Genealogy on the Road

Five years ago I decided to trace my ancestors back to their country of origin. I figured this would be a good weekend project (ha!) Little did I realize I was embarking on an all-consuming passion that would last throughout my retirement years.

Both my parents shared little about their childhoods. I knew a few details but no specifics. For example, Mom told me that she grew up on a farm in Franklin, TX and her father died when she was eight years old. I had no idea that Mom grew up surrounded by dozens of cousins. 

And Dad told me his father left his mother before Dad turned two (and his younger brother less than six months). His mother contracted tuberculosis and eventually, the family moved to Alabama. An uncle owned a farm there, and they hoped the fresh air and sunshine would remedy the disease. Unfortunately, his mom died in 1941 when Dad was thirteen years old. I have a funeral notes document that tells me the church where her funeral was held and the cemetery where she is buried. Unfortunately, no record of her gravesite exists online.

When I planned this snowbird trip, I noticed Sargent Beach was less than 200 miles from Franklin, TX. And we would pass through St. Elmo, AL on I-10 as we headed into Florida. I decided this was the perfect opportunity to do some on-sight genealogy research. 

Franklin, TX

As luck would have it, I found a Harvest Host location just outside Franklin city limits. I thought this would be a great opportunity to experience (to some degree) what life must have been like for Mom growing up on a farm. 

We arrived around 3:00pm... set up camp... got a tour of the duck-and-rabbit farm ... and then immediately left for the cemetery where I knew several of my ancestors were buried. It was a thirty-minute drive on mostly gravel roads. I wondered how much (or how little) this area changed since the 1930s(?)

East Boone Prairie Cemetery is a typical small-town cemetery. This community was eight miles away from the city of Franklin and home to a few families. As I opened the gate and looked to the left, I discovered the graves of my great-great-uncles and aunts. Names I've known for years through research but not in person. Mom never mentioned them.

I meandered through the cemetery and realized most of those buried here bore familiar surnames. The Cranes (my maternal great-grandparents) ... the Fraziers and Merrymans (married into the family) ... the Dowdys (Mom's maternal side)... and the Miles (Mom's maiden name).

I found the graves of Robert Lee and Ruth A Dowdy ... my great-great-grandparents. He fought in the Civil War in Georgia and then moved the family to Franklin, TX around 1879. 

I found the graves of little Katy and Joe Miles... siblings of my grandfather ... both died under the age of four and within three months of one another.

I found the grave of his younger sister, Ola Mae, who was murdered in Houston in 1952 😯 (again... Mom never mentioned this woman. I learned all this from online research).

And then I found the grave of my grandfather: Floyd Conley Miles.

I never met the man. He died in 1936 when Mom was just shy of her 8th birthday. But I often wondered what he must have been like. Somehow, standing beside his gravestone gave me a sense of closure. He is surrounded by family. He is well-loved. 

The next morning I toured the small downtown area of Franklin. I visited the Carnegie Library, only one of five left in Texas. But unfortunately, they had no local history information for me to dig into.

I walked two blocks to the Court House and the town square. I found Duffy Drug Store, which was originally the Maris Drug Store in the 1930s. My grandmother bought Mom's baby book from Maris Drugs. I am grateful she kept those records.

I saw the railroad where I know (from Mom's baby book) she took her first train ride to Houston when she was barely one year old. And I could imagine the old Cotton Gin next to it, which I know existed from copies of the 1916 Sanborn map of the area.

All in all... it was a quick trip to this quaint town. But I feel as though I have connected with these long-lost relatives in a meaningful way.

St. Elmo, AL

I found a campground just off I-10 in Mobile that was conveniently located to the two places I wanted to visit. One was St. Elmo, AL ... a rural community to the South of Mobile and where my dad's uncle had a farm. 

The area where the farm was supposedly located (off I-90 between St. Elmo and Irvington according to the 1940 census) is pretty run-down. We didn't drive too far looking for the farm because I had no address. But we wonder if some of these buildings existed when Dad lived here.

The other area I wanted to visit was further north: Whistler, AL, which is now a part of Prichard. I wanted to visit the area for two reasons. First, I wanted to visit the Whistler Methodist Church where I know my grandmother's funeral was held. I also believe the family lived within a two-block radius of this church.

The church still stands. The neighborhood surrounding it is falling apart 😕. We visited the area around 3:00pm on a Saturday afternoon and sirens continually wailed. I wonder what it must have been like in the 1930s?

About a mile away was the Whistler Cemetery. I knew Dad's aunt and uncle were buried here. I also knew his mother was buried here. It says so in the funeral records. But there is no record of her gravestone on any ancestry site. I wanted to see if i could find her and pay my respects.

Whistler cemetery is far larger than East Boone Praire Cemetery. I had no idea where to start. After thirty minutes of walking around - Geoff in one direction and I in another - we had no luck. Hero was getting restless and it was time to leave.

Geoff drove slowly through the cemetery, refusing to give up. Finally, I said enough is enough. Let's just go. He turned left toward the exit. I casually looked out the window. Suddenly I saw the gravestones of Paul and Margaret Wade. "Stop the car!"

We got out and walked around.

The family plot held four graves: Paul and Margaret. And Paul's parents, James Mansel Wade and Calllie Walker Wade --- my great-great-grandparents!

But my grandmother must be here, right?? 

The burial plot is rectangular.

The four graves with headstones are square.

But look over here to the left. There's quite a bit of space. And is that an outline around this grassy area? I found a couple of pink silk flowers and laid them atop the possible grave.

While I don't know for sure, this is the story I choose to believe.

My great-great-grandparents, James Mansel and Callie, died in 1932 and 1934. My grandmother died in 1941.

The family did not have much money, but they wanted to give Veron a proper burial. She is buried with her maternal grandparents in an unmarked grave. And she is buried next to her aunt and uncle who desperately tried to help her get well.

Dad (about age 3)

And again I have closure.

I knew precious little of my grandmother. But I knew Dad adored her.

This woman saw a lot of heartache in her short time here on earth. And up until now, no one knew she existed except for a very few close relatives.

While I may not have the ability to give her a proper gravestone to commemorate her wonderful life, I promise to leave a record of her life story for my children... which will hopefully be passed along to future generations. This dear woman deserves to have others know of her sacrificial love.