My Grandmothers

This week I'd like to talk about my memories of my grandmothers.  I've shared a little about both my grandmothers in my earlier posts and they are polar opposites in several ways, but similar in other ways.  First, I'll give you snapshots of their lives: 

Pansy Nadine Hubbell  - (Grandma King) Born March 1, 1920, Angola, Indiana.  The only girl of 8 children, whose father was a farmer.


Pansy - 1938

Met my grandfather, Thurston Clayborn in 1938/9.  Got pregnant with my father, and returned home. 

• My dad was born at the University of Kansas hospital in Kansas City, KS on May 11, 1940.  She got back together with my grandfather and got pregnant with my Uncle who was born on Sept. 14, 1942.  
• Her parents raised both boys and she went to work at Montgomery Ward in Kansas City, KS, and lived in an apartment in the city.   
• Married Burham Martin King (18 years her senior) in 1954. Had my Aunt on Oct. 13, 1955.  
• Died on Feb. 9, 1985 of an aneurysm, following hospitalization from a broken leg from falling on the ice.  This was the first time I saw my dad cry.  He said he "was just getting to know her." 

All I remember about Grandma King while she was alive was tied to the King homestead in Minneola, Missouri.  Grandma grew corn, beans, and other vegetables and had chickens and cats.  Her home had a potbelly furnace in the kitchen area and no hot water when I was a girl or air conditioning.  We used to visit in summers and Grandma would have me help her collect eggs, pick blackberries, and snap beans.  She used to butcher her own chickens and can vegetables and fruit.  To this day, her lime pickles were the best I ever tasted.  The last time I saw her was on my wedding day in March, 1984, and she surprised me with a jar of lime pickles that she "found" in her suitcase.  That was the only thing I ate that day.  She never shared much about her life growing up and I wish I would have asked.  I got to know her by doing things with her on the farm, like snapping beans.  I never knew her as well as I would have liked.  I remember when my Aunt shared photos like those above with me at how beautiful she was and what a contrast she was when I knew her compared to her younger days.  The woman I remember used to hide change and a billfold in her bra and didn't always wear her false teeth. 

When I verified that Thurston Clayborn was my grandfather in 2011, I realized how my adult life was similar and parallel to Pansy's.  It surprised me, in a way, to realize how we shared similar struggles.  I always knew I had my dad's personality, so maybe I am more like Grandma King than I ever thought.    

Charlotte - 1930

Charlotte Margaret Withycombe (Grandma Wood) Born Feb. 1, 1912, Winthrop, Massachusetts.  An only child.  Her father, a traveling salesman, died the following year of rectal cancer at the age of 28.  Her mother must have moved back home with her parents and did remarry two years later in 1915.  Her step-father was a firefighter.

• Had many suitors -- one out the front door as one came in the back door (or so she said).  Met my grandfather, who was in the Coast Guard and had relocated from Michigan.  They married in 1935. 
• Three generations of the family lived together.  Actually, her mother found the home they relocated to in St. Petersburg, Florida in 1946.  The family moved to Rockville, MD in the 1950s due to Coast Guard assignment.  
• Died on Jan. 4, 1992, after a long illness.  She had been resuscitated following a heart attack/stroke and spent the last 2 years of her life in a full-time care center not recognizing any of us.  God used this time to remind me of all she meant to me. 

Grandma Wood & King -  My wedding
1984

Since my father spent some much time away from us during Naval training and transfers, I spent more time with Grandma Wood than I did Grandma King.  I spent half of first grade and a third of fourth grade in her home.  We moved back to St. Pete in 1979, following Granddad Wood's death.  Grandma Wood was a traditional grandmother in every since of the word.  I learned to bake Nana's apple pie at her elbow and my grandmother had a skill for baking homemade brownies (never dry) to homemade baking power biscuits.  Hers was the original Boston Chicken.  She used to set the table for breakfast, complete with flowers and little juice glasses.  Fresh-squeezed orange juice was a special treat Grandma reserved for my visits, as she knew how much I loved it.  I still remember cuddling up next to her on the couch to hear her animated reading of "The Little Engine that Could," my favorite book.  Reminiscing was done after a home-baked meal on a weeknight, which was a special treat for Mom and me after working a long day at the office.  She told me how she walked herself to the hospital when she was in labor with my mom.  (When I visited Winthrop, I judged the distance, and let's just say that I was impressed.)

