The Blog
The more I learn about genealogy, the more I realize how much more there is to learn. There’s always a new record group or website or archive I don’t know enough about. Where can anyone go to learn more about the family history research they enjoy so much? There are so many ways to learn and places you can go, you’ll be surprised! Here are 6 sources of information that should help you in your research:
1. Conferences. Local and nationally sponsored conferences are held all over the United States. Look for the one-day conferences sponsored by genealogical and historical societies in your area. Often they are inexpensive or even free. Contact your local genealogical society or LDS Family History Center to ask if they know what is coming up. Some of the biggest nationally-sponsored conferences last several days and require travel. The great thing about conferences is that they are a one-stop-shop for some of your favorite speakers and genealogical topics.
2. Seminars. For week-long seminars with a concentrated research focus, check out some of these:
- IGHR. The Institute of Genealogy and Historical Research is highly regarded and its classes sell out quickly. Seminars are held at Samford University in Birmingham, Alabama.
- NIGR. The National Institute for Genealogical Research is designed for the more experienced researcher, and focuses on records available at the National Archives. I would certainly go again; there was so much to learn!
- SLIG. The Salt Lake Institute of Genealogy sponsored by the Utah Genealogical Society offers the double bonus of being able to research down the street at the LDS Family History Library. SLIG offers many classes for all levels of experience.
3. Taped lectures and online tutorials. There is no way to list every online tutorial experience for genealogists, but here are a few to get you started:
- CDs from national conferences can be ordered from Jamb Tapes. I like to order favorite speakers and listen over and over, especially if I can’t make it to a conference this year.
- FamilySearch offers great beginner tutorials from top genealogists at their online Learning Center.
- Check out the handwriting tutorials from Brigham Young University. There is a wealth of early handwriting types and some self-tests.
- More experienced researchers looking to hone their professional skills may consider joining one of the 18-month online learning groups sponsored by ProGen. They study the book Professional Genealogy edited by Elizabeth Shown Mills. These industrious learners gather online for scheduled chats and share assignments for peer review. Get on the waiting list at http://progenstudy.org/.
4. Online classes and at-home courses. Sometimes you just need to learn by doing, and the creators of these programs both teach and review your work.
- Boston University’s Genealogical Research Program has a high price but an equally high reputation. They have a wealth of programs that take a few weeks or several months.
- A fantastic program the beginner or intermediate level researcher really should consider is the National Genealogical Society’s Home Study Course. Each lesson is backed up with an assignment that is reviewed and critiqued by a professional. Their selections of online courses are wonderful for focused research.
5. Books and periodicals. As a mother with young children, checking out beginning-style genealogy books at my local library was a great start (many, many years ago). Now I love my growing personal library and print out a wish list of new genealogy books for my husband every Christmas. Magazines and scholarly journals will also help researchers of all levels. Ask for some samples at your local library or Family History Center and see what fits your level and interests before you subscribe.
6. Keep up to date. Online blogs and interest groups will help keep you full of ideas. Some favorites are:
Have another favorite I haven’t mentioned? Let us know, and we will post your comments. Just remember that your own education is in your hands. Oscar Wilde
said it best when he quipped, “Experience is one thing you can’t get for nothing.”
Photo courtesy of Shannon Abbott Photography
I didn’t realize how truly wonderful my mom was until I became a mom myself. Granted, I knew she was wonderful even as a young child, but didn’t know the depth of her strength and sacrifices until I too was the mother to another human being.
I grew up as an Embassy brat, meaning we moved to a new country every two years. I was born in Amman, Jordan, where I lived for the first year of my life. Until I read the letters my mom wrote to her grandmother of her experience as a first time mom, I had no idea how remarkable the whole experience really was. Picture this: A first time mom in a foreign land, speaking a completely different language, a place where, at the time, the water had to boiled to prevent illness, her husband worked 12 hour shifts, would come home, sleep a bit and do it all over again. She was alone in a strange land. That description in itself would make any new mother cringe. And forget the usual support network that rallies around a new mom here in the States. My mom’s support networks were the few young wives of the other Expats but there were no “Mommy groups” at the local library or grandparents eager to babysit.
