Hi friends, 

Please forgive me for not posting a blog last week.

If I'm frank, I can say that I didn't even miss it. But that's because the in-laws were in town. They visited our little family last week to celebrate my son and daughter's birthdays (those birthdays are 10 days apart). 

During their visit, we took the grandparents over to the Vicksburg National Military Park. It's a rather stunning historical site meant to preserve our national memory of the Civil War. While there we snapped photos in front of cannons, war memorials, and the carcass of the U. S. S. Cairo, an old ironclad that was sunk without one life lost [1]. Sometime in the 60s, they pulled the remains out of the Yazoo River and created the Gunboat and Museum at the battlefield. It's really impressive. 

Anyway, all that's to say we made memories as a family. I believe that creating new family history is just as important as studying the old. Maybe one day our descendants will argue over who is who in all those photos we took. Maybe not. 

I told the kids about my 3x great-uncle Solomon Robinson who was discharged from his civil war service at Vicksburg. In that way I did do some genealogy last Tuesday. 

Then I berated myself for not studying him enough before we left. I couldn't remember if he was part of the campaign or not, and had to hastily retrieve his pension information from the cloud. Turns out he was discharged there. I had been thinking he had been part of the siege, but his service didn't begin until after the battle. However, he was discharge in Vicksburg as I said earlier [2].  

The kids patiently waited for me to tell them what I knew about Uncle Sol and were amazed to have a family connection with something so significant. But no matter how amazed they were, those little factoids weren't as a cool or interesting as the cannons. 

As so we return to my confession. 

I didn't miss writing the blog last week. I mean, how could I? 

Writing a blog just wasn't going to be as cool as the cannons. 

But hopefully this little travelogue will make up for it. 

1. "USS Cairo Gunboat and Museum," National Parks Service, October 14, 2025, https://www.nps.gov/vick/u-s-s-cairo-gunboat.htm. 

2. Solomon C. Robinson (Pvt., Co. L, 10th Ind. Cav., Civil War), pension no. SC 491040, Case Files of Approved Pension Applications  . . . , 1861-1934; Civil War and Later Pension Files; Record Group 15: Records of the Department of Veteran Affairs; National Archives, Washington D.C.

Let’s face it. Genealogical Societies are rapidly changing. With the advent of technology such as Zoom and A. I., more and more people are attending society meetings from the comfort of their own home. Less and less people are attending in person.

Of course they are. And there’s one reason why. It’s more convenient.

If there’s anything I’ve learned as a librarian and archivist it’s this: people will always choose convenience over optimal until there’s a need for them to choose optimal. I see it in how people access library and archival materials. I see it when people sit down to view their media at home when they choose streaming over a number of better audiovisual experiences. I see it all over the place.

Can I get this at home? Can I get it online? And, everything is online these days, why haven’t you provided a way for me to get access to it in my pajamas?

In a very broad and general sense, the questions embody how genealogical researchers engage with access to records via technology. There’s nothing inherently wrong with those practices either (although it’s a blatantly false assumption that everything is online). At work my colleagues and I have seen a drop in pedagogical content when classes are presented online. It’s difficult for instructors to assess and evaluate student learning outcomes when it’s more difficult to engage the class in person. And for many settings, engagement is the name of the game.  

Still, students want to take the course online. I get it. I really do. I love to engage in more convenient ways too. So am I saying that Genealogical Society meetings are worse via Zoom? Well, that’s debatable, and the answer depends on the content of the meeting. Unfortunately though, that’s not really the idea of this blog post today.

You see, gen societies used to corner the market on the educational opportunities available to genealogists. The society used to be where you went for educational classes, workshops, seminars, professional journals, and professional help. These days you can find much of the same content on social media, YouTube, Zoom society meetings, and other comparable technologies as you were getting from the society. And at a fraction of the cost. Much of it is on-demand as well.

Which finally leads me to the point. What is the genealogical society for these days? Many societies are trying to figure that out. I know I am. Other members of the board talk about the struggles ours and other societies are currently facing. Right now, I don’t know if I have all the answers. Or any answers.

But I do know one thing—members of the Mississippi Genealogical Society took me in when I moved to Mississippi. They accepted me, valued my input, asked me to serve. More importantly, they called me friend.

