Tag: genealogy

People Past

Last week, buildings emerged and oil derricks erupted. Evidence accumulated, context implied. An unknown town takes shape and we surmise. Now, people stare across a century and time flies.

Seven adults carefully arranged on a rocky outcrop. Three men, four women. Two children in white dresses seated in front. Twins? Cousins? Someone operated the camera.

We see the composition and relational questions arise. Are they family? Kin? Friends on an outing? Do the poses suggest occasion, or documentation?

Evidence ends and story begins. We fill in by reading subtle cues in how they stand, who touches whom, which faces seem to fit together. Clues come quietly and mistakes, too. Always, we’re revealing ourselves.

Here we see one girl, three moments, and years passing. The baby stares out with solemn intensity. Then she’s older, on a throne in white dress, commanding the frame. Finally she’s the eldest of four, and her protective gaze tells all.

The postcards show her time moving, roles shifting. She grows and gains presence. She becomes a big sister, then a bigger sister still.

The postcards show the sequence and the story intrudes. We can safely assume the scenario, the kinship, the birth order. But then we imagine her. She and her siblings stand as evidence. We provide the narrative.

Now nine men, perched around a large rock on uneven ground in a forest, maybe a park. Hats, a variety of ties, white shirts in sunlight. Ages range. Some engage the camera. Others look away.

Compare this to the first photograph. Similar outdoor setting and careful arrangement. Same paper stock, same photographic quality. Do any faces repeat? That man in the center looking off to the distance—could he be the man on the back left of the family group?

We squint. The shape of a jaw, the set of shoulders, the tilt of a head. Errors lead us toward other observations. Misreads become clues. We’re searching, and trying out plausible connections.

A different girl and a similar progression (maybe). The baby carriage can be dated within a range, 1915-1925. Fashions shift slowly in some places, rapidly in others, but period details do show. Those bows!

However, uncertainties hover. Is this the eldest girl growing up? Or, are we forcing connection where none exists? The bobbed hairstyles might give it away. Or they might mislead entirely.

A particular stare, a nose ridge, an anomaly at the jawline, and we are on the pursuit again. The faces echo. Three generations, or two. We assign roles: son, mother, daughter. Sisters?

The oval portrait shows four women arranged in a formal cluster. Elaborate hairstyles, high collars, cameo brooch visible on the seated figure. More prosperous, perhaps. Different family entirely, or different branch? Is she at the center the same as the older woman below? We cannot know.

In between the guesses, a different story emerges entirely. Our own families, and that we belonged. Or, that we confidently walked on. In either case, we are humming with history.

We’re deep in assumption now. Building genealogies from facial features, paper stock, and similar poses. The archives encourage it. These cards traveled together. Someone kept them together. The connections existed, however disassembled.

Another baby carriage, different from the first. And on the back of the card, handwriting: this is Irene with Willie’s baby, sent to Aunt Fannie. We know Irene from when she was four, seated with Uncle Rufus Dale, 84.

What satisfaction, when a storyline clings together. Names accumulate. Groups delineate. Relationships clarify. The archive speaks back, and the story begins to imitate fact.

The search becomes research. The archive rewards our attention and budding accuracy. But, who doesn’t love Aunt Fannie? Even if we’ve never seen her.

Now, here is Irene amid two new figures who appear to have a strong bond. Sisters? Friends?

As we might expect, there is more to reveal. Next week, we’ll look at pairings in quite a variety, and even more merry misleads. Then portraits, and finally, a grave.

Wise Eyes

Old Rufus Dale had seen a thing or two, and Irene had her suspicions.

An early 20th century real photo postcard (RPPC) showing a poignant intergenerational portrait.

Front of the card: The photograph captures an elderly man with a distinctive long white beard, dressed in a dark suit, seated on a dilapidated wooden loveseat or couch in front of a clapboard house. Beside him sits a young child in a white dress, perched on the arm of the furniture. Behind them a decorative lace curtain hangs outside the open window. The setting appears to be rural America.

Back details: The reverse shows the handwritten inscription in pencil, Uncle Rufus Dale, age 84 and Irene age 4. We can assume a family relationship, likely between grand-uncle and grand-niece.

Condition and Appeal: The real photo postcard is in excellent condition front and back, unposted with helpful writing, and an AZO indicia dating the item between 1904 and 1918. The subject matter and production method suggest this is a unique image and object, with no known duplicate.

RPPCs are quite collectible, especially those with interesting and clear photographic subjects. The rural American family setting, the age gap between subjects, and the excellent condition make this item more desirable, appealing to collectors of early photography, genealogy researchers, postcard collectors, and those interested in American family and social history from the early 1900s.

[Note: Summer focus is on detailed captions. Essays return in September!]

Mattoon through Mayme’s Eyes

Sisters Mayme and Carrie stay in touch as Mattoon IL grows from a creek-side town to a modern crossroads before the war, 1910-1918.

Between 1910 and 1918, a series of postcards traveled between Mattoon, Illinois, and St. Mary’s, Indiana. On one end was Mayme, the author, who had made her home in the bustling railroad town of Mattoon. Her sister Carrie, who remained in St. Mary’s, received and kept the cards, now more than a century old. These correspondence cards—adorned with images of Mattoon’s infrastructure and landmarks—captured more than just personal exchanges between siblings. They documented a profound moment in America’s transformation from a rural society to an industrialized nation, with small Midwestern cities like Mattoon serving as microcosms of this national metamorphosis.

