Unsolved Family Mysteries

When you have worked on family history for as long as I have, you are bound to run into intriguing mysteries, some solvable, some elusive, and some downright maddening.  Here's just a few I have solved or am still facing.

UNSOLVED

My Mom told me about the mysterious case of Tom Brosnahan, her father's cousin. He was in college at a Catholic seminary, and, suffering from intense overwork, came home for some R and R. He stopped by to visit Mom's family in Massachusetts, and after that was never seen again. Mom could barely remember this; she was born in 1926, so a likely time period for the disappearance could have been about 1930-ish. To this day no one knows what happened to him, despite the investigations done at the time. The police even dragged the river looking for a body. I have done some fishing, but without actually visiting Massachusetts and devoting days to searching police records and other public documents, it will remain a dead-end. As much as I yearn to solve the case of disappearing Tom, it would be a better project for someone who lives in the area and wouldn't have to rack up hotel bills and use vacation time.

UNSOLVED

Michael Toomey, my great-great-great-grandfather, came to Brattleboro Vermont from Ireland about 1848, and likely worked on the railroad there (no direct evidence for that, yet). His gravestone says he died April 9, 1870. Gravestone information is notoriously in error, but supporting evidence for that death date is in the town's tax records for that year, dated April 15, 1870. Michael's name is entered, then crossed out with "dead" added next to his name. But there is no death record for him found in Vermont at any time. I have checked all of the surrounding states and found no death record for him.  Such a record would give me his occupation and his cause of death, about which I'm very curious. 

SOLVED

 George, John, Andrew, Michael Bubnash

 My Baba told me that my Grandpa's father, Paul Bubnash, died when Grandpa was a baby (he was born 1891). Yet some cousins in Montana showed me a photo taken circa 1900 of four of the Bubnash brothers, and they were sure Paul was the one on the left. This info was passed down to them from the previous generation. My instincts trusted Baba; she was very good on details. I was sure Paul Bubnash couldn't have appeared in a 1900 photograph. Finally, about 1996 the parish records of Valaskovce, Austria-Hungary, became available on microfilm. I dove right in looking first for Paul's death. And yes, he died at age 28, before my Grandpa was even born. Two months before my Grandpa, his second son, was born, in fact. And who was the man on the left in the photo? My Slovak relatives tell me it's the oldest brother, named George. And that makes perfect sense.

SOLVED

My Baba also told me the circumstances of her brother Michael Csornej-Maczko's death. Briefly, Michael was living in their native village of Nemet Poruba during the war. The Germans marched through and forced the residents to flee or be shot. They fled to the mountains on the Polish border. When residents returned to the village they found it burned to the ground. Michael lit a fire for warmth, in what remained of the chimney. The Germans had planted a bomb in the shaft, it exploded, and Michael was killed.  o which war was this, I asked Baba. She just couldn't remember. She was near 100 years of age, and some details of things that had happened to other people had naturally faded from her memory.

In 2002, we visited Dukla Pass in Slovakia, the site of "the biggest battle you never heard of." Over 100,000 people were killed when the retreating Germans, pursued by the Russian advance, made a last stand at Dukla Pass on the  border between Poland and Slovakia, from October--December 1944.  Learning what happened at Dukla Pass was the key to solving the mystery of when Michael died. As I studied military maps of battles that took place in Eastern Slovakia, and read the rare accounts of people's experiences, everything fit for Michael's death occurring in December 1944 or January 1945, and definitely not during World War One. The pattern of the German retreat near the end of World War Two was repeated all along the front: banish or kill the villagers, burn the village, leave behind murder and mayhem. Baba knew Michael's death occurred in winter. Many innocents were killed during the fighting at Dukla Pass.

SOLVED

In the mid-70s I located a death record for my great-great-grandfather, Cornelius O'Sullivan.  He was 51, died in Brattleboro Vermont, and his death was listed as accidental. I was able to get someone in Vermont to check an the June 1871 Vermont Phoenix newspaper for a report on the accident. A terse couple of lines in the paper explained that Cornelius was "run over by a hand-car just above the West River Bridge." He lingered five days until his death. That's it.

Fast forward years later. Curiosity about what happened had been eating at me. I was in Brattleboro Vermont and found bound copies of an obscure short-lived newspaper called The Vermont Record and Farmer. This one shed more light.  Poor Cornelius was one of a group split between two handcars, who rode up and down the track checking its condition. He was on the lead car. It hit an obstacle large enough to cause a lurch; he fell onto the track and was run over by the rear car. His injuries were dreadful. About the same time, I discovered a handwritten piece of paper in an old book that had belonged to Cornelius's daughter, my great-grandmother, Mary. On it was written a list of terrible bodily trauma without any reference to whose injuries were described. I am sure they were his.

Mary Sullivan, daughter of Cornelius O'Sullivan

Sorrow Engraved in Stone

Yesterday I came across the rural Wilford Idaho cemetery while driving through the countryside.   And I saw this stone:

In 40 years of doing historical and family research, I have never run across such a record of tragedy.   Thanks to internet resources, here are the important details I found about this family:

The father, Joseph Hyrum Kershaw was born in what is now South Africa. His family joined the LDS Church and migrated to Utah. There he met Julia Clift, a Utah native; they married in 1877. Their first child, Lydia, was born and died in Utah. After living in various parts of Utah the Kershaws moved to Twin Groves Idaho about 1889.

