Who was she before she was Eugenia Cornell?

February 25, 2016February 25, 2016 / Brandy Heineman / 3 Comments

Our family trees don’t always yield their secrets readily, and I’m glad. There’s little as satisfying as ending a six-year-search—or rather, turning a corner for the next leg of the journey.

I’ve written about Hamilton Townsend Cornell on this blog plenty of times—how he never missed the opportunity to claim his nebulous connection to Cornell University founder Ezra Cornell, how he stayed in trouble’s way, how he chased the sunset from New York to California in search of his fortunes.

But he’s not the star of this post—not today. No, today I’m here to talk about his third wife, though I’d be hard pressed to tell her story independent of his. Finding Eugenia _____ Cornell has been one of my mother’s pet projects for years, and thanks to her research and tenacity, Eugenia’s day in the sun has finally arrived.

I’ve linked liberally in this post. Other researchers, go behind me and verify my conclusions to your own satisfaction.

Starting with the known…

There wasn’t much to work with at first. Eugenia is found on three censuses: 1870, 1875, 1880

And then she’s gone.

The census details tell us that her father was born in Connecticut and her mother in Vermont, and they construct a partial timeline of her life (shown in green). Newspaper mentions of both her and Hamilton (blue) and related records (purple) illustrate a turbulent life, particularly at the end of 1874.

1845 or 1846 – Eugenia was born in New York State.
1865 – Son, George, born in Minnesota.
15 November 1866 – Henriett Cornell (Hamilton’s second wife) published a summons against him in the Shawano County Journal, Shawano, Wisconsin.
1867 – Daughter, Emma, born in Minnesota.
September 1869 – Daughter, Maud, born in Minnesota.
1870 – Enumerated in Oakland, Freeborn county, Minnesota.
29 December 1870 – Hamilton had a suit against their neighbor, Adam Christie. (See it on Ancestry.)
November 1871 – Hamilton runs testimonial-style newspaper ads selling a patent medicine called “The Oil of the Tree of Life.” (See one on LOC’s Chronicling America.)
1873 – Son, Guy H., born in Minnesota.
September 1874 – Hamilton brings suit against the Asher Estate for $2000 in unpaid debts for wheat and Oil of the Tree of Life, though he has no proof the amounts are due. The Asher Estate answers that the claims fraudulent. (See it on Ancestry.)
26 October 1874 – Brayton (a son from Hamilton’s first marriage) died at age 26. (See it on FamilySearch.)
25 November 1874 – Son, George S., died at age 9. (See it on FamilySearch.)
3 December 1874 – A newspaper item regarding George’s burial speculates that he died of typhoid fever like his brother Brayton had. (See it on LOC’s Chronicling America.)
24 December 1874 – Public notice of mortgage default action against Hamilton and Eugenia. (See it on Ancestry.)
1875 – Enumerated in Freeborn county, Minnesota.
22 July 1875 – Eugenia’s name is listed (among many others) for taxes due on property in Oakland, Township 102, Range 19, Section 32. (See it on Ancestry.)
11 November 1875 – At least part of the same piece of property named in the mortgage default is mentioned in a real estate transfer, H Cornell to J K Strver for $500. (See it on Ancestry.)
25 May 1876 – Public notice of another mortgage default action against Hamilton and Eugenia. (See it on Ancestry.)
1880 – Enumerated in Spruce Gulch, Lawrence county, Dakota territory (now South Dakota). Their household includes boarder John Sailor.
9 February 1881 – “Saylor accuses him of assault and battery.” (Article mentions Hamilton; abstracted here.)
10 February 1881 – “Case of assault against Saylor continues.” (Article mentions Hamilton; abstracted here.)

Tragedy, conflict, and the precipice of financial ruin. The more details we gathered about Eugenia’s life, the more we wanted to know who she was, this third woman to be caught up in Hurricane Hamilton. For all the drama in their lives, no clues about Eugenia’s family or background emerged.

Moving from the known to the unknown…

Since the last sighting of Eugenia was the census record in Spruce Gulch, my mom searched hard for Cornell references in the area. She was one to find Hamilton connected to Deadwood, South Dakota.

