Boots on the Ground Researching – GenealogyAtHeart.com

Part 5: Postmarked in Purgatory: The Mail That Might Never Arrive

Possible Post Office Locations in Downtown Indianapolis

This is the last in a series on my adventures obtaining family records for dual citizenship. You can read early posts here, here, here, and here.

We had tried to get family documents from Illinois and Indiana in person and used email to obtain records from Florida and Arizona. Unbelievably, the online records had already been mailed to me while I tried to obtain the in person ones. Why? Because some states are more efficient then others. Illinois & Indiana, not so much.

We decided to drive two hours south east to acquire my father’s birth record in Mercer County, Ohio. The clerk was warm and welcoming which was such a change from our experiences elsewhere. A problem surfaced quickly; the record for my dad in their computer claimed he had been born in 1939. Umm, no, he would have been the youngest enlistee in World War II if that was the case. I had a copy of the birth and death certificate which I shared with the clerk. She couldn’t print a certified copy because whoever had input the information into the computer had made a typo. She went to search for a hard copy and found it. It was dated 1939. I believe what happened is that my father went to the office to obtain a certified copy so he could get his Social Security card. The clerk handwrote a new one and when my father looked at it he likely informed the clerk she had added the wrong year for his birth. I suspect she gave him a corrected replacement but kept the error record in the files. So, whoever input the info wasn’t at fault.

It took over an hour and three transferred phone calls to Columbus for someone with tech knowledge to inform the clerk how to issue the birth certificate with the correct date. Meanwhile, others were arriving for records and I was surprised to learn that another person was also seeking dual citizenship.

With record finally in hand we decided to make an attempt to drop off the death records request that Gary refused to accept earlier in the week. So, it was back home again in Indiana. Sigh.

There’s no walk-in service at the Indiana State Department of Health in Indianapolis, and I knew that. What the website didn’t say was that you also can’t drop anything off. Still, I figured it was worth a try.

Two and a half hours later, we pulled into the very last spot on the sixth floor of a parking garage. $35 an hour. But hey, it was next to the elevator. Life was looking good.

Until it wasn’t.

Disappearing Buildings and Imaginary Signs

We couldn’t find the building. The address led us to a large office labeled Bank of America but surprise! It was actually the Department of Health.

Only in Indiana could a government agency masquerade as a bank to “save taxpayers money.” And if I were to complain to a legislator? I can already hear the syrupy voice:
“Now ma’am, we did you a big, beautiful favor by saving that signage cost, see?” (They always say “see.”)

There were no address numbers on the building. We finally wandered into another bank across the street, where someone kindly told us where to go.

If I had known what was coming next, I would’ve turned around.

The Plexiglass Purge

Inside the “Bank of Not-America,” a lone woman sat behind a desk topped with plexiglass, an absurd formality, given that it was the only furniture in the entire room besides a circular couch off in the corner.

She did not smile.

“We can’t take that,” she said flatly after I told her I had completed requests for death certificates.

I asked why.

“We don’t offer customer service.”

Well, clearly, that must be the vital records motto throughout Indiana.

I explained I’d driven from the northeast corner of the state because Gary refused to issue the records and whenever I mailed requests, they disappeared into the void.

“We’re very backlogged.”

At that point, my husband, officially done, asked if he could sit down. She pointed silently to the one chair in what was once the vestibule.

I asked where the nearest post office was. My thought: if I mailed it from just a few blocks away, maybe they’d actually receive it. Silly me.

She offered to draw me a map. I handed her my notebook.

That’s when it got weird.

Enter: The Scowler

Out of nowhere, a man’s voice boomed behind me:
“What can I help you with?”

Startled, I turned to see a tall man with a very unfriendly expression and a gun. Yep, it was an officer of the law. I had no idea he was even in the room.

I answered, “There’s nothing you can help me with.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.

He started yelling, “Tone it down! Tone it down!”

I wasn’t raising my voice. I hadn’t even been speaking when began yelling. But suddenly I could see it all: me, tackled to the ground, handcuffed, arrested for attempting to find a post office to send for three death records that the department who issues them refused to take.

The woman at the desk piped up, “She’s a nice lady, she’s not a problem.”

He replied, “I’ll handle this.”

Handle what? Was he going to walk my envelopes to the post office for me? Hand-deliver them to the Department of Health? Please, don’t tease me.

He eventually got bored and retreated to the sofa, where another officer sat watching the show with amusement.

Yep, fun and games intimidating an old lady genealogist. Karma, baby. Let it be soon.

The Map of Madness

The woman finished her map and handed it to me proudly, saying, “I’m not much of an artist, but I think I did a good job.”

I looked at it: three horizontal lines, three vertical lines, a circle, and three X’s because she “wasn’t sure where the post office was.” Also, she misspelled Washington. It had taken her five full minutes to draw this.

I stared at the page, silently. She looked sad that I didn’t appreciate her work.

I asked if it was walkable, thinking I could leave the car parked. “If you’re good at walking,” she said.

Not knowing what that meant, I asked how far it was.

“Maybe five or more blocks.”

Sure. We’d drive.

