the delightful opportunity to spend an hour chatting with Andrew Martin, host of The Family Histories Podcast. We spoke about one of my very favorite family subjects–my great grandparents, Daniel and Emily (Wright) Oliver. Daniel and Emily came from Caithness, Scotland and Yorkshire, England respectively. They met in their 20s in Brumanna, Syria (now Lebanon) where they were teachers at a Quaker boarding school, and later settled for many decades in the mountain village of Ras el Met’n, where they established an orphanage and school. Tune in to hear the rest of their story, along with the story of my “brick wall” ancestor, Juliaetta (Harrington/Herrington) Stephenson from Michigan, whose parentage remains a frustrating mystery to me.
You can listen to my episode here. Be sure to check out other episodes too. Andrew’s podcast is now in its fifth series and there are lots of interesting stories from all over the world.
A couple of illustrations to go with the podcast:
The castle in Ras el Met’n which housed the Daniel and Emily Oliver Orphanage.
Daniel in his “Highland suit”. Emily wrote a 1938 letter describing his purchase and saying he was planning to have his photograph taken in it. Here it is.
And a postscript: A few days before this episode was released I had a lovely visit with my mum’s cousin, a granddaughter of Daniel and Emily. She shared a family album with images I’d never seen, including these gems. (Thank you, Susan!)
If not for the Beirut photo studio I would have guessed that the first photograph was a wedding picture. It’s labeled 1895, the year Daniel and Emily were married at ages 25 and 29, but they were married at the Stoke Newington Friends Meetinghouse in London, not in Beirut. Emily appears to be wearing a wedding ring, but Daniel is not. (And I know he wore one. It’s on my husband’s finger now.) This is the earliest image I’ve seen of Daniel.
And the second photograph may be my new all-time favorite. First, he’s in Ras el Met’n wearing his “Highland suit”, purchased in 1938 to his great delight. Also, Olivers are dog lovers from way back, and there are many pictures of Daniel with an assortment of dogs. This, probably taken about 1938, is the best.
The caption in the album reads “Bobby and Aunt Elsie having a grand time!” Taken in 1936
Another Women’s History Month has arrived and I can’t resist starting with this joyful photo of my Granny, Elsie (Mills) Oliver (1899-1993) with her nephew, Robert “Bobby” Hugh Oliver, Jr. (1930-1976). I can hear her laughing. This is an expression I remember well. And of course she’s holding Bobby’s dog, Snooky. Of course she is.
This is one of several photographs taken during the summer of 1936, presumably at the Lansdowne, Pennsylvania home of my grandfather’s brother and sister-in-law, Hugh and Claire (Loughney) Oliver. My grandparents, mother and her siblings were living in Beirut, Lebanon at the time, with three children between the ages of four and ten, so it was surprising to find my grandmother there without the rest of the family. But there she is with her mother, Mary (Hill) Mills. Elsie must have come from Beirut to visit her mother.
Elsie (Mills) Oliver and her mother, Mary (Hill) Mills
Mary Mills (known to her family as “Dear”) was 60 when this photograph was taken. She had been widowed a little more than ten years. After a lifetime in Baltimore, Dear was living in an apartment in Queens, New York not far from her son Jimmy Mills. This visit from Elsie was to be their last. Mary Mills died in Queens just a year later.
The third image is of the three sisters-in-law, presumably gathered for the visit from Elsie and Mary: Dorothy (Kay) Oliver, who was married to A. Douglas Oliver; Elsie, married to my grandfather, Kenneth Oliver; and Claire, married to Robert Hugh Oliver.
I had a delightful lunch last week with Mary Lee, who inherited this album that had belonged to her great aunt, Claire (Loughney) Oliver, wife of my great uncle, Hugh Oliver. I wrote here about Mary Lee’s and my first encounter over family photos, and am beyond thrilled that we got to meet (so much fun!) and look at photos together. More to come from this album, but today is for remembering Granny’s peals of laughter, her mother Dear, and “the Oliver Girls” in honor of Women’s History Month.
Thank you again to Mary Lee Witaconis for sharing these glimpses of the extended Oliver family.
NOTE: I made these remarks at the Celebration of Life for my mother, Celia Oliver, on December 5, 2022. We miss her.
