Robin Willis, Author at Digging Up Dead Relatives:

Family Names and Stories

Every genealogist knows that names can be reliable pointers to ancestral lines. And that pursuing your family tree inevitably produces some good stories. I’m sharing some of both here.

Burke

Our first son’s name is William Burke Willis. William is downright generic, but Burke is a solid clue. In fact, my mother’s birth surname was Burke. Her father was William Logan Burke (“WLB”). Thus, our son was obviously named for my grandfather, known as W. L. or “Billy” Burke. That name persisted: Gramps was one of at least five William Logan Burkes in the family.

The first WLB was born in 1860 in Wilson County, Tennessee. He migrated to Waco, Texas, where he became an early Sheriff and U. S. Marshall of McLennan County. The Sheriff’s father was Esom Logan Burke — thus the “L” in those five middle names. I haven’t proved a Logan on the Burke tree, but I’ll wager there is one.

Here are two Burke stories.

My earliest proved Burke ancestor was John Burke of Jackson County, Tennessee. John owned a fair amount of land on White’s Bend of the Cumberland River. Beautiful county, that is. He had a ferry there, owned enslaved persons, and ultimately fathered sixteen children in two marriages. Some of the sons turned out to be what my grandmother would call “no account,” but Esom Logan was a solid citizen, a Wilson County farmer.

John was born in Virginia during 1780-1790. He has accounted for a fair share of my gray hair: I cannot prove his parents. An early family history undoubtedly contains a great deal of truth, but is likely wrong about John’s parents. Y-DNA has not yet helped.

Desperate, I consulted the Draper Manuscripts. This is a vast trove of historical records, including letters, genealogical and historical notes, land records, newspaper clippings, and interview notes, all collected by Lyman Copeland Draper, a Wisconsin historian. The collection focuses on the frontier history and settlement of the old Northwest and Southwest Territories of the US from the 1740s to 1830. Draper’s papers are assembled in 491 volumes. To describe the collection as labyrinthine would be a massive understatement.

When you are looking for info in Tennessee around 1800 or so and are in a masochistic mood, head for the microfilms of the Draper Manuscripts. First, though, consult a book titled Guide to the Draper Manuscripts or something along those lines.

Lo and behold, I found a John Burke in a Tennessee volume! Draper described him as a renowned teller of fabulous tall tales. The example recounted by Draper: a near neighbor, let’s call him Thomas, was riding home one day and saw John out in the field. Thomas called out to him.

John, said Thomas, how about if you tell me one of your famous tall tales?

John didn’t miss a beat. You don’t have time for such foolishness, he said. I just saw one of your cows loose in your cabbage patch having a fine meal.

The neighbor headed home at a brisk trot. There was no cow in the cabbage patch, of course.

I am not certain that the above John Burke was the same man as my ancestor John Burke of Jackson County. I have not been able to find that story again, hoping it might identify the county where John the storyteller lived. That probably says something about the accessibility of the Draper Manuscripts. However, I definitely know that my grandfather, the second WLB, was also a fabulous storyteller. My grandmother tore out a clipping from one of the Houston newspapers one day and mailed it to my mother, writing on it, “your daddy in print with a big one.” Here is a transcription of the clipping, a column by Bill Walker titled “The Outdoor Sportsman.”

“A roaring gas flame in the big brick fireplace in the Cinco Ranch clubhouse warmed the spacious room and the several members of the Gulf Coast Field Trial Club who gathered there for coffee Saturday morning before the first cast in the shooting dog stake.

“Usually when veteran field trial followers get together the conversation turns to great dogs of yesteryears and this group was no exception.

“W. L. “BILLY” BURKE related one about an all-time favorite of ours — Navasota Shoals Jake.

“Burke and the late W. V. Bowles, owner of Ten Brock’s Bennett and Navasota Shoals Jake, were hunting quail in the Valley on one of those rare hot and sultry winter mornings. Jake pointed a covey several hundred yards from the two men and out in the open.

“BOWLES suggested they take their time approaching the pointing dog, since he was known to be very trustworthy. When the two hunters did not immediately move to Jake, the dog broke his point, backed away to the cool shade of a nearby tree and again pointed the birds.

“THE COVEY was still hovering in a briar thicket when Bowles and Burke arrived. Navasota Shoals Jake was still on point.”

Lindsey

OK, moving on. Our second son is named Ryan Lindsey Willis. Yep, there are Lindseys on my tree — one of my favorite lines. My nearest Lindsey ancestor’s name was Amanda Adieanna Lindsey Rankin. I loved her as soon as I learned the name; I wish I had her picture. She answered a knock on the front door of her father’s Monticello, Arkansas house one night in 1863, and immediately fell in love (according to her recounting) with “the handsomest soldier you ever saw.”

That was John Allen Rankin, wearing an almost brand-new uniform. The last battle in which he had fought was Champion’s Hill, east of Vicksburg, where the Confederates were soundly beaten. They were out-generaled. The Confederate in charge, General Stephen Lee (no relation to Robert E.), marched his soldiers piecemeal into Grant’s entrenched position.[1] About 4,300 Confederate soldiers and 2,500 Union soldiers were casualties. It was considered a Union victory and a decisive battle in the Vicksburg campaign.

On 19 May 1863, whatever was left of John Allen’s division after Champion’s Hill arrived at Jackson, Mississippi. He was in the 1st Mississippi CSA Hospital in Jackson from May 31 to June 13, 1863. The diagnosis: “diarrhea, acute.” That was near the end of the second year of his one-year enlistment.

On September 1, 1863, now in Selma, Alabama, the army issued John Allen a new pair of pants, a jacket and a shirt, all valued on the voucher at $31.00. Good wool and cotton stuff, presumably. Probably the best suit of clothes John Allen ever owned. That was the last the Rebel army ever saw of him. He was shortly declared AWOL and placed under arrest in absentia.

The next thing you know, he was in Monticello, making Amanda Lindsey swoon.

