Fifth Avenue Apartments: 52 Ancestors Prompt “An Address with a Story”

 

Our First Home in Texas and Our Daughter’s First-Ever Home: 11530 Vance Jackson Road in San Antonio

 

In response to the prompt “An Address with a Story”, I originally planned to write about my ninth-great-grandfather’s home in New Hampshire, which is now an inn. But after reading Amy Johnson Crow’s email about the prompt, I changed my mind. She wrote, “So many stories are tied to a place. (For me, it would be my Grandma’s house.) What is a place that has special meaning for your family?” Suddenly, I started thinking about how my children won’t remember the first homes they lived in, since they were toddlers when we moved away. I decided they should know about the places that were their first-ever homes when they were born. I decided to start with my daughter, our eldest child, who was born in San Antonio, Texas.

In 1987, Bruce completed his PhD and got a post-doctoral position at the University of Texas Health Science Center in San Antonio—more succinctly known as UTHSCSA. We moved from the University of Chicago’s Married Student Housing in Hyde Park to an apartment complex in northwest San Antonio. The complex was known as Fifth Avenue, and it was an attractive collection of two- and three-story tan buildings with white trim set on rolling, wooded terrain.

Our apartment was the second story on the right. Drainage basin visible to right, big trees made the grounds attractive and homey.

Fifth Avenue was quite the change from our apartment in Chicago. We’d been living on the third floor of a brick walk-up at 56^th and Maryland Avenues in Hyde Park, a location at the very edge of the white area surrounding the University of Chicago. Crime was high—the building’s exterior wall had a white emergency phone attached to it, and all you had to do to alert the University Police Department (which was a huge force for a college police department) was to knock the receiver off the hook as you ran by if you were being pursued, which actually happened to students while we lived there. The apartment was old—probably built in the 1920s, with hardwood floors and huge windows. Roaches were a problem. Appliances were ancient.

In contrast, Fifth Avenue was a newer complex with new appliances, including in-unit washer and driers—a huge plus. Our second-floor unit had two bedrooms, one of which was in the third-floor loft area with a view down into the living room. Our cats loved to romp up and down the staircase. We loved the fireplace and the balcony, which looked out on trees and a grassy drainage basin that wandered along the edge of the complex. There were only eight apartments in the building, which kept it quiet, especially since we were at the rear of the building away from the parking lot.

Fifth Avenue Balcony similar to ours. This is a current photo. Complex now called the Henry B. 

The area felt safe and walkable, and I took advantage of that. I would walk along Wall Road, which led downhill to a neighboring complex. Huge live oaks and pecan trees lined the street. Fifth Avenue was conveniently located near a branch of the public library, so I would walk there once a week to find books. The commute to UTHSCSA wasn’t bad, and there was easy access by car to a bank, a drugstore, a supermarket and a church I sometimes attended.

Wall Road and the neighboring complex, Sutton Place. I walked here while pregnant and with the baby.

Here are some of the little stories about our nearly two years there:

When we first moved in, it rained every day for two straight weeks. The drainage area next to our building became a raging stream. My former co-workers in Chicago had talked enviously of my move to “sunny San Antonio”. I started to wonder if we needed to build an ark.

The lot across the street from Fifth Avenue was vacant, but far from empty. The house that was once there had been torn down, but stone and low walls remained, and the land was lushly covered in trees and underbrush. I found an old arbor on the property with a blooming maypop or passion flower climbing it. I had never seen passion flower before, and was delighted. There was also an amazingly fragrant wisteria in bloom there.

Fifth Avenue was the home of the players from the local minor league baseball team, the San Antonio Missions. They were the Double A affiliate of the Los Angeles Dodgers pro team. Most of the players were young and single, and spent a lot of time in the pool area when they weren’t playing ball. They were pretty nice guys—I never heard about any problems from them.

Pool area at Fifth Avenue, favorite hangout for the San Antonio Missions ball players.

