I attended an interesting lecture on a man named Edwin Butterworth. He died young, about 35, in a small village in Great Britain. I was not aware that the famous Baines historian hired local folks to gather information for his works. Baines was a non-conformist so he had difficulty gaining access to many of the English churches. He was a man of considerable means as he owned newspapers so he used his money to hire people to dig into the local records. One of those men was Edwin Butterworth. I absolutely love this quote he wrote in a letter to Peter Whittle, Editor of the Preston Chronicle published in 1836:
“The sons of this ‘degenerate age’ have I fear too little taste for the interesting details of Antiquarian publications. It is a well founded complaint that the majority of books now published are flimsy, slight and too imaginative. Works abounding in matters of fact useful knowledge and pure style are few. Utility is sacrificed to the rage of things for specious nothingness. This is an era of brief ostentation not of standard excellence – periods more brilliant in elaborate literature than the present have occurred in English history.”
Umm, so I guess things haven’t changed much since 1836?! If you are finding your family’s eyes glaze over when use try to tell them about your awesome genealogical find – know that you aren’t alone. Edwin felt the same way nearly 200 years ago.
I will be heading off on an adventure for the next two weeks so no blogs until I return. Happy Hunting!
While researching the dynastic connections for Volumes 3 & 4 of Echoes of Britannia, I kept having the same reaction over and over again: Wait… they were connected to where?
Britain was tying into Iberia. Then Italy. Then Hungary. Then Byzantium. Then Slavic territories far beyond anything that felt intuitively “British.”
I knew the Vikings went everywhere, that part wasn’t surprising. But what caught me off guard was just how deeply Saxons, Normans, Franks, Iberians, Italians, Hungarians, and Byzantine-linked elites were woven into Britain’s ruling families. These weren’t isolated marriages or rare diplomatic curiosities. They were part of a broad, sustained network.
Which raises the obvious question modern minds struggle with:
How did this actually work? No phones. No email. Limited literacy. Slow travel. Dozens of spoken languages.
And yet, it worked.
Genealogy, once again, forced me to rethink my assumptions.
There Was No Single Spoken Language But There Was a System!
The medieval world did not rely on one universal spoken language. What it relied on instead was a layered communication system, where different languages served different purposes.
At the center of that system was Latin.
From roughly the ninth century through the late Middle Ages, Latin functioned as the administrative glue of Europe. It was the language of:
diplomacy
treaties
royal charters
marriage contracts
ecclesiastical records
legal proceedings
If something mattered across borders, it was written in Latin.
That doesn’t mean kings and queens sat around conversing fluently in Latin over dinner. It means their administrations could communicate seamlessly even when rulers themselves spoke different vernaculars.
This is an important distinction genealogy makes visible: rulers did not need to be literate if their systems were.
2. The Clergy Were the Communication Network
In a world without technology, communication was human and the most mobile, educated humans were clergy.
Priests, monks, bishops, and notaries:
were trained in Latin
moved between courts, monasteries, and dioceses
served as scribes, translators, advisors, and diplomats
maintained correspondence across thousands of miles
A bishop in England could correspond with a monastery in Italy or a royal court near Hungary with little difficulty because they shared the same educational foundation.
This clerical network is one of the most underestimated forces in medieval connectivity. It never truly collapsed, even in times of political chaos. Genealogy doesn’t always spotlight it because clergy leave fewer descendants but their documentary footprints are everywhere.
3. Vernacular Languages Were Not the Barrier We Imagine
Another modern assumption genealogy dismantles is the idea that language differences must have made communication nearly impossible.
In reality, elite multilingualism was normal.
Consider:
Norman rulers spoke Old French, governed English speakers, and relied on Latin documentation
Scandinavian elites blended Old Norse and Old English
Iberian courts operated in early Romance languages alongside Latin and often Arabic or Hebrew
Byzantine elites used Greek internally but communicated externally through Latin-trained intermediaries
Royal and noble children were frequently raised multilingual. They were fostered in foreign courts, educated by clerics, and married into households where new languages were learned as a matter of survival.