My earliest conclusively proved Lindsey ancestor was a William who died in 1817 in Nash County, North Carolina.[2]He left a charming will instructing his eldest son John Wesley Lindsey to “see that thay [the younger children] mind thare Stepmother and thare larning bisness and are kept out of all dissepated cumpaney and also to have sum chance of schoolling at least to know how to read the word of God.”[3]

William’s youngest son, Edward Buxton Lindsey — my ancestor — is also a story. When he was sixteen, he attended an auction of a deceased brother’s estate. Undoubtedly under the watchful eye of his brother John Wesley, Edward acquired almost everything he needed to start adult life and continue his larning bisness: a bedstead and linens, a pocket knife, a man’s saddle, a razor, an arithmetic book, a cyphering book, and an ink stand.

Edward married four times, which was a serious disgrace in the eyes of his daughter Amanda. He wound up old and widowed in Claiborne Parish, Louisiana in 1880, raising a young son from his last marriage. I felt sorry for him and tried fruitlessly to find his grave, hoping to pay my respect. I don’t think he got much of that from anyone else, except for two of those four wives: two wives divorced him and two died, including Elizabeth Odom Lindsey, his first wife and Amanda’s mother. I wish I had a picture of him, too. He must have been a charmer.

Estes

Family names are usually a blessing (see Burke, above). Sometimes they create chaos. Case in point: my ancestor Lyddal Bacon Estes (“LBE”). My irreverent husband calls him Little Sizzler.

When I identified LBE as the father of Mary F. Estes who married Samuel Rankin (parents of John Allen, the Confederate deserter), I rubbed my hands in glee. With those three surnames, I reasoned, finding his parents would be a piece of cake. Hahahaha …

The genealogy gods apparently do not like cockiness.

Turned out there were three men named Lyddal Bacon Estes whose lifetimes overlapped (not counting my LBE’s namesake son). One of them probably did not have the middle name Bacon, or at least he left no record of either a name or middle initial, notwithstanding appearances in county records.

All three LBEs trace are from the same Estes line of Virginia. And those three surnames don’t lie: there are both Bacon and Lyddall ancestors on my tree. As it turned out, I had to sift through hundreds of Estes records in Lunenburg County, Virginia, searching for LBE’s parents. Conclusive proof nevertheless eluded me. I finally proved them to my satisfaction by the process of elimination: there was only one male Estes in the huge Lunenburg Estes family who could reasonably have been LBE’s father. And only one female, also an Estes, who could reasonably have been his mother.[4]

I like the Estes line, too. The original immigrant to the Colonies was an Abraham Estes, a fine given name for the first of the line to arrive here. The Estes family traces back nicely to Kent, England in the late 1400s. They lived on the east coast and were fisherman and linen weavers.

Broadnax

Also in Kent were my Broadnax family ancestors, a set of certifiable bluebloods. The original immigrant to the Colonies was John Broadnax, a Cavalier, who was undoubtedly fleeing from Cromwell’s. He left his family behind in England. He appeared in Virginia just long enough to have his inventory recorded in York County.

I don’t much care for the Broadnax line because (1) it has been so thoroughly researched it is not challenging (and is therefore no fun) and (2) my view of my father’s mother, Emma Leona Broadnax “Ma” Rankin is my most recent Broadnax ancestor. Ma was, uh, how shall I say this? Not exactly warm and fuzzy. She was an unsmiling, bigoted, tea-totaling Southern Baptist who kept her house in Gibsland, Bienville Parish, Louisiana, heated to about 90 degrees. No mechanical assistance was necessary to achieve that temperature in the summer, it being Louisiana and all. But the heating bills in winter must have been spectacular, especially considering the high ceilings in that old house.

Ma’s husband, John Marvin “Daddy Jack” Rankin, son of the Rebel deserter, was poor as a church mouse. I once asked my favorite Rankin cousin — Butch, we called him as a kid, so he is stuck with that moniker for life — what Daddy Jack did for a living. All of my Rankin cousins were or are considerably older than I, my father being the youngest of the four Rankin siblings and not becoming a father until the ripe old age of 39. So they all know more than I did about the Gibsland Rankins.

Butch’s succinct response: Anything he could, hon. Anything he could. He was a driver of a dray wagon in one census and a waiter in a restaurant in another. A certificate among my father’s records proves he was Bienville Parish sheriff for one term, another non-lucrative profession.

The cousins once showed me an old popcorn wagon stored under the rear of the Rankins’ Gibsland house, which was built on a steep slope. We all figure Daddy Jack sold popcorn from time to time, perhaps turning a profit when Bonnie and Clyde were killed and their corpses displayed in GIbsland. Ma Rankin took in mending to help make ends meet, although they often did not. The Rankin fortunes didn’t revive until their kids, or at least their three sons, escaped rural North Louisiana.

At the first Rankin Cousins reunion at Butch’s house in 1995-ish, my cousin Diane, a child psychiatrist, asked me why in hell Ma Rankin, from the still-wealthy Broadnax family despite a serious setback after the Civil War, married penniless Daddy Jack.

Are you kidding me, Diane? You remember her, uh, personality? She cannot possibly have had many prospects.

One of the cousins, Ellis Leigh Jordan, brought a movie camera to the reunion. He trained it on each of the seven cousins individually and made us tell something about Ma. The word “strict” was grotesquely overused. All four of Ma’s children turned out to be atheists, not surprising in light of Ma’s relentless proselytizing. Furthermore, a fondness for alcohol persisted in the family. Nobody knows where any genetic propensity came from. I think being raised by Ma would drive anyone to drink.