I was following her lead and looking for untapped Dakota Territory resources when I tried several general Google searches, including this one: “Hamilton Cornell” Deadwood

This search string brought up “An Interview With Millie Cornell: An Oral History produced by Robert D. McCracken.” This PDF file is a transcript of an interview with Millie Cornell and was a Nye County Nevada Town History Project. It is a lengthy file, but the relevant passages can be found on pages 32-33. I don’t want to take quotes directly from this work, but allow me to abstract the most germane points:

Millie Cornell was the wife of Bob Cornell, son of John Henry Cornell, who was born in Austin, Minnesota.
John Henry Cornell’s father was reportedly “John Hamilton Cornell.”
Family papers indicated a connection Ezra Cornell, founder of Cornell University.
John Henry Cornell’s mother died in Deadwood, South Dakota.
The family eventually relocated to Los Angeles and then Anaheim, California.
John Henry Cornell didn’t get on well with his father and left home young.

The interview also mentions a little boy who died of scarlet fever. Although the details are unclear, it may be a reference to George Cornell’s death in 1874.

I encourage researchers interested in Hamilton Cornell and Eugenia to take a closer look at this interview. The alignment of Millie Cornell’s knowledge with recorded facts about Hamilton (like his presence in Anaheim, where he was enumerated not once but twice in 1910) had the smell of a breakthrough—but not without first reconciling one impossible-to-overlook detail.

Moving from the unknown to the completely unexpected…

The name John Henry Cornell is not found in Hamilton and Eugenia’s family groups. I had to find out who he was and where—or really, if—he fit into the birth order timeline.

Happily, I found him rather quickly, and along with him, a few surprises about Eugenia. Ancestry’s U.S., Social Security Applications and Claims Index, 1936-2007, gives important details about John Henry Cornell:

Birth Date: 12 August 1876
Birth Place: Austin, Minnesota
Father’s Name: Hamilton Cornell
Mother’s Name: Elizabeth E. Goodrich

Goodrich.

Of course, since Elizabeth E. does not necessarily equal Eugenia, I couldn’t stop there. And if John Henry was born in 1876 and lived to adulthood, why wasn’t he listed on the 1880 census?

One question at a time… If she was out there, then first I had to find Eugenia Goodrich.

She was, and I did. In 1850, she’s in Edwards, St. Lawrence, New York, with a father born in Connecticut and a mother born in Vermont. In 1857 and 1860, she’s with her mother and siblings, first in “Town 106, Range 13” Olmstead county, Minnesota, and then in Otisca, Waseca county, Minnesota.

Next, I searched marriage records on FamilySearch, but I was unprepared to find that on 29 March 1862, at age 17 or 18, “Eugena Goodrich” married… Richard G. Eno.

What?! Her story had grown richer already. I thought her first husband must have died by the time Hamilton rode into town, but no. No, as it turns, Richard G. Eno was a horse thief (source, source), indicted for larceny by 5 December 1862. His case remanded for sentencing by 1 December 1863. I’ve not yet found what the actual sentence was, but according to one of the sources, the village of Otisca experienced an economic downturn not long after Eno’s arrest. Not that there’s ever a good time to be the teen bride of a horse thief, but much less so when a boom ends.

What was her frame of mind when she met smooth-talking and greener-grass-chasing Hamilton? Brokenhearted? Ashamed? Desperate?

Hamilton’s paper trail makes it too easy to infer that he was a cad, but I so dearly hope he was good to her. He didn’t run out on her, after all, or marry again after she died. Maybe, hopefully, he really loved her, and she him.

A closer look at the linchpin…

The question of John Henry Cornell’s absence from the 1880 census is one we can only speculate on for now, but Mom came up with a good theory.

According to some sources (here, here), John Henry Cornell was born in 1873, not 1876. His 1918 draft registration card, in particular, gives his birth date as 12 August 1873, and says that he was of medium height and stout build, with blue eyes and black and gray hair.

According to the 1900 Federal census, Guy H. Cornell was born in August 1873. His 1898 voter registration (in Inyo county, California) also puts his birth year at 1873, and further describes him as 5’9”, with fair complexion and blue eyes. (The hair color is illegible.) I don’t find a draft registration for Guy.

Mom thinks Guy Hamilton is John Henry, and the two recorded physical descriptions don’t rule it out. Perhaps, when “John Henry” left home and the father he didn’t get along with so well, he also changed his name. It’s just a theory, but one that fully explains why John wasn’t listed on the census returns. He was—but as Guy.

