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I mean to keep up this blog and post about my family history, but I haven’t been very good about it since the first of the year. I did manage to scan and save an entire folder of family history as it relates to the paternal side, but I haven’t pursued any of the leads or transcribed many of the stories to this blog. I have a 40-page “General Family History” that someone transcribed, typed, and carbon copied to my father. I suspect my Uncle Mike wrote it from letter he has in his possession, but I have not called him to verify that. Most of it deals with letters written during the Civil War – originals that I do not own.

Personally, I have been dealing with whatever it is that cripples me – that undiagnosed, but very real, autoimmune condition that causes some very obvious (even to the medical field) symptoms. I should go to a doctor, but I am so over that right now. they can’t find what is causing this, so why go? Yeah, yeah, I get that the symptoms are on the “do not ignore these symptoms” list, but doctors can never find the root cause – so why not ignore the symptoms? It’s not like you get a magical remedy just because you checked in to a doctor’s office. you get a bill, insurance shaves a small portion off, and you pay for a shrug of the shoulders. Last visit? $143 for “Gee, I have no idea, but go to the ER if it gets worse.”

I crawled into bed last week and stayed there for three days. Cheaper than a doctor’s visit, and a modicum more of relief. It could be worse: I could have something they could identify that is actually very deadly and rapid in advance, or I could have Fibromyalgia. Whatever it is, it only cripples the body once in awhile and the rest of the time I just have weird (but obvious & measurable, even to doctors) symptoms.

I’ve also been working hard on starting an at-home business (now that I am finished whinging about my body aches and pains). I have a portfolio of mini paintings and several books on building my own Word Press website (not this blog, but my art site). It’s slow going on the web design because I feel intimidated by technology and I think I’m going to just have to bite the bullet and start from scratch with the web site. Now that I have made that decision, it should be easier (see, you didn’t even know I was making a decision, did you? Neither did I).

Meanwhile – I still love my job that is just three miles from home. I’ve had a bit of a bad attitude this week, but if I think about it – this is just where I am supposed to be. it’s just that it is *not* my career. My career is what happens in the evenings, when I have a pencil or paintbrush in my hand. My career doesn’t pay the bills; my job does.

I’m on a major deep cleaning and decluttering binge – my 2016 winter goal is to get through the entire house. My 2016 Spring goal is to bring the rest of my inheritance home and clutter up the space all over again, but this time with meaningful antiques. Oy vey. Let me just get the house in order, first. I’ve made it through the laundry room and most of the kitchen. The problem is the weather… It’s been NICE and the garden is beckoning. I can’t neglect my garden!!

I did manage to get out and prune my grapevine back, but the annual dead-heading and getting ready for blooms hasn’t happened yet, and the air has been so warm… I noted that my forsythia has blooms on it. Haven’t seen anything on the Camellia – yet.

And birds. I haven’t posted about birds, or even taken many winter photos of them. We have a resident Bewick’s wren that has moved to the front yard and has figured out the suet cages. The Brown Creeper has been a steady visitor, too. I can’t keep enough nectar in the Hummer feeders because the Townsend’s Warbler has figured out how to raid them.

So – my promise – to start transcribing the “General Family History” beginning in February. Then, Great Aunt Gert’s letters. And Newton Brown’s letters. Great-great Uncle Newton ought to be interesting. Great Aunt Gert was just funny. And, in between, I’ll post on gardening and decluttering. I’ll strive to post once a week, at least – just to practice my writing skills.

Besides – you all need to know how I got to Oregon from Jarbidge, right? It wasn’t a very direct route… But nothing in my life is.

 

The difference between folklore and fact is that one can be irrefutably proven and the other is usually a bit of an embellishment of truth that is handed down until the retelling of it becomes known as fact. An example would be the Ballad of Jesse James in which the writer wrote that Jesse robbed from the rich and gave to the poor, and that he had a wife and three children. The facts were very different: James was a thief with a vendetta against the railroad and he did not spread his wealth to the poor. He also only had two children, not three.

So what has this to do with Benedict Arnold?

I was leafing through some of my Grandfather Wilcox’s letters (Gramps, as I knew him) and I stumbled onto this gem of a story about my ancestry. I’d read it before but remembered few of the details. Here is the story (ancestral names in bold)(and complete in grammatical error):

<snippet> “Then there was another cousin, William Meade, his father & my great grandmother were brother & sister so I am told. That is the branch that had ancestor that was around Cedar Hill, N.Y. when he was very, very old. Along with two other lads they deserted the Continental Army thinking the cause about lost. On the outside they learned and observed different and were looking for a ticket back in to good graces of the Federal Forces when oneXXX Major Andre walked into a bar, then called a tavern, and they took him in tow and found the famous message from Benedict Arnold. They had their ticket and used it. Ancestor Williams was rewarded with a very nice piece of land that kept him in drinking liquor until he was still well preserved into the memory of future generations.” <end>

That makes you say “Hmmmm”, doesn’t it? Given Gramps’ penchant for spinning a tale and embellishing it, I thought it prudent to see how much of that narrative actually matches the historical record. I was surprised to find that enough of the record matches to make a connection, and the historical record differs a little in every version of the telling. However, not one single, verifiable, item in the record points to the three young men as AWOL from the Continental Army (which was not, no matter how much Gramps wanted it to be, a “Federal” Force as the Nation had not yet been born).

