52 Ancestors Week 2: Favorite Family Photo

 

From Amy Johnson Crow: This week’s theme is “Favorite Family Photo.”  What is the story behind it??

I am going to be straight up honest with you right from the start:  I do not have a favorite family photo. 

There are way too many memories forever documented in photographs for me to ever pick just one favorite.  I could pick childhood photos, family reunion photos, my wedding photo, photos of adventures and boon doggles with my son, or my many road trips in and around Appalachia with my husband.  I could also pick a photo from the bazillion pet photos that I have.  🐾

So, why did I finally decide on this one photo?  Truthfully, it is probably the only time that myself and my two brothers actually, somewhat, got along.  And, it gives me an opportunity to truly document my Dad's dedication to make sure his family had a family vacation once a year.  Something he never had until he married.

My Dad was a policeman for Prince George's County, Maryland.  He would work, part time, as a security guard, in his PG County uniform which was allowed at the time, for extra vacation money.  It was actually a really dangerous job because it was at a drug store in a seriously bad part of a city.  He would save all the money earned from that part time job to afford a trip to Walt Disney World and Daytona Beach.

I have very few early memories of my parents being together and in our home because they divorced when I was in kindergarten.  This picture along with home movies that were converted to VHS are all I have to spark the memories.

This picture was the last of the Craig Family Florida Vacations.

This picture was in Daytona Beach, Florida.  We kids had our own room and, wow, were we brats.  There was nothing more fascinating than that ice machine down the hall.  I think we emptied it, at least, three times a day.  We were also in the pool, terrorizing the others with screams and belly flops, as much as our parents would let us.  I won't mention the infamous Putt Putt Golf incident that to this day our parents still don't know about. 

My brothers would go deep sea fishing during the day.  My Mom and I would go shopping at those old style boutique stores that sold dresses and accessories but has now given way to air brushed tshirts and dive bars.  

My brothers hated having a little sister.  Tim, would tell everyone, before I was born, that if I was a girl, he is throwing me down the stairs.  🤣    They wanted a rough and tumble brother that played with matchbox cars and could pitch an incredible fast ball on their boys and girls club baseball team.  Not a prissy little sister who buried their match box cars in the yard because they wouldn't let me play with them. 

While we get along, now, that vacation, we were all simpatico:  crazy kids running around and high on sugar and Mickey Mouse.  It would take another 30 years before we became truly simpatico again.

My brothers - Tim and Steve

Bowie, Maryland - 2015

We used to drive to Florida in the old family station wagon until my Mom demanded we fly.  As an extremely young girl, I was already addicted to travel the first time I stepped onto an Eastern Airlines airplane.

.....but when we drove to Florida, it always included a stop at South of the Border.  The most fascinating place for kids.  Stores and stores and stores of junk toys begging to be purchased.

Learn about my brother Tim and more of his adventures and see if you are related or connected to him by visiting his profile at WikiTree.com.

52 Ancestors Week 1: In the Beginning

From Amy Johnson Crow: This week’s theme is “In the Beginning.”  Who was the first person you wanted to find when you started your genealogy journey? 

My Uncle Drex was the family historian on my mom's side. This was back in the days before computers and Post-it notes. Before he passed away, he gave me the notes he had left—most of them were lost during moves with his last wife—and asked that I carry on the family genealogy. I smile as I remember his deep voice saying those words. He had a rich, resonant voice and sang in the family band.

I completely adored him. 

He had the biggest smile and gave the best hugs whenever he saw you. 

He is also the one that gave me my very secret nickname that only my West Virginia family used:  Sawnee.  A combination of my name Saundra and Niece.  

It makes sense that he was the family historian. His deep sense of place and uncontainable love for West Virginia shaped much of who he was. He graduated high school in Walkersville, West Virginia, and soon after, he joined the U.S. Air Force. 

Uncle Drex was closest in age to my mom, Edie, and together they became their parents' biggest helpers on the farm and with their younger siblings. He was deeply religious and was baptized in the Mighty Elk River in Webster County, West Virginia. Later in life, he answered the call to ministry and became a minister.

After basic training for the US Air Force, he was stationed in Alaska for six years as a radio technician.  Almost as far away from his beloved State as he could get. 

After his time in the Air Force, Uncle Drex became a long-haul truck driver, a career he pursued for decades. He was well-known on the road by his CB call sign, "Wolfman."

One of my most cherished childhood memories is when he let me climb up in his Big Rig and pull the rope to make the truck horn blare, loudly.  Yes, my brothers were so jealous.