That’s what Genealogical Societies are for.

I know this because members (and nonmember friends) have participated in society meetings, both in person and via Zoom. They make comments, ask questions, serve refreshments, and banter about both the living and the dead. Members of the society get together with each other outside of society meetings, they make friends, help each other with various problems, and make the admission price well worth the value.

Outside of the meetings, some of them text me, email me, and communicate with me. They inform me of their needs, and they try to help others too. They find ways to associate with friends in and out of the community.

So as gen societies continue to struggle with their place amid changing technologies, it’s my recommendation to focus on the various needs they can provide the living, even if it’s not a domination of the genealogical education market. Maybe it’s genealogical travel or entertainment? Who knows? How can we best leverage the changing technology to engage a community, and not only on member of the society? These are just a couple of questions we can ask.

I'd also like to add this addendum. This article is definitely skewed towards in-person meetings. It's not meant to be that way so much as it's meant to show that society meetings are evolving. Zoom and other technologies are helpful and convenient. They broaden our opportunities for how we consume our content, especially genealogical education. My point here is that societies should focus on how to help their members thrive in a world that can be accessed both in-person or online. The question before us is--how?

Anyway, that’s all I have for today. In the meantime, I only know gen societies need to focus on the living, because only the living can help the living remember the dead in a meaningful manner.

Even when it’s done via Zoom.

Hey friends,

I found this obituary yesterday [1].

I typed the name Peter Everly into the search engine and bam, there it was, first thing! I’ve searched for this obit off and on for years. Technology, records collection updates, and more contributed to me finally finding it this week.

Peter is my 4x great-grandfather.

He died on May 28, 1900.

73 years later, on May 28^th, my brother was born. Coincidence? I think not.

Peter lived with his daughter Asenith when he died. Asenith is my 3x great-grandmother. She lost her first husband during the Civil War, and was later divorced from John Groves, her second husband. Obviously, she has some stories. Maybe I'll get to them in the blog sometime. 

The article claims Peter was 95 years, 3 months, 11 days when he died. Some people might dispute that. I say it made him an old man when he saddled up for the Cavalry during the Civil War, mustering out in his 50s. What a boss.

Yeah, there’s some good stuff in this obit. I’m grateful to find it so I can continue to write down stories about my family. And to learn who they were, what their lives were like, and feel a deep connection with those who’ve gone before.

There’s a line in his obit that reads, “The angels of heaven, so fair, came down and carried him up there to rest with his loved ones gone before, who it seems he had a desire to meet in a better land.”

Grand-Dad Peter, it seems you were a genealogist and family historian at heart. Enjoy your time with family on the other side, and one day, I hope to pull up a chair and we can share all the family stories.

• 1.     "In Memoriam," West Virginia Argus (Kingwood, West Virginia), p. 3, col. 4. 7 June 1900. Newspapers.com. (https://www.newspapers.com/image/827922925/ : accessed 23 September 2025).  

Last night I watched this video on YouTube (click on the word video or YouTube to view the video). I’ve never watched any of Carly’s videos before, so I let it repeat. Seeing a young lady walk into a bookstore and being unable to find the books she wanted caused the inner-librarian demon perched in the depths of my heart to rear its ugly head.

Who were these poor salesmen at Barnes and Noble? I asked. Why couldn’t they find something of interest for Carly? Why weren’t they asking any of the right questions?

Questions such as—What do you mean when you say, “genealogy books?”

Do you want books that teach you genealogical skills and practices? Books such as Organizing Your Genealogy by Drew Smith? Or Who Do You Think You Are?: The Essential Guide to Tracing Your Family History by Megan Smolenyak?

Do you want genealogical reference materials that genealogists might pull from the shelves when facing a tough issue? Maybe something like Elizabeth Shown Mills', Evidence Explained? Or even something like Ernest Thode’s German/English Genealogical Dictionary?

Since genealogy is a multidisciplinary field, do you want books that help you explore a tangentially related topic that helps you in your work? Maybe something like Kip Sperry’s Reading Early American Handwriting?

Do you want some sort of memoir that is also an exploration of genealogy but borders on genealogical entertainment? Like It’s All Relative by A. J. Jacobs or Unearthed by Meryl Frank?