This much is true: three militiamen by the names of John Paulding, Isaac Van Wart, and David Williams did make the discovery and did arrest Major John Andre. (Another version gives the second man’s name as Van Wert.) (A “skinner” would be a Militiaman). Paulding was the only one of the three who could read and soon realized the man they were robbing was actually a British agent.

This little gem of Gramps’ use of folklore is full of fact and falsehood, but it makes for a great fireside story in much the same way as the Ballad of Jesse James makes for a moving ballad. Sprinkle the truth with a little spice – that would have been Gramps’ motto. There are obvious holes: Gramps skipped from William Meade, the very, very old man to a story about an ancestor named Williams.

This fellow, Williams, would be a distant relative, not a direct ancestor – if we are even related. I haven’t gotten that far on my search because I’m trying to stick with the straight lines of the family first (which includes the matriarchal lines as well as patriarchal).

6f61bd97-961f-420f-9c8d-36147952a501Thomas Force Palmer 1787-1865

I found a hand-written “history” of the Palmer clan in my file cabinet that I have reserved solely for genealogy. This is where I stuffed everything my father sent me: all my mother’s notes on her side of the family, and anything my dad had on his side of the family. My father was the grandson of John and Irene Wilcox. Joseph Snow Palmer was my great-great-great grandfather.

I have not researched the hand-written history, but I am going to transcribe it below (verbatim). It was written in pencil on faded note-paper, but is still legible. I’d like to capture it before it fades completely.

Here goes:

Coat of Arms was granted to Ralph Palmer in 14 century and brought (?) to the coming of the clan to America.

Ralph Palmer was of great note in the South of England and resided at Sussex. Sir Edward who was a descendant in the 8th generation was our ancestor. he (sic) married a daughter of Sir Richard Clement. She had three sons (think of it3) (sic) triplets and they were born on three successive Sundays, the first one on Palm Sunday*. Some Record (see coat of arms)**

The first of Palmers of our line in America: William. He came from Sommersetshire, England in 1621 on the good ship Fortune. He had a son, William. The second Wm. was a lieutenant under Capt. Miles Standish and has been designated as Lieutenant William Palmer. he was a man of large affairs and held many positions of trust. He married Judith Feake and had five sons & one daughter. One of his sons Ephraim married Sarah Messenger & they had seven children. One of whom was John, who married Sarah Close and had five children, one being Justus who married Amy Lockwood and had six children, all sons & the third of these was Ephraim our Revolutionary ancestor.

He was born in 1760, married Margaret Force in 1786 and had 11 children, seven sons and four daughters. The eldest of these was Thomas Force Palmer born in 1787. Married Rebecca Snow 1813 and then had six children, four girls & 2 boys.

Joseph Snow Palmer, b. 1819

*I’m trying to verify that story. Sounds like a tall tale: giving birth to triplets, but each one a week apart, beginning on Palm Sunday?? I can verify the boys were triplets, but not the story. That link also hints at the tragic death of my ancestor, Sir Thomas Palmer. (Cause of death: beheaded after the Lady Jane Grey conspiracy.) That bears a lot more research!

** Coat of ArmsPALMER-FAMILY-CREST--COAT-OF-ARMS_art

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Yeah. right. I itemized only those items we have purchased from Christmas at the Zoo. And the outside lights – I lost 5 strands last year (2015). Yay for cheap LED strands: what is up with five of them going “kaput”???

Not like it was a big deal: I did the outside lights AND lit up the company tree with my lights and didn’t even miss the five strands that died. That should tell me something.

Sometime in the next five days, I will get this all pushed into our 12×6′ attic space. Hopefully, I will d o this without hurting my knees.

Why? I don’t know. I really don’t know. But it’s fun. 🙂

Christmas Ramblings

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I had a lot of failures the last couple of days, and the photo of the full Christmas moon is – technically – one of them. Like the other failures in the past 48 hours, this one is  one I can live and work with. So there’s no detail on the moon, but I did capture it perfectly round as the fog parted – and I did it without a tripod. I balanced my camera (with the 300mm lens) on the stair post. One lucky shot.

I wasn’t going to do a Christmas post, but… here I am. Blogging at 11:20PM on Christmas Day. It was very nearly a disaster. Let me list my mistakes:

  1. I seriously mis-judged the popularity of Star Wars: The Force Awakens. Of course, I remember the opening of the very first Star Wars movie, right down to who I went to the movie with and what theatre. It was epic. I never dreamed I would give birth to children who would love that movie as much as I did. And I certainly never imagined a SOLD OUT Christmas matinee. When does that ever happen? Oh, yeah – Star Wars: The Force Awakens.
  2. I made my first-ever pecan pie. I made certain I had all the ingredients, and I had them all out on the counter when I started. Karo syrup, sugar, vanilla, eggs, chopped walnuts (OK, it was a walnut pie! Picky, picky!). I followed the instructions to a “T” and was a little surprised when the filling didn’t seem to fill the crust as expected. Oh, well. Put it in to bake and 60 minutes later realized I had forgotten to add the one cup of sugar to the syrup-vanilla-egg mix. OOPS.
  3. The oven would not light. I pre-lit it at 10:50AM so I could put the ham in at 11:00 and we could dine at 2:00. I’d used the oven a couple of hours earlier when I put it on “warm” to heat up the ceramic bowl I mix my sourdough bread dough in. I had no reason to believe the sucker wouldn’t light. It didn’t just not light – there was no gas flowing to it AT ALL. No gas = no danger of huge explosion. Checked the burners. They all lit. Turned off oven, turned on oven. NOTHING, not even a faint rotten egg odor. Called in the husband. He mentions that this has happened to him, but not on a scale like this.
  4. I broke one of my Spode Christmas glasses. Darn. Actually #4 was the moon pic, but since I broke the glass and I already mentioned the moon… Yeah. So I only have 3 pretty Spode Christmas glasses now.

I can’t repair #1. At least, not for the four of us. But I did hear a rumor that if I had looked a few miles south of home, I would have discovered that the nearby small town theaters are not sold out. And – get this – no passes, which means no internet pre-sales! Guess where my husband and I are going on Saturday? If I can reach my kid & her fiancé and they want to drive over here… I will have redeemed myself.

#2 wasn’t so bad. The pie is merely not as fluffy as it should be, and maybe not quite as sweet as it should be, but it is entirely palatable. Tillamook vanilla ice cream complimented the pie quite well.

#3. I made preparations to rewrap the ham and call a restaurant for reservations while my husband said a short prayer. God answered his prayer and the oven lit! Ta da! And then it over-cooked the ham. Seriously? I need a new gas range. It behaved when I put the rolls in, so at least those baked properly.

I’m going to confess something here. If you’re a fan of Pioneer Woman, don’t read any further. But, in all honesty, I nearly killed myself a few years back, stressing over a holiday dinner. My BP hit heart attack levels. I think it got up to something like 166/110. Yeah, it was Very.Scary. I didn’t go to the hospital or anything, but it was a real wake-up call to me to 1) always take my BP meds and 2) stressing isn’t worth it.

That said, we had instant mashed potatoes with instant gravy. Tasted like instant, but no blood pressure spikes. Choose your battles. At least the pie was palatable.

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Presents were awesome. We’d barely poured ourselves cups of coffee before the dogs began to beg to open their presents. No, really. Murphy got excited the minute we put up the tree and he’s been scanning the window for stockings every day since. I finally hung the stockings and he got really excited. Last night, he caught Santa filling them and he nearly came unglued with excitement. He climbed on the chairs and he tried to scale the wall. He was beside himself.

Harvey is a lot more like me – he can handle delayed gratification – but he was obviously hyped for the event as well.

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The “indestructible” dog toys were destroyed by Murphy within the half hour. That includes Harvey’s toy. Harvey doesn’t care – he doesn’t play. He just wanted the pleasure of opening his gift, and he got that. But the BIG hit was the homemade dog treats I made for them.

Homemade dog treats are SO simple. These were made from the remnants of a quinoa and kale soup with a chicken stock base. I tossed in a cooked yam and a gift of “bacon jelly’ that someone gave to me (don’t ask. I don’t know why, either, but it was very handy when I needed to make dog treats). Pureé. Add flour until you can roll it our without a big sticky mess. Bake at 350 for half an hour and then at 250 until hard. Turn once.

The dogs love this particular recipe. LOVE. LOVE. LOVE.

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A Bigfoot ornament. I actually squealed when I opened this. Don and I shop for ornaments at this wonderful store – Christmas at the Zoo – and I found this ornament there the day I picked out Don’s ornament. I almost cried. I couldn’t possibly tell him about it because then he would know where I bought his ornament and would possibly guess what it was (a moose). So when I opened this and saw it – I squealed. I knew exactly where he found it (down to the tree and limb).

He said the girl who boxed it for him was dubious when he said it was for his wife. Silly girl! She should spend more time believing.

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This was another squeal. These t-shirts kept popping up in my news feed on Facebook. I get that it’s about algorithms, but… This is so ME. The three women in my life that I call “daughter” conspired to do this for me. I love this!

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This is what I gave my husband (not all that I gave him, but his stocking stuffer). Christmas Murphy. It is gouache on canvas, 3×3″.

I have an entire project lined up that is posted on my other blog, Two Crow Feather Woman. 3×3″ canvases of animals for an art show. I’ve been selling them as a sideline ($30). It’s just fun. For the main part, I’ve stuck with animal portraits, but I am adding a little anthropomorphism to the mix as well.

That said, I leave you with this last offering and an invite to like my page on Facebook as well: Two Crow Feather Woman (Link will only work if you are on Facebook)

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Merry Christmas from me & Happy Penguin with a Christmas Vest!

The Harvemeister

I love dogs. I never thought I would say that. I mean, I have always *liked* dogs, but they were never the first animal I would choose. Horses, cats, birds, then dogs. Maybe reptiles would be in between birds and dogs.