When a British noblewoman married into Castile or Lombardy, she didn’t arrive linguistically isolated. She arrived with tutors, chaplains, ladies-in-waiting, and clerks who maintained continuity while adaptation occurred.
4. Marriage Was a Communication Technology
Genealogy makes one thing clear over and over again: marriage carried infrastructure with it.
A dynastic marriage wasn’t just a bride and groom. It was:
an entourage
translators
administrators
cultural intermediaries
Courts didn’t become multilingual accidentally. Marriage imported language, customs, and political intelligence.
This is one reason Britain’s links to Iberia, Italy, and the Slavic world feel so sudden when viewed casually but look entirely logical when traced through families. Every marriage was also a conduit.
5, Trade Routes Were Information Routes
It’s impossible to separate genealogy from geography and this is where the Vikings stop being the “exception” and start being the illustration.
Trade routes across:
the North Sea
the Baltic
the Mediterranean
major river systems like the Rhine and Danube
moved more than goods. They moved ideas, norms, stories, political knowledge, and people.
England wasn’t at the edge of Europe. It was part of a maritime and river-based world that connected Britain to Byzantium more reliably than many inland regions.
By the time dynasties intermarried, the world they were entering was already familiar.
Byzantium Only Feels Distant Because We Were Taught It Was
For modern audiences, Byzantine connections often feel the most shocking. That’s largely because our historical narratives split “East” and “West” far earlier than medieval reality did.
In the medieval mind, Byzantium was:
Christian
imperial
diplomatically engaged
genealogically relevant
Byzantine elites used Greek internally and Latin externally. They intermarried with Slavic, Hungarian, and Western ruling houses. These connections didn’t feel exotic at the time, they feel exotic now because modern history textbooks simplified them away.
So Was There a Common Language?
Functionally, yes — Latin.
Practically, it depended on context.
Administration and law: Latin Religion: Latin in the West, Greek in the East Court life: local vernaculars and French Diplomacy: Latin Daily life: regional languages
This layered system worked because everyone understood its rules.
6. Why This Matters for Echoes of Britannia
Volumes 3 & 4 of my book didn’t uncover anomalies. It uncovered how Europe functioned.
Britain was not shaped in isolation. It was shaped through:
marriage networks
clerical communication
trade routes
multilingual courts
What feels astonishing now is only astonishing because modern narratives falsely emphasize fragmentation. Medieval Europe was plural but integrated.
7. The Larger Genealogical Lesson
Technology didn’t create connectivity. People did.
Systems built on education, mobility, and shared administrative languages connected continents long before cables and satellites existed.
Genealogy reminds us of this quietly and persistently. Every marriage record, charter, and dynastic link tells the same story: the medieval world was more interconnected and more functional than we were taught to believe.
I’ll be honest, Veterans Day is not my favorite holiday. It feels inappropriate to say “Happy Veterans Day” the same way we say Happy Thanksgiving, Happy New Year, or Happy Valentine’s Day. What’s happy about it? The veteran made it through a horrible time, likely suffered PTSD, and then once a year gets a parade?
Although I am anti-war, I understand why war occurs because grown men, historically, have struggled to use their words to solve disagreements. Yet I still pause today to think about the countless past conflicts that drew ordinary, decent people into sacrifices no one should ever have to make.
This year, an article from AMAC captured that tension beautifully. “Remembering the World War I Generation This Veterans Day” reminds us that time has nearly erased the memory of those who served in the Great War, young men and women who endured unimaginable hardship, then quietly returned home to rebuild their lives.
Ironically, responses to that post weren’t about remembrance at all, but about which politician dodged which draft. That, in itself, says everything about why wars persist. We’re still fighting instead of mourning who’s lost.
Their generation is gone, but their stories are not. Some of those stories live on in the letters, journals, and memories families still hold. I was honored that my book, Thanks to the Yanks: World War I Letters from an Indiana Farm Boy to His Sweetheart, was featured in that piece. It follows one soldier’s journey from the Indiana fields to the battlefields of France and back again offering a glimpse into the humanity behind the headlines.
So today, I don’t celebrate. I remember. I think about the courage it takes not just to fight, but to return, to heal, and to live. And I’m grateful for every preserved letter and faded photograph that helps us remember those who did.
