Blogs

Who Do You Think You Are" TV Show.  Reba!  Reba McEntire was recently featured on this fascinating genealogy show.  Something I like about recent segments like this one is that Reba asks more intelligent questions about HOW the research was done.  A genealogist criticism of this show in the past has been that viewers could easily think that all one's genealogy is readily available for the asking.  Of course, genealogists know that it can take countless hours of research to achieve what is presented in the show in an hour.  Nevertheless, "Who Do You Think You Are" brings a positive and exciting new image the field of genealogy.  Videos of the series can be found at http://www.nbc.com/who-do-you-think-you-are/video/reba-mcentire/1388707. Once you get to the NBC website you might have to start the video by clicking Reba's picture.

by Ruth Lindsey #2217

One of the earliest memories of my childhood is the little grocery store, owned and operated by Ernest Weisemiller, who was my Uncle, and Oliver Walker, his partner.  As a tribute to Elizabethtown, its citizens of days gone by, I write a few memories and facts about the store once located at 136 E. Dixie Avenue in Elizabethtown which was operated from about 1905 until 1962.

For the full story:  http://aths.com/content/walker-miller-grocery-136-edixie-avenue-elizabethtown-kentucky

by Martha Fontenot – mfontenot7 [at] aol [dot] com

Solving family genealogy roadblocks can be challenging, frustrating and exhilarating!  Confirming our Prather family’s oral history that Mahala Vanmeter, daughter of Captain Jacob Vanmeter and Rebecca Rawlings was our ancestor has elements of all three. Family members have searched for many years to discover and confirm this link without success until recent days.

For the full story: http://www.aths.com/content/solving-genealogy-roadblocks

On March 20th, 2012, Richard Briggs, Gary Kempf, John Gatton, and myself took a day trip down Indiana’s 111. To get to the part of 111 I am interested in, you simply take the newly repaired Sherman-Minton Bridge to New Albany, Indiana and follow the signs towards the Horseshoe Casino Boat. Our crew had no interest in ‘The Boat', however, our intentions were to make our way to Corporal Charles Kelley's 'perch', (a member of the 37 Indiana Vol. Infantry) where he sat and drew a photograph of West Point, Kentucky and above it, our beloved Fort Duffield, one hundred and fifty years ago.

On our drive to that spot, we first stopped at a little place that was once called Sugar Grove. From the late 1800s until the 1950s, it was a thriving little town to go to for church picnics and socials. From an essay by Griffin A. Pless written January 24, 1956: "Most churches, especially the Protestant ones only functioned one day out of seven, the Sunday morning and evening services, and a possible mid-week prayer meeting, so that the annual picnic was quite an attraction to bring members of the congregations into closer social contacts and better understanding, and an opportunity for Sunday Schools to award merits for regular attendance, etc."

Ferryboats from New Albany (Indiana) and Portland (Kentucky) would usher people to this magical place on the great Ohio River for a place to meet at church functions. I will post a photograph of an old drawing below of Sugar Grove, and you can see to the northwest, across highway 111 there were steps coming down that steep hill, then over the highway, above a huge rock (one I did successfully climb) and over to the campground. All that is left now is the rock described above, a few outbuildings, and one main structure that resembled an old church. We got out of Gary's van and crossed 111. I scrambled upon the rock and posed for photos, climbed down, then we proceeded to investigate the old structure. It had obviously been used by fisherman in recent years, mostly for a place to lodge and drink beer. John Gatton and I walked around the building, mused at the creek behind it, and its distance from the Ohio River. Soon we were back in Gary's van headed to yet another forgotten place: Rosewood, Indiana.

Rosewood once had a post office, as well as a thriving community. Now all that remains is the Rosewood Church, a beautifully kept cemetery, and a few well-kept homes, all along 111. We stopped by the cemetery that holds the remains of Mary Colvin-Pinkston (1876-1921). Mary had an interesting life. Her sister was married to a Doctor Applegate (not of West Point) who lived across the river in Jefferson County. She was engaged to a man named Leo Thurman of West Point, Ky. Her brother in law had begged her repeatedly NOT to marry Leo, but she did anyway. At some point early in her marriage, Leo murdered a man in Norfolk, Virginia. Investigators had a difficult time finding Leo, as they had no photograph of him to identify him. However, his wife Mary did, and she gave it to authorities to help find him. He was captured, tried, and proven guilty. His sentence was to be hung dead. Here is some information from Genealogy.com: "Leo C. (son) born 13 Dec 1882 married Mary Colvin on 5 Nov 1903 at Louisville, Ky. (from the Jefferson County register (film at KHC) Book 20, page 227: “Leo C. Thurman, Mary Colvin; license 4 Nov 1903; no return recorded.” Leo was hung Friday, April 10th, 1908 at Norfolk, Va. Buried in an unmarked grave at St. Patrick's cemetery, Fort Knox, Ky. Mary Colvin remarried George Pinkston and was living in Salsbury, NC at the time of Leo's death". This tells us clearly that Mary divorced Leo before he was later executed for the crime committed. Leo was actually given a hold on his execution, until he finished a book he was writing about the crime he committed. Once finished, he was hung and all proceeds of the book sales benefited his poor and ailing mother, who is buried next to him in Saint Patrick's cemetery.