She said she should probably give me the address as well, there was another post office nearby, but she wouldn’t send me there because “it wasn’t very good.”

(Pretty sure that’s the one where all my mail has vanished into the ether.)

She had to call someone else to find the name and address of the post office she’d just drawn a map for.

I left, sad for the state of public service and even sadder that this was the outcome of my tax dollars.

The Last Gasp

It was now pouring rain.

I parked in what was probably an employee lot behind the post office and left my husband in the car in case it needed to be moved.

Inside: long line. No one at the desk. Classic.

Thirty minutes later, I sent off two envelope, each with certified requests for death certificates, destined for a building two blocks away.

Only in America can it take three days to deliver a letter that far.

It was scheduled to arrive on Saturday when no one is there to sign for it. Of course.

So maybe Monday. Maybe never.

And when it inevitably goes missing? I planned to take my receipt to my local post office, and they’ll tell me I have to go back to Indianapolis to get a refund.

At this point, I’m starting to think dual citizenship was absolutely the right decision. Even with all the hassles. Even with the yelling. Even with that map.

Next week, to begin a new year, I’ll post a a look back at the favorite blog posts selected by readers for 2025. Stay Tuned.

Part 4: Helpful Hoosiers, Elusive Records, and One Good Clerk

This is a continuing series on my recent adventures to acquire documents for dual-citizenship. You can read earlier posts here – here – and here.

We were up bright and early on Wednesday, ready to track down a divorce record at the Porter County, Indiana courthouse before they even opened.

Here’s another tip for researchers working in Indiana: be prepared to feel like a threat. Most facilities are swarming with armed officers who clearly believe they’re guarding nuclear codes rather than 19th-century paperwork. And no, you can’t bring your cell phone in. Doesn’t matter if you need it to pay. Doesn’t matter if you’re old and holding a manila folder. It’s Wild West rules. Don’t bother asking for an exception. I warned you.

As expected, they couldn’t locate the record.

I thanked them for the stack they had mailed me two years ago, minus the final dissolution of marriage I actually needed certified. Last time, it took them three months to find anything, and they charged me $50.00, a dollar per page, even though they’d made five copies of the same ten pages. No, it wasn’t a juicy divorce. Just sloppy duplication.

This time, I showed them the exact document I needed. I was told I’d hear back once they found it.

Here we go again.

One Clerk, One Win

On to the Porter County Health Department, where I entered a bit too early for some folks’ comfort. While I stood silently at the counter, I overheard one clerk complaining about “letting people in before we open.” (Hi, yes. That would be me.)

Thankfully, another clerk came to the rescue. She was efficient, kind, and within five minutes, I had the certified record I needed.

I mentioned the nightmare from the day before in Gary, and she replied with a sigh: “I couldn’t even get my own birth certificate from them. I had to go through the state.”

So maybe I was lucky after all.

A Church with a Lock and a Secretary with a Key

We drove back to Lake County to revisit the church that had been closed the day before. Again, the door was locked and the secretary spoke to us through it. When I explained what I needed, she let us in and quickly found the baptism and marriage books.

She couldn’t locate the names but from across the desk, upside down, I spotted them and pointed them out. She allowed me to take a photo of the entries, but only after covering up the rest of the page. I didn’t bother mentioning that many dioceses have digitized records entirely, so full-page images are already online.

She couldn’t issue the certificates, though as there was no priest available, and wouldn’t be one “for a while.” The plan was to mail them when a priest showed up.

Which, given how things were going, might be never.

Cemetery Software and the Mystery of the Missing Priest

Next, we made a quick stop at the cemetery, where I hadn’t planned to clean any graves, but found myself wiping down markers anyway. I was there to get an updated cemetery record for the family plot. The version I had was from 2001, and a new family member had since been buried.

They had upgraded to new cemetery software. Unfortunately, no one knew how to print a basic update using it.

So one employee simply handwrote the new information and told me to submit it alongside the old printout. (Ah, technology!)

Déjà Vu with a Twist

While there, I got a call from Porter County. They told me to check my email to confirm they’d found the divorce record.

Cue near-heart attack.

I checked: no email. Nothing in spam. I called back, no voicemail. I called again. The clerk laughed and said, “Oh, I didn’t send it yet.”

I told her we were already on our way.

One Archivist’s Righteous Indignation

And then the Chicago Archdiocese archivist called.

She wanted me to know firmly that my grandparents had not married at St. Salomea’s and that she would not be refunding my money.

I hadn’t asked for a refund.

She was clearly annoyed that I had requested a church record despite already having a civil marriage certificate number. I explained that the county couldn’t find the record.

Her response? “They should find it.” Right – shoulda – woulda – coulda!

As if that’s something I can make happen.

She then turned her attention to the birth/baptism record copies I had submitted for reissuance. Because mine were in English and the parish books were in Latin, she couldn’t issue a new version.

I told her Latin was fine.

Next excuse: the form she uses doesn’t include the word “birth,” and my copy did. She couldn’t reissue it for that reason, either.

I simply said, “That’s okay. I’ll explain that policies have changed over time.”