I’ve collected an assortment of descriptions of Mum this week—mine and from others—and it’s been interesting to hear how we saw her: loving, funny, resilient, irreverent, distractable, silly, opinionated, complicated, joyful, effortlessly cool, interested, elegant.
Mum was most definitely all of those things, but the qualities that feel most central to me are the joy she took in things large and small around her; her ability to find the funny and silly moments; her resilience through life’s challenges; and above all else, her fierce love for her family.
Mum knew how to find joy and how to create it. She found it in tiny jam jars, cheerful colors, cozy sweaters, and apricot scones. She found it in gardening and in a long succession of dogs and cats too numerous to count. She found it every time she looked out a window, walked down a street or rode in a car. “Look at that…[fill in the blank]!! It’s so cute!”
A recent friend of Mum’s at the Bertram House captured it perfectly, calling it her “childlike sense of wonder.” She was amused and amazed by the large and the small details of her world. “Cute” was her adjective of choice, and it was used kind of randomly to admire everything from the passing 18-wheeler with a yellow stripe, to a ladybug, and once to our great confusion, to the coal barge in Salem Harbor.
A sense of adventure was part of this. After spending her childhood in Lebanon, Jerusalem, Cairo, and her early married years in Alaska and Germany, Mum had a love of travel. When I was 6, Mum (a single mother, widowed 2 years earlier) announced that we were going to go to Paris the following summer. We would sail over on the S.S. France and rent a flat for the summer…if I learned French. I remember the language instruction records vividly, but don’t remember becoming fluent and somehow we never went… It was decades before I realized the pleasure she got in the planning, even when the adventure itself didn’t materialize. This was true of her plan to move to New Zealand for a year, (our mail carrier was quite confused by the daily delivery of the New Zealand Herald one year); the plan to join the Peace Corps when I left for college, and the houseboat on the inland waterway (never mind that she and Walt knew nothing whatsoever about boats).
I learned early from Mum that laughter was a gift that could make anything better. As a pre-teen I spent a lot of time in and out of hospital for back surgery and scoliosis treatment. I wore bulky body casts or a back brace during that especially self-conscious age of 11 to 14. One of Mum’s greatest gifts to me during that time was to make a game of staring back at the kids who stared at me in my unwieldy armor. And laughing at ourselves. During those years I remember her offering constant good cheer and loving support in a way that left no room to feel sorry for myself.
As Mum’s memory declined during the past few years, she continued to be able to laugh at the absurdity of the world and at her own decline. We laughed a lot during these past few months and that was a balm to both of us.
And then there was her resilience. Mum’s complicated life included many upheavals and losses that shaped her. Boarding school starting at age 8, wartime, emigrating to the U.S. and leaving beloved grandparents behind in Lebanon, more boarding school. She was widowed before she was 30. There were more moves, remarriage, a divorce. Life brings us all challenges. She struggled. I know she did. And yet, she created a life where she found joy and humor and a good portion of contentment.
When the time came to move from the little condo she loved on Kosciusko Street to the Bertram House, that resilience came through loud and clear. Mum, who loved her “quiet little life” and valued her privacy, made the adjustment to assisted living with enthusiasm (mostly). She opened herself to new people and created a little community of dear friends among the loving staff there. She embraced them and they returned her enthusiasm in the best possible ways. We’re so grateful for the time she had there and the love she shared during recent difficult months.
When I asked Will and Abby what the first words were that came to mind to describe Grandma, they both said loving first of all. So did I. Mum’s love was fierce. It was absolute. It was sometimes exhausting. It was joyful and funny and resilient. And it runs through all of us. She adored her family, each of us in our own way. She loved babies and dogs (not necessarily always in that order) and loved nothing more than being a grandmother and great grandmother.
That circle of life business worked its magic in our family this year. Lily’s birth in April brought incredible happiness to all of us. Mum’s delight in her, right up until the last days of her life, was a joy to behold.
Mum, we miss you already, but I’m hoping you’re settled on that cloud you always told me about, dangling your toes with Daddy, Damdaddy and Granny, Peter, and all the other special people. We love you.
In family history research, and in life in general, I’ve always believed in the magic of serendipity aided by a good helping of paying attention. And always gratitude.
Emily (Wright) Oliver (1865-1954), my great grandmother
When Ancestry started waving its little green hint leaves at me about my mother’s first cousin, Bobby Oliver, I took a peek at a recommended tree and smiled to find a few photos of him. I remembered meeting Bobby once at my grandparents’ when I was a child. He was about my mother’s age and died in his forties.