Do you want some kind of non-fiction that can help inform the genealogical work you’re currently working on? I recently picked up A History of Heists by Jerry Clark and Ed Palatella because I learned of a number of bank robberies various family members had connections with.

Now, I’m not here to say Barnes and Noble typically carries any of these books. Or that Carly asked the wrong questions. Sometimes I’m searching high and low in bookstores and libraries the same as her and can't find what I want. But I do wish I knew exactly what is thought of when people say genealogy books.

Because genealogy is a business, and that means money, and money means there should be something out there in the way of book stores catering to genealogy enthusiasts. And if we can’t find it, or aren’t writing it, or haven’t produced it in some way, then we’re probably doing something wrong. Not Barnes and Noble. And right this second I am not talking about books that are a collection of records that have been transcribed and collected as a genealogy resource--such as Scottish Soldiers of Colonial America or First Census of Kentucky, 1790.

No I'm not talking about those books because, well, I don't believe for one second they're on the list for my next thrilling read (genealogy fan that I am). And I don't believe for one second that Barnes and Noble would ever stock something like that. 

Because in the end, let's be frank, even the genealogy world won't let those texts truly circulate (Do we even know how thrilling those texts actually are?), even in the local history room at your local library. Sometimes my inner-librarian demon just wants more, more, more genealogy. 

Unfortunately, some texts will probably only remain available in local and genealogical libraries, and on sites such as HathiTrust, The Internet Archive, and FamilySearch. 

Don't worry, throughout all these questions and discussion, I understand the difference between entertainment, utility, knowledge, and all the reasons people create resources that are published by genealogical publishing companies. But that doesn't mean there's not some opportunity to explore what people want when they enter this field and hobby called genealogy. 

Even so, we can still find something genealogically related at the book store, right? Please tell me I'm not wrong. Because no matter how much I love genealogy, Scottish Soldiers of Colonial America will not be my next thrilling read. 

But Unearthed might. 

I recently asked some friends if they would be willing to write stories about their family members. They all said, “No.” (And gave me their various reasons why.) Of course, I asked the question with the expectation being that they share those stories with others.

And that expectation, folks, is the real reason they all said, “No.”

You see, writing is an activity that burdens the writer with the desire to be good or entertaining or touching or profound (insert whatever desire here). Writing is also an activity that burdens the writer with ideas of sharing the writing.

Writers often view writing as a performative act. But it doesn’t have to be. The writer chooses whether to publish the writing or not. A writer of a diary might keep said diary under lock and key. The writer of a journal might only jot down various ideas and words or sketches that have meaning only to him.

People write for many reasons.  Just as people read for many reasons.

But here’s the thing—just like doing research, you’ll probably find that if you don’t write down your family stories, you will eventually forget them. You might not forget everything, but some of the extra details that make the story pop will fade. So please, if you have a family story you want to preserve, write it down. Write it down with no expectations. And if you have to have an expectation, let it be this—I promise to write it down, even if I keep it under lock and key.

That way your nosy snoopy family members can find it later.

Just kidding. Sometimes having the expectation of privacy is the only expectation that will motivate people to write. It’s a totally different mindset for someone when they write in secret vs. for the public. And by writing it you can preserve the story.

If you consistently write down the stories of your family, maybe one day in the future (near or far) you will want to share them with others.

And if you still don’t want to share, guess what?

Life will be fine either way.

Plus you’ll have a catalog of family stories in your treasure chest.

If I’m frank, I didn’t want to write a blog today. Not at all. I wanted to let it slide. Forget about it.

I told myself, “Hey, who’s going to read it anyway?”

I gave myself other excuses too. Such as, “You’ve got a sick daughter hanging out with you today. Everyone will understand if you don't post anything.”

Those are the kinds of thoughts I entertained before I said, “To hell with it. Write the blog anyway.”

So here it is.

I like to talk. A lot.

Yeah, I’m a yapper.

And one of the subjects I like to talk about is genealogy.

On Saturday night a friend of mine said, “You know, my wife always tells me to come look at some document she’s found. I don’t get it.”

He was all the way across the room, sitting on the couch next to his son. Between us was a coffee table, a plant, and a television with the college football game playing. Even with all the distractions, I saw an in for some good conversation.

