Success! You Can Run but You Can't Hide

Sometimes -- just sometimes, there is a reward for obsessive behavior.  And victory is sweet.

For the past couple of years, I have dilly dallied with old childhood memories.  There are two of them that are so brilliant, I felt I owed it to myself to at least make an attempt to see what they were about.  This is what I've been working on:

1. I remember visiting a farm with my dad.  I remember walking behind him in a field of grass that reached up to my waist.  I do not remember any of my brothers being with us -- which is crazy, because my dad usually hauled us kids every where.
2. My dad called the man we were with "Uncle Howard."
3. After the funeral of my grandfather, Don Dee Drake (he died after MY dad), we went to a farm.  At this farm there were horses, and I met a cousin named Marti (also my name) Manigold, and we road ponies all day.   I knew she was connected -- somehow -- to "Uncle Howard."
4. The farm couldn't be too far from my grandparents in Union City, Michigan as we didn't have a chance to get bored on the drive over.
5. My dad had a favorite cousin named Majorie.

Can I tell you how many hundreds of hours I've spent looking for a Howard Drake or a Howard Scoville?

In 1975, I was listening to the radio and there was a news report that a small plane had crashed over by Niles, Michigan.  The pilot and three passengers were killed.  One of the passengers was a Marti Manigold who was a year younger than myself. Years later, I wonder why we never followed up on that, why we didn't go to a funeral or something.  Then I remembered that it was right around this time (January 8) that my mom was diagnosed with cancer and we probably weren't thinking about anything else.

In the last couple of years I've done some random sporadic research and have found absolutely nothing.   Then, I found a tribute to my cousin Marti Manigold -- also known as Martha Ellen Manigold -- that's right -- same first and middle name and our birthdays are 1 day and one year apart.  She writer and classmate of Marti, wrote lovingly about her, but there wasn't any details that I could track down.  I even tried to track the writer down but no such luck.  Back on the back burner.

Then one day, I randomly started googling small plane crashes around the Chicago area and I found two articles.  Unfortunately, the article had been read and transcribed by a computer.  It was hard to decipher, but at least I learned where and when the crash had occurred.  What I was looking for was surviving family, but, alas, the article was only partial.  Still, not to be daunted, I emailed the public library in Berrien Springs, Michigan, to see if they had back issues of the local newspaper.  A research librarian emailed me back that they, indeed, had microfilm for the dates I was inquiring about.  Well, it wasn't ideal, but I was going to be going to Michigan in the winter and I thought I could take a day and make a run down there. I emailed the librarian and asked her what their hours were going to be over Christmas.  She emailed me back and said that if I could provide her with the dates I was looking at, she would try and look it up for me.  WHAT???? Really????

And so I did.

A week later I received another email from that lovely librarian in which she informed me that she had found a couple of articles concerning the plane crash.  She wanted my address so she could mail them to me.  Are you kidding me?  I asked her how much I owed her for copies and postage and time and she said NOTHING. Consider it a random act of genealogical kindness.

And at the end of one of the articles was a list of the survivors which included Mr. and Mrs. Howard E. Berry, Union City.

Okay.  This means I wasn't crazy.  Now what?

Back through the family tree again.  There was NO Berry family to be found.  Then I went through all the women I could find to see if someone -- anyone -- had married a Berry, or had a daughter that married a Berry.  No freaking luck.

So I've been mulling this over.  And over.  And over.

Then, I went to FamilySearch.org and found a marriage record for Howard Herbert Berry and Anna Elmira Dickey.  Married in 1918.  Howard Herbert Berry was born in 1898, two years after my Grandpa Don Dee Drake.  Howard was born in Barry, County -- not too terribly far away.  Then I thought maybe I was looking at this wrong.  Fall back  and regroup.  Again.

Today, I found another marriage record for Howard Herbert Berry.  In the 1930 United States Census, there is a Howard H Berry living in Union, Branch, Michigan.  His wife's name was Noldine and they had a daughter, Majorie Ellen.  Bingo!  And there the name Ellen was cropping up again.

So, I started looking into Noldine.  And I found another marriage license with the bride being a Noldine Fitzgerald.  Fitzgerald was the last name of my Grandpa Don Dee Drake's second wife.  I knew HER to be Ellen Fitzgerald and when she married my grandfather she had a son named David.  I have always ASSUMED (and you know what that means) that her married name was Fitzgerald.  I ASSUMED she was a widow. Anyhoo, I found a United State Census from 1910 with Noldine Fitzgerald listed as the 12 year old daughter of Guy E. and Etta Fitzgerald.  There was also a a son -- Markham -- and a little baby girl named Elizabeth.  Who was 0 years old.  The year was right for my step grandmother's birth, but her name was Ellen.  Not Elizabeth.

A little backtracking through Censuses and I found Guy Fitzgerald.  His mother's name was Ellen.  So my next question -- and I didn't expect much -- was Elizabeth's middle name Ellen?  And did she go by Ellen?  My family is a great one for calling each other by their middle names.  My dad was Donald Duane Drake.  All his friends and coaches called him "Dobbie" -- which is another long story.  All the family called him Duane.  Only my mom called him Don.