That’s not to say he forgot where he came from, however. With a little more checking, I found that John Henry Cornell and his wife, Nellie Goldbach, named one of their sons Eugene Goodrich Cornell. (Sources: here, here.)

It’s fair to guess that he didn’t want his mother to be forgotten. Today, I’m glad to say that she hasn’t been. There’s undoubtedly more to her story, and with her name restored to her, we can finally begin to tell it.

Unorthodox census data

February 22, 2016February 21, 2016 / Brandy Heineman / Leave a comment

#52Ancestors: A serious accusation against Isabella Blaker of Plunkett’s Creek PA

Now and then, tried and true genealogy resources deliver unexpected gifts. Like “unorthodox” census data. You know, where the enumerator squeezed in some extra tidbit, or the person supplying the information offered a TMI overshare way before that became a thing. I once found a census where all the women’s maiden names were recorded. It was nothing short of awesome.

This one is a far sight short of “awesome,” but worth looking at all the same.

I have a terrible yet fascinating example to show you, and then I’m going to mix things up and ask for your help.

1870. Plunkets, Lycoming, PA, via Ancestry.com.

In case that’s hard to read…

Emphasis added, of course.

Blaker, Ulyssis. Age 60. Male. White. Farmer Laborer. $200 in real estate. $100 in personal estate. Born in Pennsylvania. Cannot read; cannot write. Male citizen over age 21.
Blaker, Isabella. Age 55. Female. White. (?) K. H. (Keeping house). As dirty as the D e v i l — Born in Pennsylvania.
Blaker, Elizabeth A. Age 24. Female. White. At home. Better be out at work. Born in Pennsylvania.
Blaker, Evaline E. Age 20. Female. White. At home. To Lazy to work. Born in Pennsylvania.

Like I said. Unorthodox.

I imagine living in the Blaker household of 1870 as something like this . . .

In all seriousness, I have no idea what to make of this record.

Census takers must have put up with all kinds of lip. What would have persuaded this one to record these ugly comments on the official form?
There’s a lot to infer from these comments (for instance, Ulysses was probably a neatnik and tired of supporting his unmarried daughters, not to mention a desperately unhappy person), but how exactly do I go about forming hypotheses and testing them, in this case?
For that matter, how do I even cite this in my research?
I feel sorry for Isabella, Elizabeth, and Evaline for living with such a curmudgeon–but just for the sake of argument, what if there is a seed of truth in his insults?
I haven’t done much on with the Blakers yet. Help me out, reader. What’s my next step?

What about you?

Give me advice! Or tell me about your quirky, strange and unexpected census discoveries in the comments!

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I’ll go ahead and warn you that next week’s post will be a bit on the sentimental side. The courage to grow old is a special sort of grace, and I’d like to ruminate on what it meant to one of my ancestors in particular.

Until then…

I’m hosting a Sweepstakes this week, giving away one copy of my debut novel Whispers in the Branches. (No purchase necessary; open to US residents age 18+; ends the earlier of 2/25/16 or when the prize has been awarded; official rules available with entry page.) To enter, just click this link: https://giveaway.amazon.com/p/f8bda6eb6236d822 and follow my author page on Amazon. That’s it! Good luck!

Facts, Legends, Contradictions and Errors

February 20, 2016February 20, 2016 / Brandy Heineman / 4 Comments

Contradictions, legends, errors and facts

#52Ancestors: Sorting fact from fiction in the case of Ernest Loop [Tweet this!]

Genealogy would be a very dull hobby without people like my second great-grandfather, Ernest Loop… and possibly a much simpler one. He’s easily one of the most colorful characters in my family tree, along with being one of the most difficult to track. As you’ll soon see, “colorful character” is a bit of a euphemism, but the main problem with Ernest Loop is knowing what to believe.

I thought for this week, we should talk about categorizing the tricky details of colorful characters—separating facts and legends, making sense of contractions in the data and recognizing errors.

Facts

First of all, what exactly do I mean by “facts” here? It’s a little like knowing what the definition of “is” is, right?

A fact, for my purposes, is a statement that’s backed by a reliable source… and that makes sense in the real world. Thinking cap, activate!

Here’s what I know for certain: Ernest Loop was the son of William R Loop and Eliza Clark. He was born at Nelson, Pennsylvania. He married Elizabeth Krauss. They lived in Hornell and Olean NY, and my great-grandfather was among their children.