Nature and Community

Mayme sent the first postcard on November 29, 1910, bearing an image of Riley Creek with its stone bridge arch—a glimpse of the natural landscape that surrounded the growing town of Mattoon. This serene view of the creek precedes the increasingly industrialized town that Mattoon was becoming. Founded in 1855 and named after William B. Mattoon, a partner in the construction firm that built the Illinois Central Railroad, the town served as a critical junction between the Illinois Central and the Terre Haute & Alton railroads.

The stone bridge spanning Riley Creek represents essential infrastructure that connected different parts of the community and facilitated transportation within and beyond the town. Such bridges were vital elements in expanding road networks that would eventually complement the railroad’s dominance in transportation.

Mayme wrote about burdensome domestic chores and a new dress for an upcoming ball that she would wear again to a Thursday card party. She was participating in the social life of a community that was growing from its natural surroundings into a prosperous small city.

I’m about worked to death, washed my sitting room curtains, blackened my cook stove, scrubbed the kitchen and goodness knows what all…

Industry and Infrastructure

By 1914, Mayme was sending postcards that highlighted Mattoon’s industrial development. One image showcased the substantial Clark Meter Box Factory, with its distinctive tower and solid brick construction. America’s industrial expansion was moving beyond major manufacturing centers into smaller towns and cities. The factory produced meter boxes for utilities—products essential to the electrification and modernization sweeping across America in the early 20th century.

While Mayme reported her handiwork at home like knitting, crocheting, and gardening, the meter box factory represented the industrial world that was transforming the American economy. Manufacturing facilities like this provided jobs that attracted workers and their families to communities like Mattoon, contributing to urban growth and economic diversification beyond traditional agricultural and railroad employment.

Also in 1914, Mayme sent a postcard showcasing Mattoon’s “New U.S. Post Office,” a stately neoclassical building with grand arches and an American flag prominently displayed. This wasn’t merely a functional building but a statement of federal presence and civic achievement. During this period, post offices in American towns weren’t just mail facilities—they were symbols of connection to the national government and markers of a community’s importance.

The grandeur of Mattoon’s post office reflected the federal government’s expanding role in American life—a time when postal services were being standardized and rural free delivery was connecting previously isolated communities. The building is a physical manifestation of the communication network that allowed Mayme’s postcards to travel to Carrie with such regularity.

Hospitality and Social Life

In 1915, Mayme’s postcard featured the lobby of the Hotel Byers, offering a glimpse into the social aspirations of Mattoon during this era. The elegant interior, with its decorative fireplace, ornate hanging lamps, and comfortable seating area, represented the town’s desire to provide metropolitan amenities. Hotels like the Byers served not just as lodging for travelers but as social centers for the community.

For Mayme, the hotel offered refined experiences and social mobility. The hotel’s ballroom would have served as the venue for the dances she mentioned, while its dining room hosted the card parties that figured prominently in middle-class social life. These gatherings provided opportunities for networking across class lines, connecting domestic and railroad workers’ families with merchants, professionals, and industry owners.

The “new” Hotel Byers replaced an older establishment of the same name that had served Mattoon since the late 19th century. This newer iteration, constructed around 1914, was a modern hotel that served as crucial infrastructure for a growing city with ambitions to attract business and industry. The hotel’s construction coincided with a period of economic optimism in Midwestern towns before America’s entry into World War I, when many similar communities were upgrading their commercial buildings as part of the broader Progressive Era emphasis on civic improvement.

Railroad Town

The last postcard featured the “Illinois Central Subway” in Mattoon, which wasn’t an underground transit system but a distinctive sunken railway passage that bisected the town. This engineering feature allowed trains to pass through without disrupting street-level traffic, a forward-thinking design that embodied the marriage of infrastructure and everyday life. The buildings lining the upper level of the postcard show Mattoon’s commercial district that grew directly alongside the railroad—their proximity a testament to the symbiotic relationship between commerce and transportation.

Hope everybody’s well. Let me know just as soon as Jerry is called…

War Shadows

By July 1918, Mayme’s tone had shifted. Her ominous request to let her know “as soon as Jerry is called” reveals the long shadow cast by World War I over these Midwestern communities. The United States had entered the war in April 1917, and the military draft was touching families across the nation.

The war accelerated many of the industrial and social changes already underway in towns like Mattoon. Labor shortages created by military service opened new employment opportunities, particularly for women. The focus on wartime production reshuffled economic priorities. And the specter of loss hung over families, even as daily life continued.

While Mattoon’s industrial capacity may have contributed to the war effort through manufacturing, the human cost was felt intensely in personal correspondence like this.

Two Sisters

Throughout these exchanges, we see two different life trajectories embodied by the sisters. Mayme chose life in a developing industrial town, participating in its social events and domestic economy while witnessing its physical transformation. Her postcards—featuring Mattoon’s architectural achievements and industrial facilities—suggest a certain pride in her adopted community.

Carrie eventually married a man named Earl, and they moved around a bit. Both sisters maintained domestic skills—knitting, crocheting, sewing, and food production—that connected them in conversation even as the world around them changed. Their correspondence across state lines preserved family bonds—a common experience as increased mobility dispersed American families. The railroad and postal service made this ongoing connection possible.