The Big Bloody Fight

My last trip to Cincinnati for both research and visiting my family I was reminded by my cousins of "The Fight," as it's always been referred to when gatherings take place.  Indeed, my Uncle Bill recalls that the first time he came calling at Grandma's apartment to court my Aunt Dot, he was educated on The Fight.  Any new person had to know about The Fight.

When I was a little girl, Grandma began telling me about the time my father threw my grandfather out of the house, and I've remembered all these years that she said, "...down the stairs."  She withheld the gory details for my benefit I guess, so all I could see in my mind's eye was my grandfather, dressed in the same suit he wore the only time I remember seeing him, rolling and thumping down the wooden stairs in the 2223 Clifton Avenue house.  My grandfather being tossed down from the second-floor apartment there.

But then I found evidence recently that the Frank Dean family lived at Number 1 West Hollister Street, on the corner of Vine and across from Inwood Park.  What a surprise to find this present-day pretty blue home, just a block or so away from my Catholic school and church.  

No. 1 West Hollister Street present day.

The Hollister Street residence is listed in the 1942 Cincinnati Directory, the same year I was born and Dad left for the army.  The copyright office received the directory in January 1942, the army took my father in August, and I was born the next month in September.  Dad is listed in the directory in a separate apartment from his mother, and my mother's name is not listed.  She may have been taking care of her mother out in Morrow, Ohio, who was dying of breast cancer about that same time and wasn't present when the directory listers came.

Is this where Dad had to force his abusive father to leave the home?

Or was it earlier, maybe when the family lived on Pendleton Street, across from St. Paul's School?  That was in 1930, when my Dad was ten years old.  From the way The Fight story goes, I'm sure he was older than that.

1111 Pendleton Street in the East End

St. "Paulus Schule," where Dad and his sibs must have attended , in the 1930s.

This last visit home, the details of  The Fight were once again relived, how my Dad refused at first to hit his father but rather pushing him away from the house and telling him to leave.  When my grandfather kept coming back at Dad, ravaging his bloody face, something must have snapped inside my father, and he went after Grandfather Frank, beating him so badly that it's said that one of his eyes was hanging out of the socket by the time the police arrived. 

I don't know if Frank tried to come back after that.  Grandma never said.  Dad would not discuss the incident at all with me, and in later years I knew he felt guilty for what he in fact had to do to protect his family.  After all, that's what the oldest son does, as my Grandma so long ago told me.  Also mentioning that my Dad was "a good boy."  

Tripping on Research

I never anticipated a photo of me sitting on a stranger's tombstone looking up facts on my laptop, but here's the proof.

Old St. Joseph German Cemetery in Cincinnati holds my Wehrle ancestors, but finding them was a trip in itself.

Our recent get-away was part "live family" visiting and doing research on the departed.

And eating Cincinnati chili of course.


I'd read up on how to prepare for a research trip so I'd know how to be organized and make the best use of my time.  I thought I'd done a pretty good job getting ready -- until we got to Old St. Joe's.  Yes, the office gave us a map and a diagram of the graves we were seeking, but I found it's almost easier to just walk the rows and read the stones.  The papers we were presented didn't match up.  Then, too, many old graves have the inscriptions worn away, so some of those we figured might be my ancestors.

What we didn't foresee is that some graves have no markers at all.  If they're really old, the grass may have long ago covered any trace of burial.  Repeated trips back to the office finally revealed the grassy site where great great Grandfather Valentine Wehrle was interred.  But not by himself.  Appears a number of other family members share the plot.

Then I remembered my ancestors were poor people.  The costs of buying a plot alone probably was all they could afford.

My husband said we should buy a gravestone and list all of their names.  Once we find out who all exactly is in that grave besides Valentine.

In the empty space on this photo, surrounded by visible monuments, lie some of my ancestors from Germany.

My goal was to see the stones of Valentine and Maria, but I'm not sure great great Grandmother Maria is even buried there with her husband.  She outlived him quite a long time.  Time ran out for us on the trip, and I never found Maria for sure.

I also wanted to find my Grandma Clara Wehrle Dean and put that off until last because I knew that would be easy.  Wrong.

Again, the map made it harder.  Finally browsing the rows in order, I saw Grandma's stone.  I knew my Grandfather Frank Dean, (Grandma's husband) wouldn't be buried with her, since he'd been made to leave the home for abusive behavior and then married a different woman though he never got a divorce.  Grandma would not break the Catholic Church's rules.  So Frank was a bigamist.  

Imagine my shock when I finally found Grandma's stone next to a matching stone inscribed with the name Joseph Wald.  Who is Joseph Wald?  No one in the family knows.

