Who Killed Walter Locke?

The quick answer is, “No one. He died of a stroke.” But there’s just so much more to the story and if you could go back in time to 1922, I bet anyone you asked would tell you Ivan Stultz killed Walter.

I promised a more detailed post on the Bargain Store/Eckles Department Store and this one was definitely worth the work. It’s no secret that people with an entrepreneurial spirit tend to experience highs and lows, some of which can be quite dramatic. Walter N Locke was no exception and he saw more than his fair share of boom and bust cycles.

He came to Dodge City from Pennsylvania by way of St. Joseph, Missouri around 1884 and found himself Deputy Sheriff under Pat Sughrue by 1885. Walter and O. A. Bond were granted “franchise and exclusive right to maintain, operate, and carry on the telephone business for and within the limits of Dodge City, Kansas…” in October of 1886. He was also one of the proprietors of the St. James Hotel. Walter married Josephine Tilghman on November 17, 1886 and you’ll remember that their daughter, Hattie, married Otto Theis and was half of the inspiration for naming the Lora-Locke Hotel.

Walter was involved in everything. Fraternal organizations, business organizations, real estate, insurance, groceries, you name it. He reopened the Cox livery stables in September of 1891 but these were some rough years. There were failures and foreclosures. He became an auctioneer.

Walter was a junior partner in Fitzgerald & Locke and in the spring of 1894, he was traveling all over the eastern US ordering stock for the new store.

The Dodge City Democrat, July 14, 1894

Walter really understood marketing and throughout the lifespan of the store he would rely heavily on half to full-page ads…sometimes on the front page, above the fold. I wanted to include them all but he advertised ALL THE TIME. It appears to have worked because the store was expanded in April of 1895.

Somewhere along the way, the Bargain Store acquired a co-manager.

The Ford County Leader, July 12, 1895

The store moved to the R. M. Wright building in early 1898. I’m not sure when it opened but at some point, Fitzgerald & Locke had a store in Lakin. I believe that branch was sold in December of 1908.

Western Kansas Live Stock Journal, February 15, 1900

Walter’s son, Frank, was 16 years old in 1903 and I found a brief mention that he was “holding down the clothing department” at the store. I imagine he first began helping out there at a much younger age.

We know from my previous post that Walter wanted to build the new Bargain Store at Second and Walnut long before he was able to make it happen. Construction would require an enormous amount of capital so Fitzgerald & Locke, the Stubbs & Barkley grocery, and A. D. Smith & Son store were combined to create the Dodge City Mercantile Company.

Things were shaping up by the summer of 1908.

The Journal-Democrat, June 12, 1908

The Dodge City Mercantile Company was officially created on February 20, 1909. By March, the building had been accepted from the contractor and the fixtures were being installed. The store opened on April 19, 1909. This piece gives a ton of information about the layout of the building as well as the people working there.

The new store was completely wrecked by a massive fire on November 1, 1909. You may not be able to read the tiny type but I wanted to show what an enormous blow this was to Dodge City and everyone involved.

The Globe-Republican, November 4, 1909

The loss was calculated at $180,000 with only $76,000 in insurance. In addition to the working members of the Dodge City Mercantile Company, there were 45 employees who were jobless until operations could be resumed. Incredibly, there were no serious injuries.

After the fire, the town rallied to keep the Bargain Store in business.

Operations were spread out all over with space leased in three separate buildings.

The Globe-Republican, March 10, 1910

The new building was occupied by late September of 1910 and operations gradually ramped up throughout October. Walter formed the Locke Mercantile Company on October 3, 1910. I see that the Dodge City Mercantile Company was dissolved but the Secretary of State website doesn’t list a date.

Even though the Bargain Store was his baby, Walter still had all sorts of other business arrangements. In addition to apparently managing Gwinner’s new shoe store on Second Avenue, he was still involved in real estate.

The Dodge City Globe, August 22, 1912

The Dodge City Globe, November 7, 1912

Here’s a fun photo with a bunch of old-timers! Frank Locke and my great-grandfather, Merritt Beeson, were good friends. Frank did Merritt a huge solid by taking over management of the Chalk Beeson Theater after Wolf Goldstein was run out of town for being Jewish. More about that outrage later.

The Dodge City Globe, July 23, 1914

There’s no easy way to share this next one because of how the text was broken up but I think you get the idea…the place was both massive and magnificent.

The Dodge City Journal, October 9, 1914

Dodge City Daily Globe, January 1, 1917

So do you remember me telling you about how excited I was to ride the elevator at Eckles? The first modern elevator was installed at the Bargain Store in 1917.