I never knew Daddy Jack, who died in 1932 at age 56. But I knew Ma well enough. Gibsland is sufficiently close to Shreveport, where I grew up, to allow for monthly Sunday visits. I hated those visits with a passion. To describe Ma as merely humorless would prove that either my imagination or my vocabulary is failing me. “Strict” isn’t adequate, either. She once stopped a desultory conversation dead in its tracks, a bullet through its brain, like so …

The setting was her hot-as-hades living room at a Thanksgiving get-together. At least three and perhaps all four of Ma’s children were in attendance. Grandchildren were there as well, restlessly squirming in our seats. At least I was squirming: this was 1957, and I was only eleven. My cousin Marvin, the next youngest, was 15 or 16; Butch and Diane were 18. Ma’s favorite conversational topic was usually other people’s gall bladders, her own still being intact. Thankfully, that topic died quickly for lack of subjects.

Uncle Louie, Diane’s father, finally tried to break one of the prolonged silences by commenting on Sputnik, the satellite launched by the USSR the previous May.

Pretty soon someone will put a man on the moon, Louie opined.

Ma, arms crossed over her chest, fired her conversation-ending bullet: If God had meant for man to be on the moon, he would’ve put him there.

My cousins and I fled to the yard, where we pelted each other with pecans. The frigid cold was a respite.

… And now I have gone on too long. It was fun writing this.

See you on down the road. I’m happy to say that another contribution from Spade is in the works.

Robin

* * * * * * * * * *

[1] General Stephen Lee used exactly the same awful strategy at the Battle of Ezra Church, west of Atlanta, and got Allen W. Estes, brother of Mary Estes Rankin, killed.

[2] Although I cannot conclusively prove his parents, William Lindsey’s grandfather — was a William of Brunswick Co., VA and Edgecombe Co., NC. William had three proved sons: William, Joseph, and John. Y-DNA establishes that one of them was my William’s father, but I can only prove that it wasn’t Joseph. I suspect it was the other William.

[3] North Carolina State Library and Archives, CR069.801.6, “Nash Co. Wills 1778 – 1922, Keith – Owen,” file folder for William Lindsey dated 1817, containing a handwritten will of William Lindsey dated 16 Feb 1817 and proved May 1817.

[4] LBE’s parents were first cousins: John Estes, son of Elisha Estes and Mary Henderson, and Mary Estes, daughter of Benjamin Estes and Frances Bacon. Elisha and Benjamin were sons of the Lunenburg Estes patriarch, Robert Estes Sr. Robert Sr. was a son of Abraham the immigrant. In yet another illustration of the value of names, LBE’s first son was named Benjamin Henderson Estes. His first daughter, my ancestress, was Mary Frances.

Whatever happened to Rhoda Craig, Part 2

Spade actually wrote this article. Attribution of authorship to R. Willis by WordPress is a bug I can’t figure out how to fix. Spade also wrote Part I. Please also note that accessing the links in some of the footnotes requires a free and worthwhile membership at FamilySearch.org.

And now, on to Spade.

_________________

I took another swig of Cutty. I’d been hired to dig up the dirt on Rhoda Craig, wife of the Jeremiah Rankin who died in an “accident” at his mill in 1760. Following clues left in a letter written by her grandson, John Mason Rankin, I’d learned that she’d married a man named Andrew English and ended up in Greene County, Tennessee. Her daughter Rhoda English had married a man named John Kincaid, and her daughter Elizabeth had married a Joseph Walker. After Elizabeth died, Joseph Walker had married the widow of Andrew English Jr, also named Elizabeth. They’d all lived in Bath County, Kentucky, the next county east from Fayette County where Rhoda and Jeremiah’s sons Adam and Jeremiah were living; William and Thomas lived in Woodford, the next county over.

But there were still some missing pieces. John Mason Rankin had said that one of Rhoda’s daughters had married a Faris, so who was he? And how did Rhoda and Andrew English end up in Tennessee?

The phone rang. “Spade here… Yeah, I’ve been looking into Andrew English. What’s it to you?… Well, I guess news travels fast… Is that so?… Caswell County, North Carolina? That doesn’t make much sense… DNA?… Faris too, eh?… It doesn’t surprise me… Well, thanks for the tip!” I put down the receiver.

It was a guy named Jacob Walker, a descendant of Joseph Walker.[i] He’d been trying to trace his family history using DNA and had found a slew of matches to descendants of Andrew English. He said the only way that could happen would be if Joseph Walker’s wife was an English. The matches were too strong to be from anywhere further up the family tree. He said he also had matches to descendants of a pair of brothers named Faris: Alexander and Isaac.

So here was Alexander Faris again, the man who was surety for Joseph Walker when he married the widow of Andrew English Jr.[ii] I started looking for his will and found it in Maury County, Tennessee, dated 1820 and proved in 1824.[iii] He had a long list of children, some with telling names: Thomas C Faris, whose middle name turned out to be Craig, Mary Ann Faris “now Walker”, Adam Faris, whose middle initial turned out to be “R” for Rankin, no doubt… But the kicker was the baby of the family: Rody E Faris — and if that “E” didn’t stand for “English”, I swore I’d eat my fedora. The only hitch was that Alexander Faris’s will said that his wife’s name was Elizabeth. She couldn’t be Elizabeth English because that woman had married Joseph Walker. I had to figure her for a second wife. Whatever the name of his first wife, she must have been a daughter of Andrew English and Rhoda Craig. I decided to name her “Sarah” just for convenience… It takes way too long to say “daughter of Andrew English whose name remains unknown”.[iv]

And how about Isaac Faris, the other Faris brother that Jacob Walker had DNA matches to? A grandson of Isaac’s named Cecil Whiteside left a nice little story about how Isaac went to Maury County, Tennessee, getting there a few years before Alexander moved down from Bath County, Kentucky:

On March 19, 1806, Isaac R Feris and his family arrived at Bell Bend on Duck River across from where Cathey’s Creek flows into the river. His wife died that night. At this place there is a shoal of solid rock making an excellent crossing. As the river was at flood stage, they floated the body across in a wagon bed and buried her on the high bank of Cathey’s Creek on land that was to be part of his farm. Her name is unknown. But this unfortunate event gives us a date when the settlers from North Carolina arrived in the area. Their children were Elizabeth, Cynthia, Rebecca, Isaac Jr., Rhoda and Ann (twins), Alexander and Mary.[v]

Here was another Rhoda. That name was like a fingerprint. Outside of Rhoda Craig, I’d barely encountered it, but it was clearly a favorite for her descendants.

