Everybody as has a secret or three. I certainly do but rest easy. I’m not going to blurt details, at least right now.
Sometimes the stories are true, yet often these tittle-tattles, speculations and claims become embellished with each telling or each generation. When ghosting for clients or helping writers create their life stories, ancestral conundrums often sprout their questionable heads and I always return to this advice: Tell your own truth. That’s all you have.
I’d just started first grade when my Hungarian grandmother passed on, but apparently, she swore that my dad’s biological father, who died when he was a baby, was British…some family even hinted that the gentleman was of the most high-brow royal kind of an Englishman.
Yet I wasn’t once invited to any royal weddings. Go figure. I found out why when my DNA was tested.
Did you guess the results showed no English predecessors? Doing some genealogical digging it became clear that my entire family tree was, instead, ripe with “entrepreneurs.” Grandparents on both sides were from Eastern Europe and immigrated to the US for a better life because 1) the law was after them, 2) they’d “borrowed” a horse or maybe a herd, 3) they thought smuggling was a growth industry or finally 4) gypsies were better paid in America than the “old country.” I gobbled up the truth and frankly, I’ve embraced my checkered ancestors with glee.
A few years back I attended a genealogy workshop and the topic was just that: Dealing with Truth and Lies. Wherever you are on your family story, you’ll appreciate the shorten version of the program.
The speaker began with, “I was working on client’s family tree and discovered her great-great uncle, Remus Starr, a fellow lacking in character according to family lore.
“A few weeks later, a family member supplied me with the only known photograph of Remus, showing him standing on the gallows. This was the unfortunate ‘before’ photo. On the back of the picture are the words: Remus Starr: Horse thief, sent to Montana Territorial Prison, 1885. Escaped 1887, robbed the Montana Flyer six times. Caught by Pinkerton detectives, convicted and hanged, 1889.”
Holey guacamole. Pretty grim, right? However, when contacting a distant relative of her client’s, the speaker found a whole new scenario. Here’s what she said, “Luckily I was alone when I received this new information. I was calming sipping coffee, read the following and spit the brew all over my monitor.
“You see, the original photo of that scalawag Remus had been scanned, enlarged, Photoshopped and cropped to a grainy, noose-free pose.
“And the relative had boasted this version on her family tree: Remus Starr was a famous cowboy in the Montana Territory. His business empire grew to include acquisition of valuable equestrian assets. An entrepreneur to the core, he had significant and distinctive dealings with the Montana railroad.
“Beginning in 1885, he devoted several years of his life to service at a government facility, finally taking leave to resume his transactions with the railroad. In 1887, he was a key player in a vital investigation run by the renowned Pinkerton Detective Agency. In 1889, during a much-anticipated and well-attended civic function held in his honor, Remus passed away when the platform upon which he was standing collapsed.”
Family stories are tricky, and truth and lies can coexist depending on one’s perspective. At least to a point.
Haha – love it! It’s all about the spin. I enjoyed your blog!
I’m excited to be one of your students.
Eva, I love your story! I, too, thought my family must have been wanted in England since I could not find a record of them. Turned out it was a matter of spelling. In the U.S. it was “Keats”; in England it was “Keat” and they lived in a very small town named Harwell. While they were tradesmen, they were of the upper crust since great-grandpa was a Master Carpenter and when he died leaving great-grandma with 9 children, she married the Blacksmith. In the middle 1800’s that was a big deal.
No, I am not any relation to John Keats, the Poet Laureate of England, no matter how many Grecian Urns I Ode!
You made me laugh, Barbara. Thanks for the comments. Share the blog if you like.
It’s all in the words we choose. I loved this story. Such creative thinking, same story but different perspective. I, too, have heard some tall tales, or not, about my family tree. Right now I am trying to find out why my DNA test showed no sign of German ancestry, when my mom told me her father was full German, from the north of Austria. My DNA test also showed me to be 57 percent Irish, when mom told me I was 1/4 Irish, 1/4 German, and 1/2 English. I might just find an interesting story or two hidden in my ancestry, too.
Hi Eva, thank you for guiding me to these blogs. I enjoyed both of them. As to ‘truth or total fabrication’, over the years I came to understand that many of the stories told to me by my father and grandfather were only one modest but glossy version of a complex family history ranging from the 1890s through the early 1900s, the two world wars, migrating from United Kingdom during the great depression of the 1930s and Australia in post-war era on the 1950s and 1960s. Unfortunately, both of them are long dead, and, like many people in similar circumstances, I have so many questions I would like to ask them. So, no hanged relatives, but a number of oft-told stories from our family oral history that would appear on closer observation to be more fiction informed by fact and where there application of ‘omission’ helped shaped the stories. Many thanks.
Hi David, that’s a hoot. Families ARE interesting. Thanks for the comment on the blog.
Very entertaining and typically well written, Eva.
These stories make me want to have my dad give me the story he gave me for my son’s immigration activity at school. It was about how his grandfather and uncles had come to America. Even my mom had not heard the story before. My dad does not know who his biological father is and I don’t know that he wants to find out. He is not even aware that my sister and I know about it. I wish my grandmother was still alive so I could ask her about it.
I wish I could have asked lots more questions, too. Hits home, does it, Samantha, why writing life stories is so important. Thanks for the note. Eva
All of life must be put in perspective. If you find that too difficult, change your view. It works every time. I will share your blog with my writing class which begins again in September. My students will number around 20. I would love it if you would want to send me 20 bookmarks to share with them. They do have some computer time available to them for good conduct, so I am going to tell them about your online classes. On another note. This past week I finished my second book. It is Snippets form Johnson Bay Marina which I owned for 10 years. I would be more than pleased to send you one, if you would like one.
I’d love another of your books, Peanut and I’ll get the bookmarks out shortly. You are a blessing.
Thanks for this post Eva. It reminds me of the time I went to Ireland with my mother around 20 years ago. I kept trying to find our family name on souvenirs and whatnot….and it was nowhere to be found. Finally after seeing my exasperation, my mom finally piped up….”well I didn’t want to tell you but you’re really more Scottish.” Really mom?!? It was some kind of secret to her, like the mailman was really my father or something…….. geeez. Best to do my own digging if I write anything on my family!
You made me laugh out loud, Cheryl. Relatives??? Gotta love ’em, right?