Diphtheria hit the area in the winter of 1897. It's a dreadful childhood disease. In addition to extreme illness, the child is suffocated by a thick membrane that grows across the airway. My Grandma lost a child this way and once described his suffering to me. Horrible.

Over a two-week period the Kershaws buried all eight of their living children. The oldest was last to die, and had probably helped care for the others as they slipped away, one by one. In the dead of winter all were laid in the frosty soil of Wilford Cemetery.

The devastated, now-childless parents went to Utah to stay with family for a while. When they returned their house had been burned down by neighbors to prevent the spread of the disease.

Five more children were born to Julia and Joseph. Two of those died as infants, and the youngest child died at age 26. All told, this couple buried 12 of their 14 children. Their only two surviving children lived until the 1980s. Mother Julia lived until 1929 and father Joseph until 1941. Julia and Joseph were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Their knowledge of eternal family ties was a beacon of light in the midst of their acute pain and sorrow.

Is There a Cure For Taphophilia?

My name is Suzanne Walker and I'm a taphophiliac. If there isn't an AA-style support group for people like me, there should be. I've learned not to be too forthcoming about  my obsession, because nothing will stop a conversation dead-er (haha) than to admit you like spending time in cemeteries, or that you collect photographs of gravestones. Or that your favorite website is www.findagrave.com.
  
Taphos in Greek means: a love of funerals, graves, cemeteries. I can't say I love funerals, but cemeteries and graves are right up there on my list with reading obituaries. Why?  It's all about people. Obituaries chronicle a life and tell me about the deceased's activities, successes, relationships, and sometimes even struggles and failures. Headstones represent a life, and even in their brevity one can glean a feeling for the that person buried beneath. And cemeteries are a community of people, people who just happen to live elsewhere now.

The marker at the top of the post comes from the Greek Catholic cemetery in Nemet Poruba, in Eastern Slovakia. Lots of my relatives are buried there, but pre-WW2 grave markers are non-existent, as the village was mowed down by the retreating German Army in late 1944. It's very common for stones in Russian and Eastern European cemeteries to feature an etching of the deceased. Our local Russian cemetery here in Portland has some beautiful markers in this style.

Here's one of my favorites, which happens to commemorate my Dad who is buried in St. Nicholas Greek Catholic Cemetery in Perryopolis Pennsylvania. At the top it says Vicnaja Pamjat (eternal memory in Rusyn). Under the dates it says:

Y2C   USS Missouri    WW II.

And that's the 'Mighty Mo' in its glory days.

 

This one in Boise Idaho's Morris Hill Cemetery tells a poignant story of a life cut short. It says:
For Democracy / John Loren / Titmus / 3rd Recruit Co. G.S.I./ Dec. 26, 1892 / Oct. 19, 1918 / gone but not forgotten

He left his home in perfect health / He looked so young and brave / We little thought how soon he'd be / Laid in a soldier's grave

I choke up standing in front of this stone.

 

The fond and tender memories of a family for their deceased child is evident in this gentle loving angel in St. Nicholas Cemetery (Perryopolis PA):  

Juli- Voytovich / 2 Jun 1924 / 24 Dec / 1924.

This child's father was the Greek Catholic priest in Perryopolis at the time.

 

This above-ground crypt is the resting place of Bryan Gale, 17 years old, in St. Michael's Cemetery, Brattleboro VT. On one end is written, "I cannot say and I will not say that he is dead -- he is just away."  My Mom related that as children she and friends used to play in the cemetery. They shed tears at this crypt. The story is that Bryan cut himself shaving before attending the county fair, and that drifting confetti landed on the cut causing blood poisoning, which took his life. His grieving mother could not bear putting him in the ground. He was her only child.

 Another St. Michael's grave, a young single man, and another only child.

Stone of my great-great grandparents, Cornelius O'Sullivan and Catherine Cavanaugh, Brattleboro Vermont. This is one of four engraved sides. Baby Michael's death (midway down below) is not registered in the town books, so this marker is the only mention that he died at age 8 days. In fact, it's the only mention that he ever lived. Doubly sad is that his brother Johnny, 1 year 4 months, died on the same day. Cause of death for both is unknown. September 1860 newspapers carry no mention of an accident, fire, or epidemic of disease. They were Irish Catholic immigrants, whose births and deaths were commonly ignored.

Another tribute to a fallen soldier (Rigby Cemetery, Rigby ID).

In loving memory of a boy who went to war in cause of peace and died fighting without hate, that love might live.

Last one, this also in Rigby. These children died on the same day, and on a matching stone is their mother, also with the same date. I googled the names and found they were in a terrible car accident.  The young father has written tributes to his family and faith on the back of each marker. You never know what challenges and hardships a new day will bring, and faith in God is what will carry us through.