Cecil Whiteside said the Faris family came from North Carolina, but a quick check of the 1850 census for children of Alexander and Isaac showed that they had all been born in South Carolina with the exception of Alexander’s youngest daughter who was born in Kentucky. Alexander and Isaac Faris both showed up in census records for York County, SC,[vi] and there was a 1784 marriage record from there naming Isaac’s wife as “Jane”, no surname, but dollars to donuts it was “Jane English”.[vii] Jane’s first kid came in October 1784, so she might have had a bun in the oven. “Sarah” had her first in 1787, so must have married not long after Jane. The girls wouldn’t have gone to South Carolina on their own, so the rest of the English family, including mother Rhoda Craig, was probably there with them.

But now came another twist in the story: Rhoda’s oldest daughter, Mary English had married a guy named Thomas Robertson in Caswell County, North Carolina, according to Thomas’s Revolutionary War pension application.[viii] As it turned out, Jacob Walker had traced his ancestor Joseph to Caswell County as well, and it’s possible he and Elizabeth English were also married there. Mary’s and Elizabeth’s first children were both born about 1783, so it made sense if they would have been married in the same place about the same time, probably around 1782.

I tried to pin down when Andrew English had arrived in Greene County, Tennessee from land records. He’d obtained a warrant for a tract land on Lick Creek in 1783, but hadn’t entered it until 1787.[ix] There were a lot of earlier records for “Andrew English” too. The problem was that there were too damned many men named Andrew English living there. Andrew had two brothers, John and James, who had moved to Greene County, as early as 1779 when it was still part of Washington County,[x] and they each had a son named Andrew. It was impossible to sort what record went with which Andrew.

But all those Andrews gave me a clue: Andrew’s daddy must have been named Andrew too! Sure enough, I found a Pennsylvania will naming sons John, James and Andrew that started “In the name of God Amen the sixteen day of March in the year of our Lord God 1749 I Andrew English of New London in the County of Chester…”[xi] I stopped right there.

New London is the first township north of New Munster, a tract of land on the Pennsylvania-Maryland border where Jeremiah Rankin was probably born. His mother, Mary Steele, had it from her first husband James “The Carpenter” Alexander,[xii] and the family continued to live there after she married Adam Rankin, Jeremiah’s father. There was also a Craig family in New London, though there are Craigs pretty much everywhere, and I couldn’t find a connection to Rhoda.

The word from Faris researchers was that Alexander and Isaac’s father, John Faries, had moved down to South Carolina in about 1763 from Delaware with several of his brothers. The progenitor was a fellow named Alexander Faries “the elder” because he lived to nearly 90. I dug out his 1783 will and read “In the name of God Amen I Alexander Faries of Pencader Hundred and County of New Castle…”.[xiii] I stopped again.

Pencader Township was right on the border with Marland and Pennsylvania. That’s barely a mile east of New Munster. So there it was: The Rankins, Englishes and Farises all lived within a one-mile radius, two at the most. There was no way they could not have known each other. Hell, they probably all congregated at the same Presbyterian meetinghouse. I could picture Adam Rankin, Andrew English the elder and Alexander Faries the elder hunkering down after church smoking their pipes and talking land deals while their kids Jeremiah Rankin, Andrew English and John Faries wrestled in the dirt with little Rhoda Craig looking on and sticking out her tongue at them.

All the pieces fit neatly together now. After Jeremiah Rankin’s demise, Rhoda Craig probably took her four boys and went home to mommy and daddy in New London, where she married Andrew English. She was still in Pennsylvania as late as 1776, now with seven more kids by her second husband. I already knew that her sons Adam and William Rankin were in Augusta County, Virginia, during the Revolutionary War, but whether mom and the English kids went with them, I couldn’t tell.

Adam was ordained and married in Augusta County in 1782,[xiv] but by that time the rest of the family was already in Caswell County, North Carolina, where Rhoda married off daughter Mary English to Thomas Robertson and Elizabeth English to Joseph Walker. By 1783, Andrew English was making plans to join his brothers in Greene County, Tennessee, and Joseph Walker and wife were already on their way there.

For some reason the English family took a detour to York County, South Carolina where their old friends the Faris family were living. Next thing you know, Jane English gets married to Isaac Faris, possibly with her daddy standing by with a shotgun, and “Sarah” gets hitched to Isaac’s brother Alexander. Once the dust had settled around 1787, Rhoda, her husband Andrew and the littlest English kids packed up, left Jane and “Sarah” behind with their Faris husbands, and headed to Tennessee.

Rhoda shuffled off the mortal coil in 1798, but by that time, most of the English kids had already joined their half-siblings the Rankins in Kentucky.

I emptied the bottle of Cutty and sat back in my chair. I’d earned my fee, but there were still some nagging holes. Why wouldn’t John Mason Rankin have remembered that one of his half-aunts had married a Kincaid if they were living right next to his Rankin cousins in Indiana? Why wouldn’t he remember that not one but two English daughters had married Faris boys, especially if they were living near him in Maury County, Tennessee? Why couldn’t I find any record of Andrew English in any of the places I figured the family ought to have been living before they got to Tennessee? Why wouldn’t he have mentioned his Faris daughters in his will?

I drained my glass. In this business, you have to take what you can get, and some mysteries just stay mysteries.

__________

[i] Much of the evidence presented in this article and the preceding was collected by Jacob Walker. Spade’s creator is himself an extremely lazy researcher, whose primary methodology consists in stealing the work of others. I am much indebted to Jacob’s meticulous research skills.