She grumbled something about being unsure when she’d get around to it. I told her to mail it. We were already heading home.

Tally So Far?

Two days. Fourteen stops. Five records. Not great.

Part 3: The Gary Gauntlet and the Bureaucratic Brick Wall

Gary, Lake County, Indiana Index to Death Records, 1908-1920, Joseph Koss, digital database; Ancestry.com: accessed 30 July 2025, image 10 of 14.

This is a continuing series on my genealogical adventures in obtaining family records for a dual citizenship application. You can read my previous blogs here and here.

By early afternoon, I decided to head straight for Crown Point, the county seat of Lake County, Indiana. According to the website, the building that housed marriage and divorce records was located directly across the street from the one with birth and death records. Efficient, right? I actually thought to myself, “Wow, Lake County has it together!”

Think again, Lori.

Crown Point Confusion

Our GPS led us to… a juvenile detention facility. No address numbers anywhere. Hoping for better luck, we crossed the street to a large, official-looking government building and went inside.

That’s where I was able to obtain one record: a marriage certificate. After six hours of effort, that felt like winning the lottery. The staff promised to research the divorce record and contact me if, yes if, they found it.

Next stop: the County Health Department, which, according to an officer, was “the white building next to the juvenile facility.” Turns out the reason we hadn’t seen it was because it was set so far back off the road it might as well have been hiding.

My husband noted, “Hey, we got the first free parking space right in front of the door. That’s a good sign!”

Narrator: It was not a good sign.

Enter: The Wall of Gary

The moment we walked in, we were greeted by multiple signs declaring that the health department did not have records for Gary.

Wait, what? This is the Lake County Health Department, and they don’t have records from one of the cities in the county?

I double-checked the website later, no mention of this. I asked the clerk at the window where I could get Gary records. She looked at me like I had just uttered profanity in Latin. “At Gary’s Health Department,” she snapped.

“And where is that?” I asked.

Without a word, she pointed to a sign with an address on it, turned, and walked away.

Wow.

The Ethnic Club and the Mystery Man

My original plan had been to stop at two more locations that day, a local ethnic organization where my family had once been active, and the Diocese to pick up church records. But it was nearly closing time, and now I had three stops to make, clearly, that wasn’t happening.

We decided to do as much as we could, spend the night and continue the next day.

We started with the ethnic club, since it was close by. A car was parked out front, but the building doors were locked. I had tried to reach out to them previously with no success. No website. No returned Facebook messages. At this point, I figured I’d just mail them a query and hope for the best.

As we were pulling away, a man opened the front door. I jumped out. He wasn’t affiliated with the group but rented office space there. Still, he was helpful, gave me two phone numbers and admitted that the organization wasn’t exactly known for its communication skills. No kidding.

He also offered advice on dual citizenship. Turns out, he was trying to apply, too but his info was wrong. He’d tried to get his birth certificate through VitalChek. I’ve used them before. They happily took my money and never delivered a record. (Pro tip: if you use them, pay with a credit card that’ll support you when you dispute the charge.)

This man told me he had made 37 phone calls to try to track down his birth certificate because, brace yourself, Gary wouldn’t give it to him.

Why not?

“You’ll figure it out,” he said.

Oh boy. I could hardly wait.

A Warm Welcome in Gary

Next stop: the Diocese. They informed me the church records I needed had been transferred to another parish. I called. They had just closed, literally two minutes earlier.

So we decided to head straight to downtown Gary to try and retrieve the birth and death records I needed.

When we arrived, a shirtless man was being confronted by a police officer on the sidewalk. And in my head? Back Home Again in Indiana was playing. You can’t make this stuff up.

We parked quickly and headed inside the same building I had visited as a child to get my birth certificate before starting school. The elderly security guard greeted us warmly and directed us upstairs.

The First Hint of Hope

There were two employees at the counter, and one immediately asked what we needed. Miraculously, we received two birth certificates almost right away. After seven hours of driving, detours, and dead ends I finally had three documents in hand.

Then things went south. Fast.

The Death Certificate Debacle

I asked for three death certificates, dated 1919, 1966, and 1970. (See pic above) The woman behind the counter asked for the deceased individuals’ birth certificates.

I calmly explained: they were born in the 1800s, outside the U.S., and their countries didn’t issue birth certificates at that time.

Her response? “No birth certificate, no record.”

That is not Indiana law. That is a clerk making up her own rules and digging in.

I showed her original death records issued by that very office. She didn’t care. She asked for death certificates of their children which I provided. I also gave her birth and baptism records for one child.

Still no.

I tried to show her obituaries naming the parents and just for fun, me. Nope. She wasn’t having it.

Then she turned and walked away, loudly repeating, “Birth certificate, birth certificate, birth certificate” as if chanting it would magically make them appear.

We left empty-handed.

At this point, we checked into a hotel in nearby Porter County because I had one more shot at records the next day.

Spoiler: Things get weird. Again.

Dual Citizenship Part 2: Chicago Chaos

Cook County, Illinois Marriage Indexes, 1912-1942, Koss, Mary, digital image; Ancestry.com: accessed 30 July 2025, image 145 of 304.