“You don’t like genealogy?” I asked.

His son, who was sitting next to him, shook his head and mouthed the words, “Not at all.”

“I guess not,” my friend said. “Maybe if I found out some stories about my ancestors I would find it interesting, but I don’t care about random war documents that tells me nothing about them. Or other things like that.”

“Well,” I responded, “what if the war document told you what regiment or squadron or battalion your ancestor served in? Then you could go and look up what your ancestor did in the war. You could learn where they fought, how they served, and what happened to them. The regiment’s story is your ancestor’s story. What then? That’s one of the things I do if I haven’t learned enough. I think that’s pretty cool.”

By then the football game we were watching came back from the commercial break and we sat there in the blue light, far across the room from each other, and no closer to me converting him to the glories of genealogy.

But at least he brought up the subject in the first place. For me that signals he’s willing to be persuaded.

At least I didn’t kill the subject by reciting to him a long list of the names in my family tree. Then I would have bored everyone. Even the other genealogists in the room.

And that's a win. 

All football scores aside. 

When I was growing up. My family had dedicated evenings for family time. We played together. Complained together. Got in the boxing ring together. (My mom really hated when her kids fought.) We did a lot together. Sometimes family time was rewarding. Sometimes it was fatiguing. It was always memorable.

That practice now translates into the habit of me calling my mom whenever I can. I try to call my mom about once a week. When I do, it never fails that I’ll say something like, “Hey mom, do you remember the old Stop and Go off Highway 12?”

The questions are always yes or no questions. The questions are always meant as a lead into a subject I’ve prepared beforehand. In other words, the Stop and Go might not be the real topic I want to talk about, they’re just an easy way to broach the discussion. In fact, it’s often the case that my questions are subjects I wouldn’t ever have a reason to talk about in the first place.

But here’s the kicker. My mom never answers yes or no. She always jumps into a story about the Stop and Go or whatever it was I mentioned. And half the time, she’s interrupting me with her story before I even finish the question. Then I slap my forehead, sigh at a decibel level where she can’t hear me, and try to be patient while she tells me her story.

During which I’m cursing myself because she interrupted me or dragged me away from the reason I called in the first place. I’m cursing myself because I knew better than to have broached the subject that way but still haven’t learned not to.

All of which brings me to this point—sometimes I get tired of my family. Now don’t get me wrong. I love my mom. And I love listening to her stories. Oftentimes when I visit though, I find myself falling back into old habits and patterns I’ve discarded since the days I lived with them. Or I find myself loving our time together for the first few days but am really looking forward to sleeping in my own bed when I get home, or living in my regular routine, or avoiding the quirky habits of my siblings that are more annoying than adorable.

Now don’t get me wrong, I love my mom and my siblings. I just happen to also love not living with them. I love being able to take a break from them. Just like I know my mom loves it when I call her about once a week. Because she definitely needs a break from my brother and sisters who are the ones who care for my aging mother.

Breaks can be good and healthy for us. That’s why we break from work for the weekend or take a vacation. That’s why we rest at the end of the day. It gives us a chance to reset and refocus on what we really need. Especially our thoughts, desires, plans, and work. All of that is to say that sometimes it’s nice to have a break from genealogy too. To take a day off and think about something other than where those pesky ancestors are hiding. Take it from me, they aren’t going anywhere.

For some of us, taking a vacation or stopping to relax can be difficult. Yet often, if we are in a rut, the break is exactly what we need.

If this is you and you've had enough family time and you need a day off from genealogy, consider this your permission slip to take the day off. Your family, with all their quirky and annoying habits, will still be there when you get back. Plus, it’ll be fun to get reacquainted with them when you get back.

Just promise yourself you won’t be that guy who decides he wants nothing to do with the family and ditches everyone. Don’t be that guy. But a day or a week? Yes, that can help you get inspired to get back in the game. You might find new record collections available when you get back. You might look at your timelines with a fresh perspective. You might even find new records and stories. You might even fall into some of the same old patterns as before. Something similar to the way I know mom’s going to interrupt me with some story before I even finish asking her a question the next time I call.

I love her anyway.

And even if I’ve never, ever, annoyed her with any of my personal, adorable, quirky, loving funny, amazing habits, she might need a break from me too. 