[ii] Bath County, Kentucky, Marriage Bonds 1786-1965.

[iii] Maury County, Tennessee, Wills, 1807-1899.

[iv] I know, I know… It’s not good to make up names. If we ever do find out what her name really was, I’m sure I’ll regret it… unless of course it turns out to be “Sarah”. (RRW note: if her actual name isn’t Sarah, then someone can write several emails, comments, and articles explaining that there was no such person).

[v] “Family History” manuscript by Cecil Whiteside, p. 3.

[vi] United States Census, 1800, York County, SC, pp. 5, 7.

[vii] “Hunting for Bears,” South Carolina Marriage Index, 1641-1965.

[viii] I have been unable to locate the original pension application, but it is referred to in English-Robertson Families in America, by Arthur Leslie Keith, p. 2.

[ix] Land Warrants, Greene County, Tennessee, no. 488-747, No. 506.

[x] English-Robertson Families in America, by Arthur Leslie Keith, p. 1.

[xi] Chester County, Pennsylvania, Will Book B, p. 119.

[xii] New Castle County, Delaware, Will Book C, p. 103. Mary Steele Alexander Rankin’s tract was bisected when the Mason-Dixon line was drawn, and about 1 mile west of the border with Delaware.

[xiii] New Castle County, Delaware, Will Book M, p. 145.

[xiv] John Mason Rankin letter to Henry Newton Rankin dated 13 Sep 1854. https://www.familysearch.org/en/tree/person/memories/LDQ5-C3P

Whatever Happened to Rhoda Craig? Part 1 of 2

Spade strikes again: John Mason Rankin’s information

The caller ID said “Spade.” It was 5:30 p.m. Good. By now, Spade would have had a shot of his favorite cheap scotch. Enough to take the edge off his sometimes fractious personality, while leaving his faculties intact.

I accepted the call. “Hello, doll,” he said. “What are you doing?”

Just so you know, “doll” is not a term of affection. Spade has several women friends who do genealogical detective work, and he calls us all “doll.” I don’t think he can remember which of us is which.

I rolled my eyes. “You know perfectly well what I’m doing! You’re the one who called me at 3 a.m. and dropped this mess in my lap.”

“I just want to bounce my theory off you,” he said, clearly aggrieved. “Namely, how do you assess the credibility of the Mt. Horeb legend, the John Mason Rankin letters, and the John Mason Bible? What’s real, and what smells fishy? Most importantly, what do we really believe about Adam Rankin?”

“That’s a pot load of information, Spade. We’ll need to lay it out in pieces to do it justice.”

“Go for it, doll,” he said. Naturally, he gave me the tough job. I heard ice clinking in his highball glass. I pictured him leaning back in his wooden swivel chair and putting his feet on his desk.

I sighed. “OK, let’s take them one at a time. See if we can boil each one down to essential facts.”

I pulled out my summary of all this stuff. I started with a bit of Rankin lore known to every Rankin researcher: the so-called Mt. Horeb legend. This story is literally cast in bronze on a memorial in the Mt. Horeb Presbyterian cemetery in Jefferson County, Tennessee. It is a colorful tale featuring two Rankin brothers, unnamed, who were supposedly martyrs to their Presbyterianism in Scotland. One allegedly died in a smokehouse, the other murdered on a road. This was presumably during the 1680s Killing Times. A third brother, William, allegedly escaped to County Derry, Ireland, as did their father Alexander. The legend claims William and Alexander were in Londonderry during the 1689 Siege.

William had three sons, according to the legend: Adam, John, and Hugh. Adam was allegedly born in Scotland in 1699; John and Hugh in Ulster. The three sons came to Chester County, Pennsylvania — Adam and Hugh in 1721 and John in 1727. Adam’s wife, Elizabeth May, died shortly after their arrival; he then married Mary Steele. Hugh died in a mill accident. John married Jane McElwee and had two sons, Richard and Thomas, and eight daughters. Richard settled in Augusta County, Virginia; Thomas went to East Tennessee.

“Let’s take stock, Spade. Which of these Mt. Horeb claims do we know to be true?”

“Easy,” he said, slurping. “Virtually nothing. That story has more holes than a fishnet.”

“Gee, thanks,” I replied. Spade’s colorful way with words is not always helpful. “OK,” I said, “here are the few facts supported by documentary evidence:

(1) there was in fact an Alexander Rankin who was present during the Siege of Londonderry;

(2) an Adam Rankin did marry Mary Steele, widow of James Alexander, in Pennsylvania or Maryland (Adam died in Lancaster County. Pennsylvania);

(3) a John Rankin of Lancaster County did have sons Thomas and Richard and eight daughters; and

(4) John’s son Richard did settle in Augusta County, Virginia; Thomas in fact went to east Tennessee.”

“Mm-hmmm,” Spade graciously agreed, pouring himself another shot. I clearly needed to move this along before he pulled his usual move: abruptly hanging up.

I continued. “And here’s what cannot possibly be true:

(1) The Adam Rankin who married Mary Steele Alexander and the John Rankin who had sons Thomas and Richard and 8 daughters were NOT brothers. They weren’t genetic kin of any sort, according to Y-DNA, and DNA doesn’t lie. Nevertheless, the legend persists.

(2) If Adam Rankin was born in Scotland in 1699, then he wasn’t a son of William, who was allegedly at the Siege of Londonderry in 1689. Alternatively, if William was Adam’s father in 1699, then William wasn’t in Ireland during the Siege.”

“Mm-hmmm,” said Spade, again. He was being uncharacteristically agreeable. I wondered if he had upgraded his Scotch to a single malt.

“You’re batting a thousand so far, doll. And what in the legend has no documentary evidence one way or the other?”

“I’m not painting that fence, Tom Sawyer!” I said, drawing a line in the sand. “The short answer is everything else. Everything. But I’m not going into that level of detail, Spade, it would take us forever. Also, I’ve written about it on my blog ad infinitum. Just look it up.”