After all the issues I’d already encountered (you can read about here), I foolishly believed things could only get better. So off to Chicago I went.

Stop 1: Cook County Clerk’s Office

I started at the County Clerk’s office, bracing myself, several colleagues had warned me about unhelpful staff. To my surprise, the clerk I got was wonderfully professional. One small mercy. Unfortunately, I didn’t walk away with any of the three records I was hoping for.

I had a certificate number for my grandparents’ marriage record, but it wasn’t in the system. You can see it exists from the picture above. I was also looking for a birth certificate that was possibly never filed; after all, I had a church-issued “Birth and Baptism” certificate. Back then, churches often issued those in lieu of civil records, and that document had even been used by a family member to enroll in Social Security. Still, no luck.

I was also searching for a death certificate I’d requested by mail on 31 March, four months prior to my visit, with no response. After about an hour of searching, the clerk informed me that a specialist would need to take over the research and contact me once they found something.

Correction: if they find something.

Stop 2: The Elusive Archives

Tip for Cook County researchers:

Ask security where to scan your parking garage ticket to get a discount.
When you first arrive, skip the main office, go down the first hallway with a large sign and a barcode. Scan it to get an electronic number. My wait? Only 25 minutes.

While I waited for a maybe, I moved on to Plan B: the Archdiocese of Chicago.

From there, I drove several blocks to the address listed on the Archdiocese’s website. Found a garage, $27 for 15 minutes (ouch), and entered the building.

Inside, I was informed (drumroll…) the archives are no longer located there. They knew the website was wrong. No apology, no signage, no indication they planned to correct it. Clearly, they don’t want people to use the archives.

The receptionist suggested I call the real archives before heading over I suppose they don’t like visitors. I did and was told to mail my request instead of dropping it off. I explained I was already in town for one day and just wanted to drop off the application to ensure my information was correct.

Back to the car. $27 parking bill for 15 minutes. No discount from the diocese, either. So much for grace.

Stop 3: A Parking Lot Blessing?

I spotted another lot across from what I hoped was the correct archives this time only $11 for 15 minutes. Progress! As I crossed the street, I realized the building was none other than Old St. Pat’s, where my husband’s great-great-grandmother, Mary “Molly” O’Brien Cook, had secretly brought her sons to be baptized. (Read my blog about dear Molly)

That felt like a good sign. (Also made for a great photo op.)

Inside, however, I was told the archivist wasn’t available, was going on a two-week vacation, and I shouldn’t check back until late August. The secretary reviewed my paperwork, made a few copies, took my check, and that was that.

The wrinkle? I wasn’t 100% sure which church my grandparents had married in, either St. Salomea, which is now closed, or St. Benedict’s, the family’s parish at the time of my great grandparents’ last child’s birth. Here’s a fun fact: if you don’t know the exact church, the Archdiocese will not help you. No guessing allowed.

I gambled on St. Salomea and asked how to access St. Benedict’s records. “They’re still open,” the secretary told me, handing me their address. I asked if she’d mind calling ahead to make sure someone would be there. She wouldn’t. Just handed me the address and not even a good-bye. Wouldn’t give me the phone number, either.

So, onward to Blue Island.

Stop 4: St. Benedict’s—Sort Of

About 30 minutes later, I arrived to find the church closed and the office now located somewhere else entirely. Apparently, the Archdiocese archives hadn’t gotten the memo.

My GPS couldn’t find the new location, so we tried another app and eventually found the building, locked. After ringing the bell twice, a woman finally came to the door. Without opening it, she told us everyone was in a meeting and to come back later.

I explained that I’d been sent by the Archdiocese and simply wanted to leave a message. After a pause, she let us in and asked for the couple’s names and marriage date. I handed her a copy of the Cook County index listing with the certificate number.

She disappeared into a back room, reemerged a few minutes later, and informed me: “No one by that name was married on that date.”

Sigh. The saga continues next week…

Need Records from NARA? Try This Game-Changer

I’ve got a tip for you—one that might just change the way you think about accessing records from the National Archives in Washington, D.C.

At the recent National Genealogical Society conference in Louisville, I was chatting with a colleague who casually mentioned that she’d received records from NARA in under two weeks.

Naturally, I scoffed.

If you’ve ever dealt with government agencies for records, you know the drill: months of waiting, sometimes even a year, and often a black hole of silence. So yeah, I was skeptical.

But she had my attention. I asked who handled her lookup.

Her answer? Gopher.

Intrigued, I made a beeline for their exhibit table. After a quick conversation, I decided to give their service a try.

The moment I got home (okay, right after tossing my laundry in the wash), I created an account on Gopher. I filled out their request form—it was easy, no fuss—and asked for several records I’d wanted for years.

About eight years ago, I visited NARA in person and retrieved Civil War service and Postmaster records for two ancestors. I had a whole list of others I wanted to search, but I only had one day—and it happened to be a busy one. I never got back. Life happened.

But with record access tightening and uncertainty growing, I decided it was time to stop waiting for “someday.”

I submitted my order through Gopher. Eight days later, the digitized records landed in my inbox.

Yes, seriously—eight days.