Also, Ernest served time at the Huntingdon Reformatory in Pennsylvania for forgery, and he also served as a private in the US Army, 29th Inf. Co. B. His discharge record stated “very good,” and as far as posterity is concerned, that’s the only time that particular label was ever applied to him.

Oops, I’m getting into the legends part.

Legends

If facts are backed by reliable sources, does that mean legends aren’t?

Not necessarily. Memory is a crucial component to an interesting and detailed family history. It records details never captured by official records. It’s subjective and given to fallacies and impressions, holes and exaggerations, but then again, to quote Maya Angelou: “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

Legends, for good or for ill, are the words said of a person who’s not there to set the record straight. Those words are echoes of how that person made others feel.

My grandmother’s memories of her grandfather were less than flattering. “Rotten, mean,” she called him. This fits with the picture painted by decades of newspaper mentions. However, another memory doesn’t: she told me that Ernest Loop was some kind of “special cop” in his elder years. I don’t know what that means exactly—was he a security guard? A deputy of some kind? So far, I haven’t found a reference that illuminates it.

Another legend, not directly involving Ernest . . . my grandmother told me a ghoulish story from Gramma Loop (i.e., Elizabeth)–she claimed that a bird flew around the crib of one of her babies three times, and the baby died.

The family data passed down to me indicates Ernest and Elizabeth had three children who didn’t survive, but I have only names for them—Milo, Ernest, and Annabel—and no dates other than two losses reported on the 1910 census. I have no idea what to make of this strange story, other than to wonder if it is somehow connected to this awful one:

via Fultonhistory.com

Rotten, mean, indeed.

Contradictions

What’s worse when it comes to family tree research—two or more things that cannot be true at the same time, or two or more things that might be true at the same time, but most likely aren’t?

Either way, contradicting sources require more than critical thinking. At times, you end up digging for the weirdest details, looking for clues.

The biggest contradiction I find with Ernest Loop is with his marriage year and the birth of Elizabeth’s first child, Evelyn. Something here doesn’t fit with the old nine-pound preemie story we’ve all come across at one time or another.

Elizabeth’s obituary states that she and Ernest married at Hornell in 1902.

That’s . . . not impossible? But also not very likely. Ernest was sent to the Huntingdon Reformatory on December 18, 1901. His name is found in General Fund Expenditure reports in the Wellsboro newspapers in March 1903, March 1904, and March 1905—each citing an expense associated with his incarceration the preceding year. (And unfortunately, Elizabeth’s obituary contains other errors that make it a less reliable source.)

As mentioned above, Ernest was in the military from September 12, 1904 until January 4, 1905. I don’t have a solid chain of custody, so to speak, but suffice to say that from December 18, 1901 to January 4, 1905, Ernest was a little busy to be getting married.

via Fultonhistory.com

Then there’s the birth of their daughter Evelyn to consider. According to a 1938 newspaper item announcing the annulment of her marriage from Anthony Graczyk, Evelyn was born on March 31, 1905. However, on the official census date of June 1, 1905, the New York State census shows Elizabeth Krauss living with her parents, and Ernest Loop living with his, both in Hornellsville. Furthermore, the 1910, 1915, and 1920 enumerations suggest that Evelyn was born around 1906-1907. I think that’s probably true—but when she wanted an annulment 15 years after the fact, why say she was born in 1905 when a younger age makes the case for her illegal nuptials that much stronger?

But then again, what if she was born on March 31, 1905? She might’ve been kept away from the census taker’s eyes for appearances, but it raises a difficult question. In 1910 and again in 1920, Evelyn is enumerated with her grandparents, John and Augusta Krauss. If Ernest believed the time frame for Evelyn’s conception and birth was at odds with his prison sentence and/or military service, could he have entertained doubts that she was his child?

It’s not a pleasant thought, I know, and without Ernest’s prison records, the Krauss-Loop marriage record, and/or a reliable birth record for Evelyn, I don’t know how these contractions will be solved. The answer lies with stronger sources, and probably with records sets beyond the low-hanging fruit available online.

Errors

And if this all seems too much to believe, well, perhaps it is. As luck would have it, there was another Ernest Loop of Steuben county. Of course he was of a similar age as my Ernest. He lived in Avoca, (about 46 miles from Nelson PA, 70 miles from Olean, and only 19 miles from Hornell).

After all this time, I’ve more or less trained myself to filter out any reference to “Ernest Loop of Avoca,” and to require a Nelson PA, Hornell/Hornellsville, Canisteo, or Olean NY connection. Does this introduce errors? Probably.