There were huge pecan trees growing along the drainage basin, and I couldn’t believe that the nuts would fall and just lay there, uncollected. Pecans were an expensive luxury back in Minnesota, while here they littered the ground and were ignored. I was hugely pregnant with Amanda, but would waddle around in the drainage area with a paper grocery sack, collecting nuts. I’d shell them to eat and to cook with, and sent boxes of them to relatives as Christmas gifts. I also discovered, to my chagrin, that fresh nuts would go rancid in less than a year.  

When Amanda was born, we had the crib upstairs, along with the baby swing. I had a c-section, so shouldn’t have been running up and down the stairs, but I did anyway. When she had colic, I would walk with her in the Snugli, a front-facing baby-carrier, out to Wall Street, and around the outer parking areas of Fifth Avenue. Bruce could hear us returning—the poor little baby would still be crying. I’d put her in her carseat on the dryer as it ran—the vibration from the motor and rotating drum would put her to sleep.

Amanda in her crib in the loft bedroom at Fifth Avenue

Our cats loved Fifth Avenue, although they tried frequently to escape. We bought a harness for Schmutz so we could walk him, but he went berserk every time we put it on him and would flail and contort himself until he somehow managed to wriggle free. He was a regular Houdini. Once he made it to the bottom of the stairs from our front door, and then froze, confused about where to go. He started circling the building, pressed so tightly to the exterior wall, but still streaking faster than our legs could carry us. I think he was even more relieved than we were when we caught him partway through his second circuit around the building and dragged him inside.

The two-story apartment felt more like a house than any other apartment we lived in. It was a good place to start our lives as parents.

Sources:

Family photos.

Census Data Confirms Family Story: 52 Ancestors 2026 Prompt “What the Census Suggests”

Girl’s Disability Confirmed by Census Data

Laura “Leurana” Robertson: 1838-? (Maternal Second Cousin 3x Removed)
 

While researching the children of Aaron Fairfax Smith, my husband’s third-great-granduncle, I found an interesting note on the Findagrave entry for Aaron’s daughter Eudoxia. The entry stated she gave birth to two children, son Aaron Smith Robertson and daughter Laura or Leurana. “Laura was retarded. Her date of death has not been found,” the entry read. I was a bit startled, and not just by the out-of-date terminology for a mental disability. Did the bio writer know about Laura’s disability from other family members, or was there some sort of record to be found? I began to investigate Laura’s life.

Laura was born in 1838 to parents Alney Robertson and Eudoxia Smith Robertson. Other trees list her birth date as June 5, but I have found no birth record to confirm that date. Her brother Aaron Smith Robertson was born a year later on September 22, 1839, and her mother Eudoxia died five days later, probably from some sort of childbirth complications.

It is unclear what happened to the two babies after Eudoxia’s death. I was unable to find any obituary notice for Eudoxia, and I can’t find 1840 census records for her husband Alney. The 1840 census for Eudoxia’s father, Aaron Smith, shows he had two young children in his household, but it is unclear if they were Eudoxia’s babies or his own youngest children.

The 1850 census finds Laura and little Aaron living with their grandparents, Aaron Fairfax and Judith Stum Smith. The census taker erroneously listed them with the surname “Smith” instead of Robertson.

The 1860 census provides some shocking clarification. By then, young Aaron was out of the house; I could not find him on the census. He enlisted in the Union Army in 1861 and died the following year from typhoid before he had a chance to fight in the Civil War. But Laura was listed as a member of her uncle Presley Smith’s household. (See below.)

1860 Census for Aaron Smith family

The 1860, 1870 and 1880 census forms included questions that other censuses did not, and that is where I hit paydirt in regards to the Findagrave claim about Laura. On the 1860 census, there were boxes to check off for a range of disabilities. The categories included: “Blind; Deaf and Dumb; Idiotic; Insane; Maimed, Crippled, Bedridden or Otherwise Disabled.” The box for “Idiotic” was checked off for Laura, along with boxes in the Education area that reported she could neither read nor write.

1860 Disability Checklist for Laura

Laura also appears in her Uncle Presley’s household in 1870. That census featured a question regarding disabilities. It read, “Whether dead and dum, blind, insane or idiotic”. The census taker was required to write down the disability. He wrote “Idiot” for Laura.