And they weren’t just quick. They were immaculate. Much better than the old blue photocopies I brought home from NARA years ago. These were clean, clear, and looked authentic. They had digitized 754 pages for my five ancestors!!!!

What really impressed me, though, was their honesty.

Gopher emailed to let me know that some of the records I requested were already available on Fold3. But—get this—they’d noticed the images were glitchy and took it upon themselves to contact Fold3 to report the issue. Who does that?

Oh, and they didn’t charge me for those records either. Double wow.

Now, I know what you’re thinking—this must’ve been expensive. But let me tell you: it was far more affordable than traveling to D.C. myself. No airfare, no hotel, no meals. Just quality records, delivered quickly, without the hassle.

So if you’ve been putting off a NARA request, don’t wait. Get those records while you still can—and consider letting Gopher do the legwork.

Research Tips and Tricks Part 2

Last week I blogged about how I make connections. No matter where in the world you are researching, you need connections to help you find information that is not readily available.

My recent trip to France and Germany really drove home the point for me that NOT EVERYTHING IS ONLINE!

Today, we’ll be finding out how you can find out what is not online.

If you’ve made connections in the locale where you are researching then all you have to do is contact the person and ask.

I’m serious, it’s that simple.

If you have a well sourced public tree, write about your ancestor and stay abreast of tech you will make family connections. Contacting DNA matches is also helpful. You will also want to make professional connections of people that may or may not be related to you, too.

Academia.edu has been a good way to connect with historians that have insight into a place I don’t have expertise in. Last week, I mentioned APG and LinkedIn.

Why you need to connect with all of these folks is because there is no one all knowing human who can answer your question, “Where is the land records for someone who lived in Ulmet in the Pfalz in 1701?”

As Judy Russell often says the answer is, “It depends” and the Palatinate is one of those places that it truly does.

Records are sometimes found in the likely places:

The Mayors Office in Mietsheim and Uttenhoffen, France for birth and marriage
A Kusel archive for military records

But sometimes they are found in places you would never know to look for them:

A 6th cousin’s personal photo collection
In the home of a descendant of the first mayor after the 30 year war ended in a small German village
A tour guide
A small local museum with no website
The mid 1600s home of an archivist for a small village and a religious denomination

I’m not trying to be coy by excluding specifics of where I found records; I’m trying to explain that records are not always digitized and widely available.

I tried to impress upon the need for people holding private records to digitize their holdings but many were afraid that a larger archive would swoop in and demand their collection. You might think that would be a good thing but the problem is that many archives are making it extremely difficult for folks to access their holdings. From Sweden to Croatia I’ve heard – “all our records are available online at FamilySearch.” No, they aren’t.

FamilySearch has yet to get back with me on when those Croatian State Archive records will be available. I re-emailed a contact who requested I do so after a face to face meeting in Boston in September and I’ve yet to get a response. Since the records aren’t available online, I had to do boots on the ground last year to get them.

Sweden insists all are on Arkivdigital, yet the company I hired, Minnesota Swede, was able to find church records that were not available on Arkivdigital. These were in history books held at the local church that contained information about the ancestor we were researching. A renter in a home built by one of the ancestors had done extensive research on who had once lived in the home he summered in and provided us with a wealth of knowledge we would not have found on Arkivdigital.

I was sent back and forth from a library to an archive in Stratford-on-Avon, England in my search for records on my Arden ancestor. Someone has something but what it is I never discovered. If I had made a contact before arriving I would bet that I would have found the answer.

Without the help of two genealogists in Germany I would never have been able to find the following:

My Leininger ancestors had a castle but were not nobles. The name was originally spelled Leiningen. The males were not looked on favorably by the neighbors who stormed the castle. The second castle storming ended well because of Eva Leiningen who invited the unhappy folks inside and fed them (does sound like something my grandmothers would have done). Although the museum was closed, actually the whole village closes between noon and 2 daily, my contact had gotten the info when they were open.
The Leiningens were associates of the Frankensteins of Mary Shelley fame. The Frankenstein at the time Shelley wrote was an alchemist.
In France, Leininger is spelled Linange. So, another hint to look for other records thanks to the Mayor’s Clerk sharing this tidbit with me.
1701 land records, wills, 1823-1829 school records, and photos that are kept in a home in a wooden “filing” cabinet made in 1699 by the men of a village who wrote in their town charter that a man from eight different families will always be assigned to go to the descendent of the first mayor’s home to retrieve a drawer (2 men per drawer) to safety if needed. Today, that could be a climate change threat as they do have flooding in the area but when the edict was made it was in case the 30 year war came back.
A local man who leads tours to South America who happened to know that I was related to a group who settled there in the early 1800s. Those were two lines I had never researched because I couldn’t find records. South America would not have been a place I would have thought that two single sisters would have emigrated to during that time period.
The archivist provided a behind the scene tour of his community and shared with me church records beginning in 1538 that contained a scam then going around hitting churches. Who knew?!
A local genealogist was conducting oral histories on the oldest village residents and upon visiting noticed pictures on the wall that looked vaguely familiar. When he asked he was informed they were from a family reunion held in northeast Indiana. The genealogist knew I was from that area and mentioned my name. This led me to having lunch with a 6th cousin who had even more pictures to share with me.
By my online connections and attending various conferences, I met a professional genealogist from the region who knew I was coming for a visit. We arranged to meet for dinner as he just happened to be staying close to where I was to attend a genealogy conference. During dinner I met with other attendees and discovered that we are related. One connection leads to another!

