Tag: dual citizenship

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…

Part 1: The Dream, the Deadline, and the Diocesan Detour

How the NARA records arrive via U.S. mail – both sides were cut open but thankfully, the records weren’t damaged. This was a resend (Thanks, NARA-Chicago! because the U.S. post office lost the first set.)

Have you ever stopped to wonder what happens to all the records you’ve created over your lifetime, the birth, baptism, school, marriage, employment, and so on? Truthfully, I hadn’t either. Not until last summer, when I embarked on a new family adventure: dual citizenship.

A Quick Note Before We Begin

I’m currently partnering with a new startup, citizenship.eu, which helps U.S. citizens navigate the process of applying for dual citizenship. When I shared this with my family, my adult kids immediately asked, “Wait, why aren’t we doing that?” Umm… good question. So we all jumped in, and as the keeper of the records, I became the designated gatherer.

That’s when I discovered something infuriating: even though I already had most of the records we needed, the consulate won’t accept them. All documents must be CERTIFIED. In other words, I had to go out and get them all. Again.

We made the decision on a Tuesday in late July. I emailed the consulate that night and received instructions the next morning. Efficient start, right? I immediately submitted requests for records from places too far to visit in person (Arizona and Florida), and then started prepping for the in-person trek. I affixed stickies to each document listing the archive’s name, phone number, address, and hours of operation. My plan:

  • Tuesday – Chicago
  • Wednesday – Indiana
  • Thursday – Ohio
    Two weeks, tops. I’d be done and have the documents. Right?

Ah, sweet optimism. Within days, that dream timeline was toast and by the end of the second week, I would’ve been thrilled to finish in three months. I’m still waiting for one! Why the delay?

Let’s just say I discovered firsthand that archival recordkeeping in the United States is a certified disaster.

And So It Begins…

My first unexpected hurdle? Tracking down my own church wedding record.

We were married at our university chapel, which has since closed, so I called the diocese to ask where the records had gone. They gave me the name of a parish to contact. I left a message. A few hours later, I got a call back: Wrong church. I was told to try another.

Funny twist, the new secretary and I realized we had a strange connection: our husbands had once taught at neighboring schools and knew each other. Small world. I sent off another email. No response. I called the next day and was told it went to spam. Okay… but if they knew that, why hadn’t they, you know, read it and responded?

Next email I received was that there was NO record. I was told someone else would need to look at it in a few days. Five days later, I received an email: “We found the entry, but we can’t read the handwriting, so we can’t create a new certificate.” Lucky for them, I had a scan of the original. I sent it digitally. Five days after that, a new certificate arrived in the mail except it was typed up with the wrong church.

Cue another email.

The Sacrament Shuffle

Next came one of our children’s baptismal certificates. But the other child, I was told the church refused to issue it because sacraments had been received “out of order.” Excuse me?

Turns out they had confirmation on record but not communion, so the secretary, apparently moonlighting as a canon law expert, decided she couldn’t issue the certificate. One quick email from me with the communion record attached, and that should’ve been settled. But the principle of the thing? Maddening. I later learned that many parishes separate the sacraments – one book for baptism and confirmation and a separate book for communion. I suspect that the church where the communion has occurred either didn’t send the info to the church that held the baptism record or the receiving church didn’t record it back in the day. I have now insured it’s fixed for eternity.

NARA: Fast Processing, Slow Arrival

I also contacted NARA Chicago to request emigration records. To their credit, they processed and charged my card lightning-fast. The problem? Nothing arrived. Ten days went by. I emailed them to ask if the records had been sent. My mail delivery is spotty at best, which is one reason I had planned to collect as much in person as possible. They had mailed them and resent. You can see how the postal service delivered the second set – cut open on both ends.

NARA Chicago, it turns out, doesn’t have ship manifests or census records and though those are free online, the consulate requires certified copies. That means hiring someone in D.C. to get them in person.

So far, no luck. My go-to researchers hadn’t responded probably because it’s not in their usual wheelhouse. The NARA-DC website is quirky and I was unable to request them online. I thought I might need to make the trip myself because of course I will if I have to! Stay tuned because next week as the saga continues with more twist and turns.