Indiana Historical Society Archives, Indianapolis. Photo by Lori Samuelson
In June I had the pleasure of taking a behind the scene archive tour at the Indiana Historical Society in Indianapolis. This was a field trip sponsored by the Society of Indiana Pioneers. It is a lovely archive with interesting and informative exhibits. Different than most archives I’ve visited, I was permitted to touch the items in their collection. That included a 2500 year old Akkadian cuneiform tablet, an original copy of Thomas Paine’s Common Sense, and one of only three Book of Enoch circa 1450-1500 written an ancient South Semitic language known to be in existence. We also saw the box in the archives that held President William Harrison’s quilt, several busts of Abe Lincoln, and loads of photos and postcards.
Do you have enslaved or enslavers in your family tree? If so, your research is needed in support of the 10 Million Names Project. The project is supported by the New England Historic Genealogical Society (American Ancestors) to create a FREE searchable online database of the estimated 10 million people of African descent who were enslaved between the 1500s-1865.
I submitted to the project an updated report I had done on one of my ancestors, Daniel Hollingshead. I’ve blogged about Daniel previously here, here, here, here, and here. I don’t want my research to be lost and I want it to be of value to others so I updated a report I wrote about Daniel and uploaded it to the project.
Here’s the link to the website. It’s simple to contribute! I saved my report as a .pdf, clicked “I’d like to upload family notes or a genealogy,” typed in my email, what the submission was regarding (info about enslaved and enslavers), typed in the title, added a brief description of what I was uploading, clicked that I agree to share, and then attached my report. Don’t forget to press Send! I received a submission number and and an email confirming the information was received.
You may have seen the recent RootsTech talk about this project. Now you can be a part of it!
I’m calling what happened a two for one. This week, I was able to resume visiting local archives. Oh, what a feeling!
I scheduled a visit with the first archive to review their holdings on a pioneer of my town who I’m writing a journal article about. After spending three hours reviewing the documents I was stymied by one that was a bibliography missing the previous page. I took a note to find the information elsewhere.
Since it’s been a long time since I visited the museum part of the archive I decided to take a look around. One of the docents saw me pondering an exhibit and we got to talking. I mentioned how I was confused by the display as I’d never seen a setup like it was (a barbershop in the same room with a post office in the back and a general store adjacent to the barbershop). He said he thought it was off, too, and said he assumed it was due to space limitations.
One thing led to another and the topic turned to a Super Fund site located in my city. He was knowledgeable as to what had occurred as he had been employed there for 10 years as a chemist. Honestly, I don’t recall many details as I was living in another part of the county when the plant closed so I hadn’t followed the story closely.
The man claimed that the company had followed all federal guidelines and explained the process that had been used to work with the lower grade phosphate; they incinerated it at a high temperature so it would form a softball size structure. He did say that when the plant first opened in the late 1940s that process hadn’t been used and some chemicals had been discharged into the ground. Over the years, he claimed, the company had corrected that problem.
The clincher to the story is that he claimed the company was shut down when a finding of arsenic was discovered when an elementary school across the street from the plant was going to install playground equipment. The company was blamed for the arsenic though they never used it.
I asked how the arsenic possibly got there and he didn’t know. Then it hit me; it was the site of a former sawmill from the late 1800s. Arsenic was used to treat wood to preserve it from insects.
I told the gentleman that I thought he should record his memories of working at the plant but he declined. My take is he was still bitter over his job loss. I decided to blog the story, keeping him anonymous at his request, because there should be a record of his insider view of what occurred.
I discovered after I got home that the missing bibliography page was housed in a book in a university’s special collections department. Two days later I arrived to find the information.
Somehow, when I went online to check holdings I did not see a button that I was now supposed to make an appointment to view the book. Luckily for me, the kind student who was tending the desk helped me so I was able to find the information. Eureka! The page contained a name of an author for a book I had at home that had reported the story I was writing about but added where she had found the information – in an unpublished, undated manuscript held at a museum that was now permanently closed. The author mentioned it was missing when she was seeking it, probably in the late 1960s. So, now I’m on the hunt for a missing manuscript.