Both my grandmothers lived through the Great Depression and never wasted anything--especially food. They counted pennies, and were the first women to work outside the home and were both high school graduates.   Grandma King was a midwestern farmer's daughter, and had two children out-of-wedlock.  While Grandma Wood was a northeastern, suburban daughter, and had a more traditional marriage and family.  Both women played important roles in shaping me and forming my values and I was blessed to have both of them in my life. 

Of Germans and Englishmen




Charlotte Schoppe, first 
generation American.  
 

My maternal 2nd Great Grandmother, Charlotte Schoeppe, was born in Lyon, New York, in 1861.  She was a "tailoress," and as you can see from the picture from 1909, was a sharp dresser.  I'm sure she made her own clothes.  Charlotte, I discovered, was the baby of the family, the youngest of five (5) children born to William Schoeppe and Emilie Woecker.  There were five (5) children, four girls and one boy.  Augusta (1847, Prussia), Maria (Feb. 1850, Prussia) & Matilda (1853, New York) and her older brother, George, (1859, New York)  I'm almost certain her first language was German, although I may never know, as I don't remember stories of Charlotte, from her granddaughter, Charlotte (my grandmother).  As you can see -- the generational repeating of names can be quite confusing.  The more I've studied the German immigrants from that time period, the more I found it was common to speak German in the home, until World War I.  With war, came a decision to identify as Americans or Germans.  Sadly for the generations from that time on, including me, was the loss of the native language and culture. 



(Left to Right) Charlotte and one of her sisters? 

Charlotte's mother, Emilie Woecker, was born about 1821 in Cottbus, Germany, near the border of Prussia.  Emilie's husband was William Schoeppe, born abt. 1819, also in Prussia.  I just found the city of Emilie's birth a few weeks ago, when I finally found her passenger record.  She arrived in the United States after she was already married, and I had been looking under her maiden name.  The
 ship was the Leontine and the date of arrival was 19 August 1850.  The passenger list includes the fact that she came from Berlin and she was a Tailoress.  With her were two young daughters, Augusta, age 3, and Marie, age 6 months.  While I first thought she traveled alone, I'm still following a clue of two other Schoeppe's, a couple, that may well be a brother-in-law and his wife.  I'm also still searching for William's passenger record, as I believe he came ahead to set up his tailor shop before he sent for his wife and children. 

My mom's paternal line is Wood, which is English from my research so far.  I didn't have much  information on this side of the family, only that I knew my grandfather and great-grandfather's names.  When I used to ask my grandfather questions as a little girl about where he came from, he used to say he was a, "Heinz 57," which meant he was a little bit of everything.  With my Nana's photo collection, I also have Wood pictures.  One old photograph with men with the youngest looking like John Wood, my mom's brother.  It is a picture of four (4) men that appear to be a generation portrait taken in Bay City, Michigan.  My assumption with the portrait was that the youngest man was my grandfather.  A little research showed I was wrong. 

Michigan has all of its death records before 1920 online, which is great for those of us that live so far away from the Bay state.  When I realized that my 4th great grandfather was a tailor in Bay City, Michigan, who died of old age in 1910,  I'll never forget how excited I got.  I realized that the picture I had was even older, in that the patriarch, William John Wood has to be the most senior in the picture.  Because the people in the picture weren't labeled, this was a great revelation.  After all, they all look like each other, so without the mark on the picture and the death record, I never would have identified the men.  Solving this puzzle, also lead to another conclusion about another photograph below.

Wood, Edwin, Carl, and Adah Louise Baker

The young man in this photo (taken around the same time), is my great-grandfather, Edwin Wood (based on the generational photo).  That means that the woman in this photo would be Adah Louise Baker, and the baby my grandfather's oldest brother, Carl.  This the only photo I have of Adah, as she died of a heart ailment in 1916, when my grandfather was just 9 years old. 

The one lesson that I've learned from Nana's old photo album, is that while I am grateful for her preservation of the photos, it would have been so helpful if she would have labeled the people in the pictures.  With that being said, without her efforts, my grandchildren would never see pictures of her and her family.  I've got many more faces to identify, so I'll keep at it, including the need to label my own photographs, so my granddaugher's children aren't left guessing about who is the photo. 

Guy Lombardo or Dick Clark and Cold Duck

New Year's Eve growing up was quiet.  We got to stay up late, but I honestly can't remember if I ever made it to midnight.  One unique thing that stands out in my memory was the traditional bottle of Cold Duck that was opened for the occasion.  This was unique, because neither of my parents drank alcohol on a regular basis.  Every now and then, something would be in the house, but it was rare.  Dad wasn't a beer drinker, but would partake out on a special occasion.  I remember one year I asked for a taste (I had to have been over 10 years old) of the champagne, and it was nasty and bitter.  One year, I remember Dad putting some of the bottle into the cat's dish to see if our cat (probably Lele or Frosty) would partake.  No such luck. 