Bobby Oliver (Robert Hugh Oliver, Jr. 1930-1976). Taken late 1940s?
As I explored the tree, I realized that it belonged to a relative of Bobby’s mother, a connection by marriage, and not a direct relative of mine. And yet…my attention was caught by the photo of a lady in round spectacles and a white-haired wig attached to the tree. It was my great grandmother, Emily (Wright) Oliver, but it was listed as someone else! Someone I wasn’t related to! I know this particular photo well. I have a copy of it. And the very Victorian brooch she’s wearing is in my jewelry box. It was definitely Emily and most definitely not this Anna person.
Misattributed portraits come up often on Ancestry trees. Oh, look! Ancestry waved it’s little hint leaf at me! Somebody posted a photo of great, great aunt Mary Sue! I’ll add it to my tree! And once a mistake is made, it can spread like wildfire. If dozens of other people have that photo in their family tree and they all say it’s Mary Sue, then it must be true. Ack!
But before harumphing too much about Emily being mislabeled as Anna, I wrote the person in whose tree I’d found it. To thank her for the wonderful pictures of Bobby. What a pleasure to find them! And, by the way, about that photo you’ve labeled as Anna…
As usual, courtesy (and persistence) is the best approach. It took two messages (not everyone checks Ancestry as obsessively often as I do), but when I heard back from Mary happy things followed. She corrected the misidentification. We shared family info relating to Bobby, who was also her mother’s first cousin. And, best of all, she had a family album with more pictures of my side of the family. Wonderful pictures of my grandfather and his brothers as children, of my great grandparents. I’m thrilled and grateful. And it turns out that Mary’s son lives in the same Pennsylvania town my daughter and her family just moved to. We’re going to meet up sometime and look at pictures together. Hooray!
Daniel Oliver (1870-1952), my great grandfatherEmily younger. That hat!Taken about 1905, probably in Ras el Met’n, Lebanon.Brothers Ken (my grandfather), Hugh (father of Bobby), and Doug Oliver, about 1907
So when the serendipity gods drop something into your lap, be sure you’re paying attention, and don’t forget to say a heartfelt thank you.
Relationships
Daniel (1870-1952) and Emily (Wright) Oliver (1865-1954), my great grandparents
Kenneth Stuart Oliver (1898-1975) my grandfather
Alan Douglas (Doug) Oliver (1896-1983) Daniel and Emily’s son, my great uncle
Robert Hugh Henderson (Hugh) Oliver (1903-1979) Daniel and Emily’s son, Bobby’s father, my great uncle
Robert Hugh (Bobby) Oliver, Jr. (1930-1976) Hugh’s son, my first cousin once removed
Special thanks to Mary Witaconis for the use of these photographs. They make me happy.
My devout Granny always said she wasn’t interested in heaven unless her dogs would be there. I feel the same way about family history. It’s not complete without the ancestral dogs. I come from a long line of dog people. In the great nature versus nurture debate, I’m not sure where the trait for being an obsessed dog lover comes in, but I believe I got it from both sides. It’s considered normal in my family to stop the car to get out, cross oncoming traffic and introduce oneself to a random dog (or at least to fight the urge). So here’s a quick chronicle of some of the beloved canines.
Mum, about 1948, with Tess. The story goes that her older brother looked at the photo and said, “Beauty and the Beast. But which one is which?”
As a teenager, my mother had a formal portrait taken with Tess, the family boxer (thank you, cousin Diana, for unearthing it!). My grandmother, Elsie (Mills) Oliver, adored her grandfather, Nicholas Snowden Hill, in part because of the time he arrived and told the grandchildren to choose between the two deep pockets of his overcoat, only to find that there was a puppy in each pocket. He also made her a gift of Mars, the circus pony she admired.
Mum’s paternal grandparents, Daniel and Emily Oliver, ran an orphanage and school in Ras el Met’n, in the mountains outside Beirut. Daniel always had several dogs, and the annual large group photographs of the students, faculty and staff, all feature him, front and center, with a couple of dogs at his feet. My mother would add that she remembers him being harsh with the dogs, but he certainly appeared attentive in the photos, often looking fondly at the dogs and not the camera.
