Chapter IV - Missing Ancestry
2011, Sligo
A busy day in the Irish Ancestry Research Office continues unabated after the interlude of the phone call with Tim. A lot more facts about the Harrisons have been established. Sue was relieved to ditch unrewarding death register searches, and is glad when she contributes her own discovery: Sue has located a document verifying that Merrill and Madeline got married in St Paul in 1912.
“That makes sense, Sue, because Madeline was from Minnesota according to the 1920 census.”
A while later, with friendly sarcasm, “Here’s another one for you, boss. Alice and Samuel got married in Mason City in September 1936.”
“Thanks, Junior,” replies Jed, as he glances up from an ugly mess of paperwork notes that mean something to him, but not to anyone else.
The marriage of Tim’s parents could not be readily traced when Jed first tackled the paternal family tree. This was not of immediate concern to Tim, but Jed sensed that this omission needed to be resolved soon. It could be crucial to the timeline he had been plotting out, featuring the Harrison family during the 1920’s and 1930’s. “So Merrill must have disappeared after 1936, ‘cause Samuel met him. And he doesn’t show up on the Old Man’s Draft.” This is a database showing the registration of all U.S. adult males recorded initially in 1941 when the government was planning WW II drafts. Even men beyond their fighting prime had to register their existence and prove their ages and personal circumstances. At the time of conducting his research, the 1940 US Federal Census was not available to Jed or any genealogist, but the subsequent release of this crucial public record collection comprising over 3.8 million pages would support Jed’s preliminary appraisal. Merrill is not to be found amongst the 134 million inhabitants of American-held territories in 1940.
Jed continues his assessment “... and immigration databases show that he never left the U.S.A. Eventually, we will need to find Merrill in the 1936 to 1940 era. He must have died, but not in Iowa. You checked that and Merrill‘s death wasn‘t registered there … but everybody’s got a death certificate.”
“Only dead people…”
“What?”
“Only dead people have death certificates,” repeats Sue with a grin.
“Oh, shut up, smart-ass. I’m trying to concentrate. Anyway, you’re wrong. Only the next of kin of the deceased has a death cert, plus the local registrar where the deceased died. It’s just a matter of finding Merrill’s somewhere in the United States.”
“Tiny place. What’s that old Sixties song?”
Jed is now getting irritated. “WHAT?” he bellows.
Sue gets ready to run, as her words turn into song, “That’s it - it’s like ‘looking for a needle in a haystack.’ ”
Jed gives up and joins in the wise-cracking, “The Velvelettes. Two points for my team. And as the researcher says - ‘you gotta look before you leap!’ ”
Sue’s better singing voice can be heard disappearing down the corridor, “Doo-da-lang. Doo-da-lang….”
Sue uncorks a bottle of white wine taken from the fridge, and passes Jed a can of beer, which he gratefully cracks open and swigs. It has been a long, busy day. Other clients’ projects had progressed between the hours dedicated to formulating the identities of Tim’s grandparents. Vital records have been received in the post, studied and scanned. Then these revealing documents had been distributed around the world—but Jed likes to personalize the text that accompanies each e-mail to his desperate clients worldwide: in Jed’s opinion the lives of every ancestor, rich or poor, deserve precious respect. This stylized approach to family history research is much appreciated by Jed’s ever-expanding client list. Today, he has sensitively revealed the story of a young married man who was forcibly transported to Van Diemen’s Land 200 years ago and separated from his family—his criminal offence was nothing more than stealing a loaf of bread to feed his starving children. And earlier in the day there have been tales of a whole generation of Dubliners devastated by the effects of TB in the city slums—parents died, spouses died, many infants died. Tragedy after tragedy. Yet, Jed was able to pinpoint a whole array of successful relatives who were descended from a lone family survivor.