1870 Census record for Presley Smith household

Laura listed as "idiot"

Laura appears on the census one more time in 1880. She is 42 years old and still living in Presley Smith’s household. Once again, the census form offers boxes to be checked if the household member has a disability, and once again, Laura is marked down as “Idiotic”.

1880 Census for Presley Smith household

I have been unable to find any additional records for Laura, and I have been unable to locate her grave. I checked all the cemeteries where other Smith and Robertson family members were buried, but could not find her. Perhaps she was buried in an unmarked grave. I could find no newspaper accounts of her death either. I will continue to look.

The census records provided me with important information about Laura that I could not have found elsewhere. In fact, they were the only records that I have found for her. The censuses confirmed that she was disabled, and also showed that her mother’s family stepped up and took care of her, probably for her entire life. Her disability must have been profound, but first her grandparents and then her uncle made sure she had a place to live. I hope she felt loved, safe and secure.

Sources:

1850 United States Census. https://www.ancestry.com/search/collections/8054/records/17408881?tid=81812584&pid=262735890530&ssrc=pt

1860 United States Census. https://www.ancestry.com/search/collections/7667/records/39548628?tid=81812584&pid=262735890530&ssrc=pt

1870 United States Census. https://www.ancestry.com/search/collections/7163/records/18749732?tid=81812584&pid=262735890530&ssrc=pt

1880 United States Census. https://www.ancestry.com/search/collections/6742/records/17797750?tid=81812584&pid=262459902845&hid=1039306957855&_phsrc=UCj3626&_phstart=default&usePUBJs=true

Almost Invisible: 52 Ancestors 2026 Prompt “A Quiet Life”

 

The Brief, Quiet Life of a Young Mother in the Early Nineteenth Century

Eudoxia Smith: 1815-1839 (Maternal First Cousin 4x Removed)

 

The abbreviated life of Eudoxia Smith Robertson was, sadly, an all too common fate for young women in the early 1800s. She led what seems to have been, from the minimal documents left behind, a quiet, simple life. She was a daughter with many siblings, married as soon as she reached adulthood, and then became a young mother, a common trajectory among her peers. She shared the fate of far too many young women in that era: motherhood ended her life. A new little baby came into the world, but Eudoxia was unable to care for and raise him, slipping into death just days after the birth.

So what do we know about Eudoxia? She was born November 12, 1815 to Aaron Fairfax Smith and Judith Stum Smith. She was the third of their eventual eleven children, so she probably grew up helping to care for her younger siblings. Her father was a farmer in Muhlenberg County, Kentucky.

She had an unusual name. Her siblings were given traditional Biblical names such as Margaret and Moses or family names like Presley and Edward Rumsey. The name Eudoxia stands out—perhaps as an infant she stood out to her parents, prompting them to choose a more exotic first name for her. The name Eudoxia is Greek in origin and means “good fame” or “good judgment”.

On September 11, 1837, she married Alney McLean Robertson. She was twenty-one and he was twenty-three. He was the son of another farmer in Muhlenberg County. I was unable to find a marriage record or a newspaper account of the wedding, and I am not sure where the newlyweds made their home. Perhaps they lived with Alney’s parents.

Eudoxia and Alney became parents nine months later. Daughter Laura Robertson was born June 5, 1838. Just a year and two months later, they had a second child, a son they named Aaron Smith Robertson in honor of Eudoxia’s father. The little boy was born September 22, 1839. Eudoxia must have suffered childbirth complications or a post-birth infection. She died five days after the birth at the age of twenty-three.

Eudoxia was buried in the McDougal Cemetery in Paradise, Kentucky. She has a beautiful headstone featuring a weeping willow and a poem that in part reads “o Sister dear”. It appears her siblings may have paid for and erected the headstone.

Image of headstone showing the weeping willow.