Dodge City Daily Journal, March 1, 1917

Walter had a reputation for being a generous employer and often held Christmas dinners for his staff at the O’Neal House Hotel in addition to handing out monetary gifts.

Dodge City Daily Journal, December 26, 1917

So the Bargain Store made it through all kinds of turmoil including the shortages caused by WWI but the betrayal of Walter’s trust by Secretary and Treasurer, Ivan E Stultz proved to be too much.

The Dodge City Journal, December 8, 1921

Because it was an officer of the corporation who was accused of embezzlement, the creditors immediately took over operations of the store so everything could be analyzed.

The Hutchinson News, December 15, 1921

Stultz pleaded guilty to three counts of embezzlement totaling $1,100 but the company initially suspected he was responsible for more like $17,000. Regardless, each count carried a penalty of one to three years. The auditors kept digging and found irregularities plus his personal account at the store totaling more than $27,000 and then everyone started calling in their notes because it was obvious Stultz was going to prison.

The Dodge City Journal, February 9, 1922

Walter suffered a paralytic stroke at the store on April 22, 1922. By the 27th, he seemed to be showing some improvement but that was really just wishful thinking.

After Ivan was sentenced to prison, his wife filed for divorce.

The Dodge City Journal, May 18, 1922

And then Ivan died in jail only days later. With that issue resolved, the committee of creditors could move forward with normalizing operations.

The Dodge City Journal, June 15, 1922

The Dodge City Journal, June 22, 1922

In early July, Stultz’s widow signed over to Walter the deeds to three lots (one with their former residence and two vacant lots) in the Fairview Addition. Walter, in turn, signed them over to Prudential Trust Company. Meanwhile, Olavus A Donhowe of Clarinda, Iowa was hired to manage the Bargain Store the first week of July.

Walter unfortunately died on July 17, 1922 and it was noted at the time that people close to him believed it was the Stultz affair which caused his demise.

The Hutchinson News, July 18, 1922

As previously mentioned, the Bargain Store continued on for a time but it just wasn’t the same.

The Southwest News, May 9, 1924

The building was sold to the Eckles brothers, who opened the Eckles Brothers Department Store in May of 1926.

I haven’t forgotten about the follow-up grocery post! Archival materials were promised by a certain someone and I will get that wrapped up just as quickly as I can. In the meantime, that book isn’t going to research itself.

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The Dramatic Life of Walter Abernathy

Before I start spilling tea, I should make it clear that I can source everything I’m about to tell you. I cannot attest to the reliability of these sources since much of the action took place more than 100 years ago. Last August, I told you this story about a famous florist and her scandalous relatives. I’ve reached out to so many historians and librarians for documentation that I have a spreadsheet with eight tabs to keep it all straight. This particular rabbit hole involves an Abernathy Furniture Company heir so I hope you Kansas City people are paying attention!

The Kansas City Star, July 31, 1932

The Kansas Historical Society has a brief summary of the company’s history that you can read here. You can see a relatively recent photo of the building in Kansas City here (scroll down to #4.) Although it hasn’t been updated for quite a while, an Abernathy descendant has a Facebook page with furniture photos and bits of information.

The Kansas City Star, September 7, 1912

Walter Logan Abernathy was a son of James Logan Abernathy and Elizabeth (Martin) Abernathy. From what I can tell, he was basically a spoiled brat his *entire* life. Walter married Carrie Singer in October of 1883 and they initially made their home in Leavenworth.

In June of 1892, a Walter Abernathy was placed under a $500 bond for assault with intent to kill a certain C. M. Estenson (sp?) and although I couldn’t find any additional information about this incident, it seemed to be part of a larger pattern.

In November of 1898, Walter crashed his bicycle and a comment from the Clay Center Times read, “Which reminds old settlers of this burg that something was always happening to Walter and worrying his little wife nearly to death.” I feel like the people at this particular newspaper had a deep understanding of Walter and his issues.

Walter’s father, James L Abernathy, died in December of 1902 and over the next six years, his heirs would spend a lot of money fighting over his estate. I mean, Daddy-o left about $1.5 million so it was definitely worth the trouble in 1902 dollars. One of the brothers was declared insane during the proceedings and then appeals were filed, et cetera and so on.

Photographer Unknown

In January of 1903, Walter attempted to board a Kansas City cable car while it was moving and was dragged 30 feet after his clothing caught on a fender. Walter went into shock after his right leg was cut so badly his tibia was exposed. He was taken to the hospital in an ambulance and his address was listed on Lydia Avenue so this was before he and Carrie moved to 63rd and Prospect. The wound later required a palm-sized skin graft and his wife donated the skin. He was hospitalized for several months after the accident. Mrs. Abernathy was described as a “small, nervous little woman.” A few days before the operation, a woman tried to sell her some skin but Mrs. Abernathy refused. She wanted to make sure the skin that was used was “free from any disease.” Knowing what I know, I don’t think Walter deserved her.