Picture courtesy of Wine Chef Blog

According to Wikipedia, Cold Duck is the name of a sparkling wine made in the US that was at one time (mostly 1970s) the best-selling "champagne" in America.  The wine was invented by Harold Borgman, the owner of Pontchartrain Wine Cellars in Detroit, in 1937.  The recipe was based on a traditional German custom of mixing all the dregs of unfinished wine bottles with champagne.  All I know was it just confirms my opinion of it, as it must have been an acquired taste of the time. 

If we were home with Grandma Wood, we'd watch Guy Lombardo as he was Mr. New Years' Eve in the 1970's .  Apparently, his last show was ringing in the year 1977, at the end of the Bicentennial in 1976.  As a youngster, I was happier with Dick Clark, the following year, which is probably a generational thing.  My mother and grandmother loved Lawrence Welk and the big band sound, while I preferred contemporary music of the pop, rock and disco era.  There was not a selection for country music fans at the time, but I do remember Dick Clark incorporating various music styles as the years wore one.  I was saddened when Dick Clark passed this year, as I'm sure my mother was with the loss of Guy Lombardo.  He will be missed.  It truly is a generational thing and I'm not as impressed with Ryan Seacrest, Dick Clark's hand-picked replacement.  

I didn't start going out for New Years' Eve until I was married, and even then, we would typically plan to stay over at the guest's house to avoid drunk drivers on the roadway.  In the 1970s and 1980s, drunk driving on New Years' Eve was a particular concern, and still is to a degree.  

I have finally acquired a taste for champagne, but only over the last five (5) years or so.  My favorite is Rondel, as it has a smooth, crisp flavor and is available in Brut or Rose.  I continue to stay home or hang out with friends on New Years' Eve, and still prefer a quiet evening of reflecting on the past year and remembering my family and the simple joy of being together and the hope of a fresh start that a New Year brings. 

Christmas 1971, the Christmas that Almost Wasn't

Me - Passport Photo 1972

  The holiday season always has me reflecting back on my childhood, a time when life was simplier, a time when the family members I loved so much surrounded me, and a time of year when everything was magical.  Christmas was a big deal with the Wood family, especially my grandmother, who always made a big fuss over family visits.  Christmas 1971 was a Christmas I have never forgotten, because we almost missed Christmas that year.  We were in Groton, Connecticut and dad was in the submarine service.  Even though my mom hated my dad being out to sea three (3) months at a time, she did like living in New England, a place that reminded her of her childhood, growing up in Massachusetts.    We also loved being in New England, because it meant that we had family nearby.  Mom's sister lived in Maryland (an easy weekend trip) and my grandmother's stepsisters and their families were in Massachusetts.  For a military family that moved every 2-3 years, being able to be close to family was very rare, so we did travel quite a bit during our three (3) years there. 

   That year we planned to drive to St. Petersburg, Florida to be with my mom's parents for Christmas.  On the way down, we'd always stop-over at Aunt Pearl's house, no matter what time it was.  She lived in Waltersboro, South Carolina, which was about the half-way point for us when traveling.  This particular year, I remember that we ended up at Fort Bragg at the base hospital on the way down, because my brother and I were sick and running fevers.  He always got bronchitis and I had tonsillitis, and this time was no exception.  After a bottle of pink stuff (liquid Pencillin), and cough medicine it was just a short trip to Aunt Pearl's.  We had a light blue VW 411 station wagon, which was a "lemon."  Every weekend since Dad started having problems with the car, we'd make the weekend trip up to Orangeburg, New York to the main VW Distributorship, where Dad would meet with someone with the latest list of complaints with the car.  The car was the first to be fuel-injected, and it used to backfire and if you stopped to get gas and turned off the engine, it would not restart right away.  My dad was not a patient man, nor did he curtail his language in certain situations.  When he was waiting for the car to start, we couldn't move or utter a sound or we'd be the target of his frustration. 