I read these letters when our first child, Emily, was about 2 years old. At this stage, we had survived the first yet. But I had a mom network that stemmed from high school friends to Facebook to coworkers to reach out to. I didn’t have to boil water every time I wanted to clean a bottle. My husband worked a normal 8 am -4 pm job and I knew he’d be home and available in the evening and late at night should our daughter wake up. There were no language barriers. I could take a walk up the street and be in shorts and a tank top without offending anyone. And when my husband announced to his co-workers that he was having a daughter, they were happy for him and not saddened that the family name would not continue due to the birth of his first born.
My mom endured it all with grace. She adored me and wanted to give me the best of everything. Fast forward a few assignments later, when we were stationed in Abjigan, Ivory Coast. I was 4 years old when we moved to the West African country. Now that I am older, I realize how volatile this part of the world can be. As a 4 year old, I had no clue that there were people who could harm me and my family at any moment. I never lived in fear and thought it was normal to have a man sit out front of our house all hours of the day and night and guard our house. He was nice to me and my family, so in my naive mind, I didn’t mind him being there. I didn’t think it was weird that every night before we went to bed, we locked a metal door between the bottom and top floors. It was something I knew my Dad did every night and it was just something that occurred. Now I realize it was there to keep us safe should our house get broken into during the night. Again, I never lived in fear by the things that would be so obvious to any adult observing them. My lack of fear was because my parents, and most importantly my mom, never gave me a reason to be fearful. I can only imagine the prayers she would say daily and maybe even hourly as we went a long our day in these foreign lands where, at the time, Americans were not well liked.
In one of the letters she writes my grandmother in California, my mom tells her of the dilemma of what possession to pack in Air Freight vs. Sea Freight. The items packed in Air Freight would arrive sooner than the Sea Freight, which could take months. My mom would have to determine which toys of my sister Susie (who is 5 years younger than me) would tie us over until the others arrived. Which season of clothes needed to be in Air Freight and would be sufficient until the other season of clothes arrived? I have been a mother for 4 ½ years now and never once had to stress over such a decision. She had to make this decision 4 times as we travelled the world and got older. My mom made it happen.
I didn’t realize until I had babies of my own, that my mom had both my sister and myself via natural child birth. It wasn’t a question that you really ask until you are pregnant yourself. I knew full well, after hearing other women’s stories, that when it came time to birth my first child, I wanted an epidural. I’m a wuss with pain and I have to be honest, my mom isn’t the best with pain either. Somehow she allowed nature to do what it should do and successfully birthed two daughters without pain medicine – she’s a hero in my book for that alone!
Now that I am a mother of a 4 ½ year old daughter and 1 ½ year old twin boys, I need my mother more than ever. Yes, I needed her to teach me how to use the potty, to tie my shoe, to be there when a boyfriend broke up with me. But now I need her for the support she brings me on a daily basis just to deal with life as a wife and mom. I know she is praying for me and my husband daily, that our marriage would continue to be strengthened and not burned out by the stress of having small children. I am 31 years old and I call my mother once, twice and sometimes even three times a day to hear her voice of reasoning in times of confusion or simply to cry my heart out to her. I know she doesn’t have all the answers but I know she cares and will do whatever is in her power to help me in my time of need, whether that be to pray with me or leave her house at midnight, drive the 8 miles to my house in her pajamas and rock a baby to sleep, so I could finally get some sleep myself. She’ll randomly leave dinner on my front stoop so my husband and I don’t have to think about a meal that night.
I know there are times that my actions have disappointed her. But I also know she still loves me unconditionally. I pray that I can be the same wonderful mother to my three kids as she has been to me.
Happy Mother’s Day Mom!