So then I went to Ancestry.com and did a search on public family trees and there I found my step grandmother Elizabeth Ellen Fitzgerald.  Correct birthday, and it shows her marrying a Don Dee Drake.  Apparently my family isn't as important to them as it is to me.

This is great news.  I can safely say that Howard Berry was not actually an uncle, but a step uncle with his wife Noldine and my step gran being sisters.

You would think this is the end of it but it's not.  I now have a whole bunch of unanswered questions.  I don't think actually pursuing them would do me any good, as these involve family members that are not blood.  How hard do you pursue something like that?  I only have so much time.

I will eventually transcribe the newspaper articles concerning my cousin Marti Manigold's death.

Don Dee Drake of Michigan 1896 - 1967

Don Dee Drake was born 22 Jun 1896 in Springport, Michigan and died 14 Jun 1967, about one month after my dad (his son died).  He was the son of Allison Royce Drake and Jane Meyers Drake.  He was one of 4 children: Hattie, Lucia and Royce Allison were his other siblings.  He had 4 children:  Martha Jane, Donald Duane (my dad) and Jack Scovill with his first wife, Ruth Henrietta Scovill Drake.  When she died, he remarried Ellen Fitzgerald.  She had a son, Dave, and then another son with Don Dee, named Richard.

I wasn't a fan of Ellen Fitgerald AT ALL.  My dad never spoke ill of her, but he had a pretty miserable childhood on account of her.  And I didn't care much for me Grandpa Drake either.  Come to think of it, we called my mom's dad, Cleo Mallison Hughes Grandpa and the other one Grandpa Drake.  Hmmmm.  I wonder if that's significant?

It seemed like he was always questioning us about why we weren't as smart, athletic, popular etc. as "The Cousins."  He and Ellen Fitzgerald used to give expensive gifts, but it was always something that they thought you should have, not something that you actually wanted.  In 1967 all I wanted was a baseball mitt.  Instead I got a pink and white linen gingham dress that had about 4 yards of fabric in the skirt, with a big sash and pink heart buttons up the front of the bodice.  Can you imagine how awful that would look on a skinny girl with stork legs, scabby knees, 30 pounds of hair AND cordovan colored high top corrective shoes?  Please.

But as I learn more about the family, I'm thinking that maybe Don Dee Drake did the best he could with what he knew.  I had a relative tell me that Allison Royce Drake liked to drink.  Seems to be a trait that all us Drakes have.  But Allison was a mean drunk.  A mean drunk usually translates to "knocking your family around" or saying terrible things.  That's just my experience.

The 1910 United States Census has the last of the Drake Family spread across three locations.  Lucia had married Frank Converse and Hattie had married Dana Fuller.  My Grandpa Drake is 13 years old and Royce is 6.  They are living in a boarding house in Charlotte Ward 4, Eaton, Michigan.  Their dad is living in Woodstock, Lenawee, Michigan in a boarding house, doing odd jobs.  He's 51 and "single."  Remember that.

Jane Myers Drake is living in Charlotte Ward 4, Eaton, Michigan.  She is a roomer at another house.  Maybe she was a housekeeper.  She is "M1" which I believe means "Married Once."  I wondered what the hell happened in this family?  When I pulled up a map, I discovered that while they might not be living together, Jane Myers Drake lived right around the corner from her two boys.  Allison was a substantial distance away.

Years later, after his wife Ruth Scovill Drake died, all three of his children -- Martha Jane, my dad Donald Duane Drake and brother Jack Scovill, were sent to live with Ruth's folks.  And they were pretty old.  They had a boarding house -- geez, what is it with this family and boarding houses?  But it couldn't have been too bad as my dad learned to speak German and polish which would help him in his Army years, and he had some real funny stories about that time in his life.

But still -- I could never, NEVER farm my kids out.  Who would do something like that to his children.  Especially when you've got your other kid and step son living with you.  And your newer younger wife isn't working.  It just set wrong with me.

So this morning, I ran a google map to see where Grandpa Drake was living in 1940.  324 W. Forest, Ypsilanti, Michigan.  Pretty nice house, right?

 

It's apartments now, and for all I know it could have been apartments back in 1940.  And right around the corner, practically was where my dad and his siblings were living.  It would have to be difficult to live that close to your dead wife's parents with your new young wife and kids, don't you think?  

But here's the picture that kind of changed my mind about my Grandpa Drake:

 

On the bottom of the picture it's written:  Don and Royce and Brownie.
On the back:  Don Drake Age 10
                     Bill Drake Age 3
                 To be Duane's

Duane is the name that everybody in the family called my dad.  Except my mom.  She called him Don.  All his friends and fellow coaches called him Dobbie.  Which is also what they called my Grandpa Drake -- which another story for another post.  And Bill was what everybody called Allison Royce Drake.  When referring to him, we all say Uncle Bill.  Bill was the nickname that Lucia's husband, Frank Converse gave him. 

But here's the deal -- this is what I gather from this pix:  Don is definitely not starving, but his weight could mean that he is eating a diet of starches.  Or he could be a stress eater.  It doesn't look like he's in a suit suit, but a jacket and pants.  And really could the faces on these boys be any sadder?

So, while Grandpa Drake wasn't the best dad in town, he probably did the best he could do with what he knew.