When you travel, make sure you have a list of your ancestors who were from the location, along with the dates that they lived there. This will help you readily share info with those you meet. Keep your tree online so that you can pull it up from anywhere, anytime. This helps in looking for a shared ancestor and then identifying how you are related to your new acquaintance. Putting genealogists heads together is a wonderful way to find those records you didn’t even know existed.

A Little German Synchronicity

I’m back from my travels to France and Germany where I spent a week researching my husband and my ancestry in the Alsace-Lorraine region. I’m going to conclude my October series on synchronicity with another weird encounter that happened to me in a castle.

A little back story is needed to fully appreciate this odd encounter…

I’ve always known I was part German. My maiden name was Leininger so it was a no brainer figuring the ethnicity out. However, names alone don’t tell the whole story and the region from where my German ancestors once lived was fraught with turmoil for generations. I recently learned that some of it was from within the community – noble vs. peasants, but it also occurred with outsiders invading, such as during the 30 year war and Napoleon.

My paternal side never spoke about their heritage. Perhaps because it was too painful to recall or because they just weren’t great communicators. When my first child was born I asked my dad for genealogical info to put in the baby book and got the response, “When I’m dead, you’ll get the book.” My response, “Book, what book? Why do I have to wait ‘til your dead?”

He then informed me that he had two books that had been written by a family member about the Leiningers, which were also once known as Leiningen, and didn’t want to give me the books as he still referred to them occasionally. Like I wrote earlier, not great communicators!

Unfortunately, I didn’t get the books when he died as my stepmother refused to give them to me. I offered to pay for her time packing them and shipping but she said she didn’t have the time to do it. I turned to the internet and did receive an electronic copy of the first book from the author who was stationed in Germany at the time. Five years after my father’s death, when I stopped at my stepmother’s home after burying my mother, she produced the books and several photo albums.

The genealogies were not sourced and had a lot of errors. In fact, the second book was basically a fix it for the first as so many relatives had written to correct the wrong info. I used the book to do a surname study through “My Main Tree” on Ancestry.com as there were several lines mentioned that didn’t connect. This was before DNA.

I was not in contact with any close family members as it wasn’t a family that maintained ties. I don’t read or write German and with work, family, and other commitments, put the German research aside. Someday, I thought, I’d go back to it.

Someday became a year ago in June when I made a post on Whova, a conference app, asking if anyone had any info about the following surnames: Bollenbacher, Harbaugh, Kable, Kettering, Kuhn, Leininger, Mahler. One man from Germany responded and I’ve blogged about his help previously here and here.

Gerhard was the first family member I ever met on any of those surnames outside of my dad, grandfather, two aunts and three first cousins who were Leiningers. There are pictures of me with a great aunt but I don’t recall much as I was just 3 when the visit occurred.

Gerhard introduced me to two other conference attendees that were Kettingers. None of us were close (7^th cousins). While doing research last spring in Germany, Gerhard happened to meet a 96 year old woman named Irma who was providing Gerhard with an oral history of her town, Bedesbach. Gerhard noticed a photo on the wall in her living room and inquired about it. She told Gerhard it was taken in the 1980s when she had attended a Bollenbacher family reunion in northeastern Indiana. Gerhard told her about me as he had looked at my tree and knew I was descended from the Bollenbachers. She asked him to get in touch with me and check on people she had visited in Indiana. I blogged about that meeting here.

Something told me it was time to visit the Palatinate and see what I could find about my ancestors’ lives there. With Gerhard’s help after reviewing the little info I had found about them, my husband and I traveled to Frankfurt and then by car to the region of interest.

Within an hour and a half of landing, I was taken to what had once been a castle of a noble Leiningen. That’s me at the top and I do have a story to share but am saving that for another time. Rita, a friend of Gerhard’s what was accompanying us, told me that the next castle from the Leiningens were the Frankensteins, of Mary Shelley fame. One of them had been an alchemist. Perfect family info to learn on a fall October day!

Gerhard had a surprise for me every day and I’ll be blogging about the hints and tricks that I learned in researching this area beginning next week.

The creepy part of the story, however, occurred on a Saturday night. Gerhard took us to a castle that supposedly was not associated with my family. We were going to have dinner with a group of attendees at a genealogical conference that was being held there that weekend. Another genealogist that I have worked with, Roland Geiger, was putting the conference on and thought it would be a good idea if we stopped by.