Left: Daniel Oliver and Alsatian friends. Middle: Daniel and Emily (Wright) Oliver at their orphanage and school in Ras el Met’n, Lebanon with staff and a few of the many dogs. Emily’s sister Kathleen Wright is seated at left. 1927. Right: Also Ras el Met’n, 1931.
My Oliver grandparents had many beloved dogs living in Beirut when Mum was a child. I remember tales of Alsatians, (as they were known to them, German Shepherds to us in the U.S.)–Lorna, Ronnie, Topsy. More on their adventures in another post. Later there were boxers, starting with Pronto. And when my grandparents settled in New England there were came Tess and my childhood friends, Judy, Penny, and Jenny.
Judy and me, 1958.
My fourth birthday present was Jeff, a handsome Great Dane, and a great delight to my dad. Family lore is that I was harassing Jeff one day, when my mother heard me shriek. She came running, only to find that Jeff–so much bigger than I was–had gently pinned me to the wall, head on one side of me and tail on the other. He’d had enough! We lived in an apartment in Baltimore near a reservoir. My parents had a VW beetle and exercised Jeff by holding his leash out the car window and slowly driving the loop road around the reservoir. He must have been quite a sight.
Jeff and me, 1961.
I know less about the dogs on my paternal side, but Bill Stephenson, my paternal grandfather, had a series of beloved dachshunds and shelties–Bosco, Princess, Oscar–and was very clear that he liked them better than most people.
And no history of the family dogs would be complete without the dogs we raised our own children with: Sadie (1997-2009), Cosby (2007-2014), Daisy (2015-2020), and now Ellie (born 2018).
Sadie and Cosby, about 2008. Daisy, 2015. Ellie, 2021.
Now we’re blessed with the next dog generation. Our angelic granddog, Coco, who lives in a Hawaiian paradise where she gets to hang out at the beach with her parents and littermates. The dog love continues.
Nope. I have no idea which one is our Coco. But aren’t they gorgeous? Oahu, 2020.
Dearest daughter mine and dearest mother mine, Happy belated International Women’s Day! When I think of extraordinary women, there you both are and as I collect images of the women we came from, it seems only right to put each of us right at the center. Maybe I’ll write more about them individually as this Women’s History Month goes on, but first I just want to gather their wonderful faces around us.
Look at these women. Their lives spanned four centuries. They were born on three continents. A few lived their entire lives close to their birthplaces, but most spent much of their lives in faraway new places like you both have. In all three centuries before your move to Hawai’i you had ancestral women uprooting and moving from one continent to another or across the United States. Elizabeth Goldsberry migrated as a child with her parents from North Carolina to western Missouri by wagon before 1850. When she was 45, Maria (Milnes) Mills and her husband James left Derby, England and moved to Virginia with nine children, ages 4 to 23. And Emily (Wright) Oliver joined her father on his Quaker mission work, traveling to Syria in the 1890s, where she stayed to teach at a Friends school, married Daniel, and spent the rest of her life as his partner and support in the Daniel and Emily Oliver Orphanage in Ras el Met’n, Lebanon. I’ve always loved that in a still patriarchal world, Emily was given equal billing in the naming of the school!