As Jed and Sue start to prepare dinner, they agree that they need to understand what makes Merrill tick. The Harrison project is the most curious enquiry on the books, and Tim compensates generously for thorough research. Jed dictates that they must first research Merrill’s birth family and ancestors. That’s what they’re paid to do. “I am the boss, you see. So let’s find out how Merrill was nurtured: what influenced his judgment to abandon two daughters? His death is a minor matter.”
“Or his disappearance,” chirps Sue.
“His death. Everybody dies.”
“I’ve no answer to that,” Sue concedes.
1906, Le Mars, Iowa
A teen-aged Merrill is graduating from the local school. Seated in the front row of the school hall, his Uncle Bartholomew and Aunt Lizzie are very proud of their nephew when it is Merrill‘s turn to take some plaudits and good wishes from the School Principal. A few years back, when Merrill was sent up from Oklahoma to join his older brother Leroy, the accompanying letter from Thaddeus to his sibling Bartholomew said that Merrill was becoming a troublemaker. Merrill had been absconding from early grade schoolhouses and was often found in town stores buying candy. Thaddeus did not know for certain how his son Merrill got hold of spare cash because he and his wife had barely enough to get by on. “One bad harvest after another,” claimed Thaddeus, in his sad correspondence. His parents could only guess that Merrill was stealing a few dimes, here and there, or even worse, he had resorted to begging in the town streets. Either way, Merrill was bringing shame on the family, and Uncle Bartholomew was asked to get the wayward boy back on the straight and narrow. Leroy had been sent to Bartholomew in Le Mars the summer before Merrill, and the older of Thaddeus’s two children had excelled at his college studies.
Later on, over a celebration dinner, Bartholomew and Lizzie openly discuss Merrill’s father Thaddeus in front of the adopted Harrison boys. It is clear that Thaddeus isn’t doing too well with a new farming venture in Oklahoma. Leroy reminds his aunt and uncle that he and Merrill will be ”visiting Pop next month,” but Bartholomew insists, “I want you two back early.” The agreed plan is that the Harrison brothers start their apprenticeships in Uncle Bart’s printing business after a summer break.
Merrill admits: “I don’t want to go, really. I hate that crazy half-Indian woman he took in after Mom died.” He then puts on his best pompous drawl, trying to amuse the dinner party. “She brings downright shame on my pioneering Irish forefathers, so she does.”
Bartholomew scolds him. “Times have changed, Master Harrison. Show some respect.”
After a sweet fruit pie has been enjoyably devoured by all, Leroy collects the dishes and accompanies his aunt into the kitchen. Bartholomew winks at Merrill to let him know that in reality he fully agrees with his nephew’s assessment of his father’s shameful existence, but that the dinner table in front of Leroy and Lizzie is not the place to spout off. Leroy had been distraught when his estranged mother passed away before the age of forty. She developed a fever when the dreaded Grip epidemic hit their village, but poverty-stricken Thaddeus Harrison didn’t call a doctor for days. He had very little left to pawn.
“Now, young man, I am glad that we have been left alone. You did real well at college, so you deserve a little treat to help you through the summer.” Merrill gets a generous graduation gift of cash from Bartholomew, equivalent to several weeks of his normal spending allowance.
Later that evening, in their shared bedroom, Leroy complains to his sibling that Merrill got a lot more cash than Leroy received on his own graduation day.
Merrill smirks, “Well, brother, you should have nailed down a better deal. I made a contract with good ol’ Bart a while back. I said that if I completed my studies, and joined the printing firm, then I expected a payback, or else I was off to work on the railroad in Sioux City.”
“You crafty devil, Merrill,” moans Leroy. “You get free accommodations, and free schooling, and then you exploit Bartholomew’s kindness some more!”
Merrill lies back on his bunk, with a conceited grin on his face, “I can wrap dear old Uncle Bart round my little finger. I’ll be the boss of Harrison & Chassell Printing Company one day, just you watch. You stick by me, Leroy. We’ll get rich together.”