   On this particular trip it was Christmas Eve, and we had to stop and get gas in Gainesville.  It was late in the evening and of course, the car wouldn't start.  I think Mom actually called my grandparents from a pay phone to let them know we'd be late so they wouldn't worry.  Just when we were thinking we may have to get a hotel room, the car started and we were back on the road.  It was close to midnight or early Christmas morning by the time we pulled in the driveway.  My brother and I were asleep, but I woke up briefly when we were being carried to the sofa bed in the Florida room off the living room.  My parents and grandparents waited until they thought I was asleep, and then went to unload the packages from the hood of the car.  I pretended to be asleep, but listened as they were bringing the presents in the house, and I could see through the sliders, as no one had closed the curtain separating the two rooms.  In our family, Santa's gifts were usually unwrapped, set up and ready to play with.  I think that year, I received a starter phonograph, along with a Carpenters' album and other gifts.  I told my mom the next day that I knew my parents were Santa and what I saw.  She swore me to secrecy where my brother was concerned and threatened if I told him, my gifts would suffer.  I'm thinking that it was several years before my brother realized that Santa had helpers.  I was eight (8) years old, and back in the day that was fairly young to stop believing in Santa.  However, I was always an "old soul," and was always pushing the envelope when it came to grown-up things and Christmas was not an exception. 

   The saddest part of my childhood is that I don't think many pictures or slides survived moving every three years, so I'll be making copies of the school pictures in the hands of my cousin and Aunt to have pictures of those years.  I'll be doing more blogs on my childhood and places I remember in the coming year, since we traveled the world courtesy of the US Navy.  At least a verbal history of my childhood will live on, even though pictures won't be as numerous.  I'm committed to preserving, through labeling and scanning the pictures of my adult years and those of my daughter's childhood so these can be shared with the generations to come.  Time passes quickly, and the memories of that Christmas night are still vivid in my memory, even though it was over 40 years ago.  Now, I'm the grandparent making memories with my own grandchildren and making them feel special, as my grandmothers did for me. 



 

Jack Wood - A Political Force

This recent election cycle and the proximity to my grandfather, Jack Wood's birthday, brought back memories of what a political force my Granddad was.  Jack Wood, was the youngest son of Edwin Wood and Adah Baker, born November 3, 1907 in Marine City, Michigan.  Like most of his generation, he completed the 7th grade, and according to my Uncle, John Wood, he worked on a railway line in the area until someone told him what to do.  Born John Charles Wood, he went by Charles J. or "Jack" when he was an adult.    He was a very smart man, with common sense, and a sense of justice and Midwestern values.  He was very stubborn and my mother and aunt were just like him. 

(Lt to Rt) Wood, Charlotte & Jack & me.

My grandfather was good friends with C. W. Bill Young, a congressman in the St. Petersburg, FL area for years.  He was a die-hard Republican and nothing made him more angry than seeing the waste in government.  He believed in less government, and disagreed vehemently with most of the early governors of Florida, including Lawton Chiles.  My grandmother was his secretary and used to type letters for him on her manual typewriter.  He was always firing off letters to one senator or representative or another on some topic. 



Jack Wood in Uniform

Most of us do get our political leanings from our families.  And, I'm no different.  My grandfather greatly influenced my beliefs.  Terms like "pork barrel spending," I recall from my childhood.  He believed in a strong military, and was a 30-year veteran of the U.S. Coast Guard, obtaining his commission to Warrant Officer in World War II.  He fought in the Pacific, and I have several pictures of him during the war.  When he visited us in the Panama Canal Zone in 1973,  he said it smelled the same as it did in 1942. 

My cousin told me the history of how Granddad went into the Coast Guard.  Seems he was involved with Al Capone's gangsters in Michigan during Prohibition, running whiskey between the US and Canada (right across the lake from where he lived), for work.  The Coast Guard recruited him to help them infiltrate the gang.  He insisted that they relocate him if he agreed or as he said, "they'd kill him."  For his information, they relocated him to Boston, Massachusetts, which is how this Michigander met my grandmother, Charlotte Withycombe.  I always wondered how they met and this story connects the dots.  I never would have figured that this devout Baptist and Deacon would have been involved with running liquor, but back in that time period, it was good money, and my grandfather, like most men were out on their own when they were young.  My cousin Suzanne, says that my grandmother asked why he was sharing this story and he said because it was the truth.  I'm thankful that he shared this with her, or I would never would have known. 

Happy Birthday and Happy Veterans' Day to my Grandfather, Charles J. Wood.  I have you to thank for teaching me about politics and the importance of the voting process and expressing our opinions to those elected to lead our country. 

The Proof is in the DNA

Gen. 1 - Thurston Clayborn

Gen. 2 - James Thurston King

My earlier posts provide a glimpse into my search for my paternal grandfather, Thurston Clayborn in Breakthrough Part I and Part II.   Really the only reason I began my trek into genealogy was to identify my paternal line.  Finding my Aunt, Mae Clayborn Damron, and her family, as well as cousins I've met since then, have created a richness to my life that I can't explain.  With the loss of my parents in the 1990s, there has been a sadness to the loss of close family that only those who've lost loved ones too soon can understand.  