After leaving the cemetery that held old Mary’s bones, we headed further down 111 and stopped where the James Noe tree stood, (now completely gone, even its remains that were once on display under an awning type of structure) then drove South from there to Rabbit Hash road that led us past several old homes, and wound us up to the backside of the cliff that faces the Ohio River. This is where we parked to head over to the spot that Sergeant Charles Kelley drew his photograph of Fort Duffield and West Point. We walked up- over a mile- as Richard Briggs led the way. I must note here that Mr. Briggs, at the age of 86, SMOKED us going up that hill! Once up there we marveled at the thick foliage we knew we had to walk through to get to Kelley’s perch, but off we went. The mid-March southern heat was setting in at this time, and due to our unusually warm winter the bugs were out full force. Several times we thought we had found the little Union Fort he drew the picture at, but the spots turned out to be perhaps an old well or storage area. Gary and Richard stopped to rest, but John and I pushed on. Walking another 200 yards North, we came to the old road that ran behind the fort, followed that up to the cliff, and stood there looking across the shimmering Ohio River and West Point. Several times we thought we had found the perch he sat at to draw the Fort, but something just didn’t seem right about it. Honestly, I was ready to give up. John was still restless, knowing it was so very close and kept looking along the cliff. Right about the time we had both decided to rejoin both Richard and Gary, he spotted it. No doubt- there it was. Suddenly the cliff had a clear view with no tree blockage of West Point and Fort Duffield. Three big rocks, perfect for chairs, sat right at the very edge of the cliff, providing the perfect spot to not only sit and draw, but to keep an eye on a town overtaken by Union troops all whilst the neighborhood clung on strong to their Southern roots. In fact, I should point out that there was one shot fired from a cannon from this Fort to West Point. They shot their cannon right at the Withers’ home directly behind the spot where Richard Briggs’s home is today. The cannon ball lodged into the home while there was a gathering of men who supported the Southern cause. Needless to say, that meeting ended immediately.

I climbed down the ledge and sat on the rock, exactly where Corporal Charles Kelley sat one hundred and fifty years ago and gazed at the Ohio River, the Salt River, West Point, and Fort Duffield. It’s a large body of blue and green to soak in, with light dancing off of the river, and the effect is soothing. Emotion swept over me as I thought of the line in the song I Am Weary, Let Me Rest by the Cox Family: “I am standing by the river. Angels wait to take me home”. The breeze flowing over the cliff was filled with blooms of spring and my skin tingled in the heat. I had John take a photograph of me, then I took one of him, and it was time to go, as Gary began to yell, “YO!” as we had been gone for some time at that point. Walking back we happened upon a little stream that rushed below us before falling over the cliff, under 111, through the field as a stream, and into the Ohio River. I cautiously walked though it and in my mind, I thought, ‘I can’t believe the day I am having’. It was one that I didn’t want to end, but because of that, I tried to wrap up every detail to stuff deep into my heart. It’s a funny thing to feel pride for the things your ancestors have done, but if you’ve ever felt it, you understand. The men and women in my line who pioneered and helped to settle this land loved it as much as I do now. I have a deep appreciation and thankful spirit that they chose to settle here, in this area, and here I am, nine generations later, marveling at their work.

The coal oil lamp flickered on a small dresser, casting its yellow glow around the room and long, barely perceptible shadows danced on the walls. The house was quiet except for the creaks and groans that any wood frame building made. Having spent the day following a horse and plow across the bottom, Roy slept. Across the room, Ruth, just four years old, slept and dreamed of following “daddy” around the gently rolling fields of their place. The muffled ticking of the clock, the rustle of leaves on a tree outside, the gentle creaking of wood planks beneath her chair were the barely audible sounds that could be heard. 

Sorry that the link wasn't working earlier. To read the whole story: http://www.aths.com/content/grandmothers-flower-garden-0

Today some of the usual "Breakfast Club" members, (Gary Kempf, Richard Briggs, Connie Morris, George Wiliams, Sharon Williams, Roszelle Moore, and myself) met at Rhonda's restaurant. Instead of the usual coffee refill after coffee refill and article editing (along with the usual 'remember when?' conversations) we left in two cars to take a trip to New Amsterdam, Indiana, where Schaffers General Store has their Wednesday pork tenderloin special. We drove down Dixie Highway, took a right on 1638, drove past Otter Creek park where several of my ancestors first settled in the late 1700s, on to the Matthew E. Welsh truss style bridge, then looped around to the Mauckport town's 2nd Street, which soon becomes River Road.

