Tombstone Tuesday - Perseverance PAYS!

Subtitle: Success in the Cemetery!

I'm posting today to share my excitement about a victory (of sorts) that I've had.  I thought that this was going to be more of a follow-up post, however, upon searching my blog, I've discovered that I never did write about the search for my maternal grandmother's grave marker.

My mother's mother, Mary Thomas, died in 1986.  She was buried in Calvary Cemetery, an historical burial ground in Norfolk, Virginia.  Because I spent the first 14 years of my genealogical journey completely focused on researching my paternal ancestors, it wasn't until just a few years ago, when I turned my attention to my mother's folks, that I decided to head over to Norfolk to visit my grandmother's grave.  Once I did, I was disappointed to discover that the spot where she rested was covered only by green grass, and wasn't marked in any way.

I was 24 years old when my grandmother died, and of course, I attended her funeral.  However, not being a cemetery or genealogy buff at the time, I can't say that I paid any attention to how the grave was marked.  But, what I did know (or at least what I thought) was that my mother and her two siblings would certainly have put some kind of a marker on their mother's grave.  I inquired at the cemetery office, but long story, short, they had no records related to the markers or headstones.  Their records only pertained to the actual burials.

At the advice of the person in the cemetery office, I contacted Hale Funeral Home, to see if they had any records pertaining to my grandmother's burial.  (I called right from the grounds of the cemetery, hoping to just drive right over!)  Unfortunately (and quite sadly), the person I spoke with told me a story of transferred management after family deaths, and records which had actually been THROWN AWAY.  If I recall correctly, all of the pre-1997 records of this funeral home, which has been serving African-Americans in the Tidewater area for 100 years, were destroyed during changes in management.  Needless to say, I was disappointed, and appalled.  Not only were the records of my own ancestors gone - I actually have several who were serviced by this funeral home - but so were those of hundreds of others. 

After this troubling revelation, it seemed that there would be no way for me to prove that there'd once been a marker at my grandmother's gravesite.  My mother told me that my uncle had handled the burial transactions, and when I asked him about it, he said he no longer had any of the paperwork, but reiterated that he "thought" there was "some kind of stone, or something" at the grave.  With nothing else to go on, I just kind of put this to the side, but vowed to one day get to the bottom of it. (No pun intended.) :)

Anyway, life and genealogy went on, and then one day, quite by accident, I ran across this picture, while going through some things at my mother's house:



My nephew, Robert, and my daughter, Natasha, beside the freshly-covered grave of their great-grandmother,
Mary Thomas.

So, there ya go!  You'd better believe I was doing the genealogy happy-dance, for here was all the proof I needed (and more)!  As soon as I saw this picture, I knew for sure that this was my grandmother's burial location, because it was the exact spot on which I'd stood with the cemetery caretaker, but all that was there was grass.  But here were my nephew, age 6, and my daughter, age 4 obviously not too long after my grandmother had been buried.

With this picture in hand, as well as the actual receipt for the 6-vault burial plot that my great-grandmother had purchased in 1935,  I took the 35-minute drive over to Norfolk last Monday, ready for battle.  I called ahead to let them know I was coming, and "Bret", the current manager of the cemetery, after hearing my plight, said he'd pull his records and be ready for me.  Once there, he and another employee in the office were very kind and accommodating towards me, so no fight was necessary. :)  Bret verified the location of my family plot (yes, it's a family plot, but I'll write about that in another post), and printed out a new map for me using their fancy-smancy new program.  Then, off we went, armed with my proof-providing picture to do a "test-dig". 

I couldn't believe how excited I was about this, but I was almost beside myself.  When we got to the plot, I used the picture to help Bret locate the exact spot in which to drive his shovel, and after just a couple of hits in that spot, we heard it - the unmistakable clang of metal against stone.

Bret marks the spot for the dig.

           

And so we began...

As Bret chiseled and dug, I continued to "coach" him, directionally.  After just a few minutes, I had all of the confirmation I needed.

Do you see what I see?