2011, Sligo
Jed finishes up another day‘s work, looking pleased with himself. He has linked Merrill and Leroy into a published family tree. Merrill’s parents feature in this tree. The expansive ancestral Harrison family stacks up on the whiteboard, over Jed‘s shoulder. He backs up all the new-found data to the server and then switches off each piece of gently humming hardware. With a final glance at the whiteboard, Jed looks almost smug in the knowledge that his research business is an unqualified success. When he is determined to find something out, he normally succeeds. When he is personally intrigued about a certain ancestor, he will go above and beyond the limits of the project budget, just to reassure himself of his new talents and to gain the self-satisfaction which an elusive discovery brings. Tim’s Phase Two project now falls into the second category.
A generation of Harrisons from Pennsylvania had headed westwards, seeking better farmland. The older ancestors have proven roots in Ireland. Jed has also traced the existence of a Harrison Family “Bible” and, earlier in the day, an obliging far-distant relative of Tim allowed Jed to download a scanned version “just to see if your Harrisons have any connection to mine.” Most of the handwritten Bible data checks out against early U.S. vital records for Thaddeus‘s generation, but a few minor corrections had to be made after Jed meticulously researched each listed individual. Jed has a commendable research “affliction”—perfectionism.
However, there is next to nothing about Merrill and Leroy in the Bible, except two photos which now have pride of place on the whiteboard. Both are ancient family snaps of Merrill’s parents, one showing Leroy as a baby on his mother’s lap. The other is a formal photo taken in Goodland, Kansas, a relatively young U.S. Midwest town. Jed doesn’t know what Merrill’s family was doing there about 120 years ago, not long after this farming outpost was established. In fact, Merrill isn’t even mentioned as being on the photo, but by reference to scribbled parent names, Jed knows for sure that the younger boy in the snap is his first material image of Merrill. When a genealogist is fortunate enough to get hold of a picture of a research subject, it brings the project to life. At this stage, Jed only had the curious monochrome image of a five or six year old boy captured in Kansas, but now Merrill has come to life—living and breathing in the researcher’s mind.
Later that evening, Jed leaves his home-cum-office for a night out in the village pub. It is the long-awaited night of a major Irish sports event due to be televised and shown at the pub on their big screen. Sue has opted not to go to the village inn. She knows how these nights can end up if Ireland or any local sports team wins the big game. She tells Jed to enjoy himself, but to be wary of the planned big search for Merrill post-1936 that must commence in the morning.
Jed jogs merrily down his driveway. Jed’s taxi service was not as conventional or luxurious as the chauffeur-driven limos he once enjoyed back in Dublin. Back then, a wealthy former friend and hotel-owner only had to click his fingers if his boozing buddies wanted a ride to a trendy night-club down by the River Liffey. Tonight, Jed hops on the back of his neighbor Willie Tom Hugh’s not-so-roadworthy, old tractor and they drive through the lanes, laughing and childishly chanting sports anthems.
In rural Ireland, ancestry research can sometimes be quite simple. Willie’s father was “Thomas,” and this Tom’s father was “Hugh” - so “Willie Murphy” was “Willie Tom Hugh.” The reason all the locals called him by this extended name was because there was another “William Murphy” living just a few fields away. You would think that these two men known as “Willie” were closely related, but no, they were (said to be) from completely different families. “Willie Tom Hugh” was no relation of “Willie John Tom,” and he proudly told everyone just that, if asked. And this kind of scenario did not apply to just the Murphy’s in Jed’s parish.