Her little son, Aaron, died at the same young age as his mother. He enlisted in the Union Army in 1861. He held the rank of corporal in Company I, and was assigned to Camp Caloway near Hartford, Kentucky. He contracted typhoid, and died March 11, 1862 in Nashville, Tennessee at the age of twenty-two. I have written a separate post about Eudoxia’s daughter Laura, which will follow this post. Eudoxia’s children’s burial sites are unknown—they had no loving siblings to pay for their burials.

Like so many women in our family trees, Eudoxia’s life story is one of silence. She appeared on no official records, she left no personal records, no photos, and sadly no descendants. She lived and worked in homes owned by men—first her father’s home and then her husband’s. Women in that era worked hard—their days were busy from morning until night with essential chores. But their stories remain untold. I honor these quiet, forgotten lives. Women like Eudoxia deserve our respect.

Sources:

Findagrave Entry for Eudoxia Robertson. https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/39541268/eudoxia-robertson

Harry Aird in School Photo from Over 125 Years Ago: 52 Ancestors 2026 Prompt “Favorite Photo”

 

Rare Childhood Photo of Harry

Henry “Harry” Aird: 1886-1966 (Paternal Grandfather)

 

Following my mother-in-law’s death, family members divided up the family photos and correspondence she had been saving. Our niece scanned hundreds of photos and gave us all USB drives of the scans. Among the photos was a class photo of Harry Aird and his classmates and teachers at a Dundee school. I was so excited to receive this photo—childhood photos from the 19^th century are quite rare, especially when the families were poor as the Airds were. This may be the only childhood photo we will ever see of Harry.

Henry “Harry” Aird was born September 16, 1886 in Scotland to parents James and Jane Robertson Aird. He was the fourth of their eventual seven surviving children. The family lived in the parish of Liff and Benvie just outside of Dundee, Scotland. Harry’s father was a cabinetmaker who died when Harry was only twenty-one.

There is no information on the photo to help identify the school, grade level or year the photograph was taken. Harry appears to be between the ages of seven and nine, making the possible years 1893-1895.

The photo bears a label that was probably typed by my mother-in-law, Laurel Jandy Aird. It reads,”Harry Aird, schoolboy Dundee, Scotland. 2d row from top, extreme right.”

The photography studio name is visible on the photo: D & W Prophet, with an address of 59 Wellgate in Dundee. I researched the studio, and discovered that it operated under that name from 1886 until 1914, and that the owners, David and William Prophet, specialized in school photography.

The students seem to be wearing a sort of uniform—most are in wool jackets, some with vests, with white, collared shirts beneath. They wear ties. They wear short pants and dark, knee-length stockings, and shoes that lace above the ankle. Harry is the only boy wearing a sweater over his white shirt instead of a jacket. Several of the boys’ jackets feature tears on the elbows and sleeves, and frayed cuffs. These children did not come from wealthy families.

Torn sleeve on left, and ragged cuff on right. 

There are forty boys in the photo. They appear to be around the same age, so I believe this is a single class. There are two adults in the photo—the older, bearded gentleman at the far right, top row, and the young woman in the middle of the top row. Were both the adults teachers, or did the young woman have another function at the school?

Woman with mutton-chop sleeves on her dress and a brooch on her collar. Teacher?

Harry looks worried or angry in the photo—his eyebrows are drawn into a near frown. All the boys are serious, but Harry is more than serious.

I checked Harry’s responses to the U. S. Census questions regarding schooling. He reported on the 1940 census that he had completed 2 years of high school, which indicates he left school around age sixteen. That was quite common for students in Great Britain who did not intend to attend a university. Harry was perhaps his second or third year of schooling when the photo was taken.

Following his father’s death in 1908, Harry emigrated to the United States, arriving November 13, 1910. He settled in Detroit and worked as a hardware supplies salesman. He married May Shields in 1917, and was the father of John Aird.

Harry on vacation in Canada in his forties, circa 1930

I am so grateful to have this photo of young Harry. Since I found no other information about Harry’s education, the school he attended, or details from his youth, this photo is our only window into his childhood in Scotland. He was a handsome little boy, and I hope that, despite his wrinkled brow in the photo, he enjoyed his school years.