At this point, tears began to well up in my eyes, as I realized that we had, indeed, found my grandmother.  Of course she was there all along, but there was just something about the grave being unmarked that was very unsettling to me.  Now, I knew for sure that we were in the right spot, and presumably my grandma, along with her husband, her parents, and her uncle were all right there where they'd been laid to rest. 

Bret continued his work, commenting to me, "You were exactly right about it.", as he dug, more gently now, around the step.  In reverence to my ancestors, I remained silent, as he uncovered the unmistakable match to my photograph.

And there it is, the THOMAS surname, clear as day.

Just a few minutes after the step was completely revealed, as Bret was explaining to me that it would be raised and reset before the end of the week, a truck drove by with the very men who would be doing it. He summons them to stop, and they came over and heard the whole story.  Everyone involved (including Bret) seemed surprised and baffled that the marker had been allowed to sink like that, since the cemetery is well, and consistently cared for, but what happened, happened.  I'm just glad that they were so amicable about it, and willing to do the work (at no cost to my family, of course) to right the situation.  I didn't go back yet, but I'm guessing the work has been done.  I plan to go over this weekend to see.

There was so much more to this post, but, unfortunately, I hit a wrong button last night was I was creating it, and lost all but the very first part.  Time only permits me to redo this much for now, but thank you for reading.  Needless to say, my heart is glad. :)

Thanks for reading.

Renate



Fun in the Sun! Grandma Thomas - Back in the Day! - COG 95th Edition

I'd originally been saving this up for a Wordless Wednesday, but after being inspired by Carol's "Bathing Beauties From Virginia" post, over at Reflections From the Fence, I decided to submit this picture of my maternal grandmother for the COG 95th edition, The Annual Swimsuit Edition which is being hosted by Jasia over at Creative Gene.  Just click on the link above, and scroll down to the bottom of the page for submission information! 

This is my grandmother, Mary Davis Walker Hill Thomas on an unidentified beach, probably sometime in the 1920's (but I don't know for sure).  Yes, this is the same grandmother about whom I just finished the three-part series, "My Grandmother's Loss".  At the time this photo was taken, the area beaches were still segregated, so it's most likely that she was either at Sea View in Norfolk, or Ocean Breeze, in Virginia Beach.  Either way, she looks like she's happy, possibly pregnant, and feeling good about herself!

Every time I see this picture, I just stare and stare at it.  I never saw this carefree side of my grandmother.  It does my heart good to know that my she did have "better days" before I knew her.

Renate

Sentimental Sunday - My Grandmother's Loss (Part 3 -The Final Chapter)

For the past few weeks, I've been posting a series of stories about my maternal grandmother, Mary Thomas.  Basically, these posts were instigated by the mixture of feelings I experienced after receiving a set of newspaper articles about my maternal ancestors from a kind stranger in the genealogy blogosphere.  (This is such a wonderful community to be a part of.  Thanks so much again to genealogist, Hollis Gentry, who blessed me with these articles!)
This is the final post - the third of three. These posts have given my readers (and me) a kind of "right there" look at the losses my grandmother experienced throughout the course of her life.  In the first post, I wrote of the sudden, and tragic loss of her first husband, James Allen Walker.  A couple of weeks later, I posted about the abandonment of my own grandfather, Daniel Webster Hill.  Today, I'd like to share what I know about my grandmother's third marriage, to a man all three of her children refer to as "the love of Momma's life."

Finale - Charlie Thomas

It is with a conflicted heart that I write about my grandmother's third, and final marriage.  My mother and her siblings are still living, and they know much more about the details of Charlie Thomas' life (with and before my grandmother) than I do.  For reasons which I am just recently becoming aware of, much of his story has remained untold, and though my mother, aunt, and uncle know it, they are not ready to reveal it all to me just yet.

What I do know, and can write, is that at some point very soon after being abandoned by her second husband, my grandmother, and married Charlie Thomas, a man who was 16 years her senior.  My guess is that they must have already known each other from church, since one of the articles I received mentioned that Charlie's family belonged to Jerusalem; the same church which my grandmother was a member of, and where my uncle had won the baby contest several years before.  (See Part 2) I've heard that Charlie "swept Mary off her feet".  (I'm guessing that he and the whole church had probably witnessed her suffering after my grandfather left, and perhaps even before so.  He probably stepped right in!)  