Another thing: Loop is easy to spell and easier to misspell. I’ve seen Lupe and Loope and Coop and I don’t know what else turn up in my searches. And whether Ernest was earnest, I strongly doubt, but nonetheless, he’s occasionally called Earnest.

Last but not least, the birth date on his tombstone is wrong. I only suspected this for many years, as I have birth years for the man ranging from 1875 (when his mother would have been about 11 years old, and at least 5 years before she married) all the way to 1886 (which doesn’t work at all with the 1900 census record). This counted as a contradiction—until I found his veteran’s headstone application. The image includes mark-up suggesting that 1875 is indeed a mistake—but unfortunately, the stone was still cut with the wrong date.

Sometimes it’s easy to spot an error. Other times it takes guts to look an official record in the eye and say, “That’s not right.” You need rock solid first hand knowledge, indisputable record (if there is such a thing!), and/or a healthy dose of logic, and you have to learn to develop an eye for recognizing squirrelly data. A bad lead can cost a researcher years of fruitless searching.

But why?

Why take the time to separate facts from legends and contradictions from errors?
For ancestors whose stories are detailed, complex, difficult, or intensely interesting, it’s often helpful to take a fresh approach to the accumulated data. As facts and legends interact, I can develop a very clear idea of what kind of man Ernest Loop really was. By identifying contradictions in the available sources and errors—in the records, in the stories, in my own conclusions—I can focus my next research steps and watch out for known pitfalls. The more context, the better.

You can view the records I’ve attached to Ernest Loop on my newly minted Ancestry tree.

What about you?

Got an ancestor who keeps you guessing? Tell me all about it in the comments!

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Quick note on best laid plans… last week was awesome, but went just a little sideways on the blog schedule. Combine that working on two research-heavy posts, and . . . yeah. We’ll be back to the normal posting schedule on February 22, when I’m going to ask your opinion about how to look at some unorthodox census data. What do I mean by that? Well, you’ll have to come back to find out.

One last thing!

In the mean time! I’m hosting a Sweepstakes this week, giving away one copy of my debut novel Whispers in the Branches. (No purchase necessary; open to US residents age 18+; ends the earlier of 2/25/16 or when the prize has been awarded; official rules available with entry page.) To enter, just click this link: https://giveaway.amazon.com/p/f8bda6eb6236d822 and follow my author page on Amazon. That’s it! Good luck!

Did my ancestor come from a prominent family?

February 8, 2016February 20, 2016 / Brandy Heineman / Leave a comment

#52Ancestors: Lucy Ferris Loop: using her maiden name to bridge generations? [Tweet this]

It’s exciting to find an ancestor with a connection to a prominent family. I’m not talking Kennedy or Rockefeller levels of prominence here, although that would be super. No, even if your prominent family was only important on their little stretch of Main Street USA, it’s still exciting. Know why?

Because those families—the area pioneers, the brave entrepreneurs, the local politicians—all tend to generate lots of records.

Only one problem. If these notable folks aren’t household names now, will you always know when you run across them?

I propose another use for onomastic evidence is allowing it to alert us to the possibility of important family ties. Namely (pun intended!), when a woman gives her maiden name to one or more of her children, we should consider possible reasons why she might do that. If her name was an asset before she married, she may wish to bequeath it.

Ferris Filters Down the Line

According to The Loop Family in America by Victor L. Bennison:

Lucy Ferris and Christian Loop married in about 1781, and they named one of their nine children William Ferris Loop. From there, Ferris became a family name.

William Ferris Loop had a son named after him (William Ferris Loop, Jr.), and his daughter Eliza Ann Loop named one of her children Samuel Ferris Vinton. Eventually, William Sr.’s son Dr. Albert Mortimer Loop would have a grandson named Ferris S. Loop.

It’s not just a name. It’s a connection. The question then is, a connection to what? Or, to whom?

Bridging Generations?

Lucy Ferris Loop was a founding member of the First Baptist Church of Hillsdale in 1787 (sources: here and here.) Interesting side note: so was Ruth Jordan, who is identified as Ruth Ferris, wife of Revolutionary veteran William Jordan right here … Sisters, perhaps?