That isn’t to say I haven’t had a number of wonderful family dogs – but that was what they were: family dogs. Not *my* dog. There was a dog that came close to changing my heart – a Dalmatian by the name of Mandy – but my husband and life came between us and I let Mandy down. Mandy was the closest thing to dog of my own that I loved and trusted unconditionally.

I’ve loved all the family dogs, but dogs always come with a caveat for me: I am afraid of dogs. Not so much dogs I know, but strange dogs. I need time to make friends with dogs. I don’t trust them. They can smell fear. They read people. I am afraid of dogs.

Then came the Harvemeister. Harvey Albert Presley. The gentleman of dog breeds. My best non-human friend. He is the epitomy of a non-working English Setter. I can only imagine what a hunting Setter would be like – rather intense, I think. Harvey is very intense when he is hunting something in the yard. Patient.

Harvey turned 6 this year. He’s not showing his age yet. His joints hurt a little, but they’ve always given him problems. He has rotten teeth and we’ll have to look into dealing with that next year. He’s finally accepted us as his Forever Home and he barks to be let in.

Do you know that adopted dogs do not bark for things until they are certain of their Forever home? Happy dogs bark. I didn’t actually understand that, but after my mom’s rescued Standard Schnauzer and Harvey, I understand that. Mom’s dog didn’t bark (or howl) for nearly a year. But once he understood that Mom was his Forever Parent, he started demanding things. Barking. Howling to be let in. Biting strangers who stepped into his territory (he even bit my dad).

It has taken Harvey five years to decide that we mean him no harm. Five years! But now he stands at the back door and lets out a single bark that means, “I’m ready. Let me in, please.” He will never bite anyone (he’s not a Schnauzer, after all!), but he is comfortable enough to let me know when my grooming pulls at him too hard. No nip, just a jerk.

Harvey has never chewed up anything except his annual Christmas present. He is second to eat (unless it is gravy, and then he has done Murphy harm). (Or a captured critter in the back yard, and then he steals from Murphy and commandeers the killing.) He has his quirks. There have been face-offs where Murphy has tried to exert his utter dominance and Harvey has refused to completely bow before the Alpha. Harvey is first through the door when it is time to go out or come in. Yet, he still has the grace to let Murphy think he is the Alpha.

We have to hold Murphy back while Harvey eats his morning beefstick or a dog biscuit. Murphy has perfect teeth (all of our previous dogs have had good teeth), but Harvey has to work around those cavities.

I never thought I’d give my heart so completely to a dog, but God brought me this incredible English Setter (next to a Dalmatian, I’ve always wanted an English Setter or a Gordon Setter). Harvey has been one of the best gifts ever.

So here are a few photos of The Harvemeister that I’ve taken in the past few days. Because he is my best non-human buddy.

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Go Out of Your Way

I’m taking a break from historical posts to just write from the heart. There are a lot of troubling things in the world right now, with a lot of finger-pointing and name-calling. I really need to bury my head in the sand like the proverbial ostrich: Make It All Go Away!

It won’t, and I know it.

On top of all the discussions over terror attacks in Paris, Beirut, Israel, and parts of Africa; on top of the political phone calls (every morning, right at 8:13AM!)(we don’t answer); on top of the polarization of candidates running for office (Donald Trump? Really? The man is a egotistical narcissistic bigot) – on top of this all, life goes on. People die of natural causes. Friends lose siblings. Just this week, two close friends lost a sibling.

That is just the setting.

The next layer is my own personality. I am an introvert. I can be an out-going introvert, but I am an introvert. I am also a highly sensitive soul who often buries my sensitivities so deep that even I forget that is why I wake up crying after an intense evening like last Friday the 13th. I’d sooner stay home than put myself out there, even for friends.

This is also my birthday month. I love my birthday month. It is the beginning of the holiday season – all the singing, decorating, lights, and magic. Angels get their wings with regularity during this time of year (every time a bell rings). Match girls get their wishes (even if it means dying, because her only wish was to be loved and her grandmother comes to carry her off to Heaven). It is my most social month of the year – and it is exhausting.

It is exhausting as only an introvert can find a social month to be.

I celebrated my birthday with dinner out with my husband. I spent a day with girlfriends – shopping and dinner and holding hands on the banks of the Sandy River to pray. I am planning Christmas parties. Thanksgiving is next week. People, people, people everywhere.

This morning, I woke up to rain. That’s not unusual considering where I live. Rain, rain, and more rain. One look at the freeway system and one would think we don’t know how to drive in the rain here (we don’t, so one would be right): wrecks everywhere. People hit that puddle of standing water and stand on the brakes and the wonder when the steering wheel takes on a life of its own – and the car goes flipping over and over and over when the wheels hit dry pavement again. It is the least lovely time of year to be driving.

That is the foundation.

Once a month, a group of my dear friends gets together. This is a different group from the group that gets together twice a year to celebrate “our” birthdays – that group that I met along the banks of the Sandy River to celebrate my birthday (among other fall ones). The monthly group consists of ex-coworkers. We worked together for the past 15 years at a small company that had a family feel to it (until a big corporation took over). What binds us together is the small business we used to work for, our former jobs, and the senior member of our group, my dear friend Lola Mae.

