My mother is an avid genealogist, and has told me that I have an ancestor that signed the Declaration of Independence. I don’t know the name off the top of my head.
Somewhere along the line, i am related to Brigham Young through marriage somewhere…
Granuaile, that was a great set of stories from one man. I hope he’s writing his memoirs. He could provide an interesting perspective on a lot of major events (particularly the Chicago riots).
I’m really serious about this.
pesch
When my dad was researching our geneaology, he dug up a g’g’g’g’great uncle, Larkin Skaggs, who was the only casualty of Quantrell’s Raiders in their raid on Lawrence, Kansas.
Larkin - a slave owning Baptist preacher - had some scores to settle in Lawrence. He shot an innocent boy to death in the street, and then did the same to the boy’s brother, who tried to pull a gun on him. Then, he got drunk and tried to burn down the house of a woman who’d complained to Quantrell that he’d stolen a ring from her (Quantrell ordered him to give the ring back). Trouble is, he was so drunk, he couldn’t manage to get his matches lit when the lady kept blowing them out.
After a bit, he must have realized that the rest of the raiders had left without him, so he high tailed it out of there. He was caught trying to cross a cornfield to get back to the road out of town. The men trailing him shot him off his horse. He was then tied to the back of another horse, and that horse was galloped back into town (I’m pretty sure he was dead at that point). Then he was hung. The white people came by and spit on him. Then the slaves and freed blacks did the same. Then the Indians. Finally, he was cut down, thrown in a ditch and set on fire.
It’s not that I’m proud of Uncle Larkin, you see. It’s just that he makes a damn fine story. (I’d have a lot more issues with him if he were a direct ancestor.)
Being as my mother’s side of the family directly descends from Erik the Red, and prior to him royalty from all over Europe, I would say that a little history was seen through their eyes. The first European settlement on North America, for instance.
Nope… It was Gordon Cooper. Same Gordon Cooper what some years later angered dad by using his passing acquaintance with mom to get out of a boring conversation (Mom & dad walk into party in DC, Cooper, cornered by someone intensely boring sees her, says “Look! There’s someone I’ve got to speak to…!”, then rushes across the room, snags her off dad’s arm, and drags her out onto the patio. All in front of much of DC’s officialdom. Rude beyond belief, and humiliating to dad.)
Dad was on the Ascania range when Yaeger broke the sound barrier. Dad also made it into Frank Borman’s autobiography for a stupid stunt the two of them pulled in the name of piling up flight hours (They flew cross-country in a jet without working instruments to get Dad to a date with a Senator’s daughter in DC.)
Hmm.
Methinks Cecil’s column on pedigree collapse is going to have to be required reading for this thread. 
Oh, and Challenger…? I, like several hundred thousand other people, saw it explode with my own eyes. Not a happy day, but then much of history isn’t particulalry happy…
Let’s see…my paternal grandparents saw the Hindenberg as it was on its way to land in New Jersey. One of my grandfather’s grandparents was supposed to ride over to America on the Titanic, missed the boat, and got the next one over.
My maternal grandmother was a member of the Hitler youth corps. This sufficiently bugged me, until it was explained that pretty much everybody in Germany joined the Hitler youth corps. Obviously, she quit right before getting the hell out of Germany in the late 30s.
My Dad was one of the pilots who flew the released Vietnam POWs back to the U.S.
U.S. pilots who were shot down over North Vietnam were held captive in Hanoi and tortured. They managed to hold together quite well, though, devised codes for communicating between their cells and would not compromise their principles for early release. John McCain and James Stockdale are probably the two most famous survivors. When the whole group finally was released, they were flown to a U.S. Air Force base in the Phillipines and spent some time in the base hospital. From there they were flown on military transports to a base in California; my Dad was the pilot of one of those planes. He told me that he flew low over the Golden Gate Bridge so the passengers could see it. The flight had a special call sign so other aircraft knew who they were. A 747 flew alongside for a little while and some of the men on board (pilots, remember) had been held for so long that they’d never seen a plane that big before. Ev Alvarez was on the plane; he was the first of the pilots shot down and had been held for more than eight years. He gave a short speech on board and then gave it again to the crowds and cameras that were waiting when they landed.