“Relax, doll. You’re too uptight. Why don’t you go get yourself a glass of your wussy chardonnay?”

“Because I want to get this over with before Christmas, you old reprobate! Let’s move on to the John Mason Rankin letter and what it says about Adam. And how about you take a shot at it? I want to know what you think.”

There was silence for a few moments while Spade considered this.

“That’s a really long letter,” he said. “In fact, there are two letters, plus John Mason Rankin’s Bible.”

“You’re right. And that’s not all: the current location of those documents is an issue. One online claim is that it they are owned by Robert Rankin of McAllister, Texas. However, there is no such place as McAllister, Texas. That probably refers to McAllen, an actual town in the Valley. Another claim is that a woman identified as KHULSM — her Ancestry name, perhaps? — posted the 2 letters and the Bible on Ancestry in 2008, asserting that she had received them during the 1990s. I found a website years ago where KHULSM posted these items and tried unsuccessfully to contact her more than once. I have no reason to believe she ever had her hands on those documents, because she does not claim descent from that line (or did not at one time).”

I continued: “Striking out so far, I eventually traded emails with Susan F., another Rankin researcher, who said she found a Robert Rankin in McAllen. He was a descendant of John Mason Rankin descendant the original owner of the documents. He told Susan he had transcribed them and that they are now in a museum in San Augustine, Texas. Unfortunately, there is no museum in that little East Texas town. That is, however, where John Mason Rankin lived.”

No response. I wondered whether Spade had fallen asleep. This sometimes happens when I get too prolix.

I persisted, with some asperity. “All of that made me wonder if one or more of those documents might be a fraud. You should probably address that question, Spade. After all, you’re the famous private eye.”

“OK, OK! Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I have some issues with the Bible, but I think the John Mason Rankin letters are the real McCoy. Some of the info checks out for which he would have had no evidentiary basis. Also, what fraudster has the patience to spend all that time and effort inventing facts about corn and cotton yields and other bucolic economic crap?”

“OK, then,” I said mildly — the ball now solidly in Spade’s court — “what do you think about John Mason Rankin’s statement of his early family history, specifically, about his ancestor Adam Rankin?”

“I think the long letter from September 1854 is a gold mine,” said Spade, “both for what it says and — even more importantly — for what it doesn’t say. It’s probably the closest we will ever get to Adam Rankin’s actual oral family history. And as close as we will come to the truth.”

“O-kay,” I said, “now we’re getting somewhere! What does John Mason say that caught your eye?”

“He is responding to a request from a relative for information about their family. He begins with this, providing his source:”

‘I will take pleasure in doing as far as known to me and will commence as far back as I find recorded in my father’s family bible.’

“Wow,” I said. “I had not realized that John Mason’s source for early information was the Bible of Reverend Adam Rankin, a son of Jeremiah and Rhoda Craig Rankin and a grandson of Adam and Mary Steele Alexander Rankin. You’re right, that provides instant credibility.”

“OK, here comes the history:

‘Adam Rankin moved from Scotland to Ireland had three sons – Adam, John and Hugh and one daughter named Jane.’ “

Spade paused to top up his glass and savor the impact of his analysis. “Note two very important distinctions with the Mt. Horeb legend: first, he names Adam’s father as Adam rather than William of the Mt. Horeb version. John Mason, a man who made a living by loaning money and made careful notes on crop yields, is definitely not the kind of person to make an error on such an important matter. If he said Adam’s father was named Adam, then … Adam’s father was named Adam, not William. The only issue is whether the person who transcribed the letter made an error.”

A brief silence ensued. “Once again,” I said, “we find ourselves needing to look at the original. If we can find it. Ergh.”

“But that’s almost not the best part,” Spade continued. He left me in suspense for a moment, one of his favorite ploys.

“The best part is what John Mason (and therefore Rev. Adam’s Bible) did NOT say … there is no story of Rankin martyrs during the Killing Times; no mention of the Siege of Londonderry. I take that as compelling evidence that those events were not part of Rev. Adam’s oral history, or they would have been included in his Bible.”

“For a change, Spade, I’m with you 100%. No caveats or minor disagreements. That means the Killing Times and Londonderry stories, to the extent they actually happened, belong to the line of the John Rankin with sons Thomas and Richard and eight daughters, who wasn’t kin to Adam’s family.”

“But wait … there’s more!” teased Spaded. “Rev. Adam’s Bible provides names and dates:”

“In 1720 Adam and Hugh came to America. Adam was married to Elizabeth May in Ireland. She died soon after her arrival in America. He then married Mrs. Steel, by her he had three sons James, William, and Jeremiah and died 1750.”

Spade elaborated. “Adam’s marriage to Mary Steele Alexander and the fact that he had three sons is conclusively proved, as everyone knows. And Adam’s death date as recorded in the Bible is close enough for oral family history: he actually died and left a will in 1747, not 1750, in Lancaster County. Finally, this probably settles the lingering controversy over whether Elizabeth May or Mary Steele was the mother of James. Or at least provides the only credible evidence on that issue.”

“OK, Spade, you’ve outdone yourself. While you are on a roll, why don’t you evaluate John Mason Rankin’s Bible?”

“I have a problem with the Bible, but only because it has entries dated after John Mason died. It also claims that William, not Adam, was the father of Adam m. Mary Steele Alexander. I strongly suspect that entry — which echoes the well-known Mt. Horeb legend — was added by a well-meaning descendant who had done some cursory family history research. Rev. Adam’s Bible is better than John Mason’s, especially if those entries are relatively contemporaneous.”

A long silence ensued, during which I considered that chardonnay.

“OK, Spade, how ’bout you join me for a trip to San Augustine, Texas, and let’s see what we can find in a local library or genealogical society? We obviously need to see that Bible to assess whether William’s name was in different handwriting than the original Bible entries. And to see whether John Mason’s letter identified Adam’s father as Adam.”