In April of 1912, Walter was arrested for a delinquent motor vehicle license. The due date was January 1 and about 40 people were arrested for what seems like such a trivial matter when you compare it to what happened next.

This next one is just so gross. Like Laura didn’t know her daughter was being visited by an old rich guy from the time she was TWELVE. Come on. This is the same Laura Hayes who had been charged with running a house of prostitution in Salina, Kansas just three years prior.

The Kansas City Times, September 2, 1916

14-year-old Marguerite Hayes and 27-year-old Edward L Kelley were married the very same day, September 2, 1916. Mom of the Year signed the marriage license since her daughter had not reached the age of consent. This marriage had the convenient side effect of the statutory charges against Messrs. Abernathy and Kelley being dismissed. I’m certain no money changed hands. That would be so unlike Laura.

The Kansas City Star, September 2, 1916

I found this almost a year ago and I’m still just so thoroughly disgusted by all of it.

Imagine being the humiliated society wife. Based on what we’ve been over so far, I don’t see her being the type to discuss over cocktails at bridge all the myriad ways she could make Walter’s death appear accidental.

In April of 1925, Walter and Carrie sold their home at 63rd and Prospect and purchased a $36,000 tract of land on which they planned to build a new home at 89th and Holmes.

In June of 1935, Walter shot a man at his home. Carrie was in the hospital and her husband was trying to get another man’s wife to strip for him. You’ll be shocked to learn that alcohol was involved.

The Sedalia Democrat, June 9, 1935

The Kansas City Star definitely won the award for most in-depth coverage of this story!

Walter paid his victim $8,000 in November of 1935 while criminal charges were still pending. Since Mr. Wilkinson’s body was perforated 14 times, his career as a tree trimmer was over. Interestingly, Walter himself had been in a St. Louis hospital from from September to early December of 1935 and for whatever reason then transferred to a Kansas City hospital on December 4, 1935.

The poor, suffering Carrie Singer Abernathy died of pneumonia on January 3, 1936 at the age of 73. She had been in the hospital (again) since December 24, 1935. Lots of “hospitalizations” in this family.

And then, just like magic, the criminal charges against Walter were dismissed when Mr. Wilkinson failed to appear in court. Imagine my shocked face.

The Kansas City Star, April 14, 1936

In March of 1938, 76-year-old Walter married a 20-year-old soda fountain waitress named Mary Helen Rosser in Yuma, Arizona. The new Mrs. Abernathy was granted a divorce in August of the same year after a Los Angeles judge agreed she shouldn’t have to suffer with an abusive jerk wad who drank all day and bragged about his numerous affairs. She was granted a lump sum settlement of $1,350. Walter’s friends back in Kansas City were very surprised about this new development, as they were unaware he had remarried.

It appears he had remarried again by December of 1938 but I just don’t have it in me to go there.

Walter finally died in Los Angeles on August 12, 1951 at the ripe old age of 89. He lived at an Elks Club and was known in the area for passing out $100 bills. To whom, Brother? To whom?

Walter and Carrier never had children together but God only knows what kind of poison that creep dropped in the greater Kansas City gene pool.

Anyway, if there are any Kansas City historians reading and you can tell me more about Laura, Irene, and Marguerite Hayes please reach out…I beg you!

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Help a Researcher Out: Identify These Musicians

My grandmother, Irene, was beyond surprised when she realized she had a granddaughter who was interested in her family’s history. Her parents had a museum that began in their home and later required construction of a larger building to house the exhibits. Most of the collection was sold to another local museum before I was able to get in on the action but she did retain several items of interest.

Some of my earliest memories involved playing with literal museum pieces from the pioneer days on the prairie. I learned how to do a lot of basic activities of daily life using those pieces. Irene had a set of irons in various sizes for pressing different sizes of fabric. So the one you would use to iron bedding would be different from the one for a child’s dress. I remember her showing me how to heat the iron over the fireplace. She gave me some linen handkerchiefs to practice with and despite being as careful as a grade schooler could be, I burned my hand. That led to a First Aid lesson on current burn remedies as well as the methods used by pioneers and how she saw things evolve throughout her life.