While I was at the second archive, the student brought out a book I hadn’t asked to see and said he thought I might be interested in it. I looked through it and got some ideas for future research.
Boots on the ground enabled me to get additional information about topics I might investigate someday. That was value-added that I find well worth the trip.
Fidelia Merrick Whitcomb Photo from Henry Wells Hand. Centennial History of the Town of Nunda. Rochester, NY: Herald Press, 1908.
My local historical society is preparing for a fall cemetery tour and decided to focus on pioneering women. My city isn’t very old; it was incorporated in 1887. There are old-timers alive today who still remember some of the founders.
Women are often difficult to research as the norm was to be called by their married name. Today I’m focusing on hunting down the identity and story of Mrs. Edward Henry Becket[t], who founded our first hospital.
Sometimes clues are left behind but we don’t recognize them. In my town is an area known as Whitcomb Bayou. I never thought much of who the bayou was named after. A few weeks ago, a visitor to our museum mentioned that it was named after a woman. That intrigued me and I decided to dig further to uncover the story.
Fidelia Jane Merrick Whitcomb (1833-1888) would be considered unconventional even today. Raised in Nunda, Livingston, New York by parents Hiram and Esther Richardson Merrick who believed in educating their daughters as well as their sons, she ultimately became a teacher of elocution. She married Walter Bruce Whitcomb (1828-1898) and the couple had two children – Clara (1852) and Silas (1859). A member of the Universalist Church, Fidelia became involved at the national level where she met other women who were leaders in their own community, like Dr. Mary Safford, a Boston University professor.
Fidelia and her husband, who was a merchant in Nunda, decided to send their children to Boston for a better education. Fidelia accompanied them while Walter remained in New York. It’s likely that Fidelia called upon Mary Safford when she relocated as soon after, Fidelia applied and was accepted to the first Boston University class for female homeopathic physicians. Mary became Fidelia’s mentor.
Fidelia’s daughter Clara married a lawyer, Ernest C. Olney, in Massachusetts. The couple had no children and divorced. Olney remarried and started a family with his second wife, Hattie. Clara remained childless.
Fidelia’s son, Silas who went by the name Merrick, was accepted to Harvard and completed his degree. He married Zettie Stone Fernald and the couple had one child, Eva Fidelia Whitcomb.
Meanwhile, Fidelia returned to live with her husband in Nunda and opened a medical practice in her home.
She retained contact with her friend and mentor, Mary, who had relocated to Tarpon Springs, Florida to serve as a physician. Mary’s brother, Anson P. K. Safford, former territorial governor of Arizona, had been hired by the Butler Company to develop the company’s Florida holdings.
Fidelia soon joined Mary in what I term a travel medicine partnership. The two physicians advertised in medical journals recommending doctors send their ill patients to recuperate in balmy Florida. Fidelia would spend the winter season helping Mary and return to Nunda in the spring to serve her community during the summer months.
Fidelia died on April 1, 1888, in Tarpon Springs. Per her wishes, she was buried in the town’s cemetery, Cycadia. Her husband survived her and is buried in Nunda. Sadly, there is no gravestone for Fidelia. Her obituary in the Nunda newspaper reported that if she had been buried there, she would have had a large memorial.
My local historical society wants to have a stone erected on Fidelia’s grave but by city requirements, the permission of a descendant must be given. I traced grandchild Eva and discovered she had two children, Louise and Elizabeth, with her first husband, Reginald Worthington. Eva, like her Aunt Clara, divorced. She remarried William Cordon Walton but they had no children.
Eva’s daughter, Louise, married a Harry K. Tucker in Pennsylvania where the family had relocated but the marriage did not last. By 1940, Louise was living with her mother and step-father. The US census reports she was married but she was using her maiden name. She died in 1954; her death certificate stated she was married but her husband’s name did not appear on the form. The couple likely had no children.
Louise’s sister, Elizabeth, married a Mr. Hay[e]s about 1974 when she was 56. It is likely they had no children.
It appears that Fidelia Merrick Whitcomb has no living direct descendants. I haven’t traced her sibling’s children; it looks like there is some family alive today through those lines.