“Nope. You’re on your own, Doll. Texas is too far away from California, and I need to earn a living. Also, I think there may be an extant arrest warrant for yours truly somewhere in East Texas.”

With that, he hung up. I headed for the kitchen, hoping that chardonnay was already chilled.

See you on down the road.

Robin

Take Your Pick: a Testate or an Intestate Ancestor?

I’ve been looking for a subject of general interest rather than a topic concerning one of my ancestral lines. Two friends had similar questions about an ancestor’s estate administration that led me to this topic. It should be short and sweet.

Let’s start with a definition. An “intestate” is someone who dies without leaving a will. On the other hand, someone who leaves a will has died “testate,” and, as you might guess, is called a “testator.”

Which would you prefer? My choice any old day is for a man to die without leaving a will — provided, that is, that he owns property. If he does not, he is unlikely to leave significant records behind. Or to have left a will.

The problem with wills? I imagine we have all seen one in which the testator leaves his entire estate to be divided equally “among all my children,” without naming them. Or the testator names only his “son Joseph,” his “other children” (not named, and number of kids not stated) already provided for. That was Daniel Winn’s will (Lunenburg Co., Virginia Will Book 4:264). Turned out there were nine other children, and proving them was not by any means a cakewalk. Or the testator mentions a wife, without stating her name. ‘Nuf said.

I am not being sexist by referring to intestate men, above. Since we are usually dealing in this hobby with persons living prior to the twentieth century, a property-owning female was rare as hen’s teeth. That is because married women in English common law (i.e., in every state but Louisiana, which is sui generis and beyond my ken) were subject to the disability of “coverture.” In short, that meant a married woman had no legal existence apart from her husband. Absent a prenuptial agreement, she could not own property, even if she inherited it. Her husband inherited any property left to her “in right of his wife,” a phrase you may have run across in court records. A married woman could not even bid at an estate auction, because she lacked the legal capacity to enter into a contract — which is what a winning bid at auction produces.

Nor am I kvetching, although coverture is obviously a fertile field for righteous indignation. Coverture produces valuable genealogical information from time to time. For example, when you find a woman who has purchased something at an estate auction, you can be sure she was single. Likewise, when a man named Edmund Bacon is a party to a lawsuit concerning the estate of Washington Winn, it is a red flag that Edmund Bacon’s wife was one of Washington’s heirs, and possibly née Winn.

Time for another definition: “heir.” We genealogists are prone to conflate heirs, beneficiaries, and devisees. Even clerks of court confuse these terms from time to time.

….. a “beneficiary” is someone who receives a gift (“bequest”) of personal property in a will. Prior to the Civil War Amendments, personal property included enslaved persons.[1]

….. a “devisee” is someone who receives a gift (“devise”) of real property — land– in a will. Any property that is not real estate is personal property. Stocks, intellectual property rights, cars and boats, furniture, you name it.

….. an “heir” is someone who receives real or personal property (or both) under a state’s law of intestate descent and distribution. If a state had no such law, then the English common law system of descent and distribution applied.[2] Among other things, this means you might need to learn about the relevant jurisdiction’s law of intestate descent and distribution if you have an intestate ancestor.

Here are a few reasons why heirs — which exist only in connection with an intestate’s estate — are such wonderful treasures for genealogists.

If there is a lawsuit concerning the estate of an intestate, all the heirs must be added as parties. They will be identified in the “style” — title, in effect — of the lawsuit.[3] In the lawsuit’s original filing, usually called a petition or complaint, the residence of each of the parties is usually stated. That is so notice of the lawsuit can be given to each party.
If the intestate decedent owned land, a request to the court for permission to sell or divide it must also include all of the heirs.
Better yet, “heirs” don’t just include children. If the child of an intestate decedent has died, the child’s heirs must be made parties to a lawsuit or request concerning land. If the intestate decedent had no children (depending on the law of the relevant jurisdiction), his siblings must be parties.
But wait, there’s more! In Virginia, for example, the law of intestate descent and distribution treated half-siblings differently than siblings “of the whole blood.” This can reveal which children were the offspring of which wife if the decedent was married more than once.

If you really want to get into the weeds on this, there is an article on this blog about a lawsuit concerning the estate of a young, unmarried, and very wealthy man who had both siblings and half-siblings, as well as a mother who survived him. That lawsuit is a veritable goldmine. See it at this link. If you have a Winn, Bacon, Hix, or Hardy ancestor in Lunenburg County, Virginia circa 1800, it should be required reading.

That’s enough from me today. I haven’t practiced law in a long darn time, and I can only spend so much time withBlack’s Law Dictionary before it’s time to take a break.

See you on down the road.

Robin

[1] Just typing that gives me the creeps.

[2] We will stay out of the primogeniture morass. I have argued in vain with people who refuse to believe that one could leave a will ignoring the primogeniture rules.

[3] E.g., the style of a case might be Bush v. Gore. I don’t know why that was the first thing that popped into my mind.

The Fastest Post Ever Written

The speed of this article will be a function of how fast I can type, since I’m not going to be encumbered by a time-consuming evidentiary trail. This is coming straight out of memory. Here’s why I’m writing it …

I exchanged a few texts with one of our sons a few days ago. He sent a picture of a statue from a city he is visiting. He said it reminded him of “James Rankin.”

– Did autocorrect change “Jim” to “James,” I asked?

No response. I continued.

– If you are thinking of your grandfather, his full legal name was Jim Leigh Rankin.

I gave it some more thought.

– “Leigh” is pronounced “LAY,” not “LEE.”

– “Right!” he responded.

This gave me a jolt: perhaps I have not kept my genealogical eye on the ball. I have written a ton of articles about Rankins. However, I have evidently failed to tell my sons much about their Rankins — to the point that one son didn’t know his Rankin grandfather’s actual name.

Perhaps I have not written about my father because it is so personal. I adored him, as will soon become obvious. Whatever. Here is his story, and I will strive not to libel too many of his relatives.

