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.   

Breakthrough Part II

My July trip to Kansas City was incredible.  Not only did I get to meet my dad's half-sister, Mae Clayborn, but we also had the first-ever Hubbell family reunion. 

Hubbell Family Reunion

Olathe Park was over 100 degrees.  Everyone brought a dish and we created a sign-in sheet for everyone.  My dad's cousins, Terry, Larry and Ann Marie came.  I met Larry back in 2003, and he reminded me of a younger version of my dad.  He said he never knew Jimmy really well, as he was a lot older than he was. 

Terry remembered that dad and Billy always got a ride to school and would make sure the others noticed that they were 'special' when the others had to walk. 

We talked and ate and tried to stay cool.  Next time, I'll have to plan a cooler time period (like April or May).  I collected as much information on family group sheets as I could and Terry suggested I mail this ahead of time in the future, so the information can be more complete.

Meeting Mae

My brother and I spent an entire day with Mae, going over what she remembered about her uncles and what she knew of my dad and Billy.   She mentioned a visit from her Uncle Clarence when she was an adult.  Clarence brought pictures of both my dad and his brother.  He said that her father had these two boys before he married her mother.  He said Jimmy was in the Navy and doing well and that Billy, not so good.  Mae told her uncle she knew about the boys as he mother told her. 

Clarence and Esther Clayborn, I believe, were the ones that kept in touch with my grandmother, and kept up with the boys through my grandmother.  There is evidence they went to one another's funerals and family events.  Mae remembers rushing to look for "Daisy," who came to her dad's funeral in 1972, just to miss her by a few minutes.  Clarence and Esther went to my grandmother's funeral in 1985, and my Aunt Patty's wedding in 1973.  As I mentioned earlier, my first clue to finding this family were school pictures with the "Clayborn" name on them, similar to those pictures of my generation, in 2003, that were in my grandmother's things.  I could not find these same pictures when I returned to Aunt Patty's this year. 

Mae had tried for years to find my dad or his brother.  One of the interesting obstacles was that the name my grandmother used was Daisy King, not her accurate name of Pansy King.  What a difference a flower makes!  Patty and I pondered if this was a nickname Thurston had for her or an intentional name change to make it difficult to be found.  She had the name Hubbell, but no success, mostly due to the name change. 

We went to the Olathe cemetary with Mae and Patty to visit graves and take pictures.  Another fascinating fact was that Earl Clayborn (Thurston's brother) is buried a row or two in front of my grandmother, Pansy King, and her husband, Burnham. 

Before Grandma was Grandma

Digging through a Hubbell box of pictures, we found many pictures that I don't remember seeing before.  One picture was dated 1938 and had my grandmother with another young lady.  My grandmother's notes on the picture said NYA (National Youth Association) Topeka with her name and 'Helen Graves' on the bottom.   The picture showed a beautiful young woman with the style of the day.  This was the summer after graduation from high school, shortly before she got pregnant with my dad. 

What did I learn?  The Kansas State Historical Society indicated this was the National Youth Association, the so-called New Deal for Women.  It provided jobs and training for young women.  As the WPA and other programs had been a god-send for many of my great uncles, my aunt said that she had no doubt my grandmother would have been encouraged to participate.

This was an interesting glimpse into the young life of a woman I never got to know that well.  What I imagine is that this training no doubt was empowering women to go out into the workplace, by providing them training and skills.  I'll be researching more about the NYA and the Topeka conference to see what I can find.

American Immigrants

The stories of my ancestors are no different than those of other Americans, containing a myriad or melting pot of immigrants, all coming to this country seeking the freedom that some many of us take for granted today. Many came to be free from religious persecution, seeking the opportunity to worship free from a State Church, looking for a better life and fleeing oppressive governments or extreme poverty. 

My father's side appears to be old stock immigrants, dating back to the Revolutionary War for both sides - English/Irish/Scottish to German and even a French Huguenot for good measure.  My mom's maternal line were first and second generation Americans, from Nova Scotia, Newfoundland, and Germany.  My maternal grandfather's family were Pilgrims and Puritans on his mother's side, and Irish on his father's side, part of earlier immigrant waves.  I've only researched back to my second great-grandparents on that side so I may find more surprises. 

It's my mother's side that have passed on stories one of which I I'm going to share today.  Many of our early ancestors maintained their culture and language when they came to this country.  The start of the 20th century saw a shift in this with the start of World War I.  My great-grandmother's first language was not English, even though she was born in New York on July 3, 1888.  My mom used to say she spoke broken English, saying "Make on the lights." and her mother, Charlotte, was known as "Großmutter", a German word for grandmother.  Charlotte E Schoette, was born in New York in 1863, but I believe was German also, although I've only traced the family to Nova Scotia thus far.  Anna Wilhemena Gurke, or Nana, as I grew up knowing her was a tough lady.  My uncle says that she was mean.  "She didn't like me and I didn't like her."  

My uncle recalls one story that I wrote an essay on for one of my history classes in college.  As the story goes, the Gurke household used to play the German national anthem, and during the time before the US entered World War I, many Americans with German heritage were having their loyalty to the US questioned.  Are you American or are you German?  See, my great-grandfather arrived from Germany to Castle Garden, New York in 1881, and was naturalized five years later in 1886.  The US entered the war against Germany in 1917, 19 years after Heinrich became a US citizen.  The very act of declaring war on Germany mandated that German-Americans take sides, and along else was unacceptable.  While I understand the reason my family abandoned our German heritage, I think it is a shame that some of the traditions did not get passed on to my mom or me. 

Nana died a few months before I was born in 1963.   My cousin was 8 when she died, and she does have pleasant memories of Nana's visits, unlike my uncle, who actually lived in the same home with her for nearly 20 years.  My mother used to say that my grandmother was just like her in the year we lived together (1979-80).  While I didn't notice, I could tell it drove my mother crazy.  When I told her to tell her, she said she couldn't say anything, but gave me full permission to set her in her place if it ever became necessary.  Strong German women, very opinionated and outspoken.  While I still see traits of this in my daughter and I, as well as a scary physical resemblance, I think we are strong, while still outspoken, but in good ways. 

While I treasure jewelry that was given to me that belonged to Anna, her ruby ring (I was the only member of the family born in July.), and her daisy diamond ring, both gifts from my grandmother, Nana's photograph collection dating back to 1906, allows me to see my ancestors in their daily lives.  However, most of what I treasure is the gift of freedom and the gift of being born into a country that has provided me opportunities that were only dreams to my ancestors.  As I've had the opportunity to be a guest in other countries, I can tell you I wouldn't trade the American experience for any other. 

Happy 4th of July to all of you, and Happy Birthday, Nana !  May all of us pause to reflect on how blessed we are to live in a nation founded on Godly principles and precepts.  Thanks seems such a simple word to those who have fought and died to create and preserve the American way of life.  God bless our troops!