Lola is pushing 80. She was forced to retire because of her age. She had to sign some clause that she wouldn’t go after the company. Other members of my group had the same thing happen to them. Others took notice and chose their own way out: early retirement, marriage and relocation, finding another job. I took the latter out.

That is the back story.

Last week, Lola’s sister died. I don’t know how suddenly it was and I learned about it from a mutual friend. Lola didn’t mention it when I called her to make certain we were on for a November gathering. November and December are bad months to try to get together and nearly everyone bailed except Lola, one other person, and myself. I’m determined to be there for Lola as much as she will allow me to be there for her. She’s pretty independent.

I bought a card and signed it for everyone.

Then Lola called me and left a voice mail on my cell phone: she was sick and was going back to bed. She wasn’t coming tonight. The words between the lines were easy enough to hear. She’s hurting. Her sister died. She’s depressed. She wants to hide from the world. I know enough about depression to allow her this one day – I’ll call her tomorrow and give her something to laugh about. Today was not the time.

But I had this dinner date. One other person was planning on going. What to do? The easy answer was to cancel it: weather is bad, traffic has been horrific, I’m tired from all that has already gone on in November. She was noncommittal: “It’s up to you. You’re the one who has to drive…”

So easy.

Life is short. It is far too short. I messaged her back: “Let’s do it.”

So I had dinner with one friend tonight, Patty. We talked, we laughed, we got caught up on our kids and spouses and what we’re doing with our lives now. Then we hugged and agreed to skip December and meet in January.

This sort of thing doesn’t come easily to me. I’m not social. It’s easier to stay home. But I kept thinking: “What if something happens and I never have the opportunity to see Patty again?”

That would be tragic.

So – go out of your way. Keep that coffee/wine/dinner date. Time is precious.

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(Lola & I upon her “retirement”)

27 years have passed since that awful December of 1917. A lot of things have changed in the little Melrose family: Dale’s father, Philip G. Melrose, died in 1934. Little brother John grew up and got married to Emma Ada Robinson, and together they have three little girls: Phyllis, Donna, and Mary Lou (my mother). There are no letters relating back to Dale between 1918 and 1944 – and then…

004The script is large and precise, with a flair for the artistic. A photograph is tucked into the envelope, carefully wrapped in the stationery.

It is a letter from Norma Harvey, that girl from Newberg oh-so-long ago. It is this letter that makes me sit up and say, “oh!” Dale’s death broke more than the hearts of his immediate family – it forever changed Norma’s life.

Newberg, Oreg.

Sept. 24, 1944

My dear dear Mrs. Melrose,

     I can not begin to tell you how moved I was at the sight of your writing or how touched that you remembered after all these years. I can not forget your beautiful script; – an 005envelope that you addressed to me early in 1918 is here in my dresser with a lock of Dale’s hair and his baby picture.

    As you see, I never married. Twice I almost decided to, but thoughts of Dale’s ways:- his cleverness, ambition, kindness, and devotion made other men dull and uninteresting, – yet, was I wise?

    We still live in Newberg but since 1925 ( have taught in Portland coming home for holidays and week-ends.

    One Friday evening <on the bus to Newberg> some years ago, I fell into conversation with a man who used to know you in Perryville.* He had lost touch, he said, 006but he believed that you had moved to Eau Claire. I do not know the man’s name.

    Newberg has not altered greatly with the years. Many of the Presbyterians who were active in the church while you were there, are still functioning.

    Miss Jessie Britt – you remember her? – is as active and indispensible as a person can be.

    Mrs. Maggie Patterson, (very deaf, even in 1912) celebrated her eighty-ninth birthday yesterday and taught her Sunday School class today.

    Mr. and Mrs. Craw <and Violet> are both dead, but the younger daughter Nellie teaches in Newberg.

007    The Sandermans continue active or were until this spring when Mrs. S. broke her hip.

    Ethel Andrews is working in Portland, – has a civil services job and her own apartment. She will be glad to hear of you.

    My parents are living, but Dad aged 87 is not well. He, until last year, was brisk and hearty in every way but early in June he had a slight stroke and hasn’t been like himself since. His memory is so poor. Right now I am greatly worried over the problem of finding a woman to help Mother.

    I am very sorry about Mr. Melrose. Was he ill for long?

    How strange to think that little John has a family!

    Write me again, won’t you? A week from Tuesday is Dale’s birthday**, isn’t it?

    Very lovingly, Norma

*Perryville? I think she means Caryville. ** Not a question – Norma knew Dale’s birthday: October 3.

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July 1944       This is Ella Best (white hair) and I, taken at Jessie Britt’s Home. Ella was in the group to which Dale and I belonged. She now teaches in Winnipeg, Manitoba.

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The following is a long thank you list to all who helped me put these letters together:

My brother, Terry, who researched Whitman College, Dale’s theater professor, and more. He also hunted down information on Norma Harvey:

Her photo upon graduation from Pacific College (now George Fox University) and upon being crowned May Queen in 1917.

The Coronation News. Remember that she asked Dale not to congratulate her at the time.

Location of her grave in the Friend’s Cemetery in Newberg. She died on November 9, 1970. I snatched a photo of her headstone from Find A Grave. 1893-1970.