Remember, I don’t read, speak or UNDERSTAND much German but I wanted to see Roland so I was game. There were six chairs at each table in the dining room. Gerhard, Rita, my husband, Roland, and I took five of the seats. An attendee decided to join us. We had a nice dinner and then moved up to the bar area where more mingling was to occur. The tables there only sat four so Gerhard, Rita, my husband and I filled up a table. The woman that had joined us at dinner had some questions for me about genealogy practices so we pulled up another chair. On her iPad she brought up her Wiki Tree. I told her I don’t use that because my tree is too large to upload to them and I don’t have time to do it piecemeal. She explained that she prefers Wiki Tree to other companies because of the sources that are found on the trees. I can’t disagree with her but I wanted to show her how well sourced my Ancestry.com tree was. She brought it up on her iPad. I showed her my dad and grandfather’s info, then decided to show her the pedigree view. That’s when it got creepy.

Alesandra-Brigitte became very quiet and just stared at the tree. I encouraged her to click on any of the names to see the details. She blinked, looked at me seriously and said, “I’m a Bollenbacher, too.”

In seconds, we discovered we are 6^th cousins. I told her I would be meeting another 6^th cousin who was 96 the next day for lunch. She had no knowledge of the other woman who lived close to her.

So, by just dropping by for dinner at a castle in the middle of nowhere I connected with a distant family member who I was able to help connect with another family member that lived close to her. Simply amazing!

I only regret that I didn’t have more time to talk to other attendees as I suspect I was related to most of them.

Genealogy is both weird and wonderful! On this Halloween, I hope the spirits enable you to make some meaningful family connections.

The Great Chicago Fire

While touring the Chicago History Museum it suddenly occurred to me that my husband had two sets of several time great grandparents that had experienced the Great Chicago Fire of 1871. Adding historical perspective to your family narrative is important and I completely missed this event!

What I learned was that over 100,000 people became homeless. Using old tents left from the Civil War, they were set up along the Lake Michigan waterfront while new homes were being built.

I also had completely missed the fact that there were many aid organizations from around the world that sent funds to help the displaced. I was interested in finding a list of organizations and if they had any records of who they had helped.

It seems in my husband’s family’s case, the families relocated on their own.

I always knew that Drusilla Williams DeWolf Thompson went back and forth between her birth location of Lansingburg, Troy, New York and Chicago. After marrying her first husband in 1850 Calvin DeWolf (not to be confused with the famous lawyer of the same name at the same time in the same place) the couple left for Chicago. I have not found where Calvin was buried but while in Chicago, I was able to discover where early residents of Rock Island were interred. I’m hoping those clues will lead me to his burial site.

Dru remarried widower Thomas Coke Thompson in Chicago in 1857 and the couple had three children. Well, four if you are looking at the 1880 US census which lists child Nellie, born in 1869. Nellie does not appear with the family in 1870; instead, she is living in a household in Rock Island with a different family. I suspect that Dru knew the family from her time living in Rock Island with her first husband and took over as Nellie’s guardian for a time. I haven’t found adoption paperwork or what became of Nellie.

So, where was Dru when the fire roared through town in October 1871? Likely, Chicago as she was found there in the 1870 census. Interestingly, she was next discovered back in Lansingham in 1875 in the New York State census. Dru evidently went back to her birthplace once she lost her home in Chicago.

I blogged a few weeks ago about Mary O’Brien and her husband, John Cook. Both of those individuals were in the Chicagoland area when the fire broke out. The problem is they are not found in the 1870 US census. By 1880 they were found again in Chicago. Were they one of the displaced? Until I discover their address in 1871 I won’t know that. Since there are so many John and Mary Cooks in the area during this time this will take a bit of work. I’m saving this one for next winter.

My Swedish Dilemma #1

When my husband and I went to Sweden in April we visited the family home and church for ancestors who were on both his maternal and paternal sides.

Kris and Mangus, of MinnesotaSwede.com, mentioned they were intrigued by how early Samuel August Samuelson and his parents had emigrated to the US and settled in Chicago – 1851! I never thought much about that date but knew from a mug book account that the family only remained in Chicago for one year and then relocated to Porter County, Indiana.

I discovered in Sweden the reason they first went to Chicago. Sam’s older half-brother, Carl Gustaf Johnson, had left Sweden for Chicago in 1849. Why? Samuel Eriksson was a tenant farmer who had married Anna Elisabet “Lisa” Torstensdotter after she had birthed Carl. The family stayed together working for an estate for years but in 1849 the estate let the family go as it appears that the property was sold and the new owners had their own tenants that they wanted to hire.

Samuel, Lisa, and their four surviving children moved to work at a smaller estate as tenant farmers. Perhaps there wasn’t room for Carl or he decided to set off on an adventure in America. According to Kris and Mangus, this wasn’t the time that most Swedes left the country. Only those who believed there was nothing left for them in Sweden took the long and dangerous route to North America. This was the era of sailing ships.

By 1850, Samuel had to move on to another tenancy. From visiting it became apparent that the family was on a downward slide. Each home was smaller, the land surrounding it was tiny, and the estate where they worked was not as prosperous as the former ones. It is no surprise that the family decided in 1851 to join Carl in Chicago.

But where in Chicago? Carl does not appear in the 1850 federal census. Samuel and family arrived after the census. I searched city directories for the time period but they are not found. I stopped at the Swedish Museum hoping their archive might hold some clues. Unfortunately the archivist was not in so I had to follow up with an email. Got a response that she was busy with setting up a new exhibit and would get back to me when she had time.

