Dog Day Afternoons

It is sweltering outside but inside it is cool. This is the perfect time to do some armchair sleuthing. Wintertime is perfect too. Hey, if you are addicted to genealogy, like I am, any time is perfect.

Although I've been remiss in posting, I am continuously searching online. I hope to make a few road trips soon to follow up on my internet work.

Earlier I mentioned the find of a possible ancestor. There is little doubt in my mind that Josiah Pridgen fathered my great great grandmother Mary Jane Roberts. He keeps turning up in my DNA matches on ancestry.com. All I need is some kind of paper trail. That, however, may be difficult since we're talking about slavery records. Pridgen did not have a large farm and several farm hands. He only had one adult who I think was Judie Spence, my great great great grandmother, and her children. Still I will keep looking for a definable source.

I confess. I was paranoid when it came to having my DNA tested for genealogical purposes. And I still don't want to look to closely at the fact that my DNA is now on file. But it has been helpful. Is it disingenuous to wish that others, preferably my unidentified third cousins would take the ancestry.dna test too? I have only three close connections so far at this time and all three of them I knew of before they took the test. Then again, my uncle has two close matches but one has a tree that is private and the other has a tree with few names. No help, at all.

Yet, after learning of the surname Spence through DNA evidence and ancestral records, I am on the trail to find those elusive ancestors. The name Nathan Spence and Adaline DeLoach keeps coming up in my DNA matches. Hmmm. The game's afoot!

It's Not Easy Being Green

When I was in school, it was the custom to pinch anyone not wearing green on St. Patrick's Day. It had nothing to do with being Irish. I attended a Black segregated public school. However, I would proudly tell my fellow classmates that I really was Irish. This was the oral legend of my family.

Now with the aid of science and DNA testing, I have proof of my Irish heritage. According to ancestry.com, I am a whopping 19% Irish. I still don't know how, when or where, but I am definitely descended from several persons from Ireland. And my Irish ancestors reside behind my brick wall.

I know most of my Black ancestors back to 1825. I only know one White ancestral line up to that date. That is my Featherston line. There may be Irish roots there. The Featherstons did come from England so there may be Irish ties somewhere in that family tree.

What is unique about my Featherston ties is that the interracial union of my great grandparents occurred right after slavery. Those other earlier couplings were, more than likely, forced and they definitely were not documented.

Irish immigrants didn't have it easy when they first arrived here in America. People looked down on  them, discriminated against them, called them "black" among other epitaphs. Some were even held as slaves. Of course, their road to equality cannot compare to Black American's tedious journey.

I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel about my Irish heritage. I'm no longer that young naive child that gladly pronounced that she was Irish. I don't resent it either. My feelings, like Black genealogy, is complicated.

Me and Reba McEntire

I watch "Who Do You Think You Are" faithfully. Although I am extremely jealous of the research done for the celebrities, I watch because I learn something in every episode. On a few there have even been connections to the research I'm doing.

When the Reba McEntire episode aired, I figured I'd watch just for the genealogy tips, not expecting too much of a connection with the country western star. It was a great surprise then to find that there is a huge connection between our families.

Reba is a descendant of a George Brassfield. I am a descendant of a Brassfield. Her ancestors were slave owners. My ancestor was undoubtedly a slave. Watching the show renewed my interest in learning more about that line.

According to the episode, all Brassfields in America come from that first George who came over as an indentured servant at the age of nine  from England on the ship Loyalty. I have been able to trace my ancestor back to 1865 in Gibson County, Tennessee. So far I have found precious little about him even though his name is very unusual. In fact, I'm not sure what his name is. When I look at the original documents it looks like Danic or Domic. It has also been transcribed as David and Derick. That's part of the problem in finding him. But I do know that he was copper in color because I found the Freedmen's Bureau's marriage license when he married my great great grandmother Susie!

Why I Keep Digging

Every now and then, after hitting a brick wall after brick wall, I question why I am still seeking answers to the seemingly unanswerable. Then I find this sliver of a clue and do the happy dance and keep on keeping on. I love genealogy because of the mysteries. I think if it was too easy, I would have stopped long ago. The obstacles makes me push harder to unearth new relatives and new information.

I also think genealogy has a tremendous value. In response to a post I wrote earlier, it is important to know your history. It can inspire you and be a road map of what you can accomplish and what to avoid.

I just found out that one of my ancestors, Florence Octavia Alexander, my grandmother's sister, was asked to dine at the table with Eleanor Roosevelt. I am learning more about Kenny J. Williams, my grandmother's niece. Her mother was Maude Alexander Jackson and wife of Rev. Joseph Jackson, president of the Northern Baptist Association from 1941 to 1990. At one time he was considered more influential than Martin Luther King. There's a treasure trove of anecdotes there.

In my surfing of the web I ran across this blog, "The Chicago History Journal" and a post dated in 2010.  The writer was researching Chicago authors and their lives. "When I read a book I like to know who is talking to me. To my chagrin, I found very little information about this accomplished scholar." http://www.chicagohistoryjournal.com/2010/01/kenny-j-williams-voice-for-chicagos.html

That scholar was my cousin, Kenny J., someone I knew personally but knew only a little better than the blogger. The few details that I have gather so far convinces me that someone needs to document her history. She had no children and was an only child so that leaves it up to her cousins.

That is also why I believe genealogy is important. Because no matter who we are, we matter. And it has to be more than who begat who, when they were born and when they died. It has to be stories of celebrations and cautionary tales of people who lived and loved.

Florence Octavia Alexander

Maude Alexander Jackson

Kenny Jackson Williams

Slavery - Can We Talk?

I just read a blog by Luckie Daniels, Our Georgia Roots that got me to writing. It is a subject that I have thought a lot of about as I research. Luckie asks the question Could we be desensitized to slavery?