The record of the church’s organization establishes a Ferris connection to Hillsdale NY in mid-to-late 1780s, then. I found Israel Ferris in Hillsdale NY in 1790, likely to be another relative, which encouraged me to keep looking for the Ferris name in Hillsdale NY.

This is how I turned up another reference to Ruth, one that turned out to be a vital clue.

“William Jordan was born in North Castle, Westchester Co., in 1751. He was a soldier in the Revolution and served through the war, participating in the battles of White Plains and Stillwater. He married Ruth Ferris of Horse Neck (now Greenwich, Conn.), and came to Hillsdale soon after the close of the war . . . ” –History of Hillsdale, Columbia County, New York: memorabilia of persons and things of interest, passed and passing, by The Hon. John Francis Collin. Philmont, NY, 1883. Page 76.

So! Ruth Ferris Jordan, known associate of Lucy Ferris Loop, was from Greenwich, Connecticut! Seems worth investigating, doesn’t it?

This is where my research starts to tangle and become complicated. Because you see, there’s an entire book on Ancestry called “A memoir of Silvanus Ferris, 1773-1861: together with some account of his ancestry and descent from Jeffrey Ferris, born in Leicestershire, England, about 1610, who came to America in 1634; and a Genealogy of His Descendants” by Charles Ferris Gettemy, which claims on page 9 that Jeffrey Ferris was one of the earliest settlers of Greenwich.

And there’s a history called “Ye Historic of Ye Town of Greenwich, County of Fairfield and State of Connecticut” by Spencer P. Mead, LL.B. that contains a genealogy of the Ferris family, and about a zillion other Ferris mentions, besides.

And there’s a record titled “Abstract of probate records for the district of Stamford” by Stamford District, Conn. Probate court and Spencer Percival Mead which further establishes the firm Ferris presence in the area.

If my original observation that prominent families generate lots of records holds water, then it looks like I’m onto something with the Ferrises of Greenwich, Conn.

Fine, fine. But were they rich??

I kid, I kid. It doesn’t matter. Quite honestly, I won’t know or understand their financial standing without a good bit of reading. Besides, I haven’t seen in the resources I’ve discovered so far a solid case for Lucy and Ruth as siblings and descendants of Jeffrey Ferris. For now, it’s circumstantial at best.

I’m prone to forgetting that I can’t solve everything in a blog post.

BUT—knowing how family legends work, after all—I do think that it’s plausible that my hypothesis about prominence could be in play. Having an ancestor famous for settling her hometown would certainly be one motive for Lucy to keep the Ferris name alive to own her descendants.

And speaking of legends! I’m breaking my schedule for a bonus post on Thursday, pulling back the curtain on a mystery I did manage to solve—in part because of a family legend about social prominence. I’m stoked about this one! Join me as one first-name-only bride gets her maiden name back.

What about you?

Do you come from money and/or prominence? Got a famous or infamous connection you’ve just gotta share? Brag about it in the comments!

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Next Monday, we’ll come back to #52Ancestors and see if we can create a system for sorting out facts, contradictions, legends, and errors.

Also, I have something really exciting in the hopper…

Building My Ancestor’s Profile

January 11, 2016January 28, 2016 / Brandy Heineman / 2 Comments

#52Ancestors: 12 kids in 24 yrs, then 36 yrs a widow: the life of Eunice Loomis Bartoo [Tweet this]

What are the basic components needed to build an ancestor profile? If there is a “Step One” to assembling the puzzle pieces of a person’s life, what would that be?

Eunice Loomis. Isn’t that a lovely name? She was once the bride of Jesse Bartoo and lived in Chenango county NY, and as I write these words, that is the sum total of what I know about her. I picked a relative I have not researched before for this post—and here we go!

I know of Eunice Loomis’ existence from Our family records, Eli Bartoo, 1938, Record V-5, Jesse Bartoo, page 28 (via Ancestry.com), a compilation and therefore a derivative source. Rather than simply copy its details, I want to take a more methodical approach.

Step #1. Locate your ancestor in every available census.

I found her (as Eunice Bartoo, of course) in the 1850 Federal enumeration, the 1855 New York State census, and on the 1860 Federal mortality schedule.

Pre-1850 Federal censuses are a challenge when looking for persons other than the head of household, but I was able to locate tic marks likely to represent Eunice in 1800, 1820, and 1830.

All records refer to Greene, Chenango county, New York, USA, except as noted.