Sources:

Aird Family Photos.

https://www.edinphoto.org.uk/PP_N/pp_prophet_family_and_business.htm

https://atom.lib.strath.ac.uk/d-w-prophet

 

 

Poverty and Pride: 52 Ancestors 2026 Prompt “What This Story Means to Me”

 

Privations of Missionary Life Helped by Charitable Gift from the East

Lorene Edith Smith:1903-1994 (Maternal Grandmother)
Cora Leachman: 1864-1943 (Maternal Great-Grandmother)
Rev. Willis Smith: 1853-1928 (Maternal Great-Grandfather)

 

As I was reading Lorene Smith’s memoirs, I ran across a story from her childhood that resonated with me. The story dealt with the Christmas season, and since we had just celebrated the Christmas holiday two weeks ago, it held extra meaning.

Lorene had been describing her parents’ difficult years homesteading and serving as missionaries in the U.S. Territory of New Mexico in the mid-1910s. They were living five miles outside the town of Melrose, and were desperately poor, trying to support themselves by raising chickens and cattle and growing vegetables and fruit trees. 

Main Street in Melrose, NM around 1908

Despite their efforts, they were barely getting by.  Lorene recalled:

“We got poorer and more destitute, and for several years before Christmas Mother would receive forms which she could have filled out to get a mission box from the Tulpahocken Missionary Society in a Presbyterian church in Philadelphia. My father was considered a home missionary so we qualified for home mission donations from the East. Each year Mother would toss these forms away saying, "We're not that bad yet," expecting the gifts to be others' castoffs. But finally in the fourth year she broke down and sent in the forms, giving the names and ages of all the family.

When we got word that the box had come by freight to the railroad station, Mother said, "We'll go for it after dark because I don't want anybody to see it and ask questions." We brought the box back in a wagon. It was a heavy wooden box, which must have been four feet high and two and a half or three feet square. It was filled with everything anyone could desire--nice bedding, blankets, towels, a silk comforter, dolls, games, books, and toys--all of fine quality. Those things lasted for many, many years. Mother and Dad and all of the children were very grateful for these gifts. I saved many of the books and games to adulthood. They built a platform for the box so that it could be used as a food cooler in a window where Mother kept her milk and cream. Later When we moved to Kentucky the box was used again for shipping.”

 

Melrose NM Train Depot where the Smiths picked up their Christmas box

I can relate to her mother’s reluctance to ask for help. I too always try to get by on my own, although I never faced such serious circumstances as the Smiths did while homesteading. I was a bit surprised, however, by the line, “’We’re not that bad yet’, expecting the gifts to be others’ castoffs.’” That goes beyond pride to a bit of disdain for poor people—Cora seemed to be trying to separate her family from other poor people. She felt she was better than charity cases, and so was too proud to accept used items. While I can be too proud to admit I need help from someone, at least I was never too proud to shop at garage sales or accept hand-me-downs from friends or family. I didn’t see myself as being too good for used things.

I laughed at the family sneaking off to the train station at night so no one would see them accepting charity. They were concerned about their position in the community, but ministers’ families can be trapped in a delicate situation. The community expects a minister’s family to set a better example, and perhaps Cora and Willis felt accepting charity may not have been the sort of example their neighbors would understand.

While the Smiths were reluctant to reach a point where they would accept charity, I loved that the family felt gratitude for the gifts, and appreciated their fine quality. Their pride did not interfere with their ability to make good use of everything they received. I loved how Lorene kept some of the items she received that Christmas well into her own adulthood. Even the container holding the gifts became a deeply appreciated and useful item for the family. Those details really touched me.

The Smiths in front of their Melrose, NM home

This story was a reminder that giving to those in need can bring great joy to both the giver and the recipient, especially during the Christmas season. Our retirement community collected gifts for local foster children this past Christmas. I hope the children enjoyed their gifts as much as the Smiths did over a century ago, and that the foster children didn’t let their pride spoil the pleasure of receiving the gifts from loving strangers.  

Sources:

Lorene Smith Jandy Memoir

Vintage postcard of Melrose Train Depot.