When he wasn’t driving across the country for work, he would visit family and cousins throughout West Virginia. These visits were more than genealogical pursuits; they were joyful occasions filled with great conversations, often accompanied by a slice of cake or pie and a cup of coffee. He would ask questions, confirm timelines, and work to solve family mysteries, all in his pursuit of documenting our family history.

Uncle Drex was meticulous in his efforts. He would call relatives and visit them door-to-door, ensuring the accuracy of his genealogy records. Thanks to his diligence and passion, many of the Kings of Braxton, Webster, and Lewis Counties, as well as the Bonners of Webster County, and other relatives who first came to the United States, are now well-documented through Drexell's surviving handwritten notes.

Learn more about his remarkable work and see if you are related or connected to My Uncle Drex by visiting his profile at WikiTree.com.

Appalachian New Years Traditions

 As a kid, we never celebrated NYE much. My Mom always found it depressing and would encourage us to "just go to bed early".  As an adult, I've been to parties for NYE but have come to realize that I prefer something subdued, at home. 

Talking with several of my Appalachian family and friends, I am finding out that a subdued NYE is extremely cultural. 

Community focus

Appalachians tend to focus more on family and religion on NYE than the big and impersonal celebratory parties.  Although joining others for a NYE "event" is common for the younger generation. 

Religion

Some Appalachian communities have strong religious backgrounds, which could lead to a more conservative approach to celebrating holidays like New Year's Eve.  This reminds me of "Watch Night" at Church (aka Watch Service).  Our Church started at 7pm and lasted until after Midnight. There would be food, church service/ministry, communion, testimonials, singing, and more. 

Rural

Many parts of Appalachia are still rural and NYE usually has winter weather making travel a challenge.  Nesting at home vs venturing out to a large city celebration is often preferred. 

Food

An Appalachian New Year's Day meal almost always consists of pork (more modern is fish replacing pork), collard greens (with a dime inside the  bowl of greens for prosperity) or cabbage/sauerkraut, and black-eyed peas.

This is a popular Appalachian tradition believed to bring good luck, good health and prosperity in the new year.

It has never worked for me so I tend to have champagne, Spaghetti Aglio e Olio, and start binge watching something new for the new year.

Quirky Celebrations

* The John Campbell School shoots a pair of old boxer shorts out of a cannon.

*North Georgia has the Possum Drop 

* West Virginia has the Great Pepperoni Roll Drop

* Asheville has a board game party

Music

Enjoy Auld Lang Syne by Philip Bowen playing the fiddle. It doesn't get more Appalachian than this. 

What are your NYE Traditions?  

Drop a comment and share. I would love to see what others do around Appalachia and beyond. 

Happy New Year!

⎯⎯

You couldn't pay me to do this year again

 

Four People, Two Pets

My Journey of loss and sharing the songs that got me through 2024. This is not an easy "feel good" read. If triggering, feel free to skim the words and just click on the YT Video links.

I remember sitting at my computer in my office in February 2024. All the lights were out except for the glow of the computer monitor. I was slowly eating cold Lo Mein from a carton with chopsticks. On my monitor was the WikiTree profile of my biological father. It was time to add his date of death. He had died hours earlier, and I found out via a Facebook message. That was the courtesy given to me as his child. My husband nailed it—he told me exactly how this would all play out, and damn if he wasn't 100% spot on.

Oden Linger, my biological father

Oden and Sandy

I am a NPE.  Through Ancestry DNA, it was confirmed he was my biological father. He accepted me, and his sons accepted me (his daughter has not and refused to include me in the obituary). I was stunned and confused about how to feel. 

A 3 a.m. Discord chat with a friend in Europe helped put things in perspective.  Hours later, I had lunch with an old friend who patiently listened to my manic thoughts over a bottle of wine.  Yet another good friend, sitting in sunny Portugal, kindly, stepped in and fixed my confused grief written WikiTree profile of Oden's as I was unable to put a proper sentence together at the time.  Meanwhile, a US Marine pal over in Oregon had been working, long hours, with me tracing the Linger DNA line as this was all happening.

And, I'm not sure if I will ever recover from not being legitimized in the obituary. It was my last chance at legitimacy.  Maybe all I need to know is that Oden accepted me as his biological daughter.   Read all about it here.

Bill Linger, my half brother

About three weeks later, Oden's son, Bill, passed away. He had been ill and bedridden for many years. One of his lovely sons reached out to let me know and invited me to the funeral. I decided against going to avoid drama. I thought my brother Bill and his sons deserved better. My presence would have been a distraction.