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Terry also found the military photo on Ancestry.com. It was attached to a ‘steenth cousin’s family tree – I need to go back and email the gentleman who posted it to let him know we are related. He has a more comprehensive tree than I do.

Thank you to my Aunt Donna, the middle daughter of Grandpa John Melrose. She pointed out to me that photos were not common “in those days” and it was “unlikely” that there were any of Dale. I didn’t think about that. We forget so much of how our ancestors lived just a century ago!

A shout out to my cousin, Wendy, one of Aunt Donna’s six children. Wendy shared her online photo  albums with me and I was able to find the same photos in my collection (unnamed) to match hers (named). Because of Wendy, I know I have a photo of Dale as a baby, quite possibly the same photo that Norma Harvey alluded to as kept in her dresser with a lock of his hair.

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I am going to take a short break from the blog in order to answer another pressing genealogy question. A gentleman emailed me from Ancestry.com regarding the Palmer side (up my father’s grandmother’s side) and I need to answer his questions – and ask him some!

 

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I believe that one of the hardest things to do is to write a letter of condolence. What do you say? What if the death happened a month ago and you just now heard? What do you write?

There are snippets of letters in Great Grandmother’s collection, but I have chosen to share only two of them.  The other items are almost irrelevant in nature, or clipped to omit much of the rest of the letter. What follows below are the most complete letters, and the ones that somehow resonate more deeply as to his character and person.

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The Western Union Telegram came from the President of the University of Oregon immediately upon the news. It is incorrectly addressed to D.G. Melrose (Philip G. Melrose was Dale’s father). It is dated Dec 20- 1917.

HAVE JUST RECEIVED THROUGH DR EBERLY KUYKENDALL OF CAMP LEWIS SAID (sic)NEWS YOUR GREAT LOSS IN         DEATH OF YOUR SON          UNIVERSITY EXTENDS HEARTFELT SYMPATHY AND SHARES YOUR SORROW YOUR SON MADE MANY WARM FRIENDS WAS      UNIVERSALLY RESPECTED PLEASE WIRE IS WE CAN BE OF ANY SERVICE

P.L. CAMPBELL

PRES UNIVERSITY OF OREGON

740A

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Newberg Oreg. Jan Dec 27 – 1917

Dear Mrs. Melrose

      It was with great surprise and the deepest sorrow that we learned of Dale’s death last week and I am writing this to convey the most heartfelt sympathy both from myself and the young people of the church and Sunday school. I was proud to count Dale as one of my friends and as I was for some time his Sunday school teacher, I felt a particular attachment and interest in him. I thought possibly it might be some consolation to your in your great sorrow and gried to know how much Dale was loved and respected here in Newberg. I have heard so many tributes to his splendid character, and his unusually high standard as a student both here and at Eugene. You, as his mother, can certainly feel proud of his record, And especially of his last service as a volunteer when he gave his life for his country. –With deepest sympathy to your self and Mr. Melrose. I am Very sincerely yours – Jessie E Britt.

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Penciled on the back of the envelope of this letter are these words: Mildred Brown’s letter after hearing of Dale’s letter.

Mildred was the daughter of “Uncle Harry”, one of Mary Brown Melrose’s four brothers (“Aunt Anne” was Mary’s sister)

Mildred, as you may recall, was attending the University of Oregon with Dale.

The letter is postmarked January 10, 1918:

Dear Aunt Mary and Uncle Phil,

Please forgive my long delay in writing to you. I have been so shaken that it has taken me a long time to regain a normal composure.

But I want you to know a little of how much Dale was admired and respected here on the campus. He won for himself a place in the hearts of his comrades and fellows much to be envied by those less fortunate. His instructors held him in highest esteem. It is no small matter to have gained the marks in one’s work that Dale won. He was a shark in everything and was taking honors in four different subjects. After having had six weeks of French he was teaching it at Camp Lewis.

You should be very proud of having been able to give such a sou. That he should have been compelled to make the greatest sacrifice but adds to the splendor of what he has achieved. Had he been unwilling to make the sacrifice, had he hesitated an instant (?) his duty, then you might feel differently. But he was ready, eager to do his best and give his all if need be. I think that nothing has ever shown us what splendour there is in the soulds of men as this war has done. Had it never been we should have missed one of the finestspectacles it has ever been the privilege of mankind to see. I do not say that it isn’t awful and full of the most heartrending pain as well – but never before have men revealed the heights to which their sould can attain. In the manner in which men are giving up their lives for an ideal, there could be nothing more magnificent. One English boy who died in the eastern campaign phrased his feeling thus:

“If I should die think only this of we

That there’s some corner in a foreign field

That is forever England. There shall be

In that rich earth a richer dust concealed-

A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware.

Gave once her ways to roam flowers to love, her ways to roam

A body of England’s breathing English air,

Washed by rivers, blessed by — of home.”