Mysterious Disappearance of College Freshman: 52 Ancestors 2025 Prompt “Disappeared”

 

Willis Smith Flees University of Kentucky in 1908

Willis Eugene Smith: 1888-1973 (Maternal Grand-Uncle)

On the evening of September 22, 1908, Willis Eugene Smith, a freshman at the State University of Kentucky, disappeared from his room and failed to return or contact anyone. His family was frantic, the university administration was anxious, and the police began investigating. Where had he gone? What had happened to him? The rumors and speculation grew by the week, egged on by Willis’ brother Ernest, who was convinced his brother met with foul play. Then, three months later, Willis returned as mysteriously as he had left. His own explanations were nearly as wild as the rumors had been.

Willis E. Smith was born January 22, 1888 to parents Margaret Benton Smith and Rev. Willis Smith. He was the eighth of their eleven children. He attended local schools in Owensboro, and was tutored by his older brother, Albert Elias Smith, to prepare him to attend the university.

He enrolled at the University of Kentucky in Lexington—then referred to as Kentucky State University—in the fall of 1908. The following news item describes his going-away-party in Owensboro, emphasizing the respect the community had for college educations and for young Willis. He was twenty years old.

It appears that many university students lived in private accommodations in Lexington rather than in school-built dormitories. Willis’ older brother Ernest, then thirty, was a sophomore at the university, and was boarding in a house owned by a Mrs. Beauchamp. Willis became another of her boarders. She was the president of the local chapter of the Women’s Christian Termperence Union, so ran a respectable establishment.

According to Ernest, Willis seemed to be enjoying his first weeks of college. Ernest saw no sign that he was upset or struggling the evening he disappeared. He said that Willis “had been talking about a freshman caucus that night…[and left] ‘to have some fun’.” Ernest noted that Willis was wearing older clothes and shoes, and that he left his watch and chain on the table with his books “as if he were afraid he would get them lost or broken.” Ernest noted that Willis took nothing else with him—only pocket change at the most. Willis had $50 of savings—a sizable sum in 1908-- that he had left in Ernest’s care. Ernest felt that if Willis had intended to run off, he would have made sure to take that money with him.

Willis never returned to Mrs. Beauchamp’s. An increasingly concerned Ernest contacted his Kentucky siblings to see if Willis was at any of their homes. He contacted university officials, and he reported Willis’ disappearance to the Lexington police. The case was covered thoroughly in the press. Despite the publicity, no one came forward to say they had seen or spoken to Willis. Willis didn’t reach out to family members. There were no reports of vagrants or bodies or injured men in surrounding areas. Where had Willis gone?

On September 29, the eldest Smith brother, Frampton, arrived in Lexington. He and Ernest spent a considerable time talking to the police detectives to no avail. The next week, Ernest told the press that his father was “a highly educated man, and it has been the greatest ambition of all of his sons to secure an education…” He also said that Willis was “much pleased with college life and his prospects, …and expressed no dissatisfaction with any feature of his surroundings.” Landlady Beauchamp gave “the strongest testimony of the boy’s good habits [and] high character…” It seems as if the family feared the university and police would try to blame Willis’ disappearance on his inability to succeed at college or his falling victim to drugs or alcohol.

Willis’ father, Rev. Willis Smith, was contacted in New Mexico, where he was homesteading and founding churches with his second wife and Willis’ younger siblings. He was as puzzled and worried as his other sons.

By October, the interest in the mystery was at a fever pitch. The Louisville Courier-Journal even published a picture of Rev. Smith and family at their New Mexico homestead, noting that they were “grief-stricken…and unable to offer any solution…” 

Another article called on the Kentucky Governor to offer a reward for information. Apparently, there were rumors that Willis had fallen afoul of upperclassmen who were hazing freshmen, and that he had been accidently killed, which whipped up anti-student sentiment in Lexington. University officials were growing increasingly nervous.