I shared one of my favorite early memories of Bill with his son. Bill worked at High's Convenience Store, where my grandmother, Ina, was the manager. I was often with her when Bill was working. When he eventually gave his notice, I was so sad. Bill always treated me kindly, and I thought he was the coolest and goofiest adult.

We had no clue we were half siblings.  Fast forward decades, and Bill was talking fly fishing with my son in West Virginia.  I bet Bill is baiting a hook right now.

Once again, I was left out of the obituary. 

Lola

I would give anything to stop NYE 2023 from rolling into 2024. Anything.  Since June 2024, I have been crying/misty almost daily.  Lola's presence is everywhere even though she is not.

One day earlier, I was chasing Lola around the kitchen—one of her favorite activities—and she was planting flowers with me in the garden. The next day, at 3 a.m. (notice a theme with time?), my husband and I were wide awake, so he made "puppy waffles"—waffles with syrup, whipped cream, and strawberries that we shared with the pups. Each got their own mini waffle.

It would be Lola's last meal. At 7 a.m., she woke up with a cough and struggled to breathe. Mike rushed her to the ER vet, where they diagnosed congestive heart failure. She didn't last five more hours. I ran into the ER as she was "crashing," just in time to tell them to stop CPR and let her go. It was the hardest damn thing I've ever done.

They let me hold her for over an hour to say goodbye.  When I get to Heaven, I'll only have one question, Can I see my dog? 

This one little pup defined me, made me kinder, and showed me happiness. She was the heartbeat that was always next to me. She was in every webcast of Ancestry Roads. She was perfect.  Trust me when I say that I have not been "me" since she died and I don't think I ever will be again. Grief changes you when a precious soul and friend dies. I am going to need more than 10,000 angels to get me over her loss. 

I have incredible friends (and boss!) who stepped in for me at work and life, allowing me to grieve. They helped me keep moving forward and continue to check in with me to this day, seeing how my heart is mending.

Tim Craig, my brother

Not even a month after Lola passed away, my brother Tim died, alone, in Vanderbilt Hospital, Nashville, TN. Tim was one of the two brothers I grew up with. He contracted Hepatitis C from a tattoo as a young adult, which resulted in a liver transplant. After recovering from the transplant and cancer, he had a motorcycle accident that left him with mild brain damage, which sometimes affected his reasoning.

One morning in July, he collapsed at the end of the driveway while heading to the grocery store. Paramedics rushed him to Vanderbilt Hospital, where his transplant doctors worked. Apparently, the ER staff informed him he wouldn’t survive. He told them not to take life-saving measures.

He was transferred to the ICU, and a kind doctor called my mom, who then asked me to join the call. The doctor used her personal cell phone and put it to Tim's ear so he could hear us say goodbye to him.  Within five hours of collapsing, he was gone. It will forever haunt me that he died alone.

The next morning, my husband and I drove to Nashville from Atlanta to bring my mom (who Tim lived with) and his dog, Silo, to our home. Sometimes I wonder if Silo thinks of Tim often—he must. They were best friends. Tim lived life to the fullest, right to the very end.  Tim lived life to the drop.

 ﹏

➡️  My mom has Stage 4 Parkinson's. She now needs more care than I can provide at home, but she does not want to go to assisted living. Tim had been taking care of her. Conversations with Tim make a lot more sense now that she’s living with me. 😉 At the moment, my life feels like it’s no longer my own.

John Schlicht, my stepfather

In September, my mom learned that her second husband, my stepfather, passed away. He was a major influence in my life and the lives of my two brothers. He was in the U.S. Air Force, and thanks to him, we moved to Berlin, Germany, for several years—an experience I’ll be forever grateful for.

John was always so incredibly kind and patient with me and my brothers.  He was a great stepfather to us. 

When we came back to the States from Germany, things didn't work out for him and my Mom.  We three kids were put up on a shelf/tossed aside for a new family once he remarried.

I did see him one more time before my mom moved out of Maryland. He came to pick up some items he had left behind. That meeting, and the lunch we shared, were incredibly pleasant, and I smile at the memory to this day. I never thanked him for the opportunities he gave us.

 

Reeses

We adopted this sweet little guy from the Atlanta Doggie Pound two years and ten months before he suddenly and quickly died in our arms at home in November. That morning, he was happily following me around the yard, taking over for Lola on my daily garden strolls. Almost exactly at midnight, he peacefully passed away. From Lola’s experience, we knew it was congestive heart failure.

