An Ode To Family

Oftentimes I'm asked,

Why I've made finding

my family a task.

So here below

My 'Ode to Family"

To you I bestow.

I have a 2nd great-grandfather

With whom I bother.

A bugler, a fifer, or a drummer

In the Civil War, which one was he?

I often wonder if he ever played the

'Yankee Doodle Dandy'.

And when he looked into the eyes

O' the young Irish lass,

I wonder if he told her

'Tis her beauty that could not be surpassed.

One more thing 'bout them I'd like to ask;

How long did it take for her to get him

to the altar for Catholic mass?

Then, so her courageous story won't get

Stuck in a drawer;

My great Aunt Anne I study more & more.

All about driving that ambulance in France

During the second World War;

I'd be honored to write her memoir.

Am I truly a daughter of the American Revolution;

A fifth great-granddaughter of a Patriot of this great nation?

I'd also like to close the book on the lives

Who were so violently taken;

So their memory will never be forsaken.

Arrgh! A pirate lurks way back there;

I often wonder, "Did he stand tall on his corsair?"

And let's not forget the history of transportation.

A Chief Messenger of the railway, and

A teamster from Michigan.

Then my grandfather the bean counter

Who quite a bit ago

Once worked for an oil company in Tampico.

Also the man who I would've loved to meet

Face-to-face;

Who definitely led me on a wild goose chase.

My Dad's dad who was so tight-lipped;

No matter, he was well worth the trip.

There is also my great-grandfather

Who came from Prussia on Christmas Day;

Who disembarked from his ship

To view the beautiful Galveston Bay.

Then there were those who were bawdy

After being given a toddy.

And yet still those who were a bit frisky

After a bit o' Irish Whiskey.

Those who acted bravely,

And those who acted cowardly.

There were those who were feisty, flirty & flowery;

And those who came with a helluva dowry.

Give me my ancestors who were considered tawdry;

Especially those who had a lot of jewelry.

How 'bout those whose plans went awry;

Who just simply wanted to sit down and cry?

Or the one who dared to defy;

Or maybe the one who dared not

Because she was too shy?

I have found none who left home

To marry a carny;

But I've come across a few that spoke

A lo' o' blarney.

There was the one I've heard

Who ran 'round like a banshee;

'Course, she was the sis of the

One who had a bat in the belfry.

Those who stretched the truth vastly;

And those who were downright ghastly.

Some could be considered

A "little miss goodie two shoes"

Yet there were others who

Hated to lose.

Some were quite girly;

While others were a bit burly.

Not all were part of the gentry;

The others came from the country.

There were those whose eyes were beady;

And some who were quite greedy.

Others with nose in the air

Were quite haughty;

Those who didn't care

Were especially naughty.

Some were liars;

And some were criers.

A few were klutzy;

But even more were gutsy.

Some were tall;

And some were small.

I even have a third great-grandma

Who supposedly was an herbal cure-all.

Then there were those who were grumpy;

And those who were seen as a bit frumpy.

"Heavens to Betsy!"

I'd be remiss;

If I didn't mention those

In absolute bliss.

There were those who were known

As "One Hot Mama";

However, I've yet to find one

Who owned a llama.

'Tis very true;

They are quite the motley crew.

But, Oh! How they sit there

In All their glory;

How could I not tell

Their Family Story?

[This poem, and I use the word loosely, was written for the 89th Carnival of Genealogy entitled, "Ode to My Family's History".  The beautiful banner was designed by the talented footnoteMaven.]

Play It Again, Sam

[This is a submission for the 83rd Carnival of Genealogy (COG) ~ the theme of which is "Musical Instruments".  The beautiful COG poster below was designed and provided by the footnoteMaven.  This COG will be hosted by Janet Iles at her blog Janet the Researcher.]