Sometimes the records we find don’t say much. Sometimes it’s not necessary for them to say all that much.

I recently came across this little gem in the Cassville Republican, a newspaper from Cassville, Missouri [1]. The article was printed on 12 April 1906.

As you can see from the article, my 4^th great-granduncle Wheeling Combs was feeling pretty down. Even the townsfolk noticed how sad he felt. Like anyone else who discovers their ancestors in the newspapers. I asked all the questions. Why was he feeling down? Why would the paper print only this one line or two? Can you give me more information?

Then I noticed the date and looked up this gem [2].

This particular article gave me all the answers I needed. This one was written a week earlier and printed in the same paper, dated 5 April 1906.

After reading it, I think I know why Uncle Wheeling was feeling pretty down. In fact, these two articles and the subtext between them hit me hard. I can feel Wheeling’s loss.

I feel it heavy, as if watching and mourning with a living friend who lost a loved one today.

A friend recently told me he only gets snippets of information about his ancestors, not the larger stories. I told him that everything is a story.

Sometimes, if we piece together little snippets of information, like we did with these two newspaper articles, the larger stories shine through.

That’s the value of subtext.

1. "Mt. Pleasant," Cassville Republican (Cassville, Missouri), p. 1, col. 5. 12 April 1906. Newspapers.com (https://www.newspapers.com/image/335463397/ : accessed 19 August 2025).  

2. "Butterfield," Cassville Republican (Cassville, Missouri), p. 4. col. 2. 5 April 1906. Newspapers.com (https://www.newspapers.com/image/335463311/ : accessed 19 August 2025).  

I am excited to present to you our guest blog for today. At a recent genealogy meeting, society member Linda Rozier Davis was challenged to write about an ancestor. The following story, entitled  "A Vignette of Mamaw Shaw," are her recollections. 

I hope you enjoy the read as much as I did.

A Vignette of Mamaw Shaw

I was first aware of Mamaw Shaw in 1959 when my sister and I spent two weeks of our summer vacation with our great aunt Florence (Shaw) Fenstermaker in Warrington, Florida. Aunt Florence was the youngest of Mamaw’s seven children who lived to adulthood. And, as often befalls the youngest daughter, her mother lived with her.

Mamaw Shaw, Photo Courtesy of Linda Rozier Davis

I was twelve years old, and Mamaw was 86. I had never thought of her having a life before I met her or who her parents were or where she had lived or how she had felt when she was a teenager. I squandered the opportunity to ask.

For me, she was frozen in time - a scrawny, wrinkled, petite, quiet old woman with a twinkle in her eyes that hinted of mischief.

That mischief showed up early on one of those August mornings that got hot early. 

While still in our pajamas, my sister and I were walking around the inviting pool in Aunt Florence’s yard. 

Even at her advanced age, Mamaw was spry and had a brisk walk. Quietly and seemingly out of nowhere, she slipped up behind my sister who was standing on the edge of the pool, looking intently at the blue water. With the swiftness of a lizard’s tongue and the energy of a toddler, Mamaw Shaw pushed my sister into the pool. Aunt Florence immediately hollered “Mama!”

After a brief yelp of surprise from my sister, she gladly accepted her fate and took an unexpected swim in her pajamas. 

Mamaw was grinning from ear to ear and seemed quite pleased with herself!

Crime. Murder. Bank Robberies. Hidden Treasure. Dragons. Here lie all the ingredients for a rousing tale. If you wanted, you could even tell one story with each item in that list. Didn’t Harry Potter have to break into a bank that was guarded by a dragon during one of his adventures? To say I love stories is an understatement. I loved a rollicking good story before my obsession with books even started. But my habits, my addictions, truly sunk deep in my blood during the fifth and sixth grades. That’s when I first read the works of J. R. R. Tolkien and Franklin W. Dixon (yes, I know Dixon was a pseudonym for multiple ghostwriters, but as a kid I thought of him as one guy).  