Gen 3. - Scott Alan King

As a now avid geneologist, I struggled with the desire for "proof," that I am a Clayborn.  Although, looking at these pictures of the 3 generations of men, it's hard to deny that they are related.  The need for proof, lead to DNA, is a way to prove a link to my paternal line was through my brother, Scott.  As some of you may know, a father passes on his Y chromosome to his son, and this chromosome is virtually intact with some slight mutations possible, for up to 8 generations.  Well, my brother being the kind-hearted person he is agreed to submit his DNA to satisfy his sister's whim.  Family Tree DNA actually has an established Clayborn Surname project, meaning they have set up four (4) groups of different DNA that are established and verified to belong to the Clayborn surname, including a line that is not part of the Clayborn DNA.  Dr. Alex Waldrop is the researcher in charge of this group, and a documented Clairborne descendant. 

I'll never forget the excitement of June 8, 2012, when the results were in.  I immediately called Alex to interpret a group ID that was posted on the site.  I ran from the car to the house and felt the rush of adrenaline as I called him.  Being a geneologist himself, he said he was just preparing to call me when the phone rang.  The result indicated that my brother belonged to the most documented line known to be descendants of William Claiborne.  And, Alex is descendant from the same line so we were cousins.  Now I had my documentation.   And, I subsequently joined the National Society of Claiborne Family Descendants http://www.claibornesociety.org/home.shtml.  The Clayborns have been a welcoming group, with the invitation to join them in Richmond, Virginia, as their membership chair said she is excited to meet me and thanked me for the story of finding my paternal family. 

Fall Memories

With the feeling of fall finally in the air in South Florida, I've been reflecting back on fall memories of my childhood, which seems like it was a short time ago.  It seems it was just a blink of the eye since Jackie was just starting school in Spring Hill.  Fall is my favorite time of year for many reasons.  The change of seasons always refreshes me, and being outside is easier in the fall, with harvest festivals and family events.  As I remember about the generations before me, it seems the older we get, the quicker time seems to pass. 

For example, I can't believe that Nana's "Big Little, Silly Little," started Pre-K this fall.  For Daniel Colt Giddens, "big school," is something he loves.  He is extremely bright, which of course he gets from his mom and me.  It's good thing I wasn't there, as I would have cried.  His love of science and reptiles amazes his teacher.  At the end of one afternoon, when his mom came to get him, he said he was tired and hot, as they were playing pirate ship on the playground.  There is no substitute for creative play, and unfortunately, I think his generation will have a day crammed full of academics without the freedom to learn from play.  His illustration of his family, including his pet hamster, Cheyenne, and a pet snake (at pet he wishes his parents would let him get). 

Not much has changed in two generations when it comes to preschools programs, with the exception that the state of Florida now funds a half day of school for all, regardless of income.  For mom and me, we paid for the luxury of preschool attendance, but the programs were still a half day, with the goal of preparing little ones for kindegarten.  It was 1967, and we were stationed in Hawaii at the time I attended preschool.  My memories are spotty (it was 45 years ago), and include a fellow classmate that still had his bottle with iced tea at snacktime, and a travel trailer, milk for snack time.  I remember Mom coming to get me and snacktime must have been toward the end of the day.  I remember I didn't like white milk and snack always included a carton.  Our home was a simple two-bedroom row house or duplex, and we had a playground centrally located on the side of the rows of homes.  My brother was just one, and I remember we shared a room, as his crib was in the same room as mine.  I remember enjoying playing on the playground and had several friends and being outside most of the day until dinnertime, which was early afternoon for us as a family. 

King, Scott & Linda approx. 1968

My only other memories of Hawaii were all day kindegarten, my favorite jean napsnack, a one tramatic event.  One was a robbery in our home when Mom came into our room and I remember the symbol to be quiet with the door locked.  The bedrooms were upstairs, and her purse downstairs, which was a good thing.  Someone knew that the wives got their allotment checks and had wallets full of cash for the month.  The robber broke into the jalousie windows, with a knife and Dad worked night shift so we were alone.  I can't recall if the robber ever got caught, but several families were robbed that evening.  Now, as a adult, I know my mom had to be petrified, and thankfully, all the robber was after was the money, and it was in the wee hours of the morning, so everyone was asleep.  While the loss of money back then was hard for young families, the fact no one was injured was more important.