Annie is the proud mom of three kids including fraternal twin boys and has happily been married to Kevin for 6 years. Annie works for a homeschool technology company full time along with managing a household and the contents in it (people and stuff). Due to her father’s job, she travelled the world as a young child living in Europe and the Middle East. She vows never to live more than 10 miles from her parents. She is a member of the Loudoun Fairfax Mothers of Multiples and desires to assist other women suffering from Post Partum depression.
Annie’s mom Lin is Reel Tributes’ Head Interviewer, and lives a few miles down the road from Annie and her grandchildren in Herndon, Virginia.
Thank you to Deidre Marie Capone, and Bob Brody’s blog “Letters to My Kids“, for this terrific letter in honor of Mother’s Day
Dear Kim, Kevin, Bobby and Jeff,
I am a Capone. My grandfather was Ralph Capone, listed in 1930 as Public Enemy #3 by the Chicago Crime Commission. That makes me the great-niece of his partner and younger brother, Public Enemy #1: Al Capone.
For much of my life, this was not information that I readily volunteered. In fact, I made every effort to hide the fact that I was a Capone, a name that had brought endless heartache to so many members of my family. In 1972, when I was in my early thirties, we left Chicago and my family history far behind me. I reinvented myself in Minnesota and made sure that no one in my life other than your dad knew my ancestry. I succeeded, even with you four children.
I was terrified that if you learned you had “gangster blood” running through your veins, youd be exposed to the same pain I had experienced.
So, when Bobby came home from school one day in 1974 to announce that his class was learning about Al Capone, it knocked the wind out of me.
Ever since you children started school, I had developed the habit of asking,“What did you learn today?” when you came home. Of course, I always listened to your answers with great interest, but on that particular day, I felt like the whole world had just slid out of focus, leaving only Bobby and me. There he was, smiling and cheerful as usual, telling me that he was learning about my uncle in his fourth grade class.
My heart seized, but somehow, I managed to get out a half-casual, “What did you learn about Al Capone?”
“We learned that he was a gangster,” Bobby told me. He went on to tell me about Prohibition in the 1920s and 1930s, Al’s bootlegging operation, and how he had been such an expert outlaw that when the police finally nabbed him, the only charge they could pin on him was tax evasion. I was so astonished that it was all I could do to nod along as he spoke.
Later that evening, when Dad and I were alone, I told him about what Bobby had said. I felt like I had been holding my breath ever since Bobby so innocently chirped the name “Capone.” Dad and I decided together that we couldn’t keep the truth from you four any longer. We had no idea how you would react, but one thing was certain—we didn’t want you to hear about it from someone else. And now that Kim and Kevin were teenagers, they had started to ask about their grandparents. We couldn’t keep this from you forever.
That evening, as Dad and I gathered you kids in the kitchen, I was petrified. This was a moment that I had created in my head time and again, since Dad and I decided to start a family. And each time I imagined it, it ended badly. I thought you kids would be furious with me for keeping the secret, or for being a Capone in the first place. Maybe you would be ashamed of me. But worse yet—maybe you would be ashamed of yourselves. Maybe hearing the truth about your family would send you into the same kind of downward spiral that had swallowed so much of my childhood.
When I was growing up, I had often been mad at God for making me a Capone. I couldn’t understand why other children weren’t allowed to play with me, and my heart broke every time I heard someone murmur a slur or saw the newspapers print awful accusations about the family I loved—and the family that loved me in return when everyone else shunned me. Given my difficulties growing up as a Capone, I just couldn’t imagine that things would be any different for you children. As I sat you down at the kitchen table and prepared to break the news, I felt like I was on the verge of crushing the happy life that Dad and I had worked so hard to give to you.
I could tell that you sensed my nervousness, and you were unusually quiet as I told you I had something important to say. I squeezed Dad’s hand tightly, and the words came slowly.
“There’s something I want to tell you about my family,” I began. “Al Capone was my uncle. My grandfather was his brother. I was born Deirdre Marie Capone.”
For a split second, there was silence in the kitchen. I could feel my heart in my throat. Then you four children looked at each other then back at me. Then, at the exact same instant, you four children exclaimed, “Cool, Mom!”