 Charlie Thomas, with his daughter (my aunt), Jane.

I don't have the exact date of their marriage (yet), but in 1940, my grandmother gave birth to her third child, Jane Gwendolyn Thomas.  Charlie had won my grandmother's heart, and she was happier than she'd ever been.  My mother tells me that Charlie Thomas loved and cared for Howell and her as if they were his own, and that he was "the only father" she has ever known.  She says that he didn't treat them any differently than he did his own flesh and blood daughter, Jane.  My uncle agrees with all of my mother's comments.

The only other thing I know (that I can share) about Charlie Thomas is that he worked on the railroad. As I was growing up, I would occasionally ask about my grandfather, but I was only told that he "worked on the railroad."  I realize now, that since Charlie Thomas was the only father my mother ever knew, that the answer I was being given referred to him, and not to my actual grandfather, Daniel Hill.  However, knowing all that I know now, about the devastating death of my grandmother's first husband, Allen, I can only imagine how very stressful it must have been for her to say goodbye to Charlie each day as he left for work.  She had to have had incredible faith!

 Charlie, Mary, and the three children (along with Mary's mother, Manerva) were living "happily ever after" when, sometime early in 1950, Charlie began to suffer from some kind of heath problems.  According to this article, Charlie is "improving" in April, 1950.

But, in August, 1950, my grandmother's third husband, Charlie Thomas, suffered a heart attack and died right in their Norfolk home.

 For Mary Davis Walker Hill Thomas, the third time had indeed been "the charm".  However, at 52 years old, having lost 3 husbands, and being left to finish raising 3 children, she must have also decided that with "three strikes, you're out".  Mary lived out her remaining 34 years as a widow, harboring a lifetime of painful losses, but choosing to count her blessings and bask in the reflection of a decade of beautiful memories made with the love of her life, Charlie Thomas.

As you can see, Mary never forgot her dear, Charlie.  Here, she memorializes him nine and eleven years, respectively, after his death.  I had seen the 1959 article taped inside the cover of her bible, but had never seen the 1961 piece.  However, now that I have, I realize that she had them both in there, for there is a faded outline exactly the size and shape of the column on the same page as the other one.

This ends the trilogy, "My Grandmother's Loss".  Writing this out has been helpful to me, and has helped me to put into words a "story" that needs to be shared with my daughters, and the rest of Mary Thomas' grandchildren. To those who've followed along, I thank you.

Blessings,

Renate

Sentimental Sunday - My Grandmother's Loss (Part 1)

A few weeks ago, I was the recipient of a random act of genealogical kindness. A fellow researcher provided me with several articles from the Norfolk, Virginia "Journal and Guide", which featured, or pertained to some of my maternal ancestors. If you missed the post about this, and would like to read it, you can click here.

It has taken me some time to be ready to post about the article which affected me most, but now the time has come. If you follow this blog, you probably already know, or at least sense, that I was extremely close to my paternal grandmother, Anna Green Yarborough. However, my relationship with my maternal grandmother, Mary Davis Thomas, was more distant, even though she lived in closer proximity to me. I never spent much time thinking about this - it's just the way it was. I loved her, and I knew she loved me, but we just didn't have a very intimate personal connection. Grandma Thomas didn't say much (not around me, anyway), and unfortunately, though I saw her often, and she even lived with us in her later years, my memories of her as a quiet, and rather stoic person, make it difficult for me to truly recollect much about our interactions. This said, I'll now admit that when I received the email from Hollis Gentry, with the links to to the nine articles about my family, the very first one I read, which saddened and stunned me, caused me to reflect long and hard about life of the woman whom I'd only known as my, "Grandma Thomas", whose young adult life was impacted and shaped by a series unfortunate events through which she (as seems to be the case with all of the women in my ancestry) persevered, overcame, and maintained her Christian faith.