My maiden name is Cotten. When I was younger, some would call me "cotton picker." I hated it. Other than that, the subject of slavery didn't bother me. It was a fact of life, my ancestry. Besides, it was very far away. It didn't touch me.

Now, though, I am fascinated by the subject and the history of the Civil War. I know it is because of my addiction to genealogy. I now know that some of my great grandparents were slaves. My grandparents who I knew very well were just one generation away from slavery. I want to know all I can about them and my ancestors. It is frustrating that I can't find more out because of the institution. Slavery is a taboo subject for many slave and slave owner descendants. It prevents the sharing of information because of some subliminal guilt and resentment held on both sides.

So my answer to Luckie's question is no, most people aren't desensitized to slavery. I wish they were. Yes, slavery was evil but it is on a long list of the inhumane, evil things people have done and still do throughout history. If we could become desensitized to the subject of slavery, there would be no old wounds that need healing. If we could respect each other as part of the one family of man, then we could have objective discussions on so many levels. But I'm not holding my breath for that to happen soon.

I am desensitized. Just give me the information I am searching for. I don't hold you accountable for what your great-great-great-granddaddy did to my great-great-great grandma. I don't blame you. I want just the facts, thank you very much.

Race, Color, and Nationality

When it comes to certain labels in America, I am confused and I don't think I'm alone. It is not as simple as black and white, pun definitely intended.

The issue came up during our monthly genealogy meeting. I think it started because one of the members was displaying her DNA results. She was happy that her African roots had been identified but she was mystified that there was no trace of Native American DNA. She always believed she was part Indian. It forced her to accept her European ancestry. This led to a lively discussion about our collective identities.

I consider myself a Black American. Others see themselves as African-Americans. My confusion comes because I believe that anyone with ancestry from Africa and citizenship in America can be called African-American. Charlize Theron can be called African-American. And what about African slave descendants that live in the other Americas like Canada or Brazil? To compound my confusion, some people including some of my club members believe that Barack Obama can't be called an African-American or Black because he isn't descended from African slaves. But his father was African and he even knows what part of Africa from where he came unlike the majority of Black Americans. Crazy

When you add Native Americans into the mix it gets even more confusing. There are Black people with Native American genes and Whites who married Indians that are being denied their Indian heritage by the ruling tribal councils. Even though these individuals are descended from people on the Dawes Rolls (the Final Rolls of Citizens and Freedmen of the Five Civilized Tribes) and have documented proof of their ancestry, they aren't recognized as citizens of their tribes. Those that are disenfranchised are accusing the Indian tribal councils of racism.

There are other divisions in our society and within the sub-cultures. It was pointed out at the meeting that someone knew a lady who was American but whose parents were from Japan so she considered herself Japanese not American. Puerto Ricans consider themselves Puerto Rican, not Black or African-American even if they have ancestors from Africa.

I guess it comes with our melting pot culture. And it is a testament to our democratic society that we all sort of kind of get along even with all the labels and hyphens. But it sure would be less confusing without them.

Dead Ends

I checked the slave census for Mississippi. According to the censuses, my Cotten family can't have been slaves on any Cain family farm in Amite or Franklin county. So I'm back to square one.

It may be as simple as was the case for many emancipated slaves--Winnie first took the name of her last slave owner, Anderson. The Andersons had very large plantations in Amite and numerous slaves. I will check the Amite records when I visit Mississippi. At least the Amite County court records weren't burned like Pike County's.

The other dead end is the trail of my great-great-great grandmother Amy. After a quick look at the Cherokee history, I found out there is practically no way Amy could have been a full-blooded Cherokee. It is true that there was a large presence of Cherokees in North Carolina and Tennessee where my Koonce relatives lived, so it is possible she could have been part Cherokee. However, enslaving tribal natives proved to be so dangerous that America stopped doing it by the 1820's. There is only a slight chance that Amy was full-blooded Cherokee since she was probably born in the 1820's.

I was wondering if her heritage had anything to do with the absence of her stories in our family's oral legend. This tangent deserves more research. I am finding out that there is a strange relationship between Cherokees and slavery. I wasn't aware of how many slaves were owned by native Americans until I watched the African American Lives 2. The documentary traced actor Don Cheadle's ancestors back to slaves owned by native Americans. It also stated that many black Americans claim to be "part Indian" but actually aren't.

At an early age I was told that I was part Indian and part Irish. Being young, I just accepted it as a fact. Now, as I research my history more, I question the possibilities. It could be true but I need proof.

My Alex Haley Connection

Of course, every genealogy hobbyist knows who Alex Haley was. He inspired many Americans to begin tracing their family tree. He also made it okay for a generation of Black Americans to accept their heritage as slaves.

I have always felt a connection to Haley. We share the same birthday, August 11. In addition, many of his ancestors grew up in the same area of Tennessee as my ancestors. I was curious to see if we shared any relatives as I researched my family. We don't. However, we did end up having a very close connection.

My first love was born in Savannah, Tennessee. I have since found out that Savannah is also the birth place of Haley's father. While talking to my boyfriend's uncle about his own numerous romantic escapades in Savannah, one name kept cropping up--Queenie.

The next time I heard that name was years later. About two years ago, I was talking with a new co-worker, sharing bits and pieces of our lives, I was astounded to find out she was also from Savannah, Tennessee. Not only that but that she knew my boyfriend and his uncle very well and the Queenie I heard so much about was her cousin. That is when I found out that Queenie was one of Haley's cousins and so was my co-worker. Queenie is a family name handed down from Haley's great grandmother. Remember the TV follow up to "Roots," "Queen," starring Halle Berry?

So this is my six degrees of separation from Alex Haley. Actually, it's more like two degrees. Sometimes it amazes me how small the world can be at times.