Anyway, from those first reads I gained a lifelong love for J. R. R. Tolkien. And although I no longer read the Hardy Boys anymore, my fascination for the entire mystery genre began with them. I devoured book after book featuring Frank and Joe Hardy, relishing their adventures in The Tower Treasure, searching for the Secret of the Caves, or wondering what was in The Secret Panel. I mean, who doesn’t love a good mystery? Spicing up a story of any genre, whether it’s a fantasy, romance, or historical fiction, is as easy as introducing a secret, a puzzle, a stolen identity, international intrigue, or buried treasure. But what happens when you encounter a real secret? I mean a real-life secret. One you find in your own family. Especially a secret held by those who are the closest to you. The people you thought didn’t hold anything back. For some, revealing a secret is life shattering. For others, it’s like eating a piece of candy. 

In 2001, my grandfather, Charles F. Taylor passed. As a 26-year-old who always lived far away from him, I mourned the loss of the only grandparent I’d ever known. He stayed with us on various occasions, and once a year or so I’d get to visit, but I never really got to spend time with him the way my cousins did. So the minute I got the news of his passing, I packed my car for a weekend trip and drove to his Arizona home for the funeral. All my mom’s siblings were there. Half of them sat around in a dazed stupor until my aunt (we all have that one aunt), took to the bottle to ease her pain. Everyone else scattered quickly then. They ran back to their hotel rooms and left me with the lush of an aunt until morning. 

I was grateful for the funeral, if only to escape my drunken aunt. But then something extraordinary happened. While sitting in the pew of the little church providing the services, mom stood up to speak and give a life history of my grandfather. And at first, I wasn’t really sure I heard her right. I did a double take. I looked around to see if anyone else looked confused, but they all seemed to take it in stride. What did she say that rocked my world? She said, “It is unknown why Charles F., born James Monroe Taylor, took his brother’s name.” 

My head spun. Did I hear what I thought I heard? Did mom say grandpa took his brother’s name? Why would he do that? How did he do that? How can you be born James Monroe Taylor and knowingly transition into Charles F. Taylor? My mind reeled with even more questions. How old was he when he took his brother’s name? What year did he do it in? Most importantly, why is this the first I’m hearing about it? 

I learned the answer to one of the questions then and there.  

It’s the first I heard about it because families keep secrets.  

Because people are often tight-lipped about various aspects of their lives.  

All at once, in one moment, because of one statement from a church pulpit, grandpa became exponentially more intriguing. He became an international man of mystery, and unfortunately for me, we were about 45 minutes from burying him with his secrets. Now that he was gone, who could he tell? 

Dead. Gone. Buried.  

Where do I even start to find the answers to questions I didn’t know to ask before that moment? You see, grandpa, he was a quiet man who called all of his loved ones “pumpkin,” and he never once offered me a single detail about his life. He answered questions sparingly if you asked him, and those sparing answers varied in their levels of depth and specificity.  

One time I asked, “Grandpa, what do you think of your enchilada?” 

“Small,” he responded before the rest of the conversation fell silent.  

And the enchilada in question was probably about half his size (he was a little guy himself). This small enchilada came after he ate four taquitos and the rice and beans on the side. Moments later, while sitting quietly at the table, we offered my brother an enchilada and some taquitos. My brother said, “Nah, I’m good. I’m going to have some stew.” 

To which my grandfather finally piped up. “There’s stew? I’ll have some stew,” he said and kept eating quietly. My grandfather was quiet and listened to everything everyone said.  

That quiet nature is, for me, one piece of evidence that he actually took his brother’s name. You see, I’m skeptical by nature. I’m not sure I believed mom’s story. Sometimes I think it could be a hoax. But there are questions. Quite a few of them if you ask my family. There’s evidence and clues, some circumstantial, some fact. On somedays, I believe. On others . . . 

On others, I dig. But before I really started digging mom told me a story. She said that years after she found out he took his brother’s name she asked him, “Why did you take your brother’s name?” 

“Ask Reni (the drunken aunt). I told her everything,” was grandpa’s reply.  

So, trusting my Aunt Reni to have the answers, mom asked her sister about the entire affair. “What are you talking about?” Reni said. “Dad never told me anything about that.” 

And thus ended that session of mom’s sleuthing.  

One time I asked mom, “How did you find out Grandpa took his brother’s name?” Mom told me the tale. According to her, grandma took on some ironings for extra income. One day when the postman came to deliver the mail, mom maneuvered past the ironing board grandma was working at and went to grab the mail. On her return, she sorted through the letters to find one addressed to James Taylor (not the musical artist). “Oh, we need to catch the postman before he leaves,” mom said to grandma.  