James Allen Walker - Part I

My grandmother, Mary Davis, with her first husband, Allen Walker.

I did not grow up knowing that my grandmother had been married before or after she married my grandfather, but when I found out as an adult that she had, and I asked what had happened to the first husband, I was only told that he'd "died on the railroad". So, when I opened this first article from Hollis, and really came to terms with what my grandmother, then a young bride must've gone through, I began experience a feeling of mourning, as if I'd been there with her when she got this terrible news, and experienced the first, of what would eventually be three spousal losses.

Yes, my maternal grandmother's first marriage ended when her husband, only 27 years old, was crushed between two train cars.  They'd not had any children, so I'm assuming that the life they'd been building together came to an abrupt and unexpected end when Allen left for work that morning. 

Thanks for reading.

Renate

To read Part 2 of this series, click here.

The Other Side (of my family)

(Pictured to right: Manerva, Mary, and Maryanne - my great-grandmother, grandmother, and mother)


I've just come in from a visit with my mother, who, unfortunately, resides in an assisted living facility due to a movement disorder (Parkinsonism?) and increasing dementia. Some visits are short and some are long. This was a long one, due to my showing her recordings of my daughter (a violinist) playing several pieces, and the fact that I had several "newsy" items to update her on.

My mother is pretty much in her "right mind". Her dementia has manifested itself mainly in her ability to take care of her ADL's, and has robbed her of most of her gross and fine motor skills. But, she can still hold a good conversation, and she knows what's up about everything and everybody. The rest of our family (except for my daughters) has basically abandoned her, and on the rare occasions they do have contact with her, they treat her as if she's not herself anymore, which doesn't help her at all. However, when my daughters and I visit her, or take her out, we treat her like the mother/grandmother she's always been, and the longer we are with her, the more of her true personality and still-intact intelligence shines through.

Anyway, this evening during our visit, I was sharing with my mother that the tenants who've lived in her rental home in Norfolk have given their move-out notice, after being in the house for about six years. This was the house that my mother grew up in, which was first owned by her grandparents, then her mother, and became hers shortly before my grandmother's death. My mother had the house renovated in the early 90's and has been renting it out ever since. But, since she been disabled, the responsibility for this property (along with everything else of hers) has become mine, so it was with a bit of a sigh of relief that I shared this news with her, adding that "now we can sell it." My mother's reaction to this was quite genuine. She sort of gasped, and teared up, and responded by quietly saying, "Yes, I guess we can." I thought it was over, so I just sat silently for a minute, but then I heard a very quiet, "I was so hoping we could keep it in the family. It means so much to me." A brief silence followed this, as I watched my mother blinking back tears, and then I responded, "I know, Ma, but it's just too much for me." This she repeated, almost in monotone, but then she added, "I know it is. You have too much on you." We went on to discuss the pros of selling the house - what she could do with the money, etc., and then it was all better. But I couldn't get this out of my mind on my drive home. Here's why:

My ancestry research has been almost soley dedicated to my paternal side. For some reason, I just feel more like I "come from" that side. And besides, my mother's side is smaller. Her siblings are still living and they seem to know who they are. Oh, and there's the other problem of my mother's father abandoning the family when my mother was four years old. No one has ever heard from or about Daniel Webster Hill again.

When we were kids, my brother, Arthur, and I used to claim that my mother's mother was HIS grandma, and my father's mother was MINE. It seemed that they loved us that way, although that probably wasn't true. But on my drive home tonight, I realized that I've really done my mother a disservice by not finding out as much as I possibly could about her roots. Yes, I located them in the census way back to my great-great grandparents back in the beginning of my research, and I've searched high and low to find out about my grandfather, but I haven't done the HALF of the work that I've done on my paternal side, and I plan to change that, beginning right now. So stay tuned because Walter and Manerva Brown Davis (my gg grandparents), Daniel and Mary Davis Hill Thomas (my grandparents), and even my mother, Mary Anne Hill Yarborough will begin to make themselves known on my blog!