1800: Inferred to be the female age 16-25 in the household of Jesse Bartoo.
1810: Not found in a manual search of the census record for Greene, New York.
1820: Inferred to be the female age 26-44 in the household of Jesse “Bartlow.”
1830: Inferred to be the female age 50-59 in the household of Smith Barto.
1840: Not found as a possibility in Hiram or Smith Bartoo’s households.
1850: Eunice Bartoo, mother, age 71, is listed in Hiram Bartoo’s household.
1855: Eunice Bartoo, mother, age 76, is listed in Hiram Bartoo’s household.
1860: Eunice Barto, age 81, died within the census year. Recorded at Columbus, Chenango county, NY.

Rabbit hole #1. Jesse Bartoo’s Find-A-Grave index entry put his death at 12/24/1823. As I searched, this record kept popping up, and no matter how much I did not want to look at it in this early stage, there it was, tainting my conclusions. I didn’t acknowledge it until I realized that the clue about Jesse’s death was driving my search for Eunice with her children in 1830-1840. (That and the fact that Jesse didn’t appear in the censuses, obviously.)

Of course, Eunice herself was also listed on Find-A-Grave. I made a note of the details included in her record, then set them aside in hopes of finding better quality records.

Step #2. Arrange known life events into a rough timeline.

Creating a timeline helps contextualize the many scattered details found in census returns. A linear framework helps focus the rest of the research.

Eunice’s age is reported consistently across records, so I’m fairly confident she was born in about 1779 in Massachusetts. Her son Hiram was born in about 1798, so if he is her oldest, we can infer that she was probably married to Jesse Bartoo by the time she reached age 18.

She moved to Greene, Chenango county, New York in about 1805 (but from where?) and lived there the rest of her life. Her widowhood lasted over thirty years and was spent living with her children. She died of dropsy in November 1859.

(Quick side note: if you don’t know what dropsy means, you’re not alone. I’ll be posting about resources for historical medical references in April, so subscribe now and don’t miss it.)

Step #3. Validate timeline events with other sources.

Once I constructed a framework for Eunice’s life, I was ready to seek other records to confirm and refine the details. Theoretically.

Unfortunately, I struck out on birth records and marriage records, except for the U.S. and International Marriage Records, 1560-1900 database on Ancestry. It validated the union between Eunice Loomis and Jesse “Barteau,” and gave his birth year as 1775, which matches Find-A-Grave.

I still didn’t want to use the details from Find-A-Grave as a source, however, so I kept looking.

Rabbit hole #2. I spent some time browsing probate records on FamilySearch in hopes of locating some pertinent details about Eunice. I did not succeed. That’s life.

I did, however, read her son Hiram Bartoo’s will, and I determined that there are many, many Loomis wills to read in Chenango county, should I find myself wishing to do so.

Back to Step #3. After a good bit of fruitless searching, I turned to the histories. However, I want to highlight that it was important that I spent time going after other sources first. Otherwise, how would I have known that this…

Ancestry.com. Descendants of Joseph Loomis in America, and his antecedents in the Old world [database on-line]. Provo, UT: Ancestry.com Operations Inc, 2005. Original data: Loomis, Elias,. Descendants of Joseph Loomis in America, and his antecedents in the Old world. Berea? Ohio: Loomis, 1909.

…was almost completely wrong?

The histories fill in names, dates and places, although I still wish I could verify them with original sources. However, the most revealing detail I learned about Eunice was the long list of her children’s names and dates of birth and death. Jesse and Eunice had twelve children between 1798 and 1821—one every two or three years like clockwork. When Jesse died suddenly on his 48th birthday (and Christmas Eve, no less), eight of their twelve children were under age 18—and four were under 10. Those were certainly hard years for her. Nonetheless, there is a silver lining here, too. All twelve of her children outlived her. She didn’t have to grieve a one of them.

Step #4. Put your ancestor’s life in context.

As long as we’re looking at the history books, it’s a good time to ask some broader questions. What was happening in the world, in the United States, in New York, in Chenango county, when Eunice was alive? We know about her family life, but what did her town look like? What were the important topics of her day?

To answer that question fully gets beyond the scope of a blog post, but we can sketch out some details. According to History of Chenango and Madison Counties, New York : with illustrations and biographical sketches of some to its prominent men and pioneers, James H. Smith, Syracuse, N.Y.: D. Mason & Co., 1880 (via Ancestry.com):

The town of Greene was settled in 1792. The native American populations were the Oneidas, who remained in the area, mingled with the settlers, and were reportedly friendly toward them. Between 1792-1796, a settlement of French refugees of the Revolution both formed and failed.