“Why? What do you have there?” grandma responded.  

“There’s a letter for a James Taylor. That’s not us.” 

Grandma motioned for mom to give her the letter.  

“Give it to me,” she said. “That’s for your Dad.” 

Confused over why her Dad, Charles, who was typically referred to as Chuck or Pinky, would have a different name, she handed the letter over to grandma.  

“Your Dad was born with the name James,” was the most explanation mom received. In subsequent conversations, mom asked about grandpa’s name change and my grandmother surmised my grandfather changed his name when he ran away from the Civilian Conservation Corps. Personally, changing your name because you ran away from the CCC doesn’t sound like an offense you keep secret for sixty years after the program ended. At least not from your closest loved ones.  

Still, the man kept the reason secret. On another occasion grandpa entertained his brother, Charles Franklin Taylor in the home (My grandfather only ever went by Charles F. not Franklin). Mom, understanding the old ideal—children are to be seen and not heard--made herself scarce, but clearly remembers keeping quiet in the presence of the two Charles. She felt awkward and even thought something more illicit might have happened for grandpa to take a new name. She got the impression because she knew she wasn’t supposed to let her uncle know that her father used the name Charles.  

But who really knows? The mind of a child can imagine all kinds of intrigue and subterfuge. So can the minds of adult grandchildren who would like to know a few extra details of their grandparents’ lives. I wonder if grandpa felt the need to lie in order to serve in World War II? Then I discount the idea—he was plenty old enough to serve by the time the United States entered the war. I wonder if he struggled with some illicit affair with another woman somewhere. I wonder if he was running from money troubles or some other problem where he wanted to live secretly.  

I don’t know why he took on his brother’s name. I don’t know how he legally changed it. My perception is that it would have been easier to appropriate someone else’s identity (modern technology might have something to say about that).  But still, knowing about this little family mystery in the first place is a great impetus for me to sit down with family and friends, to document my life, the life of my family and others. It’s a great story that links me to the power of a name, an individual, and helps me learn about a man I didn’t get enough time with while he walked this earth. It also makes me think--If Grandpa had a secret identity, can I have one too?

Although I have my own memories on the subject, it also gives me the excuse to call my mom. Before writing this down, I called her and asked her again about my grandparents. I wanted to ensure I wasn’t mistaken in any of the details of the story. On this go round I was reminded that people often called grandpa, “Pinky.” I don’t remember hearing that detail before, even when it was part of the eulogy at his funeral. I've probably forgotten more than I should have (all the more reason to cite your sources, am I right?). I’ve known for some time that Grandpa served in the CCC, but I haven’t truly explored that aspect of his life. My mom and I wrote various agencies to see if we could find more information about it, but alas, our search was fruitless. Hearing about the CCC is so different than the harmonica playing, radio transmitting man I know, the one who wasn’t afraid to beat an 8-year-old at the billiard table three games straight—three games where the 8-year-old only attempted three shots.  

Those additional details matter to me. Just like it matters that I get to ask mom about her family. This mystery, one of many, might not quite be as adventurous as the Hardy Boys, but it has its intrigue, and better yet, I am the one who gets to do the sleuthing. Genealogy is all about the sleuthing. With this story, sometimes I dig deep. Other times I am content to let it be the family story. But these mysteries, they’re one of the reasons we spend so many hours on the computer, in dusty libraries and archives, walking cemeteries . . . we love the hunt for our families and to solve these mysteries. I know you have family mysteries, family stories. Tear jerkers. Romances. Comedies. We all do. We have secrets buried with those who have gone before. What are they? And how are you finding your answers? What will the journey be like along the way?  

Here at the Mississippi Genealogical Society we love a good story, a good mystery—we love a good tale we can share with others and ones that will help make meaning in you and your family’s life. So if you feel inclined to share a story or two, maybe a romance, or an adventure, a mystery, or some other aspect of your genealogy, please think about joining us for a meeting, writing a blog post, or submitting a photo we can use on social media. Or just come enjoy the membership of this community who loves discovering kin.  

There’s always more to learn if you ask the right questions.