Interesting Genealogical Findings...

One view in Ancestry of my immediate family tree

Since I received a subscription to Ancestry.com for Christmas, I've been re-energized in my never ending quest to learn more about my family heritage.  The branch that had proven most frustrating was my mother's father's branch.  My grandmother McLaughlin (maiden name Neddo) had told me that my Grandfather William McLaughlin was the son of a James McLaughlin and a woman named Mary Jane Duffy.  I was told that Ms. Duffy had come from Malone, New York, originally.  That was for many years the extent of my knowledge.

I have figured out that the best way to decode this family lineage is to concentrate on one individual and gather every bit of documentation I can locate that relates to that person.  In the case of "Grampa Will," I collected the U.S. Census information on him from 1900, 1910, 1920, 1930, and 1940, the New York census from 1915 and 1925, several city directories, his U.S. World War II Draft Registration Card, and his Social Security application and claims.  From these documents alone you can gain insight into when a person was born, where and with whom they were living at various times, how they earned a living, home addresses, when children were born, marriage data, when and where they died.

A typical census entry -- this one from 1930

From these data sources, I determined that Grandfather William McLaughlin was born in Whitehall, New York, on the 10th of June, 1881.  He married my Grandmother, Eva Ann Neddo, on June 12, 1906, still in Whitehall.  By 1910, the newly-married couple had moved to Schenectady and now had a daughter, born on May 24, 1907, who was destined to become my mother.  I learned that my Grandfather was a machinist in the Refrigeration Department of the General Electric Company, Schenectady's largest employer.  Perhaps most important, I was able to identify his parents as James Louis McLaughlin and Mary Jane Duffy.

I learned some things that surprised me.  One fact is that there was a son born to William and Eva who died in infancy.  My mother never mentioned that she had had a brother.  But all this insight inspired me to chase down James Louis to see what I could learn from the archives.  I guessed that he would have been born in about 1850.  I began by searching for a James McLaughlin living in Whitehall, New York, in the 1860 Federal Census.  I found a young man by the correct name who was 10 years old.  The census indicated he was the only child in a household headed by John McLaughlin, an illiterate "Day Worker,"age 40, and his wife, Margarett, age 38.  Now I potentially had the confirmed, documented names of my great-grandfather and my great-great-grandfather.  Further searching revealed that James married Mary Jane Duffy in 1877.  What made this somewhat confusing was that Mary Jane was rather casual about the name she went by in various census interviews.  She might be Jennie or Mary or Mary Jennie or Mary Jane.  I began to believe that James had various spouses at different times.  But on the Federal census of 1900, the question was asked, "How long in the current marriage?"  Both James (now calling himself James Sr.) and Jennie M. (her moniker in 1900) indicate they have spent 23 years married to each other.  They have also produced 6 children.  One of those children was my great-uncle Jim (James Louis, Jr.) whom I remember quite vividly.  He became something of a surrogate grandfather to the Mead children after "Grampa Will" passed away in 1942.

The McLaughlin house
at 349 Summit Ave.

James, Sr. and Mary Jane moved to Schenectady sometime between 1900 and 1910.  James is a "Conductor on a Steam Railroad" according to the 1910 census.  This probably was the New York Central, which served Schenectady.  They are living with 5 children and a boarder named Cora Millett at 349 Summit Avenue, a fairly new neighborhood of attractive frame homes.  I was unable to determine when James, Sr, met his Maker, but he is no longer with us by 1930.  Mary Jane passed away in 1922.

The McLaughlin marker
at the Boardman Cemetery

In searching for a grave marker for James and Mary Jane, I discovered an enormous marker in the Boardman Cemetery of Whitehall, New York, that covers multiple generations of McLaughlins.  The marker not only confirmed that James was indeed the son of John McLaughlin, but led to much more.  In the site called "Find-A-Grave," there was actually a pair of images of this impressive grave marker.  Tantalizingly, it looked as if there might be more engraving on the other three sides of the marker.  