Early Settlers (Greene, Chenango, NY, USA)

By Chenango Historian (Own work) [CC BY-SA 4.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

In 1794, Derrick Race and John Hollenbeck made settlements on the west side of the Chenango River. Race was a surveyor from Egremont, Mass., and it seems likely that his efforts ushered other settlers from Egremont, the Loomises and Bartoos included. Perhaps the French presence was attractive to Jesse, as at least one record retains the “Barteau” spelling of his French ancestors, but that is merely speculation on my part.

By Nichols, Beach — Cartographer [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons

By the time this history was published in 1880 (granted, more than 20 years after Eunice’s death), the town had grown up and boasted churches, schools, stores, shops, a newspaper, a bank, and more.

By Doug Kerr from Upstate New York (012409 139) [CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

Rabbit hole #3: An interesting note I can’t help but include: in 1829, a large circular mound about 2 miles south of Greene was found to be a mass grave, full of rudely buried human bones along with relics and artifacts. Whether it belonged to the Oneida or another people group was not determined. Can’t you just imagine what a local stir that discovery would have caused?

Step #5. Build your ancestor’s profile.

At the end, it’s a simple matter of putting the pieces together. Or in this case, mostly, circling back around to the original source with a level of confidence that the information it contains is true.

Name: Eunice LOOMIS (1, 8, 10*)
Birth: October 17, 1778 (Massachusetts) (1, 6, 10*)
Marriage: probably between 1795-1798, to Jesse Bartoo/Barteau. (supported by 1, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10*)
Death: November 22, 1859 (Greene, Chenango county, NY). Died of dropsy. (1, 7, 10*)
Burial: Tillotson Cemetery (Greene, Chenango county, NY) (1, 10*)
Parents: Abijah and Mary -?- Loomis (1)
Children: Hiram, Abigail, Polly, Ruth, Elisha Smith, Jesse Luce, Sally Louisa, Olive Matilda, Urania Vianna, Lucretia Cordelia, William, Mercy Charlotte. (1)
Biography:
Eunice Loomis Bartoo might easily have considered her life in contrasts. Girlhood before leaving Massachusetts for New York, and marriage after. Motherhood before her husband’s sudden death, and widowhood after.
Jesse and Eunice came to Chenango county from Egremont, Mass., probably in 1795 or 1796 (1, 2, 10*) and perhaps with a group of settlers following surveyor Derrick Race’s lead (9). Their farm was on the Chenango River six miles north of Greene. (1)
They had twelve children in twenty-four years, beginning in 1798 with their eldest son, Hiram. (1, 5, 6) Eunice still had small children when Jesse died suddenly on his 48th birthday in 1823. (1) She never remarried, but spent 36 years as a widow living with her adult sons and their families. (4, 5, 6) In November 1859, she died of dropsy after 40 days of illness. (7)
How did she perceive the pace of life? She spent hers surrounded by children and grandchildren and watched them and her town grow from her early twenties until her death. I would guess that “long days, short years” was as true for her as it is for us today.
Further Research Questions and Directions:
-Keep looking for Eunice in 1810 and 1840.
-Who was her mother? Some sources mention “Mary Kellogg,” but none seem reliable. Investigate.
-Check back on FamilySearch, NY Probate Records, Wills & Proceeding Index for Chenango county. Lots of Bartoo and Loomis wills to look at. (Image set: 26 of 491 and 256 of 491 in particular.)
-If there was ever an obituary or death notice for Eunice, it would probably have run in The Chenango American newspaper.
Sources: Linked below.

It’s a start

Of course, building an ancestor profile doesn’t mean your work is complete. In some cases, it’s merely the foundation for complicated puzzles you’ll spend years solving.

Get started

Need a roadmap? Click here to download a free, editable ancestor profile worksheet for Excel. using the steps described in this post.

Disclaimer, disclaimer! I’m an amateur researcher, learning as I go along. Also, my main job is writing fiction … so, making things up. Just wanted you to know. :D

What about you?

Share your tips and perspectives on creating personal profiles for ancestors in the comments below. I’m particularly interested to hear from Fold3 users. Do you make use that sites functionality to create personal profiles? Do you find it helpful?