As soon as the word “Cool!” broke the tension in the room, all four of you were peppering me with questions. “What was he like? Was he nice to you? Did he love you? Do you look like him? Do you have pictures?”
Relief washed over me. I had been building this moment up in my mind for so many years, and now here I was, discovering that something that had once been shameful to me could be source of pride for my children. I tried to answer your questions as best I could. I pulled out my family photo albums and began to introduce my own children to the people who had loved me most when I was their age.
Deirdre Marie Capone is the great-niece of Al Capone and the last living member of that family born with the last name “Capone.” She is the mother of four children and the grandmother of 14. After she retired to Southwest Florida, her family urged her to write her story of growing up in this infamous family. In her book, Uncle Al Capone – The Untold Story from Inside His Family, she shares for the first time the intimate details of life within the Capone family. The book can be purchased in any bookstore. A personalized signed copy can be purchased from her website, www.unclealcapone.com
This letter was first published on Bob Brody’s blog, Letters to My Kids.
I am not afraid of much. I can take snakes, spiders, rollercoasters, speaking in front of large audiences, and even doing my own taxes. But one thing that really gives me the shakes and makes me break out into a sweat is writing!
Why I write
Writing, however, is a crucial part of our research into family history. Here are three reasons why I encourage researchers to spend time writing:
1) Write to understand. Often we sort out the why, when, and who of a particular research problem in our own head. When we try to write it out, it gets difficult to explain. This may be because we are missing parts of our research that we didn’t even realize. Start with writing out the problem, such as “Who are Evaline’s parents?” Then write what you know, and how this problem is being addressed. You will find that you either are missing key points in your research, or sometimes that pieces fit together that you hadn’t realized.
2) Write to analyze. Often, our research problem is not solved with one document that says, “Uriah Smith was the father of Evaline.” In most research problems, we have to build a case to show why we believe that Uriah was the father rather than another candidate. You may end up using three censuses, a tax record, the brother’s death certificate, and a probate record to “prove” your point, for example. Writing out the points of your case and how they fit together is called a “proof argument” by professional genealogists. It is easier for you to analyze the points of your argument in writing, rather than trying to piece it together later.
3) Write to communicate. You probably found other researchers who believe that your ancestor’s parents were someone other than you have determined them to be. Online family trees could list Evaline’s parents as Josiah, not Uriah, and have either no proof or other documentation to prove it. If you believe your research is sound, it is a great idea to attach an explanation of your findings (with footnoted source citations) to your own online family tree or to give to family. Not only does it lend credibility to your findings, but it can start some great conversations with other interested researchers.
Writing also helps you communicate with those who are less involved in the research process. Think about your children, siblings, cousins, and friends who may be thrilled to learn about your findings. If you keep the information in your head, or scattered in notes all over your office, how will they ever learn from all the hard work you put in?
Writing tips
There is no one way or style to use when writing your proof argument. The style will depend on the needs of the research. However, there are formats that you may choose from that are recognizable to the genealogical community. Check out articles in the National Genealogical Society Quarterly (NGSQ) or other scholarly genealogical journals. They can easily be found at many local libraries or Family History Centers, and will familiarize yourself with how others have presented a problem and shown their work. The book Professional Genealogy, edited by Elizabeth Shown Mills, has a great chapter on writing proof arguments. Even if you are not ready for scholarly-style writing, reading the case studies of other genealogists is a great way to learn.
Get over the mental block
As I said earlier, writing is a scary thing for me. But even scarier is the idea that all the work I have done could be gone if something happened to me. It is worth so much to me to respect my ancestors by sharing their stories and connecting them correctly to the people they loved. No matter the way you write, just write! Write what was found, not how you found it, and let your ancestor be the star.
And nothing is set in stone. Just because you write it one way doesn’t mean you can’t change it. I find I change the style of writing a little with each project, because each ancestor and research project are so different. The more you write, the easier it becomes.
Let us know at Reel Tributes how these ideas have helped your work. What else would you like to hear about? Send comments or emails, we’d love to hear from you.
Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day) – April 19, 2012
Which parts of the story are true and which parts of the story are false?
This much I know: My grandfather, Zaidie, was a spry happy man with a wondrous smile that lit up the room. His brilliant blue eyes dazzled with every smile.
My mother told me that my grandfather never smiled until we, his grandchildren, were born. Grandchildren transformed Zadie from the stern, serious man my mother knew, into the fun loving, energetic grandfather I knew and loved. Zaidie played catch with me and watched me dance and sing – all with encouraging smiles and joyous laughter. He took me, and his four grandsons (I was the only granddaughter) to parks, beaches, on car trips and for ice cream. He couldn’t get enough of us and, likewise, we couldn’t get enough of him.
I thought I knew Zaide, but I realize I know very little about Zaidie. I know nothing about his childhood, nothing about where he lived, nor how he grew up. I know nothing about his parents, his siblings, aunts, uncles, or cousins. I don’t even know how he met my grandmother.
I know that Zaidie was born in Poland, in a small town (shtetl) called Boger. From there, the story gets fuzzy.
Was it that…
In 1920 (give or take a year) my grandfather confiscated his dead brother’s visa and escaped to America, the land of freedom and opportunity. Since his brother was killed in the coalmines of Poland, either due to a job-related accident or at the hands of malicious mine workers, my grandfather grabbed that visa and turned his brother’s death into the opportunity of a lifetime.
Or was it the following…
Zaidie went to Canada, using his (older or younger) brother Myer’s visa. Myer, somehow, was already living in America. From Canada, my grandfather smuggled across the border and entered the U.S.
Or maybe it happened this way…
In or about 1920, my grandfather joined the Polish (or Russian) Army, but instead of serving, he ran away (AWOL). Zaidie said he could not fight for a country that was killing Jews in the Pogroms, and escaped to the United States.
Which is true? I don’t know. I’m sure some variation is true. I have bits and pieces of stories handed down to me, but none of them are documented.
I do know that Zaidie eventually stowed away on a ship sailing to Canada. From there, he walked across the border into the U.S. telling the border guards: “Of course I’ll return to Canada, I’m just going to visit my brother, Myer. My grandfather never returned to Canada. Instead, he sent money back to Poland, to my grandmother (Bubby), so she could join him and start a new life together in Chicago. But that’s all I have; it’s all I know about how my grandfather came to the United States. There is no one left to ask. My grandparents and the few relatives who survived the Holocaust are no longer alive.
I have tried to do the research and to put the pieces of the puzzle together. However, because of the Holocaust, all documentation, even the name of the town (Boger) in which my grandfather was born and grew-up, have all been expunged, purged from history. My family is left only to speculate about what actually happened.
I would dearly love to see a video of my grandfather and to hear him talk about his life and to hear his stories. But sadly, I cannot.
I have made it my job to tell my children what I do know about our ancestors. I can tell them that their great-grandfather grew up in Poland, made his way to America around 1920, when he was about 18 years old, and because of Zaidie’s efforts; I was born in Chicago sixty-three years ago. My children will know that their grandfather had a large family, but sadly, they were all killed during Pogroms and in the Holocaust. My children and grandchildren will know of all the wonderful memories I have of my grandfather. They will hear about all the holidays we spent together, of the joy, love and a sense of family I received from Zaidie and Bubby. My children and my grandchildren will know because I am telling them and will continue to tell them.
Will your children and grandchildren know about your family? What are you doing to ensure that future generations don’t have to puzzle over mysteries they may never be able to solve?
As we commemorate Yom HaShoah today, let’s remember our ancestors and their struggles. But let’s not forget what we can do for the future. We owe it to Zaidie and Bubby to make sure our family’s stories are never forgotten.
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Susan Harrison is an author who resides in San Diego, CA, where she works as an educator and a facilitator for GAB (Guided Autobiographer) and The Braille Institute. She has been published in various e-zines. Susan is a modern grandmother and her favorite ‘job’ is reading books to her granddaughter via Skype.
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