Everything Else To Go
My mother always wanted to play the piano, so I took piano lessons for 7 years.  Yes, seven years.  Whenever I tell people this, they always cringe.  I didn't mind, though, at the time, and I still don't mind.  I mean how do you know if you like and/or are good at something if you don't try?  It's an education ~ just not in a school building.  For the last five of those years, I also took ballet, tap, and jazz dance lessons.  Alas, I never did become a pianist nor a dancer, but they were two things that were checked off my list.  Piano and dance "down" and everything else "to go."



And I Practiced A Little More
I really couldn't stand my piano teacher; she was really grumpy.  I got the impression that she didn't like kids very much, which was kind of odd since that is exactly who she taught.  I had a more than healthy "respect" for her, though.  At one of my first lessons, I made a mistake while playing and she "rapped" my hands with her musical stick pointer "thingy".  Now, stop cringing and getting all upset on my childhood's behalf.  Every time I share this little tidbit, people always get all upset, and if someone did it to my child, well, let's just say they'd know exactly what a "mama bear" is once I was done.  However, this was a different time and place.  I always get the question, "What did you do?"  I guess people expect that I went home and told my mom, but I didn't.  I went home, and I practiced.  And I practiced, and practiced, and then I practiced a little more.  I practiced until I didn't make any mistakes while playing the musical piece.  I never did get my hands "rapped" again for making a mistake.  It really had been just about my pride and my sense of competition for me.  And my mom?  Well, she got to listen to me practice while she made dinner, which was her absolute favorite part.  You see, she had grown up poor, seven of eight children, and there had been no extra money for piano lessons while she was growing up.  However, if you could hear my mother sing, you'd know that she can't carry a tune in a paper bag.  Let's just say that my mother is just not musically inclined, but oh, how she wanted to be!

It's A Bust!
Speaking of competition, the real impetus of my "stick-to-it-ness" with the piano lessons was a plastic bust.  You see, every year at the recital for perfect attendance each child received a plastic bust  [6 inches in height] of a famous composer.  My first year my mother and I were a little "spotty" on the attendance, and I didn't receive one.  That moment was when I realized that piano could be competitive.  There was a prize for goodness sakes!  Why hadn't anyone told me this?  If I had known there was a prize, I would've shown up for every lesson.  After that year, I had perfect attendance, and I received a different bust every year for six years.  Towards the end of my piano career, I was even in official piano competitions.

Play It Again, Sam
The demise of my piano career was due to making the volleyball team [and the basketball team, and the softball team].  While there is competition in piano, it's lonely.  I guess I preferred the team sports.  Oh well.  In looking back, I'd do it all again because nothing put a bigger smile on my mom's face than when I practiced while she fixed dinner every evening.  She'd always say, "Play it again, Sam," and I did.

Cowboy Dreams

78th Edition of the Carnival of Genealogy: Pony Pictures!
This post is a submission for the 78th edition of the Carnival of Genealogy being hosted by Jasia at Creative Gene.  The request was for pony, cowboy, and cowgirl photos from our family albums and the stories behind them.



[This beautiful COG poster was designed and provided by the creative footnoteMaven.]

Cowboy Dreams

I think every little boy, no matter the generation, at one time or another, dreams about being a cowboy.  To have his own horse, his own gun, his own cowboy hat, with the wide open spaces of the wild west ready to take on the worst of the worst, the meanest of the meanest bad guys the wild west could come up with, and to save the damsel in distress is what every little boy dreams of at one time or another.  Certainly, though, the popularity of being a  cowboy increased in the 1930's, 1940's, and 1950's with the influx of Western movies made at the time.  How do I know this?  Just look below at the photos of my father dressed as a cowboy throughout his life.  Then, take a look at the last one of my brother and sister on their donkey Oscar.  I think that my Big Paw Paw [my dad's dad]  had great dreams of dad becoming a cowboy, wouldn't you agree?  Also, when I was young when VCR's hit the scene [you know, the big clunky ones?], my dad would rent tons of John Wayne movies.  He said that they were really good, and that I just had to see them.  He was right.  They were good.

And below, no, your eyes are not deceiving you, the first photo is of my dad sitting on a real live bull [because, hey, that's how we roll in Texas], but of course my favorite is of him on the pony when he was three.