Irene was a practical person and she made notes when I expressed interest in a particular photo or piece of china. She made sure I took those items with me when I left for college and I’ve been dragging them around for nearly 30 years. One of those cherished items was a photo of Irene at four years of age with her sister, her grandmother, and her uncle’s girlfriend. I only knew the girlfriend’s first and last names and that she was from California. Her name was relatively common and I didn’t think I stood a snowball’s chance in Hell of ever learning anything more about her.

I began a newspaper search for the girlfriend and was overwhelmed by the number of results found. Then I saw one that listed the correct name with the middle initial V and thought if only I could be so lucky. So I looked into this person with the middle name Veronica and I’ll be damned if it wasn’t her.

Veronica’s father was a retired railroad official who took a job in Long Beach as Vice President for a startup brokerage. He was also an original trustee for the brand-new and totally badass all co-op Sovereign Apartments, where he owned a large flat. The family came from Kansas and lived in Kansas City for a while before moving to California. One of Veronica’s sisters married a well-known Kansas City musician and composer and I recently learned the sister was a musician herself. Now I know how Veronica met my grandmother’s uncle.

The late teens and early 1920s were huge for people in the Kansas City entertainment scene moving to the Los Angeles area. Dr. E M. Hiner was a dentist and celebrated bandleader who had a successful music school and was tight with John Philip Sousa. Dr. Hiner moved to LA in 1919 and ultimately founded the music department at what is now UCLA. His former home on Figueroa Street is included in a tour of historic properties and there is a bandshell dedicated to Hiner and Sousa in a park across the street.

Irene’s uncle moved to LA at the same time as Veronica and her family in 1920. Veronica’s brother-in-law had his own orchestra which was featured in “La Fiesta” at the Million Dollar Theatre. By 1932, he was playing in the RKO Hillstreet Theater Orchestra. As the Great Depression progressed, he found steady work as a WPA musician. His nephew was a Hollywood radio performer who later became an insurance adjuster and convicted jewel thief. I know Irene’s uncle played professionally in the LA area but that’s about all I know. Many of the American Federation of Musicians Local No. 47’s records were destroyed by fire around 1970 so I may never learn more about his career.

For now, I have this band photo taken by Hollywood photographer Albert Witzel.

Although I can make a couple guesses, the only person I can identify with certainty is the gentleman in the back row, third from left. Help me ID any of the others and I’ll buy you a beer…or twelve.

I’ll up the ante if you correctly identify this car.

I don’t think I ask for much but this is turning into the brickiest of brick walls. It really shouldn’t be such a problem. After all, it’s only been 100 years.

Help me out, people. I’ve reached out to nearly everyone I can think of and haven’t received many replies. I’m starting to run out of ideas.

Spouse Resides At: Unknown, But I Have Heard He Died

This was supposed to be a very straightforward project: A book about a ragtime-era trombonist who played with the best musicians of his time. An artist who lived in his famous father’s shadow and whose story has been forgotten. You know how things snowball when you have an old house and think you’re *just* going to change the showerhead? Here I am underneath the house, replacing the entire foundation.

My musician was engaged to a famous florist. The wedding was set and his mother had prepared a room for them at the family home. His mother and brother devised a scheme to pull him away from the fast lifestyle of a professional musician, which worried them both. The brothers would build a theater (dedicated to their father) and the musician would manage it. Instead, the musician learned the florist was cheating on him and called the whole thing off. He secured a letter of introduction from a local orchestra director and left for Los Angeles to play music, leaving his older brother responsible for the theater.

The florist raced to the train station in her night clothes, arriving just as his train was preparing to leave. She pleaded her case but his decision had been made. He left for California and continued his career until about 1940. His only involvement with the family theater was playing in the orchestra from time to time.

So about this florist…

I was hoping to document when and where they met as well as whether or not the other man was merely a fling or something more permanent. She was interviewed many times over the course of nearly five decades in the floral industry and appeared regularly in O. O. McIntyre’s columns. Details about her childhood and early career were published by numerous outlets and for the most part, I can’t verify any of them. What I can verify is a whole bunch of scandalous drama that sure didn’t make it into her New York Times obituary.

Her mother was charged in district court with conducting a house of prostitution. Three years later, the mother’s rooming house was raided by police who suspected she was selling liquor. That’s apparently not all she was selling. Statutory charges were brought against two men aged 50 and 27 in relation to the florist’s 14-year-old sister, who told police the 50-year-old married man had been making monthly visits to her for the past fourteen months. She said he “gave her money and bought her clothing.” The mother told police she thought the man had “a fatherly interest” in the girl. The mother also said her 14-year-old daughter was engaged to the 27-year-old divorced man, who lived in their home. Despite the girl telling police she had met this man only two months prior to his arrest, the judge was told the two “had been engaged for some time.” The same day, the mother signed off on a marriage license between her 14-year-old daughter and this 27-year-old clothing salesman, effectively ending the statutory case.

