| Collateral
Records
Beverly
(Smith) Vorpahl suggests that the best path may be an indirect
route.
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Lindley
Murray Smith and Sarah McDowell Smith, the
(eventually) happily married couple. |
“An
important aspect of genealogy research is collateral research,”
said Donna Potter Phillips, who was teaching our advanced
genealogy class.
Huh?
In genealogy, we learned, the term “collateral”
has nothing to do with property used as security for a loan;
nothing at all about money — unless you consider finding
more information on your ancestor worth its weight in gold.
To understand the genealogical usage of the word better, break
it down to “co-lateral” — something running
parallel, side by side, as in your ancestor’s sibling.
Think you’ve exhausted all possibilities regarding your
direct ancestor? Try a collateral line.
Your great-grandmother’s sister — or more likely
her brother — might hold the key you need to take your
line back another generation — the ultimate goal of
every genealogist.
Researching your ancestor’s sibling can lead to fresh
ideas about where to search next for their parents. Collateral
research is helping me fill in blanks with my “problem”
ancestor Anna Maria (Fuller) Smith. Most every genealogist
the world over struggles with his or her own version of Anna
Maria. You know the one — in which finding each scrap
of evidence is like pulling a mouthful of wisdom teeth.
I like knowing as much as possible about each of my ancestors,
the times they lived in, the countryside where they lived,
the local politics. I want to know the whys and wherefores
of family stories passed from one generation to another; collateral
research might help affirm or disprove those stories.
My father told the story of his mother, Sarah McDowell, who
waited 10 years before she finally said yes, she’d marry
Lindley Murray Smith. According to my dad, an exasperated
Lindley finally gave Sarah an ultimatum: Waiting a decade
for an answer to a marriage proposal was long enough. It was
either marry now or never.
I’ve wondered about Grandma’s reluctance. Did
she not want to move to the treeless plains of the neighboring
Nebraska? Lindley planted a great number of trees, and the
federal government gave him extra acreage for his trouble.
Did Lindley live in a sod house that was unappealing to her?
When she moved there, homestead papers report Lindley had
a sod barn and a two-story frame house. Had he converted a
bachelor’s sod house to a barn and built the house for
her benefit? Was Sarah such a homebody that she couldn’t
bear to leave her parents?
Through collateral research, I learned that her sister, Cynthia,
married John Tulk, a “next-farm” neighbor of Lindley’s.
And so the question became: who moved to Nebraska first, Sarah
or Cynthia?
Next, I found Cynthia and John’s marriage certificate,
which revealed Cynthia had moved to Nebraska three years before
Sarah and Lindley married. Maybe Sarah finally felt more comfortable
about moving because she’d have a sister nearby.
This revelation of who moved first might not be earthshaking
to some, but it’s a valuable piece that’s helping
complete my grandmother’s genealogical puzzle.
Another suggestion for collateral research reverts to basic
census work. Write down the 10 families listed on either side
of your ancestor’s name on the census sheet. Our grandparents
often married their neighbors — and location might well
have been a factor. What appears at first glance to be a neighbor
sharing nothing more than an enumeration district could end
up being a grandparent. Courting long distance is tough to
do in any circumstance during any period of time, but to ride
miles on horseback — or worse, walk on foot —
as our grandfathers would have done, would dissuade even the
most amorous of lovers. (Lindley Smith must have been quite
smitten by Sarah to wait 10 years and one state away for an
answer to his proposal. How I wish their letters to one another
still existed.)
I knew where the McDowells lived in Iowa when I began my census
search on my father’s maternal family, but I wanted
to have proper records for each census year.
While looking at the 1880 census of Boonsboro, Boone County,
Iowa, long before I knew about collateral research, curiosity
led me to crank the reader’s handle to the next page
— and there, much to my delight, was my great-grandmother,
Anna Maria Smith, and her sons, including Lindley, my future
grandfather.
I hadn’t been able to find Anna Maria and her children
between 1865 and 1885. I had no idea where they had lived
once they left Evans, Erie, New York, after the 1865 census,
and reappeared again in the 1885 census taken at Atkinson,
Holt, Nebraska (where my father was born).
And there they were! Neighbors of the McDowells! Few things
can match the excitement I felt the moment Anna Maria’s
name jumped off the census sheet and hit me between my eyes.