Robot Arm…, I don’t know what to say; I am so glad your Dad’s mission came to fruition. Man, that was some heavy cargo.
pesch,
I used to bug Dad for years to write down some of his memories. He kinda thought that no one outside of immediate family would be interested, so he didn’t bother. All I have are a few cassette and video tapes of him telling stories. And plenty of memories. He passed away in 1991 and I haven’t the heart to play them yet. Dad was a SouthSide Chicago Garrison Keillior(sp?) mixed with a little Archie Bunker, minus the crankiness. All wrapped up in a big, Irish cop. A typical Dad quirk: his eyesight wasn’t too good before he died and he was bored, so he was teaching himself Cantonese and Hebrew by listening to language tapes.
He packed a lot of living in his 63 years.
G.
Re: 1968 Democratic Convention
I have the coolest souvenir. The original, baby blue riot helmet my Dad wore in Grant Park. Even has a big ol’ dent in it where a “F-----g Hippie” hit him in the head with a glass bottle. If I could get my hands on a still of him, from one of the documentaries or newsreels, I’d have a very neat display piece.
My grandpa was a survivor of the Bataan Death March and a couple of years as a POW in the Phillipines and like so many mentioned above, just wouldn’t talk about those experiences.
A shame really.
Hey Mullinator, your grandpa didn’t happen to be in the Cavalry before the war, did he? Reason I ask: my Dad was in the Cavalry before the war, and received a medical discharge before Pearl Harbor. He says a lot of his Cavalry buddies wound up in Bataan.
Was it like my GF? Stopped off for a farewell libation, got drunk, and missed it? Who said nothing good ever comes from booze?
My paternal Grandfather was also a Tank Commander under Patton. I’ll bet he knew one or both of these guys!
He went to the Fort Knox Tank School, was at Fort Benning for a while. Then they went to N. Africa, invaded Sicily, worked their way up France, and into Germany to liberate prison camps. Likewise, he passed away in 1996, so there will be no more stories.
A couple of notable tidbits:
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He served with “Grampa Jones”, the old guy on Hee-Haw if any of you will admit to having watched that show. They once nailed GJ’s shoes to the floor as a practical joke.
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In Egypt he got in a barfight with an arab and was bitten, had to have Rabies shots
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One day he was riding in the tank turret, with just his legs down in the tank. A mortar or something hit it and flipped it over, and broke both his legs. He survived, spent several months in a hospital. When he was healed they gave him 2 choices, a) rejoin your old unit or b) go home for 2 weeks leave, then go to the south pacific. He chose to rejoin his unit because he’s heard about all the shit in the SP (death marches and stuff). He got back to them 2 days before the Battle of the Bulge.
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He wouldn’t talk much about liberating prison camps, but he did say a few things. Apparently some of the people were so happy to be rescued that they died in the arms of the soldiers, it was just too much for them. He described how they looked, like the walking dead. He said they found bodies stacked up like firewood. We’re not Jewish, but anyone who tries to say the Holocaust didn’t happen can rot in hell, that man saw it first hand.
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He also wouldn’t talk much about killing. He suffered all his life from acute sinus problems as a result of taking a rifle butt to the face. Apparently he was in one battle that was so fierce, everyone ran out of ammo and had to go to hand-to-hand. When I heard this as a kid I wanted to know what he did to the guy. He wouldn’t say, except to say that he was the last person that guy ever hit. He also recalled burying a friend’s hand that had been shot off, the guy lived.
He had to stay after the war and train French and British troops in Paris. I have no doubt, from his VIVID descriptions of French whorehouse that there are several people in France who look somewhat like me.
One of our dear friends Grandfather built/made the propellor for the **Spirit of St. Louis **. He has a picture of Grandpa (Rufus Something) and Charles Lindbergh in his hallway. It is so fascinating.
My dad fought at Guadacanal (sp?) Unfortunately, I really no nothing of his military career as he died when I was little.
My uncle fought under Patton and subsequently hated Patton. Never talks about what he did or saw. Too bad, he’s 78 now. I really wish he would, just for future generations sake.