Hope was stirred in November 1908 when the sheriff in Russellville, Kentucky reported that a young man had come to their community who matched Willis’ general description. The man told the sheriff his name was “Harry Smith”, and that he had left the university some weeks before. Ernest was dubious that the man was Willis, and he was correct. Five days later, the Smith family hired a Pinkerton detective to look into Willis’ disappearance. The news article stated, “The members of the Smith family are convinced that the mystery has been by no means thoroughly investigated by either the state college officials or the grand jury…”

By December, Ernest was frustrated and despairing. He told the press, “I am settled in the opinion that my brother was killed---accidentally killed…Although I have been forced to abandon hope of again seeing him alive, I entertain the hope of finding his body. There has not a day passed that I have not done something in the search…I regret anything which couples the name of the University with this distressing affair. I have always contended that if the theory that fellow students had accidentally killed Willis were proved, no stigma should reflect on the institution. If students did it, only a few, acting entirely independently of the mass, and seeking fun instead of hurt to him, were involved.”

Ernest also told the reporter that his father thought Willis might have enlisted in the Army, but Army records were checked and he was not found.

The Smith family probably spent a miserable Christmas mourning Willis, but just days later he suddenly appeared at his sister’s house in Lexington telling a wild tale. He claimed he was attacked by four men who chloroformed him and took him by freight car to northern Wisconsin where he was held captive in a cave. His captors hoped for a reward for his return. He claimed to have escaped and returned home as soon as he could.

This story was met with immediate ridicule. Observers noted that he was very sun-tanned—hardly the complexion of a man who spent 3 months in a cave. In addition, his hands were calloused from heavy labor, despite his claims that his captors didn’t make him do any work.

When Ernest was able to finally speak with Willis in person, he forced Willis to confess the truth: that he had fled the university, traveling on freight cars to northern Wisconsin where he obtained work in a logging camp. After a couple months there, he went south to Bloomington, Illinois and worked in a restaurant. “Time and again…he endeavored to write home, but he never could get up the courage.”

Why did Willis run away? His excuse also sounds like a total fabrication. He claimed that a fraternity at the University wanted to initiate him, and he didn’t want to join. They insisted that he must join or leave the school. He felt threatened and chose to leave.

I suspect there was a lot more going on in this young man’s life. Perhaps he was struggling in his classes. Perhaps he didn’t really want to go to college, but was pushed into it by his father and older brothers. Perhaps he just panicked, unable to face the future his family expected of him. Perhaps he had mental health issues.

The press and public opinion was scathing. Ernest hustled Willis off to their hometown of Owensboro, making the following statement to the Lexington Leader:

“My brother is as sound in mind as I am, and there is nothing the matter with him now. I am going to take him back to Owensboro tonight and find hm something to do there. I am not going to bring him back to Lexington at this time, if he ever comes at all, because I do not think it would be wise just now. He will not go to college, I am sure of that, and it would do no good to take him back there. I am going to find him some work to do at Owensboro and leave him there. I will return to Lexington tomorrow.”

And that is exactly what Ernest did. He took Willis home and moved him into their married sister’s house, while Ernest returned to the university and completed his degree and then started medical school.

Willis appears on the 1910 census in the household of William Hubbard, his sister Nannie’s husband. He is unemployed at that point. Just three years later, Willis married a young Owensboro woman, Sybil Erwin, on October 2, 1913. He was twenty-five and Sybil was just eighteen.

By the time World War I broke out, Willis and Sybil were living in Dayton, Ohio. He was thirty years old, and was working as a cement finisher. But two short years later, he and Sybil had a baby daughter, Dorothy June Smith, and they had moved to Allen County, Ohio to the town of Auglaize. He had changed professions, and he was working as a Methodist minister. I assume that somewhere along the way, Willis managed to complete college or at least attend seminary. I have been unable to find a record of what institution he attended after his abortive semester at the University of Kentucky.

After his panicked disappearance, Willis E. Smith put his life together, and became a respected member of the community and the Methodist Church. Rev. Smith had a long, productive career as a Methodist minister, serving many years in parishes in Massachusetts and New Hampshire. Perhaps, like many young people, he needed to get out into the world before he could realize what he wanted and needed to do with his life long-term.

 

Sources:

Mr. Willis Smith to enter college. Owensboro Messenger Inquirer. Owensboro, KY. Aug, 1908. Newspapers.com.