I looked into the 50-year-old with “fatherly interest” in teenage girls and hoo boy, what a story! He came from a *very* wealthy family and preferred the company of much younger females until the day he died. When he was in his seventies, he shot the husband of a 21-year-old woman he tried to coerce into stripping and dancing for him. This occurred at his home while his wife was in the hospital. He paid the man $8,000 to cover hospital bills but the criminal case was dropped after almost a year of delays. After his wife died, he married a 20-year-old waitress. He was 76 and the young woman divorced him less than five months later, claiming he started drinking at three o’clock in the morning and bragged about affairs with other women.

The florist lied about her marital status on a passport application and was caught by State Department employees who gave her “fatherly advice regarding making an admission of swearing falsely.” In those days, there was a space for female applicants to list the name, address, place of birth, and immigration status of either their father or husband because obviously women needed men to take responsibility for them. So she had declared she was single but was found to be a divorcee. On her corrected application, she listed her spouse’s stage name and wrote “unknown, but I have heard he died” on the address line. Notarized affidavits from people testifying to her identity and her husband’s US citizenship followed. She explained that “she has never seen a divorce decree for the fact that in some Southern State her husband divorced her, but that she never received an official notice from the court.” He remarried and she apparently then heard from friends that he died. Spoiler Alert: He didn’t die until 1954.

I haven’t been able to get my hands on divorce decrees from Husbands One and Two but she was subsequently twice widowed so she must have figured it out somehow. Speaking of figuring things out, the florist’s younger sister couldn’t decide on a husband or which name to use. I thought I would track down relatives to see if anyone has documents, photos, or correspondence tying the florist to the musician. Neither woman had children and both had four husbands. It was a tradition in their family to give children two middle names. The sister used a few variations of her first name on official documents and on her fourth marriage license, skipped her first name altogether in favor of her two middle names along with her maiden name. The state death index, however, shows her given name. Why so shady?

The florist stated in interviews the name of her hometown along with the year she graduated high school and a story about her mother buying her a car to distract her from her obsession with going to Los Angeles to become an actress. I can’t find one record substantiating any of it. She said she used money she unexpectedly inherited from an uncle in England to start her floral business. I’m not finding that either but I do have information about her articles of incorporation and all changes made to the corporate entity until it was dissolved after her death.

The mother’s probate documents and those from her much older second husband are wild. I can’t imagine what his seven children were thinking when they learned he officially made her an heiress and declared his intent to marry her only two months after their own mother died. 

For all the primary source documents I have been able to locate, there are still gaping holes in these women’s histories. I’ve spent hundreds of hours searching, reading, calling, and emailing but I am no closer to discovering a single shred of evidence proving the florist and the musician ever met. It makes me wonder if they ever did meet. Maybe he told his family a story to get them off his back and then it ran its course. Maybe it did happen and he destroyed all evidence in a fit of drunken rage. I really have no idea. What I do know is by the time I’m finally ready to write this thing, I will have enough material to fill five books.

Can We All Agree That Working in an Office Really Sucks?

In the halcyon days of pre-pandemic employment, I was thought a lunatic for requesting to work from home. It was as if the current working arrangement for millions of Americans weren’t a modern invention. There’s this assumption that if you’re at home, you’re lounging around in front of the TV. Excuse me but I’m from Kansas, where working from home often means 12 to 16-hour days.

You want to know what kills my productivity? People. Commuting. Also, people.

There’s this nonfiction book I’ve been trying to write since the early 1990s. The information I needed should have been right in front of me but it wasn’t. It turns out the problem with researching someone who should have been well-known but wasn’t is that people have no idea they even existed. Go figure.

In the early aughts, I used the limited information I had to search every single person, place, and thing I could think of on the internet. Digitization of historical documents was in its infancy, however, so I mostly wound up frustrated and discouraged. The only solution at that time involved a lot of travel, which meant a lot of time away from work during a time when that wasn’t an option. Hiring professional researchers also wasn’t an option so the project ended up in a filing cabinet that was ultimately moved into storage.

I thought for several years I was just like everyone else who is “writing a book.” Even if I could get motivated to finish the damn thing, it isn’t a very interesting story. I’m not a writer. No one cares about this subject. Leave it alone.

Then 2019 happened: I sold my beige stucco box in a suburban HOA. I left a job that was an exercise in futility. I packed up my dogs and headed to Mexico. Burnout is real.