As for the headstone, it’s up to the city to decide.
Regardless of the decision, Fidelia has not been forgotten. We’ll be honoring her in October and every time I pass the bayou named for her I’ll think about her.
This spring, do some digging into your town’s past. An amazing story just might be waiting to be uncovered.
Happy New Year! I’ve been busy in the two weeks I took off for the holidays – I wrote my memoir.
Go ahead and laugh. You, too, can easily record your memories and take this off your To-Do list. A little background info first . . .
For years, every time a funny situation or a strange happening occurred I’d say, “I’m going to put that in my book someday.” I never quantified when “someday” would be. The week of December 6th I got three notices from the universe that it was time for me to get cracking on my life story.
The first happened on St. Nicholas Day which according to my family, he was Croatian. I know he wasn’t but my family culture was such that everyone who was revered was somehow Croatian. Investigating my family stories cleared up quite a few of the tales but we always celebrated his feast day by leaving out our shoes and magically, overnight, they would be filled with treats (think an apple, candy, or cookies). We’d have a pork roast for dinner which I never figured out how that was connected to St. Nick but it was delicious.
This past St. Nick Day I gave a lecture at my local library on interviewing family members. One attendee asked me what to do if he happened to be the oldest family member. I suggested he interview himself. On Thursday of that week, I was volunteering at my city’s historical society when a visitor asked me how long I had lived in the area. I replied, “Nearly 50 years.” and he said, “You’re an old-timer then.” I guess I am but I hadn’t considered the title. The following day I was doing research at a nearby town for an upcoming journal article I’m writing and I overheard the docent give some incorrect information about the surrounding area. I had lived there for almost 10 years so I experienced firsthand what she was discounting. I put in my two cents and she replied, “I guess you should be giving the tours since you’re an old-timer.” Wow, that’s twice in 24 hours. Thanks, Universe, for the reminder.
I went home and seriously considered the need to interview myself. I do have memories that are of historical value and I’d like to recall them now while I still can. Alzheimer’s runs in my family and as we’ve all learned the past two years, life is unpredictable.
The problem has always been I wasn’t sure how to start. I decided to try by speaking to my computer. I opened Microsoft Word and on the ribbon, clicked “Dictate,” then started speaking. The program types whatever you say. If you have issues typing effectively and efficiently this is a cheap way to get your thoughts down on paper. Notice I said “cheap.” Yes, there are programs you can purchase but I wanted something instantly I didn’t have to pay for.
I talked for a few minutes and then looked at what was recorded. It wasn’t bad, considering some of the information I was saying was not in English. Was it correct? No, but it was close. The bigger issue was that Word does not add punctuation. If you say “period” after your sentence it will type out the word “period.” Same with commas. Sigh.
It took me longer to go back and edit what I had just said than it would have if I had typed it in the first place. Even so, I would not have been able to start this project had I not spoken first. Staring at a blank Word document or a piece of paper was not going to move me forward. I am extremely verbal so I had to speak about what I wanted to record to begin the project.
Once I began I had no writer’s block. The memories just flowed, however, they didn’t flow in chronological order. That’s okay, too. My goal was to just let my brain download my life while I typed.
I didn’t care about spelling or grammar. If I forgot someone’s name I’d just leave a few spaces or hit the tab key and keep writing. Funny but the name would later resurface and I could go back and insert it in the space.
I didn’t write every day but I nearly did. I spent about 8 hours writing on the weekend and only 1-3 hours during the weekdays. I also decided to skip the years my children were small because I had created scrapbooks for them that recorded the good, bad, and ugly of those times. I refer to that in my book.
I have the free version of Grammarly and that helps tremendously with the spelling and punctuation. It underlines using a faint red line to highlight what needs possible correction. You just click on the underlined word and options are given to you.
Word of caution – the recalling of all of these memories does result in some odd dreams so be aware of that occurring. Nothing sinister, mind you, just a mix of your life events. For example, I dreamed about my deceased mother and a maternal aunt, along with a living cousin who was holding a beautiful baby. My aunt told me she had something important to tell me. I then woke up. I had written about the cousin’s first child the day before. Just want to warn you that your dreams may become extremely vivid while you’re writing.