“Brothers Look for Missing Freshman”.  Lexington Herald.  Lexington, KY. Sep. 29, 1908. Newspapers.com.

“Governor Willson Asked to Offer a Reward for Smith.” Lexington Herald.  Lexington, KY. Oct. 20, 1908. Newspapers.com.

“Smith Family Give Up Hope”. Louisville Courier. Louisville KY. Oct 5, 1908. Newspapers.com.

“Pinkerton Employed in Disappearance of Willis Smith”. Owensboro Twice-a-Week Messenger. Owensboro, KY. Nov. 7, 1908. Newspapers.com.

“Letters Point to Sewer Ditch as His Grave” Lexington Leader. Lexington, KY. Dec 28, 1908. Newspapers.com.

“Willis Smith Turns Up at Sister’s”. Lexington Leader. Lexington, KY. Dec 31, 1908. Newspapers.com.

“Missing College Student Turns Up at Owensboro”. Louisville Courier. Louisville KY. Dec. 31, 1908. Newspapers.com.

“Comments on Willis E Smith.” Lexington Herald.  Lexington, KY. Jan 2, 1909. Newspapers.com.

“Why Smith Left Home”. Lexington Leader. Lexington, KY. Jan 3, 1909. Newspapers.com.

Small But Memorable: 52 Ancestors 2025 Prompt “Memorable”

 A Weird Occupation and a Weird Cause of Death  

John Ford Wilson: 1854-1920 (Husband of Paternal 2^nd Great-grandaunt)
Susan Smith Goode: 1835-1918 (Maternal First Cousin 4x Removed)

 

Sometimes I run across delightful small discoveries that aren’t quite worthy of a full blog post, but that are so weird or charming or funny--or even horrible-- that I hate to consign them to a mere “note” on an Ancestry file, never to be read again. Here are two of those small but memorable discoveries.

First, while examining the death record of my husband’s 2^nd Great-Aunt Bethia Sutherland Wilson, I noted a peculiar notation under the name of her late husband. The entry read as follows:

“Widow of John Ford Wilson. Abattoir Supervisor.”

What a career! What exactly was John supervising? The proper way to kill whatever animals were being slaughtered? Why abattoir and not slaughterhouse? I pulled up the 1881 Scotland Census, and it shows John’s occupation as “Superintendent of Slaughter house.”

I wonder what his workday involved. He left an estate valued at 2500 pounds in 1920, a bit higher than the average estate for the period, so the position must have paid a decent wage. This was a fascinating and timely discovery to make right before Halloween!

Second, death certificates can sometimes provide bizarre and shocking information. I was looking at Ancestry hints for a Smith cousin, Susan Smith Goode, and found that someone had posted a copy of her death certificate. I always read certificates when I find them, as they can provide important information about parents, occupations, and health issues. This one was grim reading:

“Cause of Death: Internal injuries from being crushed by street car. Duration: About 2 hours. Contributory: Deafness.”

So a deaf 87 year old woman, unable to hear the approach of a street car, walked into the road in front it and was mowed down. She suffered for two hours before dying. The poor woman.

I suspected that this type of accident would have been covered by the local newspaper. I was correct, finding the following article. 

Susan had been living with her nephew, and was carried to his home after the accident. She never regained consciousness, but at least she was with family when she died on May 3, 1918.

While these two discoveries were small and involved collateral relatives rather than direct ancestors, they were still strikingly memorable. I’m glad this prompt provided an opportunity for me to write about John and Susan.

Sources:

Death Record for Bethia Sutherland Wilson. Posted on Ancestry.com.

Death Record for John Ford Wilson. Posted on Ancestry.com.

Probate Summary for John Ford Wilson. Scotland, National Probate Index (Calendar of Confirmations and Inventories), 1876-1936. Ancestry.com.

“Another Aged Woman Killed by Street Car”. Owensboro Messenger. Owensboro KY. May 3, 1918. https://www.newspapers.com/article/the-owensboro-messenger-another-aged-wom/187671390/