There is more to it but I don’t remember it.

~~~~~~

She ends her letter there, unsigned.

The full poem follows this last image of Dale’s headstone.

IMG_0454

The Soldier

Rupert Brooke, 18871915

If I should die, think only this of me:
   That there’s some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England.  There shall be
   In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
   Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England’s, breathing English air,
   Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
   A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
     Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
   And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
     In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

 

 

 

My brother found an interesting item when doing research on Dale. It is page 928 of an eBook: “History of Oregon” by Charles Henry Carey, pub. 1922  According to this record, Dale died of “Anaphylactic shock”. It is the only record I can find that lists that as the cause of cause of death.

What I do have is a very long letter (posted below – apologies for the length of the post). The letter is unsigned, and they didn’t keep the envelope, but it is clearly from Dale’s friend (and former teacher) J.H. Pruitt. There are more than enough clues in the body of the letter to point to the author. It is nearly 8 pages long in very fine, neat, precise cursive (five, typewritten). What follows is the letter and then the response from the Chairman from the Committee on Military Affairs, George E. Chamberlain.

361st Ambulance Co.

Camp Lewis, Wash.

Dec. 26, 1917

Dear Mr. & Mrs. Melrose;

       I received your letter yesterday. The day after Dale’s death I went to our 1st sergeant and got your address with the intention of writing to you when I got home for Xmas vacation. I felt that if I mailed the letter here and told you the whole truth about the matter that you might not get it as good deal of our mail from here is censored and is not sent on. This is done when they think the soldiers are complaining about conditions or are saying anything against the management of affairs in camp. But I am going to risk it. I shall ask you, as soon as you get this, to write to me, telling me just how many pages you receive and if any of it is blotted out. If you don’t get it at all, I’ll write again when I get home. We are still under quarantine but as this is the 8th day since Dale’s death and no new cases have developed, I think it will be lifted in two or three days.

     I met Mr. Melrose once when I was teaching in Newberg High School. I taught there three years, and Dale was in school all that time. I learned very soon to admire him very much both for his personal qualities and mental ability. he could learn anything very easily and seemed never to forget what he learned. The last year I taught there which was the year Dale graduated, I used him for my assistant in laboratory work. He was splendid in this capacity and could always be relied upon to do the work exactly as I wanted it done. I came to love the boy and we became very close friends.

      The next year he went to Whitman College as a Scholarship Student and I was very pleased to know that he kept up his splendid record there. The next year I went to school at Chicago University and lost sight of Dale. I heard after I returned to Oregon next year that he had fone to the University of Oregon and had appeared in a play at Portland. I heard nothing more of him for some time.

      I was drafted into the National Army from Forest Grove, Ore. Sept 18, 1917. I had been Principal of the High School there the year before and was to have been there again this year. When I arrived in this camp I was put into an infantry company and was there for over a month. One day I met Dale.

      I did not know that he was here. he told me where he was and asked if I would like to get into his company. As I greatly preferred to save life than to take it, I told him I would be delighted. He and I went to work at once to get my transfer. In about three weeks I obtained my release from the infantry and was sent to 361st Ambulance Company.

     Dale at once took charge of me and helped me get acquainted with the fellows. I found them a fine lot of men. The sergeant told me that I could put my bed beside Dale’s. From the first we were special friends. We took walks together, sat together during lectures, tried to be together when we marched, in fact we liked each other better than anyone else in the company. So often after the the lights were turned off for the night, we would talk for an hour or more in low tones. I always enjoyed these talks very, very much.

     I am sending you a clipping from the Eugene paper. They have things stated there as the camp doctors reported them. I have marked the places that are not correct. Here are the facts and any of the boys will tell you the same thing.

     About 8 days before his death, Dale told me he was not feeling well. The next day he looked flushed but attended drill and lectures as usual. He remarked to me, “I am not able to be out here,” when we were drilling. I asked him why he didn’t report to the sergeant that he was sick. “Would do no good,” he replied. “They won’t let a fellow off for anything as long as he can walk.” I think he reported the next morning at the 7 o’clock sick call. If not the next, it was the second morning. The sergeant tho’t he had a sore throat and told him to return to duty. That day he said to me, “I have had a fever and feel pretty bad. I really feel sorry for myself I feel so weak.” The next day (which I know was Thursday) he did not appear for lectures or drill but stayed in bed without permission from anyone. He said, “They can put me in the Guard House if they want to but I am so miserable I can hardly stand to be up.” He wore his overcoat all the time and was so hoarse he could hardly talk and his face was terribly flushed.

      I failed to mention that about two weeks before this he and about twenty others had their beds moved into a barrack across the road so that we would all have more room. I thus did not see him excepting during the day, at lectures, drill and meals and did not sleep by him as I had up to this time.