It took a while to decompress and rediscover the art of working for myself. By mid-2020, the world was locked down right as I was ready to pick up my research. As soon as I got back to Tucson this February, I was all about getting those records out of storage and I’ve been obsessed ever since.

Going back to work in a traditional employer/employee scenario seemed like the logical next step but I just couldn’t do it. After researching electoral college talking points for a live hit on my porch overlooking the ocean, you cannot make me sit in a cubicle and tell me I’m not allowed to keep my cell phone on my desk. Tell that shit to a 20-year-old.

Instead, I started a C-Corp and decided to live that freelance life. I could do Human Resources consulting but a little part of my soul just died while typing this sentence. COVID-era HR work literally makes me want to stab myself in the eye with a ballpoint pen. After a few months of working on-site for a client, I’ve pretty much settled on remote-only 4eva.

The past couple years have proven it’s the work environment that kills my creativity and motivation. After 9 hours in the office plus, I dunno, another 45 minutes of commuting time, I’m done with the thinking. The last thing I want to do is break out my laptop and do more work, especially if it involves any kind of focused problem solving. On the flip side, I was up until after 3 am the other night because I had found some really interesting information and couldn’t put it down. The dog got me up at 5:15 for walkies and I was back at it as soon as we got home.

Why work at some meaningless, soul-crushing job reporting to incompetent, narcissistic asshats when you can spend your time getting paid to do something that doesn’t suck? Find a way to monetize the things you enjoy. Check out various freelance platforms; not all of them take a big chunk of your pay. You can create a gig for just about anything and don’t have to leave your house, unless you’re into that sort of thing.

Speaking of which, I’m available for the next few weeks if anyone needs a researcher or copy editor. I only charge for my time when accessing subscription databases I already use. Any documents I have to order are billed at my cost. A 24-hour turnaround is usually possible if it’s a simple request. If you want me to compile your entire family tree, that’s another story. I can also provide suggestions if you’ve hit a brick wall with your own research.

Click here to send me a message. I can either reply with a link to a Fiverr gig or we can work something out directly. My rates are super reasonable…unless you expect me to leave the house. That obviously costs extra.

DAR Pin Police

Travel recovery is a real problem, people. I returned from DC nearly two weeks ago and I’m still tired. And I’m not sure how this works but I had to fly three time zones away to encounter strangers who would be nice to me. If you don’t know, people in Tucson will just let a door slam right in your face. They won’t even give you an “Ope!” for good measure.

I was technically in town for Daughters of the American Revolution’s annual Continental Congress. But I was really there to do tourist stuff, a little genealogy research, eat some great food, and dress up for evening performances at Constitution Hall.

“The President’s Own” Marine Chamber Orchestra at Constitution Hall

I didn’t attend one DAR business session while I was there. It’s not like I know (or care) what’s going on with the business end of DAR anyway.

World War II Memorial with Washington Monument in the background

I looked at a lot of pretty things/places and went about my own business.

DAR Memorial Continental Hall

I walked everywhere. As in LITERALLY EVERYWHERE. And because I had “The Stars and Stripes Forever” playing on an endless loop in my head, I just marched along to the beat until I saw everything I intended to see.

My cousin’s grave at Arlington National Cemetery

Most of the daughters I encountered were extremely sweet. I met several who have lived in the same places I’ve lived and know the same people I know. There was one woman, however, who fancied herself the Chief of the Pin Police. She interrogated me in a ladies room at the Grand Hyatt about whether or not I was wearing pins. So DAR is kind of like Girl Scouts only with pins instead of badges. And there are rules and protocols to follow should one decide to wear one’s pins. I was not wearing any pins, only my Congress name tag and ribbon designating me as a first-time Congress attendee. I was washing my hands and she was on my left. She asked me if I was wearing my pins and when I told her I wasn’t, she literally made me turn so she could see the right side of my chest. No pins!

To her credit, she curtly thanked me for proving I wasn’t violating any protocols. To my credit, I managed to keep my filthy mouth shut until I exited the restroom and said, “What a bitch.” Then I went to the hotel bar. Honestly, encounters like that are the reason people think DAR members are a bunch of uptight bitches. I really didn’t get much out of the whole DAR experience and am not sure I would go again unless I have other tourist items to check off my list. It was not easy as a new member to understand the expectations or protocols.

Pin Police aside, it was a great trip and I’m glad I went. It was probably for the best that I went alone. I can’t imagine making anyone else walk all the way to Arlington and back. My feet may never forgive me. Next stop, Mexico.

Ancestry and Alcohol

I’m not ashamed to admit I’ve become borderline obsessed with genealogy. When I’m not at work, I’m drinking beer and doing yoga/pilates or drinking beer and working on my family tree. In case you didn’t know, consuming alcohol and engaging in physical exercise go together like peanut butter and jelly. The genealogy is kind of like the ice cream reward at the end.