Here’s what my plan now is . . . I’m going through my old photos and inserting them where appropriate in my story. Seeing the photos evoked a few more memories that I hadn’t recalled so I added a couple of paragraphs here and there. I was amazed that for the most part, my recall was fairly in chronological order. The most out-of-order time was in my college years. I don’t know why that was the case and I’d be interested to hear if you have the same result. I had completely forgotten about one of my husband’s first jobs and which summer we had gone on our first vacation. Was it between freshman and sophomore year or sophomore/junior?
Here’s another item to put on my to-do list; I discovered my photos are not in the order I want them to be so I’m creating albums. I use Google Photos and Dropbox to store them as I’m paranoid about losing the originals to a disaster. I’ve scanned them all but they were saved by when I scanned them and not by the person so I’ve got to work on that someday (when the universe tells me to haha.)
I’m almost done adding the photos and will then pull out my genealogical file on myself and look at documents. I have two from the hospital where I was born and they both have a different time of my birth. Lovely, right? My mom came up with the third time so I will never know for sure what time I arrived into the world. I’ll include both documents that wouldn’t be readily available to a descendant.
I then plan to have the story saved to a hardcover book, probably through Amazon but I’ve gotten that far to make a final determination. I’ll keep you updated when I get there and please let me know what you’ve done, Dear Reader, as I’d appreciate the input.
Two weeks ago, two visitors from New York visited my local genealogical society museum and asked me questions I couldn’t provide answers with certainty. I checked with the Coordinator and she said no one knows. I set out to solve the mysteries.
First question was how much was the train fare from New York to Florida? There was a “fast” train that left New York City’s Grand Central and arrived in Tarpon Springs, Florida in 36 hours with only one transfer. Sounds like it should be a simple look up but apparently, no information about ticket prices remains. When I couldn’t find it online I reached out to a Florida state archivist for help. He directed me to a blog by the New York Public Library. I took their advice and began searching old newspapers. I used the Library of Congress Chronicling America, Ancestry’s connection to Newspapers.com, MyHeritage.com and GenealogyBank.com.
I found “special” prices, such as a half price for a round trip from Tampa to Jacksonville during winter holidays. Other reduced fares were given for various organizations, such as Boy Scouts going to camp and church groups going to conventions. There was also marketing gimmicks; the Tampa Merchants Association in November 1913 refunded tickets for a minimum of $1.00 per mile up to 20 miles for out of town shoppers from Plant City, Lakeland and Ft. Myers who had spent at least $20.00 shopping in Tampa. The day to day prices were no where to be found, however.
Train schedules for North America are posted in paperss but with the announcement at the bottom to contact the local ticket agent for prices. Schedules are also found in online books for several years in the late 1800’s through Hathi Trust. Nowhere are the prices listed.
I then turned my search around to read newspaper articles about transportation. I discovered in 1902 that the east coast of Florida rate for travel on the [Henry] Plant Lines was 3 cents per mile while the west coast, on the Atlantic Coast Lines, was 4 cents. The editorial department hoped that a reduced fare for the west coast would occur soon. Freight, as in your baggage or as produce being sent north, rose from 30 cents a box in 1889 to 40 cents a box in 1890. The price never dropped but rose consistently over the years. More editorials bemoaned the high prices farmers had to pay and railed (pun intented) against the 33 1/3% cost increase in one season.
The cost of fare was so near and dear to the west coast community that in 1907, the St. Petersburg Times newspaper refused to endorse R. Hudson Burr, the Florida Railroad Commissioner for Governor, as he had promised six years earlier to reduce fare prices. That hadn’t happened and Burr never won.
Back in my youth, Florida had a high and low season for tourists. That meant prices rose during the high season (fall and winter) and dropped in the low season (spring and summer). Think about it, no one in their right mind would visit the high humidity bug infested state during hurricane season. With air conditioning and insect repellent, people now come all year round. I thought maybe the train fares fluctuated with the season. There did seem to be more “excursions” in the summer months, like the $3.50 from Tampa to Jacksonville in June 1903. It’s about 199 miles and at 4 cents a mile, that would cost $7.96. But Tampa is on the west coast and Jacksonville on the east. The Plant line did go to Tampa and ended at his famous Plant Hotel, now the University of Tampa. If his fare rate was used the cost would have been $5.97 for the trip.