Disasters: Not Today

Carnival of Genealogy ~ 77th Edition
"Disasters"

"As human beings, our very existence is proof of the survival skills, faith, or just plain luck our ancestors possessed in order to persevere through millenia of disasters: epidemics, wars, pestilences, famines, accidents, and acts of nature."  Here is my submission for the 77th Edition of Carnival of Genealogy, "Disasters" that will be hosted by Miriam at AnceStories:


Not Today

As I listen to Harris County's Judge Ed Emmett on the radio give his reminders and suggestions for hurricane preparedness, I am reminded of the ferociousness of Mother Nature and just how much she doesn't change.  While the world in which she exists improves and updates, her fierceness stays the same.  As relentless as Mother Nature can be, the human spirit is that much more determined.  More determined to rebuild after the destruction that Mother Nature leaves in her wake.  More determined to be bigger than what she has destroyed.  More determined to be better than what existed before she leveled the landscape.  For while Mother Nature doesn't change, neither does Man.  Man's spirit - in the face of adversity, in the face of death, and in the face of destruction - fights back with a hand in the air, as if to say, "You didn't get the best of me!"  This struggle between Man and Mother Nature has always been.  It has not changed.

In the area of the country that I live in, the Gulf Coast, we have heat, occasional flooding, and tornadoes, but the weather "buzzword" that seems to get everyone's attention, and rightly so, is "hurricane."  Of course, if you're "from" the Gulf Coast, you are merely alert at the mention of a hurricane.  Before you get all upset about the notion of standing in long lines for additional water [you can never have too much], you must first assess the hurricane situation.  Is it in the Gulf yet?  What category is it?  What's the wind speed?  How fast is it moving?  Where's it suppose to hit?  Are they evacuating the oil rigs yet?  What does Frank say?  [O.K., Frank's one of our local weather guys, and he's the one I place all my meteorological trust in.  If Frank says, "Don't worry," I don't worry.  If Frank says, "worry," I worry.  However, I'm sure you could replace his name with the name of your own meteorological "know-it-all", but for me, it's Frank - all the way.]

Today we are blessed and spoiled when it comes to being prepared for Mother Nature's fierceness.  We are able to buy batteries, gasoline, ice, beer, water, crackers, chips, bean dip, Cheese Whiz, Spam, and other canned goods - all to be prepared for the "x" amount of time you'll be without electricity .  [Warning: Hurricanes really do bring out the finer [or stranger] palate and are not for the faint of heart, or rather, stomach.] While we are better prepared nowadays, there is something that is still the same.  Once the hurricane hits the coast, once the flooding from the storm surge begins, once the lights go off, and once the torrential rain bands come, you are in the middle of a hurricane.  There's no going back.  It's just you and Mother Nature.  The same as it was for your ancestors before you.  The same as it was for my ancestors before me.

Last year [2008], my family and I were well-prepared for Hurricane Ike, or at least as much  as one can be.  After everything was purchased, after all the camping gear was carefully laid out ready for use, after all the patio furniture, plants, and my car were packed into the garage, and after a huge meal of steak and fresh Gulf shrimp was eaten [to clean out the freezer], we sat down and watched Frank on the T.V. explain our situation right up until the lights went out with the first forceful winds of Ike.

Much later in the evening after the eye of the storm had passed, I was laying on one of our couches located in front of a big window listening to the rainstorm and sweating.  [It seems hotter when you know you can't escape it.]  My genealogical mind couldn't help but wonder about my ancestors and their experience with the Storm of 1900 on Galveston Island.  How did their experience compare to mine?  Was there any comparison to be made?

From what I can tell from reading the accounts of the Storm of 1900, the main differences between the two experiences center around being prepared.  To say that they didn't have enough time to prepare for the storm that hit 8 Sep 1900 is an understatement.  [They didn't have Frank like I did and do.]  I have no written account left by my ancestors of what they exactly went through, but a little of the effects of the storm can be determined indirectly.  I can only suppose that one thing we had in common was maybe the feelings of fear, anxiety, and anticipation for daylight to come to be able to see was left and what was not.  My great-grandparents on my Dad's side, John  & Emma (Schleicher) Marschall and their children, John Jr., Jane, Antonetta, Laura Ellen, Rolland, Joseph [my grandfather, "Big Paw Paw"], and Mary all made it through the storm alive.  Thankfully, they left their farm and sought shelter in town, for if they had not, they would not have survived.