The Doggie Pound estimated he was 14 years old. Our vet thought he was closer to 16. I convinced myself he was 12. He had been on the pound’s short list after sitting there for over two weeks, unclaimed. The place was noisy, and he was shutting down. He was severely matted—his fur was matted to his skin from chin to chest and around his legs.

When this little dude first came to our home, he was terrified. It was Lola who served as his ambassador, treating him like a brother and teaching him how to sucker us into extra treats. Why such a perfectly trained dog ended up at the pound, we’ll never know. Maybe his previous owner passed away, and their family dumped him.

I believe we were his temporary home—a bridge between earth and Heaven.

Once he arrived in Heaven, Lola surely greeted him, and he likely reunited with his loving family. He taught us so much. If you’re reading this, please go to your local dog pound and ask about pets on the short list. Adopt one. You won’t regret it.

  

⎯

My 2024.  Four people.  Two pets.  Each influenced me, educated me, and enhanced my life. I’ve left notes about my memories of them.  I’ve documented their lives so they won’t be forgotten. 

 Now it's time for the pain from grief to ease so the happy memories can take it's place.  

Whatcha got 2025?  Cue Country Roads. 

Wassaic State School, Amenia, New York

 

Not quite in Appalachia but important to my family research: Wassaic State School

Sometimes the Ancestry Road of our past includes dark and unexpected locations. When starting a brand new quest that feels full of possibilities, many are not prepared for a turn down a dark side road. Even today, as a Professional Genealogist for over 20 years, a client’s dark side road can trouble me to my core. There are places that I never expected to find and conditions of locations so troubling that it troubles your soul. But, it is also a great privilege to find those forgotten places and people to finally bring light to an Ancestor’s dark life.

This brings me to Wassaic State School. What started in 1931, was an idea to help those that could not help themselves in society. To house and work with individuals who were “mentally challenged” and “developmentally disabled” find a way to become productive in society. This was one of five facilities in the State of New York. Sadly, most of the individuals were what, today, we would consider warehoused.

Personally, I had never heard of Wassaic State School or had reason to. One day, my Sister-in-Law mentioned that she would love to have a photo of her Grandmother, Lillian, since she had never met her. Instantly, I replied that I could help her! After all, I am a Professional Genealogist and researching and finding data and photos for others is my job. It didn’t take long for me to discover that not only would this task be challenging but it also introduced me to the Wassaic State School.

The Wassaic State School and the matching four State Institutions were started as a way to handle those individuals that needed extra help, disabled orphans, mentally challenged individuals that were turned over by family members and eventually to house inmates. To be clear, these institutions were created because there was nowhere else for these individuals to go. All States were needing to step up to take care of those that could not take care of themselves because many were overcrowded hospitals. In New York City, specifically, a tremendous amount of immigrant children were put in these institutions.

So many places of birth in the 1940 Census list places outside of America. The many immigrants that came to NY clearly show in the 1940 Census for Wassaic State School.

Wassaic State School, when opened in 1931, was on two large rolling farms. A picture perfect upper New York State setting with farms and apple orchards surrounding the School. A mere 85 miles North of NYC and easily accessible by the growing new highway systems being built. From the outside driveway, which is lined with cedar and maple trees, the picture of a large stone building with green manicured grass appears before you as you exit the vehicle with your loved one. Smiling admins and nurses to greet and welcome you. All in all, it was a great idea. Someone needed to care for the disadvantaged, orphaned and abused. What could be better than fresh country air and a dedicated professional team of doctors and nurses?

Wassaic State School was designed to fit into the community by offering many activities that locals were interested in. The 1300 acre campus included baseball diamonds, an outdoor swimming pool, a tiny bowling alley and parks with benches and playgrounds. All scenes and activities you would see in your own community. It is easy to see how many parents and guardians thought that Wassaic would be a great place to put their children into.  According to the Wassaic records, to be placed in Wassaic State School, you needed to be classified as a “mental defective,” with an IQ under 60.

That is where the idyllic part of this story ends. Let’s not change the true narrative: Wassaic like other institutions were built for need…. and commerce. The local area around the Wassaic State School employed dozens upon dozens of citizens. A school of this size, starting at 1500 students and ending with 5000 residents, needed a large support system of administrative, maintenance, cooks, nurses and labor. There is nothing wrong with locals obtaining jobs. There is nothing wrong with a State creating an institution where the needy or disadvantaged are served. In my opinion, where this all went wrong was when the State of New York decided to move residents/inmates from other overcrowded institutions and jails into Wassaic.