Abby (center) and the mothers: Top row center – Mom, Kim (Withers) Brengle, born in Germany; Top row left – paternal grandmother, Natalie (Munson) Brengle (1919-2009), born in Pennsylvania, died in Maryland; Top row right – maternal grandmother, Celia Oliver, born in Lebanon; 2nd row left – Natalie’s mother, Katharine (Townsend) Munson (1891-1970), born and died in Pennsylvania; 2nd row right – Celia’s mother, Elsie (Mills) Oliver (1899-1993), born in Maryland, died in Massachusetts; Bottom row left – Dad’s paternal grandmother, Katherine (Curtin) Brengle (1884-1952), born in Pennsylvania, died in Maine; Bottom row center – Katherine Munson’s mother, Elizabeth (Bispham) Townsend (1862-1947), born and died in Pennsylvania; Bottom row right – Mom’s paternal grandmother, Esther Jane (Miller) (Stephenson) Hare (1914-1975), born in Oklahoma, died in MissouriKim (center) and the paternal grandmothers: Clockwise from top row center – paternal grandmother, Esther Jane (Miller) (Stephenson) Hare (1914-1975), born in Oklahoma, died in Missouri; Esther Jane’s mother, Stella Lee (Owen) Miller (1881-1942), born in Missouri, died in Kansas; Stella’s mother, Esther Clementine (Bodenhamer) Owen (1854-1925), born in Missouri, died in Kansas; Esther Jane’s paternal grandmother, Amanda Jane (Hahn) Miller (1849-1942), born in Ohio, died in Missouri: Clemmie’s mother, Elizabeth Jane (Goldsberry) (Bodenhamer) Hamilton (1833-1888), born in North Carolina, died in Missouri; Esther Jane’s stepmother, Orpha (Litsey) (Carrington) Miller (1886-1975), born and died in Kansas; Esther Jane’s sister (my godmother), Marjorie (Miller) Willbern (1901-1987) born in Missouri, died in Kansas; my Dad’s paternal grandmother (and the only female ancestor I have an image of on that side of the family!), Alice Christine (Sheeley) Stephenson (1878-1958), born in Indiana, died in Kansas.Celia (center) and her mothers: Top row center – Celia’s mother, Elsie (Mills) Oliver (1899-1993), born in Baltimore, died in Massachusetts; Top row left – paternal grandmother, Emily (Wright) Oliver (1865-1954), born in Yorkshire, England, died in Lebanon; Top row right – maternal grandmother, Mary Carroll (Hill) Mills (1876-1937), born in Maryland, died in New York; 2nd row left – Emily’s mother, Mary Ann (Deane) Wright (1841-1884), born in Surrey, England, died in England; 2nd row right – Elsie’s paternal grandmother, Maria (Milnes) Mills (1825-1892), born in Gloucestershire, England, died in Virginia; Bottom row right- Mary Carroll Mills’ paternal grandmother, Anne Elizabeth (Snowden) (Hall) Hill (1808-1857), born and died in Maryland; (These last two get complicated, but they’re the earliest images I’ve found!) Bottom row center – Ann Elizabeth Hill’s grandmother-in-law, Eleanor (Carroll) Brent (1737-1788), born in Maryland, died in Virgnia; Bottom row left- Last but not least, the earliest straight matrilineal ancestor I’ve identified. Catherine (Nuth) Johnson (1757-1811) was my mother’s mother’s mother’s mother’s mother’s mother’s mother or fifth great grandmother, born in London, died in Washington, DC.
There were talented painters on all sides–Katharine Brengle, Alice Stephenson, and Elsie Oliver. Your Quaker grandmothers, Emily Oliver and her mother Mary Ann Wright, were both teachers. Some came from lives of privilege made possible by slavery. Anne Elizabeth (Snowden) Hill and Eleanor (Carroll) Brent both came from wealthy families with many enslaved workers. (Something I’m working to learn more about). Catherine (Nuth) Johnson was President John Quincy Adams’s mother-in-law.
You know well that all families are complicated, and these women’s families were no exceptions. Some endured hardships, wars, losses of parents, husbands, children. There were divorces and health challenges. Some died quite young, but most lived long lives. I think of them as mothers and grandmothers. I picture them with their little people and know there was so much love and laughter. That comes to us from all sides, so keep loving and laughing! You’re both strong and wise, funny and smart, edgy and opinionated, stubborn as can be and full of love. All these mothers and grandmothers, greats and many, many greats shared those traits and must be so proud of you. I know I am.
Celia and Bill on June 16, 1955 in Wellesley, Massachusetts
A big, fancy-numbered anniversary. Today is the 65th anniversary of my parents’ wedding.
Celia Oliver and Bill Hare (born Stephenson) met in college in Baltimore in the early 1950s. She was a student at Goucher College and he was at Johns Hopkins University. My Mum was a year older than my Dad, graduating from college in 1954. Their wedding took place soon after his 1955 graduation from Hopkins when he was 21 and she was 22.
It was a small, simple wedding at the house my grandparents were renting on the campus of Dana Hall School on Grove Street in Wellesley, Massachusetts. My mother wore a dark suit with white piping around the collar. It’s the same suit she was wearing in photos of my Dad’s graduation from Hopkins earlier that month.