I posted several requests on the Internet hoping to find someone willing to trudge out to the marker and take additional pictures.  One of these paid off.  On a Facebook page called "Washington County, NY, Ancestors," a compassionate lady named Sara Clarkson posted the following: "Do you have the Whitehall Cemetery book - compiled by Charles Moore, 1998? If not, here's the McLaughlin page from the Boardman Cemetery section - you should be able to click on this image to make it larger."  Here's the relevant section:

I thanked Ms. Clarkson for her help and indicated that I'd never heard of the book.  She responded, 

"Charles Moore created a "cemetery records" book for each town in Washington County, NY - and the books are a treasure trove of info about basic names, dates, and family relationships. I first learned about the cemetery records books when I sent an inquiry to the Washington County Historical Society in Fort Edward, NY - another helpful group with lots of info to share."

With this one contribution, I learned that Margarett had never been John's wife, as indicated in the 1860 census.  (This was likely an incorrect entry by the census taker.)  She was his sister!  Later census records confirmed that.  More importantly, perhaps, was that I now had a second direct ancestor who had fought in the Civil War.  I of course started to do Google searches on New York 169th Infantry Regiment, the unit in which John McLaughlin had served.  As with so many genealogical quests, this one would take me down unanticipated paths.

I quickly encountered more source material than I could quickly digest.  There was a Website, part of the New York State Military Museum and Veterans Research Center, that was part of their "Unit History Project," dedicated to the 169th.    I also found a Facebook page dedicated to the unit.  I found a roster of all the men in the regiment, compiled by a gentleman named Steven Wiezbicki.  I learned that Mr. Wiezbicki had also published a newsletter dealing with the unit's history.  Naturally, I contacted Mr. Weizbicki!

Scene from the Battle of Cold Harbor

Mr. Steven Weizbicki is the great-great-grandson of 1st Serg't. Patrick J. Aylmer, Co. G of the 169th.  He is a passionate lover of history and is writing a detailed history of the regiment.  He has worked for years researching and documenting the unit and its people.  He offered to write a detailed historicam biography of my ancestor's involvement with the 169th and I have given him the go-ahead.  As he has been feeding me tidbits of his findings, I have learned that John McLaughlin participated in the battle of Cold Harbor (Remembered as one of American history's bloodiest, most lopsided battles. Thousands of Union soldiers were killed or wounded in a hopeless frontal assault against the fortified positions of Confederate Gen. Robert E. Lee's army.) and Fort Fisher.  He was decorated for valor after the Fort Fisher encounter.  Mr. Weizbicki even located Great-Great-Grandfather John's obituary in the National Tribune, the newspaper of the Union veterans: "McLOUGHLIN. At Whitehall, N. Y., March 18, John McLoughlin. Co. F, 169th N. Y.  The comrade enlisted in 1862, and served until the close of the war.  He was in 23 battles, and at Fort Fisher was the first to plant the flag on the works.  The comrade was severely wounded at Cold Harbor.  He was an honored member of A. H. Tanner Post, which attended his funeral in a body."

The next challenge is to figure out the mysterious whereabouts of "Mary A." listed on the grave marker as "wife of John" and "mother" (of James Louis?) who for some reason never lived with John when censuses were being tabulated.  What's that about?

What's not to love about doing this research?!?

Scouting in Huntsville...

In February, 2010, I posted an entry on this blog describing my personal experience as a Boy Scout in the 1950s.  I ended that post with the following, "Shortly after I arrived in Huntsville in 1978, I was recruited again. Margo and I became scout leaders of a faltering troop and nursed it back to health, after which we took on a co-ed explorer post at Holy Spirit Catholic Church. That's a topic for a later blog..."  It's high time I finished that thought.

Margo and I moved to Huntsville as a newly married couple April, 1978.  I was engaged as a general contractor building a skateboard park about which I have written before.  My first summer in Huntsville was involved with moving hundreds of truckloads of dirt and rock, building an access road across what had been a muddy vacant meadow, and sculpting the ground into the giant forms of bowls and undulating surfaces of the park.  It was the kind of work that attracted visitors and onlookers.