My aunt had Grandma's marker inscribed "Mother."  This Joseph Wald person is labeled "Father."

With family history, there are always surprises.

I think someone bought the small plot next to Grandma and put their father there, even though that person wasn't part of our family.  However, I am of course researching Joseph Wald on Ancestry, so far with no luck.  Planning to try Family Search.org and a few others.

Also scouted out New St. Joseph, which primarily houses Irish and Italian people.  I wanted to find my paternal great grandmother (Frank Dean's mother), Nellie Cramer Dean O'Flaherty.  She must have been buried in one of the spots where the stones' inscriptions are no longer readable, or she has no marker.  Once again, the map and diagrams were of no help.

 I finally looked over the burial grounds and offered up, "Rest in Peace, Great Grandmother Nellie.  I care, and I came."  I just wish I knew more about her.

Next post will describe our jaunt to Orangeburg and Maysville, Kentucky, and the problems encountered there.  Then I've got history and photos of Cincy where my people lived, always "Somewhere Over-the- Rhine."

All together, I call the trip successful.

You Were Born to Tell Yours

Got this from the ProBlogger blog today.

"Get Obsessed with Your Message," guest post by Danielle LaPorte of www.daniellelaporte.com.

Every movement has a story. Every nation has a story. Every community has a story. Every person has a story. You were born to tell yours.

I'm glad I read ProBlogger today, one of my favorite sites...always offers something I can use.  

Now I'm off to work on My Story, Somewhere Over the Rhine.  

To see where I've been these long weeks, click on my main blog, http://journey2f.blogspot.com.

Too much time away from my book writing, but I've got time.  I was born to write it, to tell it.

Research and Writing

The February Family History Writing Challenge, sponsored by the Armchair Genealogist is going well for me, though it's hard work.  You know the saying, "Nothing good comes easy."  I used to tell my kids that whenever they seemed too lazy to reach for a hard goal.


Writing is hard.


Writing that requires research (actually all writing does) is especially hard.


This month-long challenge is intended for us to write the stories, period.  Get that first draft down.  We should mark the spots in our manuscripts where we need to come back to fill in details, etc.


And I was following that advice.  The problem is that when I'm writing, sometimes I "want" that piece of research.  I want it now.  Not later.  Could the information make a difference in my writing the rest of the story ?  Might that information slant my story from there on out?  I'm afraid it might, so here's what I've been doing.


When I need to research something while I'm writing, I go to my minimized web window and see what I can find in as short a time as possible.  Then I copy and paste to my manuscript the facts I want to use.  Sometimes I paste several paragraphs of research findings, which I'll be able to sort out, cut down, and customize to my story  later in rewrite. I also use a red font for this added research.


Then I save the changes and proceed telling the story.  I realize this pasted text adds falsely to my word count, but that's a minor problem, and not really a problem at all, because if I really want to be precise on where I'm at on words, I can block the inserted section, see the word count, and subtract that number from the overall count.  Below is an example of how I added some research on the fly from a website, marked it plainly, including the source, and kept on writing the narrative

Another explanation for the difficulty that German Catholics, in particular, faced in trying to get jobs in the new country was that while many immigrants came with funds to buy land or had technical skills and could work as tradesmen, not all who came to Cincinnati fit into this group.  

"German Catholic immigrants were often denied work at publicly financed construction jobs, and were excluded from joining clubs established by native-born Cincinnatians. German customs clashed with the lifestyle of American-born Protestants who frowned upon the way that German families spent Sundays in theaters, saloons, and various singing societies. Catholic loyalty to the pope in Rome seemed to prohibit the notion that these foreigners could ever become proper American citizens. This anxiety grew, resulting in the formation of the “Know-Nothing” party in the 1850s. A political group of nativists, they were alarmed as immigrants, Catholics, Jews and blacks streamed into “their city.” The panic continued to grow, causing a major riot on Cincinnati streets."  HTTP://WWW.CINCINNATI-CITYOFIMMIGRANTS.COM/CCI/GERMAN.HTM

I've also started typing notes and reminders right into the manuscript at the end of the current story.  For example, as I was writing a few days ago, I thought about how I should insert a photo of my grandmother's old Domestic sewing machine she gave to one of her daughters, my Aunt Clara, who in turn gave it to me when I was a teenager, and which I still have.  At the appropriate place in the book, around the time Grandma would have been using the machine, I'd like to see a picture of it, along with maybe the story of how Aunt Clara taught me to pump the treadle with my foot and sew up a seam, and about all the clothes I made for myself on that old machine.




In a red font I typed ** insert sewing machine photo** a number of spaces down from where my cursor currently resided.  As I typed, of course, the inserted red note moved down as well, to remain at the end of whatever I was typing.