Present were their parents–Ken and Elsie (Mills) Oliver and Bob and Esther Jane (Miller) Hare from Maryland, with Bob’s mother, Fern, (Bob was actually my Dad’s step-father); Mum’s brother Peter Oliver and soon-to-be sister-in-law, Connie Gibbs; my grandfather’s brother, A. Douglas Oliver from Philadelphia with his wife, Dessa, and two young daughters, Anne and Susan; and finally, my great-uncle, Clark Stephenson, (brother of my dad’s father, Bill Stephenson) with his wife Louise. And must not forget my grandparents’ boxer, Judy, who was an important part of my childhood a few years later!
Top left my grandfather with his old blunderbuss pistol threatens my dad to “make an honest woman” out of his daughter! Top center, Mum’s cousins Anne and Susan Oliver, Dad’s grandmother, Fern Burnham, and my aunt, Connie. Top right, Susan Oliver, unknown minister, Uncle Doug and Aunt Dessa Oliver. And I’ve never asked my mother, but I wonder if my granny–an amazing baker–made the cake.
I love the intimacy of the gathering, the silliness of my Dad hamming it up for the camera while Mum beams, the image of my dignified grandfather being silly. The house isn’t one I ever knew, but everything they’re surrounded by–furniture, hangings, rugs–is embedded in my childhood memories. It was a day filled with joy and promise.
My parents had adventures together during their six short years of marriage before my father’s early death. They drove cross-country to spend a year living in Alaska. They spent a year working in Germany. They had four years as parents together in Baltimore. And a dog. For all that, I celebrate them and look back on that day 65 years ago with gratitude.
UPDATE: Oh, my, did I get this wrong! My next post sorts it all out…
I managed to spend more time than usual frolicking in my family research this year, including a trip to England in August and a road trip through family-related places in Pennsylvania, Virginia and North Carolina in March. The research was a refuge and escape from other worries at times, and the travel and people I connected with were pure magic. Genealogy was definitely a highlight of my 2019, with a few particularly special discoveries and experiences.
A brick wall came tumbling down; never seen photos emerged; I visited a cousin in England and made contact with several cousins I hadn’t known about; I walked in places where my ancestors spent their days. My plan was to blog about each of these, but most of those posts are still drafts… Goals for 2020!
People
OliversandOliphants – Finding the father of my born-out-of-wedlock 2nd great grandfather, David Oliver (my mother’s family name), has long been a challenge, and the discovery of DNA matches named Oliphant helped redirect my search. Thanks to the help of a great new online community, Walk My Past (see below), the mystery has been solved. David Oliver’s father, my 3rd great grandfather, was George Oliphant (1827-1904) from Bower, Caithness, Scotland. And… I found a photograph of the place he was living at the end of his life!
Barrock Lodge, Lyth, Bower, Caithness, Scotland. Postcard posted 18 July 1928. Credit: Alex MacManus from his mother’s collection here. George Oliphant was living here at the time of his death on 10 December 1904.
James Mills and Maria Milnes Photos – I’ve always had a fair amount of information on Granny’s (Elsie Mills, 1899-1993) maternal family, but not much on her father’s side. So far I’ve only turned up one blurry passport photograph of her father, James Mills (1863-1925). And then this unexpected gift! An Ancestry member posted a pair of photos from a family album–Granny’s grandparents, James Mills (1824-1904) and Maria Milnes (1825-1892). It was remarkable to see their faces and especially to discover how much my Granny looked like her grandmother.
James Mills and his Maria Milnes were married in Derby, England in 1845. They emigrated to Staunton, Virginia about 1871 with 9 of their 10 surviving children. Credit: Mills/Mason Watson/Brewer Family Tree on Ancestry.com, courtesy Korina Mills
Living Cousins – 2019 brought re-connection and first contact with close-ish cousins in England, Scotland, New Mexico, Texas, and New York. Some were through DNA matching and others through more old-fashioned methods. It turns out that a childhood friend is a 10th cousin (thank you, Ancestry DNA) and a friend from college is a 9th cousin. Best of all, I spent a lovely afternoon with my Mum’s first cousin in London. Another goal for 2020 is to be in contact with more cousins.
An August visit with Robin Monro, my first cousin once removed, in London was a delight, and seeing the strong family resemblance to my Granny (his aunt) made me happy. Then the photo of Maria Milnes (above) appeared–his great grandmother–and I see the same resemblance to her.