That got me thinking that I needed to check other state fares. The Allentown, Pennsylvania Leader announced the governor had signed a bill for fares of 2 cents per mile in Pennsylvania in April 1907. Fare rates noted in the Buffalo, New York Evening News in 1906 mentioned a bill that reduced rates to 2 cents a mile in the state. I don’t know if the fare rates ended at the state border and then the next state’s rates applied. This was much more complicated than I had initially thought it would be.
It appears that originally the railroad companies set the prices which is logical, as they were trying to recoup their initial investment. It would have taken a lot more work to install lines through swampy Florida than in upstate New York. New York also had alternatives to trains. Their roads were in far better condition than the trails through the west coast of Florida that only could be manuevered by ox cart and when it hadn’t rained, which wasn’t often. Going upriver from New York City to Albany was also not a long and dangerous trip. The other alternative in Florida was taking a ship from a large port, like Tampa, Key West or New Orleans and trying to reach your destination either by foot or steamboat from there. Eventually, though, the state legislatures set prices.
Interestingly, I discovered several newspaper accounts beginning in 1900 that mentioned the special fare offers were “Open to Blacks and Whites.” This led to the next question that the visitors from New York asked – Did people of color ride in the back of the train car (ala Rosa Parks) or did they have a separate car (as in Plessy vs. Ferguson). This answer was quickly available thanks to the laws of the state. Chapter 3743 [No. 63] Sections 1-5 of Florida State Statutes 1887 made it clear “That all railroad companies doing business in this State shall sell to all respectable persons of color first-class tickets, on application, at the same rates that white persons are charged; and shall furnish and set apart for the use of persons of color who purchased such first-class tickets a car or cars in each passenger train as may be necessary to convey passengers equally as good, and provided with the same facilities for comfort, as shall or may be provided for white persons using and traveling as passengers on first-class tickets.” The law goes on to state the conductor or other train staff make sure to enforce the law and could be liable for a fine of between $25-500.00 for failing to abide by it. The staff was also to prevent whites from insulting or annoying people of color. The only exception was female “colored” nurses being able to sit in the white car if they were caring for a sick person or children.
Separate but equal, not! The train station in my town, built in 1907, had a wall that separated whites from everyone else. The white area was larger, had two restrooms, one for each gender, and a larger ticket window. The black section had less space, a smaller ticket window and only one bathroom to be shared. That certainly in not equal, however, the law didn’t state the stations had to be equal, just the train car. I was unable to find a picture of a passenger car for Blacks in Florida but a visitor this week said he had seen an actual car in Savannah, Georgia, and the car was not equal. There was little leg room and he equated it to the difference between flying first class vs. economy. I haven’t reached out yet to the Georgia State Railroad Museum but plan to.
The third question the New York visitors asked was when did the train segregation end? Although the law changed, the practices of seperate but equal did not end immediately. Although my personal experience does not relate to trains, in my youth in the mid-1970’s, the St. Petersburg city hall had two separate water fountains labeled Blacks and Whites. You could use either, however, I noticed that older Blacks continued to use the one they always had. Into the mid-1960’s there was also a very racist mural on the wall of the building that pictured minstrels. The story of how it was removed is interesting and the whereabouts of the painting remain a mystery. You can read about it here.
Analyzing the information discovered does shed light on why fares weren’t recorded. Those wealthy enough to afford to travel didn’t need to worry about the cost. Those without disposable income had to wait for a bargain or find an alternative way. I can’t prove the railroad’s lack of price transparency hurt anyone who was not wealthy but who knows for sure that all ticket agents were ethical. I suspect the fares changed if an agent did not deem someone “respectable” as per the law. Check out eBay – tickets from most lines DID NOT have a price. Dear Readers, if you have an old train receipt with a fare listed I’d appreciate you providing me a photo. Send to genealogyatheart@gmail.com. Much Appreciated!