Then another time, I decided I'd been looking back to my notes, or to Ancestry's Family Tree Maker, too many times to check dates of birth, death, or marriage, or which street one ancestor lived on at a particular time, so I inserted, again in red, the information down there with my sewing machine note.  This gave my fingers freedom to fly and not be distracted by small things I shouldn't let hinder me.


Below is an example of a few of my notes at the bottom of my current manuscript page, which move right along behind me.

valentine b: 1828 d: 1899 m: 1855 1933-34 jos and mary W. riddle rd. dates of deaths in order

 I'm seeing now that so many things happen when you follow the advice of all those great writers who say if you want to write, you just have to write, write, write every day.  Not think about writing, but just doing it on a regular schedule.


What happens when you immerse yourself in the writing is you become involved in your story, your book, you begin figuring out things on your own, you remember advice and tips you've stored away in your now hard-working brain.


It's all good!

Challenge Day 3

I'm excited about what I've done so far in the past two days on Somewhere Over the Rhine, my family memoir.  I'm beginning to see this looking like a book.

I decided yesterday to insert a family chart for my grandfather Frank Dean at the beginning of "The Dean of Orangeburg" chapter for my family readers to refer to easily as the various ancestors pop up in the writing.  Likewise, today I plan to put "The Wehrles from Baden" chart on the first page of that chapter.

Big Surprise!!  Discovered on a genealogy forum another Valentine Wehrle descendent who supplied me with the ship's passage info I've been beating my brain out to find for years.  Great, great grandfather Valentine and wife Maria docked at New Orleans in 1852, having sailed from La Havre, France.  Valentine's father's name was Franz Anton Wehrle from Wurttenburg-Baden.  Love it!

I'm happy with the Dean chapter, which I finished yesterday, and when I go back to edit -- hopefully next month -- it'll clean up easily and be what I intended.

This kind of writing is the hardest for me, though I would have thought otherwise.  I mean, I'm writing about what I know, which usually is the easiest, but because of the research, the facts and documents, and the historic timeline, it's tedious work.

I am  relieved to be finishing this project finally and so grateful I heard about this challenge in time to take part.  Back to work now.

Family History Writing Challenge

I'm all signed up and ready for the February month-long Family History Writing Challenge, Orchestrated by Lynn Palermo, the Armchair Genealogist.  You can find her and sign up for the challenge at http://www.thearmchairgenealogist.com/.

This comes, for me, at an incredible time.  I've let family problems detour my brain here lately and need to get re-focused on getting this family memoir finished and published.

The challenge itself is a God-send for me right now, and icing on the cake is all of the top-notch advice and information on planning and writing your book Ms. Palermo gives.  For free!

I'll be posting my progress here during the upcoming month and sharing what I learn.  It's good to be eager and excited for a change.

Where Can I Find the Prosit?

A photo I took on a recent trip back home.  The space between Murphey's Pub
and the red brick building is where I thought Grandma's apartment was.  It had a
decent side yard, and the other buildings are close together.  Also
in the photo of Grandma and Aunt Dot in the side yard, the "Warner Street" sign
is visible, meaning the house had to be in that spot.  This photo is taken on the
corner of Warner and Clifton.

I've looked and looked all over the web for the old Clifton Avenue saloon where my father and his friends hung out in the late '40s and early '50s.  I believe it was in the building now owned by Murphey's Pub.  Everytime we go home for a visit, I tell myself to go in the pub and see if the owners can give me any information on the Prosit Saloon.  I got on their website today and read the history they've posted.  Interesting.

They state that a Virgil Hahn established his bar and grill at that location in 1938, and the first beer was served. Then, in 1958, the business was sold to a Charles Mahoney who maintained the business until 1969, when the establishment became the present-day Murphey's.

The site also states that there have been many proprietors over the years.  Is it possible that between Hahn's and Mahoney's, the Prosit existed?

I remember, when we lived on Klotter Avenue, just a block or so down Clifton hill, in the sixties, the Prosit was there. On Clifton Avenue, not far from the corner of our street.  Honestly, it was there.

Perhaps in the empty lot next to Murphey's Pub there stood another commercial building that was demolished, and that was where the Prosit sat. Up until now, I've thought the empty lot was where the apartment building stood that Grandma lived in when I was a child, where Aunt Dot, Aunt Clara and Uncle Frank lived up until they married.

'll have to take another look when we're up there next, actually get out of the car and walk...maybe the physical closeness to the street and buildings will jolt my memory.  I'm also thinking I need to look up old property records to see what happened to the Prosit.

In the meantime, if a kindred Cincinnatian reading this remembers the old Prosit, give me a holler.  I'd be much obliged.  Back to my storywriting.