One day a gentleman named Mike showed up and introduced himself as a local executive with the Boy Scouts of America.  He was excited about the construction of this very comprehensive youth facility and wanted to brainstorm ideas for cooperative efforts involving the park and the Boy Scouts.  Naturally, I shared with him my very fond memories of Troop 72 in Schenectady, New York,  I also shared my experiences as a scout administrator on the Gulf Coast during the previous few years.  Then he surprised me by asking if I'd be interested in becoming a volunteer leader in Huntsville.  I responded that I'd have to talk to Margo, as anything I might get involved in would have to be a joint effort.

When I presented the idea to Margo, she eagerly got on board.  Margo had a cousin, Missy Reed, who had been a recognized Girl Scout leader for many years.  Every year, she would bring a busload of New Orleans Girl Scouts to the Mississippi Gulf Coast where they would all camp out at Margo's house.  Girls slept on the floors of every room, having overflowed the available beds and couches.  They would spend these weekends exploring the many attractions of the Mississippi Gulf area, eating S'mores, singing around a campfire, and generally having a blast.  Margo had always enjoyed supporting this great organization.  She was ready to be a Boy Scout volunteer.

Our first assignment, after we acquired the necessary uniforms and acccessories, was to try to revive an ailing scout troop at a Baptist church in Northeast Huntsville.  Membership had been dwindling and there had been significant turnover in the adult leadership of the troop.  I described to Margo how Bill Clancy and I had spread the Boy Scout movement in south Mississippi.  When we would visit a rural, predominantly black community for the first time, we'd find the pastor of the local Baptist church.  If we could sell him on the idea of a Boy Scout troop in his community, we were home free.  I suggested we start with the Pastor of this church whose troop we wanted to resuscitate.  We discovered that therein lay our challenge.  The Pastor was only reluctantly supportive of the Boy Scout presence, expressing his concern that it competed with the church's other youth-oriented activities.

Margo and I did what we could to assist this troop, recruiting more parental involvement and support, introducing more formality in the conduct of meetings, expanding the variety of activities in the troop, and increasing the frequency of outings -- hikes, camp-outs, canoe trip, and the like.  Unfortunately, the troop never grew by much during our tenure.  It was a constant struggle to keep parents actively participating in troop activities.  We finally suggested to the local executive that maybe we weren't the right couple to revive this troop.   We had nursed it back to health -- it was now a properly-functioning scout troop, but it was going to require constant care and feeding in order for it to thrive.  I don't know today whether or not the troop still exists.

The executive suggested that we might want to start an Explorer Post at our home church, Holy Spirit, on Airport Road in Huntsville.  That really appealed to us.  The church already sponsored a Boy Scout troop.  An Explorer Post would be a natural expansion of that program for older kids.  Mike, the scout executive, suggested a "High Adventure" Post, a term that was used for Explorer Posts that might undertake any sort of adventure and not be restricted to one area or another.  We got buy-in from the Pastor, Father O'Leary, and held some organizational meetings.  In no time, we had plenty of eager volunteer parents and energetic teen age members.

We tried to make our Explorer Post appealing by planning really exciting adventures.  We got the National Speleological Society to help us with a couple of cave exploring weekends.  We took our post hiking on the Appalachian Trail in north Georgia.  Canoeing on the Tennessee River involved most of our adult volunteers and youth members.

This was a co-ed organization (an idea that took me a while to get used to) so these outings were appealing to the members as social opportunities.  That certainly helped our member involvement.  One night, the city-wide scouting organization held an event called "Huntsville After Dark."  This was an all-night event involving lots of people.  We took carloads of kids on a carefully-scheduled round robin tour that involved visits with briefings at the city jail (including the drunk tank), a courtroom, an all-night radio station, a funeral parlor, the central fire station and its dispatch center, the emergency room at Huntsville Hospital, and a HEMSI location.  It was an exhausting night but very educational.