There are 856 nurse’s, practical nurses and attendants. 17 medical officers. There are 90 vacancies.

NY Times Article dated Sept 26, 1964. https://www.nytimes.com/1964/09/26/archives/how-state-treats-disturbed-youths-after-arrest.html

I do not have a mentally challenged individual in my family but I have had family members that would have “qualified: for institutions like Wassaic: Divorced Wives, PTSD from Coal Mine Disasters, Strain of Depression, Alcoholics, ADD, ADHD, Spectrum, etc. It didn’t take much to “qualify” a person for an asylum in the early 1900’s. My husband has a stepsister that is mentally challenged since birth. A miracle baby that was not expected to live but is now able to thrive, on her own, with awesome services, agencies and caretakers. All of these “patients”/”students” could have easily found themselves in a similar institution like Wassaic. So, just take a moment and think of those in your own family that could be placed in Wassaic. Through no fault of their own, they need a little extra help or assistance. Their stay might be temporary or permanent. I’ll wait while you take that moment because I want you to think about your Ancestors, your loved ones, your friends that had or have the very slightest difference from what was considered “normal people” in the early 1900’s..

Now, picture your Ancestor or relative or friend being in an idyllic place like Wassaic bowling, doing arts and crafts, meeting with the cows in the farm, being in a like community environment, and most of all, feeling safe. Again, I’ll wait while you picture this.

This should not shock you but there was not idyllic lifestyle at Wassaic. The truth about Wassaic State School is this: It was not a “school.” There were no teachers, professors or even classes except for sewing and art.  If you were a child, you were not taught any subject that children were taught in Public Schools. Wassaic State “School” was operated by the New York State Department of Mental Hygiene and directed by a medical doctor. It provided no services to its students, um wait, not students but patients. In those days, this was warehousing and keeping the patients (what they truly were) busy so no real experiences, skills or learning was needed. 

Textbook Warehousing.

Sometime in the late 1940’s, Wassaic State School started receiving “inmates” specifically from Blackwell’s Island (aka Roosevelt Island). If an individual committed a crime that was “deemed” mentally disturbing, they were usually committed to Blackwell’s Island to serve their sentence. But, with the population of New York City increasing, so were the local jails, prisons and asylums. This biggest misnomer about asylums is that truly crazy people were the only ones institutionalized. Nope. Many husband’s claimed their wives were crazy over affairs or simply not keeping the house clean, mother’s claimed their children were crazy if they didn’t do chores/behave or had sex outside of marriage and then you had legitimate medical reasons like epilepsy. In no society does an epileptic person need to be in a prison just because they have epilepsy! I have an Ancestor that wanted to marry another woman, his current wife would not divorce him, so he had his wife declared mentally insane. He promptly divorced her and …. married her niece.

Blackwell’s Island, now known as Roosevelt Island, has a deep connection to disability and incarceration. For much of the early 1900s, New Yorkers nicknamed the island Welfare Island after the asylums, prisons, and almshouses that were built there.
https://www.nps.gov/places/blackwell-s-island-new-york-city.htm

When the overcrowding happened at other State Institutions/Jails, Wassaic became the obvious choice to send inmates to. What was supposed to be a 1500 bed institution quickly had to find room for 5000. Wassaic was not a reform school for inmates, as it was set up to be, but it quickly became one of seven schools operated by the State Department of Mental Hygiene to provide room for inmates that were truly classified as mentally retarded as well as those that were not. So rapists, arsonists, murders and thieves just became a part of this idyllic community. They were integrated with the current residents. What a stupid decision by the State of New York. Mind blowingly stupid.

Wassaic State School closed in 2013. Many are buried in the School’s Cemetery and unmarked. The Journey and the Destination to those dark locations can be troubling but it is time to bring light to them. Free our Ancestors from the archaic treatments of the past. Free the Disabled of the Past and hear their stories.

In the next few weeks, I hope to share the Journey of Lillian who was placed in Wassaic and living there in 1940. Records are bare and hard to find on those that were mentally challenged but I really want her story to be told so history doesn’t repeat itself. In the meantime, I’ve included a few Case Studies below to give you an idea on what life was truly like for someone at Wassaic.

To Find Updates on Lillian Oddo, Visit her Profile at WikiTree: https://www.wikitree.com/wiki/Oddo-51