I then asked at the Chicago History Museum if they knew of Swedish churches in Chicago during that time period. There weren’t any as there were too few to form a congregation.

So, this mystery remains – where did they live and what did they do for the short window when they lived in Chicago?

What I did finally understand was why Samuel’s son, Samuel August Samuelson, volunteered as a Union Soldier and became a lifelong Republican (not to be confused with the current party’s belief systems). Samuel had experienced life as a child of a tenant farmer. He likely empathized with the enslaved which resulted in his joining the Civil War. I would never have figured this out unless I had stood in his former homes and saw for myself what the family had experienced.

Next week, I’ll write about another Swedish mystery that I’m still working on.

A Little Spooky in Sweden

Bo Beckman and Jim Samuelson in Sjöhester, Sweden

Try as I might to have a simple vacation the universe seems to plan weird and wonderful for me!

I’ve blogged before about the odd happenings when I go boots on the ground and my recent Swedish heritage trip to explore my husband’s roots was no different.

Our tour guides, Kris and Mangus, had stopped at one of my husband’s ancestral churches in Sjöhester which was supposed to be open but unfortunately was not. Husband and I were fine with the missed stop as we are used to being flexible when traveling. The guides, however, were disappointed.

Since there was no contact info for the church we went onward to the next stop. As Mangus drove up to the property, Kris excitedly remarked that there was a car in the driveway.

Now for my U.S. readers, I know this is shocking to you but in Sweden no one shoots you when you knock on their door or turn around in their driveway. Instead, they invite you inside. Yes, I realize they are letting perfect strangers into their homes but they are fine with that. We can all learn a lesson here!

We could see two large dogs, a lab and German shepherd, through the window but there was a lag between the knock and someone coming to the door so we didn’t expect the door to open. Open it did and Bo, seen above, appeared. Kris explained why we were at his property, explaining that Jim’s ancestors, Amund Jonsson (1655-1741) and Anna Nilsdotter (1672-1743) lived and raised their family there. This was two generations back from where I had ended my research so I knew nothing about this couple and their children.

Unbelievably, Bo knew all about them. For forty years he rented the cottage as a summer residence. Interested to know about former residents he had painstakingly researched them. He had even written a biography that was on his website.

He kindly invited us in and we sat around his kitchen table as Kris translated the family story. But of course, that’s not all…

Bo asked if we had visited the family church. Kris mentioned that it had been locked. Bo just happened to have the key. We agreed to meet him at the church the following day at 3 for a tour.

That’s not all – Bo mentioned he was glad we came when we did as he had just returned two days before for the summer. Originally, we had scheduled our trip for two weeks earlier but had to change due to my lecture schedule. If we hadn’t, we would have missed him, the opportunity to see the inside of the home, and probably the church, too.

Bo wasn’t the only individual to allow us to photograph their homes. Earlier that day in Sonarp, the birthplace of Maja Olofsdotter (1736-1826) the family invited us in the see their lovely home. The current owner remarked that the dining room always feels happy and I agreed. It was a beautiful bucolic setting; the family has farmed the land for five generations since they first rented in 1900. Sadly, the farmer’s father had been buried just two days prior to our visit with services held in the church where Maja had been baptized and likely married. The couple shared an old photo of what the farm had looked like back in the day – not much different from the present.

The Johannesson family of Närvehult also shared a photo of their home from 1921. Birger Ingesson (1715-1795) and Maria Borjesdotter (1722-1776) raised their family there. Birger and his son, Inge (1763-1843), were both once members of Parliament representing the region on behalf of farmers.

Current owner Stephanie of Hamburg, Germany, kindly let us photograph her spacious yard. In Kjölamälen, Inge Börjesson (1763-1843) and his wife, Margareta Eriksdotter (1765-1839), lived there with their children. It remained in the family for three generations and was the birth location of my husband’s great grandfather Anders L. G. Johannesson Johnson (1839-1906) who emigrated to the U.S.

In Hammershult, current owners stopped their yard work to allow us into the grain mill that Gudmund Svensson (1767-1814) and his wife Judith (1779-?) once operated. Their daughter, Sophia (1807-?) was born in the home on the property. We had no idea that there was a miller in the family!

Was is plain luck that all of these folks just happened to be home when we showed up unannounced or not? You decide!

I’m thinking we should add another reason to last week’s blog about why you must take a heritage tour – you meet the nicest people who are living their lives in the same place that your ancestor’s did. Celebrating birthdays, graduations, and new offsprings; mourning job losses, injuries, and deaths. It is an amazing experience to visit where your forefather’s experienced the cycle of life and if they hadn’t – you wouldn’t be here hunting their stories! Do plan a heritage trip to explore your ancestry.

Next Friday, 7:15 PM Eastern time, I, along with 6 other genealogists, will be presenting at the online only National Genealogical Society (NGS) conference. I am part of Rapid Roots: 7 Share Their Secrets in 7 Minutes. Please attend as I’ll be live for the Q&A – let’s chat!