Perhaps the most innovative outing we did was to take the entire post to a soaring airport in Eagleville, Tennessee, where every individual got to go aloft in a sailplane with an instructor pilot and spend about twenty minutes soaring.  This was an active, innovative group.

Gradually, over a period of a couple years, our parental participation lessened.  The youthful members were just as eager to try new adventures, but it became harder and harder to find the necessary volunteer drivers and chaperones.  Margo and I got to the point where, regrettably, we felt like unpaid baby sitters.  In about 1981, we had to move to Flintville, TN, to be closer to Margo's work in Tullahoma, so we ended our voluntary work with the Explorer Post.  At some point later on, the organization folded.  We learned many lessons from our experience, perhaps the most important of which is the absolute necessity of parental engagement for a youth organization to thrive.

The good news is that the Boy Scout Troop at Holy Spirit Church, Troop 361, is still a thriving, energetic, active organization.

Hershey 2018 Auction Results...

Lot No. 217 at RM/Sotheby's auction at Hershey in early October was a feast for the eyes.  This 1939 Lincoln-Zephyr Convertible Coupe, an older restoration, but cosmetically appealing, exchanged owners for $79,750.

As the description in the auction catalog described it, "A style leader from the beginning, the original Zephyr featured a tall, prow-like grille for its first two years. A new face appeared on the 1938 Zephyr, featuring a low-mounted, horizontal grille that would have a tremendous influence on automotive designers, and soon after many American cars were emulating the late ’30s Zephyr ensemble. Inside, the stylish design aesthetic continued with a central console rising from the floor and a large, multi-gauge cluster acting as an orb-like cornice. Within the large, Art Deco scripted roundel was the speedometer, as well as gauges for temperature, fuel, oil, and battery. A smaller clock sat below. Power came from the trusty 110-hp L-head V-12, shifted through the rugged Zephyr three-speed manual transmission, which would become a favorite among hot rodders of a later generation.

The car offered here is one of the few remaining today of only 640 convertibles produced for 1939, and has spent most of its life in Arizona. Cosmetically restored several years ago, it is beautifully finished in Zephyr Coach Maroon and accented with sparkling chrome. The exterior is elegantly complimented with a tan canvas top and a recently refurbished leather interior. Dual side-view mirrors, fender skirts, wide whitewall tires, and an accessory external spotlight add to the charm of this masterful Art Deco design.

A true icon of streamlined 1930s styling, the Zephyr has become more and more coveted over the years. This is a superb example."

We couldn't agree more...

21st Century Hustle...

I've noticed a practice by my Ford dealer that I call the "21st Century Hustle."  I doubt very much if it's unique to my particular dealer.  It goes something like this.

I take my truck in for an oil change and ask them to rotate the tires.  I did my own oil changes until I was 70.  Then I decided I was too damned old to be crawling around under vehicles, so now I take my truck to the dealer.  All I want is an oil change and a tire rotation.

I should mention that I'm kind of a maintenance geek.  When I served in the navy, I was a ship's Chief Engineer.  I was elbow deep in the navy's preventive and corrective maintenance programs.  When I worked at Ingalls Shipbuilding in the early '70's, I was a Project Engineer for Maintenance in the Integrated Logistics Division.  When I get a vehicle, I actually read the maintenance schedule.

I marvel at how infrequently we actually have to do things to maintain modern cars.  On my 1932 Plymouth, the manufacturer recommends an oil change every 1,000 miles.  Nowadays, with synthetic lubricants, some cars go 15 or 20,000 miles between changes.  Advances in metallurgy, lubrication and technology have dramatically altered the landscape when it comes to taking care of equipment.

When I took my truck in last week for its regular service, the odometer was showing a little over 29,000 miles.  I figured the service representatives might suggest that we go ahead and perform the recommended 30,000 mile service items.  On this vehicle there are only two items recommended every 30,000 miles:

• Replace engine air filter. 
• Replace the engine-mounted and frame-mounted fuel filters. 