      On Friday morning the captain called us together and gave us a talk on behavior. He read a list of ten names who had violated rules recently and who were going to have their standing lowered. Dale’s name was among them. I was sitting beside him and I saw he felt greatly hurt because if the announcement. All the fellows in the company are graded, A, B, or C according to their behavior and how well they obey orders. A grade means a fellow is a splendid soldier. Dale held an A card. The Captain’s announcement meant he was to be reduced to B. I asked Dale what he had done. He said, “I stayed in bed without permission yesterday but I just couldn’t stand to be up. My fever seems to be worse all the time.” As soon as we were dismissed Dale said he was going to see the captain. The captain likely knew noting about his sickness before. I went to the office door with him, saw him go in, and thru the office door saw him salutethe saptain and in a very distressed manner say a few words to him. When he came out I asked what he said to the captain. He replied, “I told him I was all in and not able to do anything.” I wanted to know what captain said and if he spoke about being reduced from A. to B. “He did not say much of anything and I did not say anything about the reduction.”

      I don’t think they made him work that afternoon yer I am not sure. But I do know they had him out to drill again Sat. morning. He coughed all the time nearly. He said his fever seemed to be a little lower that it was. He really tho’t that he had nothing more than a very bad case or Grippe. Sat. P.M. and all day Sun. we don’t have any work so he was able to rest during that time. I didn’t see him from Sat. noon until Mon. morning. Mon. morning he reported again for sick call and our sergeant got a little alarmed about him and took him over to the base hospital for examination. they gave him their usual hurried examination which only takes about half a minute and told him to go back and work but to come over again right after noon and they would examine the lining of his throat more carefully. Before he left, however, they painted his throat with silver nitrate.

      At ten o’clock Mon. morning our Company officers gave us the usual physical examination which we all get about once every three or four weeks. The men undress and stand by their beds and the officers walk along and look us over to see that we are in good condition, are clean, that our feet are not blistered and that we have contracted no diseases. They look over our company of 120 men in about 30 or 40 minutes. On this occasion the fellows in the barracks across the road all came over to the main building, so the company would all be in a group. I told Dale to come and stand by my bed. First they called the roll. When they came to Dale’s name he answered, “Here,” as loudly as he could, but his voice was so weak I was sure they did not hear him. (That afternoon they posted his name with a few others as not being present at inspection.)

     After the roll call, we were told to undress. When Dale got his shirt off I noticed that his back was all covered as thick as could be with tiny red specks about the size of a pin head. I tho’t at once, “He looks as though he had scarlet fever,” but I did not say it to him or any one else at the time. The officer looked a moment at his back in a rather surprised manner as he came along our part of the room, yet did not seem to consider anything much wrong. After we dressed I told Dale to lie on my bed for a while and cover up if he wanted to. He said he would go back to his own bed across the road he thought.

      Afternoon he went back to the hospital and waited for nearly two hours for the doctors to come and re-examine his throat but they didn’t come, and he left, telling the attendant he would be back Tuesday morning. I sat by him during the lecture at 3:30 Mon afternoon and he told me about going to the hospital. That was the last time I saw him.

      The next morning he walked over to the hospital again. I think our sergeant went with him but I don’t know for sure about this. The doctors examined his throat again and decided that it was likely diphtheria  that ailed him.

     There is an antitoxin which is injected into the blood that greatly relieves diphtheria but which is dangerous to one whose body is weakened by some other disease. So they decided to inject the blood with some of this. They injected it and in two minutes Dale was dead. Our own Company Officers say that he had scarlet fever and was killed by the diphtheria antitoxin.

     All the above is thoroughly true and I am sure you will believe me. Any fellow in the company will tell you the same thing as far as he knows it. I likely know as much about it as any of the fellows as I was his special friend. If anything ever happens to me of this kind I want someone to write to my wife, mother and sister and tell them all about it. I felt it my duty to do the same for Dale’s folks.

    A sense of gloom settled over our compar when we heard the news. I especially felt that a true friend and brother had been taken away from me. I have felt so alone here without him. There are so many nice fellows here but none can ever take Dale’s place with me. We also feel a deep disgust with the doctors who made the awful mistake and gave him the wrong thing. If he had been allowed to stay in bed when he got sick we feel that he would be all right now. He had a very strong constitution and it was hard for a disease to get hm down. Many fellows would have been too weak to walk long before Dale’s death. If he had been given consideration when he kept telling them he was sick and given treatment I don’t think the sickness would have been very severe with him.

    Please know that you have my fullest sympathy for I believe that I feel the loss more keenly than anyone besides his parents. I’ll see that his things are sent to you. I don’t know just what he left but will speak to the officers about them and get them. If I don’t hear from you in due time I’ll take for granted that this never reached you and will repeat the whole letter when I get home for a few days.

<J. H. Pruitt’s signature has been cut off here>

The clipping states that he died at 5PM. It was 10A.M. instead. It also says he had been sick only one day. the fact is, he was sick 8 or 9 days.

009010

The above letter was transcribed and mailed to the United States Senate Committee on Military Affairs, chaired by George E. Chamberlain (Ore. Dem.)

Mr. and Mrs. P.G. Melrose,

Caryville, Wisconsin

My dear friends:

I am in receipt of your favor of the 5th instant, with enclosed copy of a letter, from which you erase the name. I am returning it to you here-with, and beg to suggest that unless I have authority to use the name of the writer it cannot be of any assistance to me. I can readily appreciate that young men in the Service do not like to complain because it might work to their disconfiture and discredit with their Superior Officers, but I am only explaining to you that unless I can use the letter it does not help me in the situation which confronts me.

Yours very sincerely

GeoEChamberlain

001IMG_0448*I’d post the entire hand-written letter, but it takes up too much room!*

Photo credit for the headstone: Me. I took it in June of 2008 while visiting the cemetery in Rock Falls, WI.