Same uncle, his mother in law missed the **Titanic ** by a few minutes and subsequently their family has *never ** been on time for anything since. I’m not kidding.
Same uncle, built the Media Tower that the press corp watches the shuttle launches from at Kennedy.
Same Uncle, his son in law recently got to do the T-Minus 5…4…whatever countdown on one of the space shuttle launches.
My parents use to go to the same parties as the original astronauts: Glenn, Shepard, Grissom…and the rest. How cool is THAT?
I met a guy once whose dad was a famous square dance caller in his day. His dad witnessed **Pearl Harbor **. He was off base ( for reasons I don’t remember) and saw some planes flying in low and said to his buddy, " What in the hell are those guys doing flying so low?" because he was off base it probably saved his life because he was either on the Arizona or one of the other carriers that sank. I can’t remember. I was tearing up when I heard this.
My cousins best friend in high school father (follow that?) escaped one of the concentration camps. ( can’t remember) Managed to get on a boat headed somewhere. Met a nice jewish girl/survivor of another camp on board. The boat was attacked by Germans. It was sinking. Father didn’t jump in because he didn’t know how to swim. The nice jewish girl ( in water now) told him to jump and she would take care of him. he did, they floated on a barrel, ended up somehow, somewhere safe (vague memory) and marrying. Every now and then I think about what it must have been like for that man the moment before he jumped into the water.
One of my cousins (Dad’s Side) in WV ran for Senate. Ran against Rockefeller. Didn’t win. this same distant cousin (never met) is a part of the largest funeral home chain in WV, which my dad’s grand father started. ( Or so mom tells me. Apparently had dad agreed to something - vague memory - we’d be rolling in the dough.)
My Grandfather, Mom’s Dad, was the personal secretary for the president of Grand Paige Automobiles. Some how - vague memory - Grandpa got the short shrift from the President about the company going down the tubes and left the family near broke. If it hadn’t gone under, apparently we’d be rolling in the dough. (Incidently, Same grandfather had Johnny Weismueller as an office boy.)
Same grandfather, during Prohibition, use to make Bathtub gin ( everyone did) and make runs over to Canada to bring back the good hootch, via boats.
Legend has it, and I’ve never been able to verify it, that my Mom’s Mom is related ( six degrees of vagueness) to Buffalo Bill Cody. His sister married a cousin or something. Dunno.
My old boss, Polly, was a teenager during the Bombings in Bremen. She lost her Brother and Father in one week. The brother gave up his comfy desk job for the Krauts in France that his father bribed the officials to get him and wanted to see some action. He was killed a week later at the Russian Front. When Dad got the news he dropped dead. Contrary to the rest of the *Dopers * here with a German connection, she was not a **Hilter Youth ** *because * she looked terrible in brown. Very funny and very Polly-like.
Oh boy, mine’s pretty weak. I must be one of very few gay New Yorkers who’s also eligible for the Sons of the Confederacy. My great-great-great grandfather John Windsor faught at Glorieta Pass, New Mexico - a small but important battle that thwarted a very serious attmept by the South’s to link up with California sympathizers. As noted in the link, the battle resulted in the loss of most of the Confederates’ supplies and horses, forcing him and his comerades to walk home - about 1100 miles, give or take.
My godmother’s family name is Laxdal. Her family’s just-slightly fictionalized history is available in Penguin paperback as the Saga Laxdaela. Legend has it they helped settle Iceland.
Great, great, great Grandpa Inky saw the Gettysburg address.
When asked once why he traveled the sixty miles from Cannonsburg to Gettysburg (quite a haul in those days, especially when you consider how hilly Pennsylvania terrain is) he replied:
“Twas November, the crops were in, the cider hadn’t turned yet and there hadn’t been a proper hangin’ in months”.
Ah, it runs in the family.
Apparently my great great grandfather was in jail with Joseph Smith when he was visited by an angel.
Some of my family came over on the second voyage to the colony by the Mayflower.
I have a big book of one side of my family history and there is other stuff in there but the book is at my dad’s.