Sure enough, while the truck was being serviced, the service rep suggested that we go ahead and put a new air filter on the vehicle.  Oddly, no mention was made of a fuel filter.  Shortly thereafter came the 21st Century Hustle.  It went down like this:

"Mr. Mead, you know that with nearly 30,000 miles on your truck, we strongly suggest you get that transmission serviced.  We do a complete change of fluid, flush the transmission, and change the filters for about $230.00.  Then we also suggest you probably need the end-to-end fuel system servicing.  That will run you about $240.00.  You'll notice the difference, Sir."

They then provided me with a formal "Repair Estimate" sheet prepared by my "Service Advisor."  There in black and white were the "16 QT LV/SP TRANSMISSION FLUSH -- $229.95" and "COMPLETE FUEL SYSTEM TREATMENT -- $239.95."

As soon as my truck was back in my hands, I got my owners manual out of the glove box.  No matter how hard I tried, I could not find either of these descriptions in the scheduled maintenance recommendations.  There is a recommendation that at 150,000 miles, I change the automatic transmission fluid and filter.  There is no mention of a flush, although I suppose that is harmless and might actually be beneficial.  I'll probably consider it in about 6 years when I've accumulated 150,00 miles.

In the meantime, I'll simply listen at each service interval for the Hustle.

A New Breakfast Experience...

A few weeks ago, Mary Ann suggested that we try Taco Bell one evening for dinner.  There's a fairly new Taco Bell location not far from the house.  I don't think either one of us had patronized a Taco Bell in many, many years.  It sounded like an interesting adventure.  The results were surprisingly favorable -- we both enjoyed our respective meals.  We have returned for take-out several times since.

This morning, I snuck out early with Bella to go to the barber shop.  After I got my haircut (There's so much less to cut than there used to be...), I decided I'd see what a Taco Bell breakfast might be like.  I was very pleasantly surprised once more.  I ordered the sausage, egg and cheese breakfast quesadilla combination.  At $2.79, this has to be one of the better breakfast bargains available.

The quesadilla, made with a large flour tortilla, had a generous portion of scrambled eggs, sausage nuggets and grated cheese.  The flavor and consistency were excellent.  A hash brown patty was wider, longer, and thinner than my standard McDonald's fare.  It was somewhat dry and greasy and didn't compare well with the Mickey D's standard.  The coffee was exceptional, with a fresh, robust, slightly nutty flavor -- a terrific eye opener.

All in all, I would highly recommend the Bell as a breakfast alternative.  Especially if you're experiencing a cholesterol deficiency...

Satisfied Customer...

Yesterday, I installed a new Undercover LUX tonneau cover on my sorta new truck. This is a very well designed beautifully fabricated product. The finish is perfect. The shipping container was also quite well conceived. It arrived in A-1 condition. My friend Jim Lauria came over to help me install it. The instructions were crystal clear. We had it installed in less than an hour. I couldn't be more pleased. This is a wonderful product, made in the USA.

When We Heated Our Homes with Coal...

Some of our radiators
were quite ornate

I don't suppose many people nowadays are familiar with the concept of heating our homes with coal.  But when I was born, in 1940, almost all homes in cities in the North were heated using coal as a fuel.  My family converted from coal to oil heat in the late 1940's, but I have a fairly detailed recollection of how the system of heating with coal worked.  I'd like to share what I remember.

In most homes where I grew up, in upstate New York, each room had one or more cast iron radiators.  These were usually located on the floor in front of windows.  Steam or hot water flowed through pipes that came up from the floor and fed the radiator to heat it,  A second pipe on the opposite side of the radiator carried the return water or condensate back down to the furnace, located in a basement below the ground floor.  Growing up, I didn't know of any houses that didn't have basements.

A coal-fired water heating boiler with stoker to supply fuel

A hot water boiler of the type
we had in our basement

Our house used hot water for heating, and there was a fairly large boiler in our basement that looked almost identical to the picture here.  Every year, my father would have it inspected and sometimes they had to repair either the internal brick work of the firebox or the outside insulation of asbestos and some kind of cement.  It was an annual ritual to clean and service the furnace.