With the rising of the sun over the Gulf that next morning, my great-grandfather would soon find out the family farm's fate.  According to Charles Henry McMaster's "Report On Condition of Island Farmers"  in the space for the condition of their farmhouse on Galveston Island are two simple, but devastating words: "All Gone".  Such was the fate of many farmhouses on the island.  The report lists also that my family lost all their horses, but they had fifteen cows, 17 farm tools, and 200 household items left.  I've tried to imagine what my great-grandfather's thoughts were upon learning the extent of the damage.  Certainly, this hadn't been part of his plan when he came from Posen, Prussia to the Port of Galveston on Christmas Day in 1878.  I'm sure he was thankful that his wife and seven children were safe and sound [unlike so many other island families], but how was he going to feed those 8 mouths?  How was he going to support his family?  Likewise, I can only imagine what my great-grandmother was thinking and feeling when she heard those words, "All gone".  What exactly those 200 household items that were left were, I have no idea [my junk drawer, alone, probably has 200 items in it], but can you imagine how Emma felt?  How she felt about the loss of momentos such as pressed flowers tucked inside books, letters, photographs, journals, diaries, possibly a family bible, and jewelry.  All "things", certainly, but they were her "things".  All "things" that had meant something to her, and all were either lost or damaged.  "Things" aside though, the same question that was running through her husband's mind was probably running through hers as well.  How was she going to feed her seven children?  I can only imagine the destruction and grief that they and all the islanders faced that next morning.

As is typical after a storm [then and now], the community pulled themselves up by their boot straps, took account of the damage that was left, and got to work repairing and rebuilding.  Some 8000 people did not make it through the Storm of 1900 as my family did.  The survivors, however, persevered and rebuilt the island, strengthening it for the future storms that would come.  My family also "rebuilt" themselves with John and Emma's children growing up, marrying, and having children of their own.  Two of John's sons would eventually be in real estate development - John Jr. in Galveston and Joseph [my grandfather] in San Antonio.  Both, incidentally, building communities.

My ancestors' experience the day after the storm was nothing like mine and my family's - not really.  While I knew that my family was O.K. like they did, I additionally knew that my "things" were O.K. and that my husband still was employed.  We had been prepared for Ike and had all the necessities.  Our future was not in question, and we were going to be O.K.  Another part of our good fortune was our location.  We live about 80 miles northwest of Galveston Island, Texas.  We had a lot of wind and rain, which caused our electricity to be off for nine days.  We were merely uncomfortable, but we weren't worried about our future like my ancestors must have been in 1900.  However, those who lived on the coast when Ike hit, were not so lucky.  While the loss of human life due to preparedness was vastly different, their experiences with the loss of their "things" and their livelihoods because of Ike were more like that of my ancestors.

One thing that can be said about the Gulf Coast storms - whether it be 1900 or 2008 - Islanders of Galveston [and the people of the surrounding areas] continue to raise their hand in the air, as if to say to Mother Nature, "You didn't get the best of me.  Not Today."

[If you have the time, I strongly encourage you to take a look at the photos from Ike here.  They are a better depiction of the aftereffects than I could ever put into words.  The pictures below are of comparisons of certain places [and my children] between Galveston, pre-Ike 2008 and Galveston, post-Ike 2009.]













More information & photos can be found concerning both storms in the following places:

• Galveston and Texas History Center, Rosenberg Library
• Storm of 1900 Online Exhibit, Rosenberg Library
• Picure of home [located on the left], where my Grand Uncle would later live in 1927, during the grade raising after the storm in 1900.
• Galveston Historical Foundation
• Photos of before and after Ike