Years ago, the choice of brides was very limited, so young men in Ireland regularly accepted arranged marriages. Cousins often wed cousins. If you didn’t emigrate, you married a near-neighbor’s daughter for certain. And so, complicated chains of Kellys and O’Haras and O’Donnells, etc, spread across the local countryside. The living memory which dictates that four, or at most five, past generations can be recalled verbally by old-age pensioners means that beyond about 150 years ago, most oral historians do not class any other similar-named branches to be blood-related to their family, in parochial Ireland, anyway. In reality, ancestral relationships do go back much farther, but “Willie Tom Hugh” was no cousin of “Willie John Tom,” in both their opinions. Jed could prove differently, but it was no use. An ancient Murphy feud about a tiny piece of bogland decreed that Willie would never associate himself with the other William Murphy. The two Willie’s did not see eye to eye, and that was that.
Before the game starts on TV, Jed briefly tells Willie Tom Hugh about his current project: the search for Merrill. The mainly older local agricultural guys are always asking Jed about his strange line of work. His occupation does seem strange to Irish farmers and bog-cutters who can readily name their great-grandmother and tell you exactly where she was born. In their isolated worlds, the old farmers cannot understand why someone might wish to pay good money to discover who their family was. Having never left their ancestral farmsteads, these men could not comprehend how modern families become fragmented after decades of enforced migrations. Jed has repeatedly explained the principles of genealogy to these friendly, less switched-on, neighbors - but to no avail. Once, Sue tried to help the explanation when she made the bar-room occupants laugh by saying that they should think of Jed as a “dead-people’s detective.” This quip has developed into a long-running joke that always causes great amusement to the Sligo locals, and Jed has to play along that it is hilariously original. It goes like this…
Someone in the pub asks who he is researching. Jed tries to evoke genuine interest by divulging the juiciest details of a family history saga. Then the pub wit abruptly halts the story-telling by declaring, “He’s dead, you know.” This ‘killer’ line results in side-splitting uproar at Jed the Genealogist’s expense, but each time it happens, Jed reckons that it raises his overall profile in the popularity stakes. So, Jed looks surprised at the wit’s knowledge for an instant, just to add to the hilarity.
Jed explains to Willie that he has been commissioned to find this ancestor who did not die; he just disappeared. Despite keeping his voice down in a now noisy makeshift TV room, young Michael seated nearby thinks that the gag is appropriate. “He’s dead, you know!” For once, it backfires.
“Oh, is he now, Michael? And how do you know that then? Have you got his death cert? No one else in the world seems to have one.”
Michael skulks off to the bar, puzzled at Jed’s unusual seriousness. The older gag-meisters soon get everyone back in a jovial mood before kick-off when Willie shouts out that Jed is not looking for a dead chap this time, “He’s looking for Merrill. He’s not dead; he disappeared—see?“
Spates of ridiculous jokes about where Merrill could be are bandied about the bar. “Has he got a safe pair of hands? We need a good goalkeeper tonight!” “Perhaps he can do a better job at Full Back for us than that donkey the manager picked.”
By half-time, the mood among the locals is different. The revered Boys In Green are losing on TV. It has been a miserable display of missed scoring opportunities by the finest footballers Ireland could muster. Jed remarks that he would be better off at home, searching for Merrill. Willie just frowns and stares into his pint of frothy stout ale. Willie and the locals take their football very seriously, whether it be soccer, rugby or their very own Gaelic variety.
**************
Two hours later, attached to the back of Willie’s tractor, a trailer load of drunken Irishmen are driven away from the pub, including Jed, after witnessing a successful second half comeback by their sports heroes. Rebel songs are sung. Some of the lyrics talk of other infamous Irish battles in which the down-trodden country folk overcame all odds and triumphed in the end. Willie manages to keep the tractor out of the roadside ditches, as one by one, the taxi passengers disembark from their slow-moving transport home.
Jed staggers up his driveway, singing a made-up song about a lady’s search for her long-lost sweetheart. In the warm light of the doorway, Sue vaguely recognizes the tune, but she’s never heard an Irish ballad about a man called Merrill before. Jed is stopped in his tracks when he accidentally catches his foot on the old stone porch step and gratefully half-stumbles into Sue‘s arms.
“Ireland won then?” enquires Sue sardonically, as the door closes behind them.