It’s only common courtesy to restrain one’s enthusiastic
self in the somber, quiet, dimness of the Family History Library
in Salt Lake City — but my goodness, it was a hard thing
to do that day.
Immediately, storylines began to fill my brain: Lindley and
Sarah had undoubtedly met as students attending the same one-room
schoolhouse, although he was two years her senior. Did he
walk by her house to meet her and escort her to school, carrying
her slate or lunch pail?
But, I digress. Back to collateral research:
It’s a good idea to examine all the same surnames listed
in your ancestor’s county. (That’s a daunting
task when the surname is Smith, let me tell you.)
Read the land records and probates of each surname to discover
a link.
This is especially helpful regarding the men in your family
tree since few women bought and sold land or left detailed
wills. But, fathers and sons often bought and sold property
to one another, or united in partnership for a transaction
to enlarge their combined holdings. And those records are
sometimes written to read “John Jones and his son, Robert
Jones...”
I’m still searching for more information on Anna Maria
— like her death date and place. But I’m close
to fitting that final piece into the puzzle that is uniquely
hers.
Through details listed with her homestead papers, I learned
she was called away from her property for a month to care
for a son who was dying in Tennessee. Will that information
help? I don’t know yet, but that paragraph about my
grandfather’s brother gives me a bit more lore for this
great-grandmother of mine with whom I have become obsessed.
Besides four boys, Anna Maria also had a daughter, Eleanora.
I never paid much attention to her because she wasn’t
my direct ancestor.
Silly me.
Anna Maria and the sons who took out homesteads in Nebraska,
all sold their land and moved away by 1900, and I lost her
again. Lindley and Sarah migrated with the Tulks to the Northwest
Territories; and another son returned to Erie County.
But Anna Maria? Where in the world was she?
I found an Anna Maria Smith listed in the 1900 census of Arapahoe,
Furnas County, Nebraska. But this woman surely couldn’t
be mine since some of the pertinent information was wrong:
The number of her children was wrong, as was the place of
birth for her and her mother. I was annoyed. Having another
Anna Maria Smith in the same state only confused my already
muddy genealogy waters.
I had glanced at the name above Anna Maria’s in the
census: E.G. Merrill. No one I knew.
Then, a dozen looks (and several years) later, I finally read
the name of Mr. Merrill’s wife: Eleanora. Boing! The
light lit. Anna Maria had moved from Atkinson to Arapahoe
to be near her daughter and son-in-law.
The daughter I thought unimportant, genealogically speaking,
may well hold the answer to where and when Anna Maria died.
Some census-taker had recorded wrong information — a
forgivable offense, I suppose. He probably thought, “oh
well, in a hundred years, no one will care.” Wrong.
I care — a lot.
By reading Furnas County newspapers, I learned E.G. Merrill
was minister to the Arapahoe Christian church, when he was
hired, when he left and where his next congregation was located.
I also read a lot of extraneous information not especially
important to genealogy, but nuggets of knowledge that help
form a personality for this man. He raised Belgium Hares,
preached the convocation of his son’s graduating high
school class, had a host of friends, and a son who sang solos
for town events. More importantly, it was announced in one
week’s paper that Rev. E.G. Merrill had resigned his
position as minister. But in the next week’s edition,
it stated he had changed his mind and was going to stay. Then,
a month later, the move was back on and an ad appeared in
the paper, listing all the family’s household goods
that were for sale.
That information cried out for a letter to the historical
society of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). I wrote
what I knew about Reverend Merrill and asked if they might
be able to provide me with some information.
I hit a gold mine. For $3.10 in copying charges, they sent
such wonderful material that informed me that Eddy Gildersleeve
Merrill (no wonder he used only his initials) and family had
moved to Missouri and other places where they resided until
he suffered a heart attack and had to quit preaching. Included
in the packet were copies of his letters to the denomination
headquarters pleading for financial assistance, and the obituaries
written about him in various publications.
For the cost of copying, the historical society included a
Xeroxed picture of the Rev. Merrill, as well as an account
of Eleanora’s last years and where her brother lived
in Missouri — and the distinct possibility of at long
last finding the death records of Anna Maria. I now have Tennessee
and Missouri in which to search for the final chapter of Anna
Maria’s life.
This
article originally appeared in the November/December 1998
issue of Family Chronicle.
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