I must pause here to describe River Road. This road was gravel until recent Casino funds granted to Harrison County allowed for it to become paved. It curves and turns. Several times I whispered a silent prayer that a country boy in a Chevy truck wouldn't come flying around the next corner. You pass hollars, creeks, and drive right along the Ohio river- which is just a stone's throw away. After passing Mauckport (a description of that town to be written later) you come to a large, open hollow called "Haunted Hollow". The story behind Haunted Hollow: A man who worked for the near by limestone quarry had been murdered. His body was found here, in this wide hollow, but his head was never recovered. I shivered at the thought of driving through this lonely place in the dark, and made a vow never to do so. Moments after passing this hollow you make a sharp curve, and you suddenly come upon a group of three houses. One empty, two occupied. Richard Briggs (who had just told us the story of Haunted Hollow), began to tell us of this 'town' called Titus. We continued on through the soft, green rolling countryside, a peach tree orchard, as well as harsh, dust filled lime quarries. Soon enough we made our way off of River Road to Main Street in New Amsterdam, Indiana.

The store was full of people. Mostly older gentlemen sitting around, telling stories of farming, and marveling at the warm February temperatures. Our group was greeted with both curiosity and kindness, then a warm greeting when several of the men recognized Mr. Briggs. We all walked around, eyeballing the dusty old glass bottles for sale, staring up at the ceiling full of antiques that would never be for sale, then finally sat down to order our food. The pork tenderloin and chili were delicious. I was sandwiched between Gary Kempf and Richard Briggs and across from Roszelle Moore, Connie Morris, and Reverend Betty Seibern from the local Methodist church. We laughed at funny stories told at the table and I realized it was one of those moments that I wished I could freeze time. "Lord", I thought, "let this day last forever. If not, please allow these people to stay in my world for all the days I have left in it". It was one of those rare, fleeting moments that although one will talk, laugh, and appear merry; a tender moment occurs within the heart.

Before leaving, I borrowed Gary's pen and signed us all in. I stood back to admire our names in the New Amsterdam visitor book, then walked off and left Gary's pen there. (A fact I realized later, when he asked for it back, miles away from New Amsterdam.)

We drove back down River Road and stopped briefly at a huge rock that had a story attached to it. "Some Indian men were sitting here by the river, eating lunch, when this bolder fell right on them!" Richard explained. We died laughing. I crawled out of the van, attempting to climb it, but failed. We drove on and stopped again at Mauckport, where we drove through earlier.

Mauckport is a town that I refer to as an "Another Lifetime" place to live. Meaning, that if I had permission by the Man Upstairs to have another life, living here would be one of them. Daniel Boone settled on this land in 1806, along with his brother, Squire. Squire is actually buried just a bit north in Squire Boone Caverns. Being the closest river port for Corydon, Indiana, the town's earliest days were its heyday. During the Civil War Morgan and his men made their famous crossing from Brandenburg over to Mauckport. A few men with northern sympathies attempted to stop Morgan's Raiders, but it was to no avail. Morgan's men burned the Alice Dean steam boat upon their arrival, before moving on to Corydon. It was after the Civil War years that Mauckport really began to decline, with the rise of the use of railroads instead of river boat. Probably the biggest factor in the little city's shrink in population was the Great Flood of 1937, going from a population of 209 in 1930 to 154 in the 1940 census. As of the 2000 census, the town had 83 residents. Gary pulled his van over and I jumped out when we arrived at the city's park. Here there is a mural of the river and the Alice Dean painted on the side of a building. I ran over to the cemetery and photographed a few grave stones as well. Before driving away we visited the oldest house in town, a beautiful old shell of a Federal currently owned by Mrs. Myrtle Fisher. It was built in 1850 and is located on "Back Street". I'll post some photos below.

We ended our field trip at my favorite river town, West Point. Sitting on the confluence of the Salt and Ohio rivers, it is a place my Grandfather loved dearly. It is where he grew up, and came back often as an adult to visit. He instilled that love within me, and I plan on continuing to let it grow.

DID EUROPEANS VISIT MEADE COUNTY 300 YEARS BEFORE COLUMBUS SAILED WEST?
BY G. KEMPF, C. LUEKEN, R. BRIGGS & C.L. DAWSON

There is compelling evidence that Europeans reached North America hundreds of years before Christopher Columbus sailed west attempting to reach the orient.  Controversial evidence suggests the Phoenicians (from the coastal regions of Syria, Lebanon, and Israel) may have reached the east coast of North America – perhaps penetrating as far west as present Michigan.  There is little doubt among scholars that the Vikings (Norsemen from Scandinavia) arrived in North America 300 years before Columbus.  Controversy arises regarding how far west the Vikings explored from their landing on the east coast.  The most controversial evidence and speculation involves the claim that the Welsh (Wales, England) reached North America and penetrated north from Alabama to the Dakota’s in the twelfth century.  The Welsh explorer who is believed by some to have accomplished this feat was Madoc.  There is evidence, though controversial, that Madoc penetrated from the Gulf Coast to Kentucky and was forced further north by Native Americans (Shawnee, Cherokee and others) in a battle at the Falls of the Ohio at present Louisville, Kentucky; and eventually settled in North Dakota generations later.

Click on this link for the rest of the story:  http://aths.com/content/brandenburg-stone-mystery

This week only, folks!
Here is the link:

http://www.ancestry.com/civilwar_sub

Enjoy!

Chris Lueken and the staff at ATHS.