Places
Ackworth School – Oh, my, what a thrill this was! In August I arranged to spend a day visiting Ackworth School in West Yorkshire, exploring the buildings, and poring through the archival material collected for me by Celia Wolfe, the school’s kind and incredibly knowledgeable archivist. I won’t spoil the post that I really, truly do still plan to write, but the short version is that I strolled the campus where my great grandmother, Emily Wright (1865-1954) was born and spent most of her childhood, where her parents worked, and where her ancestors on both sides and her siblings were students from 1780 through the late 19th century. The original buildings and grounds of this Quaker boarding school are little changed, so it felt like they could have been right there, walking the halls and pathways with me.
Ackworth School, Pontrefact, West Yorkshire
And there were photographs of students and teachers, including lots of wonderful images of Emily Wright and her parents, Mary Ann Deane (1841-1884) and Alfred Wright (1831-1901). The Quakers are precise record keepers, so there were documents rich in details about many family members. Proper blog post to follow!
One: Emily Wright (center of image), age 18, taken in 1884 when she was an apprentice teacher at Ackworth School. Two: Alfred Wright, taken about 1870, when he was the bookkeeper at Ackworth. Three: Mary Ann Deane (top of image), 1861 at age 20 as an apprentice teacher at Ackworth. Credit: Ackworth School archives
Pennsylvania/Virginia/North Carolina Road Trip – A spur of the moment driving trip in March took me first to Sunbury, Pennsylvania, in the Susquehanna River Valley, north of Harrisburg, where I researched my Miller and Deppen ancestors. Thanks to the helpful folks at the Northumberland County Historical Society, I learned that my 4th great grandfather, John Miller (1774-1821), is said to have drowned in the Susquehanna River while checking his flooded land on the Isle of Que. The tiny island is one half mile wide and 5.5 miles long, part of Selinsgrove, Pennsylvania on the west side of the river. I paid a quiet visit to that shore at dusk.
Isle of Que, Selinsgrove, Pennsylvania
Next stop was Staunton, Virginia, where James and Maria (Milnes) Mills settled around 1870. I took a whirlwind tour of Trinity Church, where the family worshiped; Thornrose Cemetery, with a sizable Mills family plot beneath a majestic magnolia tree. Census records and city directories provided me with the addresses of several family homes, so I was able to find where James and Maria lived during their later years with some of their children.
One: Lovely Trinity Church, built in 1855. Two: The Mills family plot beneath a magnolia tree in Thornrose Cemetery. Three: By 1888, 901 West Beverly Street, Staunton, Virginia was home to James and Maria (Milnes) Mills and three of their adult children (school teachers Annie and Maria, and son Harry). By 1890, they had all moved to a nearby house, and James and Maria’s widowed daughter, Mary Ann (Mills) Aitkins had moved into this house with three young adult sons, Frank, James, and John.
The North Carolina leg of my road trip took me to Davidson County in search of late 18th to mid-19th century graves of my Owen, Bodenhamer and Goss ancestors. It was a bit of a wild goose chase. Visits to the Abbott’s Creek Primitive Baptist Church Cemetery, Reeds Baptist Church Cemetery, and Becks Reformed Church Cemetery led me to graves of some collateral ancestors, but no direct ones. But the bonus was some exceptional decorative gravestones–well worth a quick visit!
Abbott’s Creek Cemetery, near Thomasville, Davidson County, North Carolina, is known for its unusual carved gravestones. Not my ancestors, but I enjoyed seeing them.
New Resource
Walk My Past – A new resource for genealogists appeared on the scene this year when amateur genealogist Abbie Allen decided to create Walk My Past, a website where people could easily offer or request help with their family history. The idea is simple– volunteer “genies” are available to help with requests for information, cemetery photos, or a trip to a nearby archive. With willing helpers scattered across the globe, it gives access to information that can be out of reach otherwise. There are now 187 genies in 14 countries and the numbers are growing. Definitely worth checking it out!
And I’m the happiest of users. A kind-hearted “genie”, Meredith Cane of Revill McKay, Scotland, saw my request for help tracking down the answer to my Oliver/Oliphant mystery. She was already working in Scottish records for that region, and was able to identify my 3rd great grandfather, George Oliphant. Hoorah!
There’s my 2019 in a very large nutshell. Now, onward to 2020 and new adventures.
Generations of Nomads 