So in the midst of this Mayflower drama, I have learned some things:

  • If you are unable to find what you need at the state level, contact the county. There are many counties with historical records which predate those kept on file at the state level. If you’re searching in New York, be aware of County Historians and don’t be shy about contacting them. Even if they won’t do the search for you, they can at least tell you where to look or suggest a paid researcher.
  • Historical societies vary greatly by location. Some cover too much area and are too overwhelmed to help you with searching. Others have volunteer researchers who will go to the courthouse for you and dig up your records for a nominal fee. I just had one in Pennsylvania find a missing link death certificate for me that includes 8 pages of information for a whopping $17.40. That’s cheaper than ordering an official document from Kansas through VitalChek.
  • You might have to send letters and mail checks like it’s 1985. Calm down; You’ll survive.
  • History doesn’t happen in a straight line. My family tree keeps circling back on itself. I have to figure out how to make Ancestry understand my third great-uncle is also my third great-grandfather. Same guy. Small gene pool. Work with me here.
  • History is a whole lot more real when you’re looking at it in the context of your family. Yesterday, I worked on a second cousin thrice removed who worked for the Department of the Treasury in the years leading up to World War I. Those were some interesting times for the US economy. I have a bunch of cousins who are buried at Arlington. With 2,500 people in my family tree (and counting), I intend to rediscover who they were and visit at least some of them while I’m in DC this summer.

My brain feels like I worked all weekend, mainly because I did. I’m tired, confused, frustrated, and utterly addicted. In a couple weeks, I will be hanging out with a few thousand lunatics just like me and can hardly wait.

Mayflower Whac-a-Mole

I’ve had some dumb ideas in my life but this one is extra special. In case you’ve been busy living your life, you should just be aware that next year is the 400th anniversary of the Mayflower landing in Plymouth. Once I learned that three of my 11th great-grandfathers were passengers, I decided there must be a society for that.

Spoiler alert: There is, in fact, a society for that. The General Society of Mayflower Descendants exists (from what I can tell) to prevent legitimate descendants from joining their ultra-exclusive club. To say their documentation requirements are stringent is quite possibly the understatement of the year.

I thought I chose the easiest of the three lines to document for membership. I’m still not sure if that is correct but it seemed pretty straightforward at the time. I have found official records to support each generation but in some cases, they aren’t the right official records. I mean, I may have proven a connection to a [First and Last Name] but I haven’t proven that person is my [First and Last Name].

What makes this even more difficult is this particular line wasn’t full of Quakers. Those of you with Quaker ancestors know where I’m going with this. They documented EVERYTHING. I have tons of meeting records showing when my people finally got tired of the rule requiring them to marry within the church and decided to bounce. Quaker meeting records are amazing.

So I have established a committed relationship with VitalChek and they now know more about me than Amazon and Google combined. I’m getting pretty good at remembering which states began keeping official vital statistics records in which years. (You’re KILLING ME, New York.) When I got home from work yesterday, I was all excited that I received two more death certificates in the mail. Dear God, what is happening to me?

But here’s the problem: Every time I send them one certificate, they ask for two more. Every answer raises five more questions or life choices which must be documented. I don’t care how many times my 5th great-grandfather remarried after being widowed. But they care. Deeply. And they’re driving me to drink. Heavily. I don’t know why I can’t just send them my raw DNA data and let them figure it out.

I seriously don’t know if I will be able to have an active membership prior to September of 2020 but I’m going to Plymouth anyway. Mayflower II will be in port and I will spend all of the dollars to be part of that celebration. This is what getting old looks like.

Recurring Nightmare

When I was in elementary school and junior high, I had a recurring nightmare. It went on for years and the details changed each time but the plot was always the same: My great-grandmother came back from the dead and was trying to kill me.

Nanny died when I was about nine years old but when I was much younger, she wasn’t nice to me at all. She had some health issues that apparently changed her personality and made her quite difficult to handle. When I was a toddler (and frankly not yet great at the walking), she would reach her foot out to trip me when I walked past her chair. Other times, she would just out of the blue pinch me on the arm or the leg. I don’t recall her ever saying anything to warn me of an imminent attack; she would just go for it.

When her diabetes began progressing, my grandma and I would physically have to bar her from the refrigerator. That was super uncomfortable for me as a grade-schooler. Nanny wasn’t a large person at all but she was mean as hell. She became too much for my grandma to care for so she went to a nursing home and died not long after having her leg amputated. I was told I wasn’t allowed to go to the funeral because I was too young and didn’t really care one way or the other by the time she was gone.