Alongside the boiler was a metal tubular housing that extended about 6 feet to a metal bin.  This tube contained a motor-driven corkscrew device that transported lumps of coal about the size of walnuts from the bin into a cast iron grate that formed the "table" on which the coal burned.  The ash formed by the burning coal simply fell through the slots in this grate to collect in an ash container.  We always burned anthracite coal, which was more expensive than the more common bituminous coal.  The anthracite burned cleaner with less smell and formed very little ash compared with other coals.

A coal door

On one side of our large basement was the "coal bin."  This was a room about 10 feet by 12 feet into which coal was delivered from a truck outside of the house.  Some houses had a cast iron coal door in their basement walls through which a metal coal chute was inserted.  Our coal bin had a window in the basement wall that swung up on a hinge and hooked in place when coal was being delivered.

The coal trucks that I remember were low bed stake trucks.  The beds were filled with pre-measured canvas bags of coal, each weighing 40 or 50 pounds and having two heavy canvas loop handles.  The coal truck would pull up and park in the driveway alongside our home fairly close to the coal bin's hinged window.  One of the deliverymen would go into our basement to open the window and check the pile of coal still in place.  Then they would place a shiny steel trough that extended from the side of the truck through that open window.  Once it was in place, the team of two men would alternate dumping those heavy bags of coal into the  chute.  It was a noisy operation as the coal slid and rolled down the metal chute into the basement.  After five or ten minutes, the delivery was complete.  I recall that we got deliveries every three or four weeks.

We purchased coal by the ton.  Today, a ton of Pennsylvania bituminous coal will set you back a little over $50.00.  Anthracite will run close to $100.00 per ton.  My dad thought the world was coming to an end when anthracite broke through the $10.00/ton mark in 1946 or '47.  Today, comparing coal with fuel oil, coal is about half the cost per BTU of heat.  But that doesn't tell the whole story.  Let me fill in some details.

Once the coal was delivered to our basement, it was still a good 30-40 feet away from the stoker that fed the furnace..  On cold winter days, my father would have to go to the basement, shovel coal into a wheelbarrow, wheel it into the furnace room, and shovel that coal into the bin that supplied the stoker.  And he usually did this twice a day, morning and evening, and most of the time he did all this in a white, starched shirt.

Then about once a week, the homeowner had to shovel the ash from the bottom of the furnace and haul it outside to be collected by the city.  That was a particularly messy job because it created such a cloud of dust.  In fact, burning coal to heat one's home is a pretty messy proposition.  My mother complained all winter about how often she had to dust the furniture.

I remember the day they installed our oil burner.  It was a big deal.  Kalteux Brothers had a crew at our house at 7:00 AM on one warm spring day.  They emptied out the small pile of coal that was left in the coal bin and swept and mopped the concrete floor.  Then they began dismantling and removing the stoker mechanism that fed the boiler.  Soon, they were pouring a small concrete pad where a shiny new oil burner would be mounted in front of the firebox.  

They lugged a 275-gallon fuel tank down the external access stairs to the basement and firmly mounted it where only a few hours before had been a pile of coal.  Then they ran some copper supply line up from the fuel tank, across the unfinished ceiling of our basement, and down the side of a post they had installed next to the oil burner.  This was a simple affair that sprayed a jet of heating oil into a turbulent flow of forced air.  It had an electric igniter and was equipped with safety interlocks to shut off the flow of oil if for some reason the flame went out.

The whole installation was done in a day.  We were summoned to witness this new furnace in action.  There was a satisfying "click" when the foreman threw a switch.  A motor in the metal housing began to whir, a blower fan came on, and there was the faint "whoosh" of a flame being ignited inside the furnace.  No shovel, no wheelbarrow, no broom, no dust, no daily trips to the basement for my father.  We had entered a new era, never to look back.