The nightmare always started with a large gray blob flying into our neighborhood. It never said anything but I knew it was there for me. There was never anyone around to help me so I just hid. Sometimes, I was at my grandma’s house and would hide in a closet. Other times, I was caught outside without any cover and would run into tall weeds and hide on the ground. Sometimes when I was trying to hide, I didn’t have legs with which to run. Each time, I would wake up in a panic right before she was able to get me.

My grandma told me many times she wished I could have known Nanny when she was younger because she was such a fun person to be around. She loved hunting and riding horses and led a life of great adventure. In 2018, she and my great-grandfather were inducted into the Kansas Cowboy Hall of Fame. Nanny was very involved in historic preservation and had lots of famous contacts.

Unfortunately, my experiences with her as a child prevented me from wanting to get to know her history or her family’s history. Only now am I discovering the tales of her ancestors as well as our living cousins in the US and Germany. The world has become a much smaller place and I am able to reach out to my relatives around the world from the super computer I carry in my purse. One of the benefits of being an adult is I can do so without falling out of bed and hitting my head on the nightstand.

Pregnant and on Probation in 1922: Part III

Parts I and II of this series can be found here and here.

The probation officer in Wichita who signed the Final Order For Dependent And Neglected Child which removed my grandfather from his mother’s custody appears to have been a man named Treadwell Cooper Coffman. In addition to being a probation officer, he was appointed Superintendent of the Christian Service League covering Kansas, Nebraska, Oklahoma, and Texas effective August 1, 1922. Coffman continued his role as a probation officer while working for CSL and successfully petitioned the court to remove my grandfather from his mother’s custody just four months later. CSL then assumed responsibility for finding a suitable home for my grandfather, who was two months old at the time.

Coffman’s background was in education and law. He was admitted to the Kansas State Bar in 1892 and a large chunk of his career was spent in Southwest Kansas, which was my backyard. He was Superintendent of Public Schools in Garden City at one point and then held the same position for Clay County, Kansas public schools. He was also elected Haskell County Attorney at one point but resigned that position to return to education. After moving to Wichita, he was appointed Juvenile Officer in December of 1920.

Coffman apparently took his job quite seriously quite quickly because the January 23, 1921 edition of the Wichita Beacon reported he was “keeping four delinquent boys at his own home for want of a better place to send them.” Coffman then began aggressively advocating for an approximately 50-acre farm on which boys could become rehabilitated. In February of 1921, Sedgwick County Commissioners formally approved his home to be used indefinitely to house delinquent boys and I found several newspaper records of he and his wife being compensated for their efforts. This was all while Coffman was actively employed as a probation officer.

Am I the only one seeing a conflict of interests? Remember he was also appointed Superintendent of the CSL in August of 1922. So by that point, he was a probation officer operating his own home for delinquents AND he oversaw an adoption agency. Maybe nothing untoward was occurring but the League of Women Voters took issue with the arrangement and organized a letter writing campaign to encourage his resignation from at least one post.

In the November 16, 1922 edition of the Wichita Daily Eagle, Frances Graves of the League of Women Voters accused Coffman of the following misconduct: “He placed a young girl, ward of the Christian Service League in the detention home for delinquent boys. He placed three boys, wards of the Christian Service League in the detention home for delinquent boys. These three boys had not been adjudged delinquent by the juvenile court and indeed had not at any time been accused of delinquency.” Coffman was quoted in the same story as stating he “was ready and willing to resign his position as superintendent of the Christian Service League. He declared he was holding the job against his own wishes.” Wait, what? The guy was only three months into the job. I did more searching and found he had actually tendered his resignation from that position back in October of 1922 and then told CSL he really meant it in January of 1923, at which time a new superintendent was appointed.

Coffman was still listed as a probation officer in June of 1923 but that is the last mention of him in Wichita newspapers after a couple years of him being quoted on a very regular basis. The Emporia Weekly Gazette reported on March 11, 1926 that he had continued his work as a probation officer and housed delinquent boys in his home until his death the prior month. Cooper died February 26, 1926 at age 57.

I found no other mention of a young girl being temporarily placed in the home for delinquent boys so it is unclear whether that allegation had merit. I am also unclear about how my great-grandmother came to meet Mr. Coffman. I have located no newspaper accounts of her being arrested. Due to his multiple levels of involvement with law enforcement and the adoption agency, I’m not even sure if he was her probation officer. That certainly makes me wonder why the paperwork listed that occupation if he was not acting in that capacity in this instance. Every answer I find raises a dozen more questions.

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