* * * * * *

Jim Leigh Rankin about 1955

If I just stick to the facts, his story will be short and sweet. He was born in rural north Louisiana, grew up poor, went to work, married, had one child, was successful, retired, and died.

Well, perhaps that is a bit spare, since it applies to a great many people. As I consider it, though, his life to me was a series of vignettes. A very quiet man, he said little. I can count on my digits the number of long-ish talks I had with him, and I wouldn’t be in any danger of running out of fingers. I learned about him mostly from observation and stories from other people.

Here’s a better outline. He was born in 1907 in Cotton Valley, Webster Parish, Louisiana. He grew up in Gibsland, Bienville Parish, which is famous only for being near the place where Bonnie and Clyde were shot. That part of North Louisiana probably hasn’t changed much since the Depression. It was still pretty grim the last time I drove through the area.

He was the youngest of four siblings. The family was poor as church mice. His father, John Marvin Rankin (“Daddy Jack,” my cousins said he was called) was not a successful provider. He was briefly the Sheriff of Webster Parish, a waiter, and the driver of a dray wagon. Their home was rented. His wife, Emma Leona Brodnax Rankin (“Ma Rankin,” or just “Ma”) took in mending to help supplement whatever he earned.

I once asked Butch, my favorite Rankin cousin, what Daddy Jack did for a living. Butch had a quick answer: “Anything he could, hon. Anything he could.” There was an old popcorn cart stored under the rear of their house, which was built on a fairly steep slope. Daddy Jack undoubtedly peddled popcorn at one time, perhaps turning a profit when all the tourists came to gawk at the corpses of Bonnie and Clyde, laid out in the coroner’s office in Gibsland.

Prior to my father’s generation, our branch of the Rankin family hadn’t had more than two nickels to scratch together since my great-great-great-great grandfather Samuel “Old One-Eyed Sam” Rankin, a wealthy owner of land and enslaved persons, died circa 1816 in Lincoln Co., NC. My line didn’t share any of the estate’s largesse. Sam’s son Richard, from whom we descend, died in serious debt before his father.

See, this is how I go off the rails about family history. Our sons go MEGO (“my eyes glaze over”) when I spout this stuff. I will try to stay on track.

Ma Rankin was a grim, tea-totaling, Southern Baptist, charitably described by my much older cousins as “strict.” I avoided her and her stultifying, overheated house to the extent I could get away with it. She once stopped a desultory conversation dead in its tracks, a bullet through its brain, with three of her four children and several grandchildren trapped in her living room. My Uncle Louie attempted to break yet another long silence:

– well, the Russians have launched a satellite. Next they will be sending a man to the moon.

– If God had intended for man to be on the moon, pronounced Ma, He would have put him there.

Her arms were crossed. She was dead serious. My cousins and I fled to the yard, where we pelted each other with pecans. Perhaps not surprisingly, Ma’s children all turned out to be nonbelievers.

Ma Rankin was born into a wealthy family which survived losses of impressive fortunes during what some Southerners just called “the War.” Her Brodnax ancestors in this country stretch back to a couple buried in the Travis Family burying ground on Jamestown Island. In England, her line goes back to landed gentry in Kent. The Bushes also descend from the Jamestown Brodnaxes.

One of Ma Rankin’s brothers, Uncle Joe Brodnax, had the sense to acquire a bunch of mineral rights in north Louisiana. The land was located over a prolific oil and gas play. He evidently left a nice legacy to his sister Emma “Ma” Rankin. Among other things, they finally owned a house.

Daddy’s three older siblings all had college degrees. He didn’t go to college because, he explained, “the money ran out.” Presumably, he was referring to Uncle Joe’s legacy. Instead, he started playing what he called “semi-pro ball” after he graduated from high school. I took that to mean what would now be minor league professional baseball. (I wasn’t adept at the art of cross-examination when I heard these stories.) A lefty himself, he was released after a game when a left-handed pitcher struck him out in four at-bats.

He then went to work in the gas fields as a “chart changer’s helper” for a natural gas transmission company. It didn’t take someone too long to notice he was smarter than everyone else and had a prodigious, and I mean remarkable, memory. Also a marked ability for math. In the wink of an eye, he ascended the field ranks to become the Monroe area gas dispatcher. That meant he went out to the field when and as needed, 24/7/365, to open or close valves on the company’s gas transmission system.

Soon thereafter, he was transferred to the company’s headquarters in Houston, where he became the national expert on gas proration. I won’t explain what that is, because it would cause serious MEGO. Instead, I will just say that a man who worked for him for a quarter-century told me Daddy “wrote the gas proration laws for Louisiana, Texas, and Mississippi.” That was clearly an exaggeration, since he wasn’t a lawyer. But that statement contains a large element of truth. He was a regular witness testifying about gas proration before legislative committees and regulatory commissions in those states. His questioners must have been patient, because he spoke slowly and quietly, using as few words as possible.

He met my mother in Houston at the natural gas transmission company where they both worked. She was a typist/secretary in the stenography department. From time to time, she would go take dictation from him and type it up. He chewed tobacco. My mother, unaccountably, thought that was cute. They were relatively old when they married in 1936: 26 and 29. They were a decade older when they became parents for the first and only time.

Jim and Ida in Southside Place, Houston, circa 1937

His work brings a couple of vignettes to mind. I remember his frequent trips out of town. My mother and I would go see him off at the Shreveport airport — United Gas moved its headquarters there in 1940. This story is set in 1951. Eisenhower, still aglow with his WWII success, was running for President. He was making a stop in Shreveport for a campaign appearance, and the airport was packed by the time my parents and I arrived. Daddy was flying on a DC-3, a two-engine affair which had a folding door containing steps for boarding.

At the top of the boarding steps, Daddy turned to face the crowd, lifted his hat with his left hand, and flashed the “V” for “Victory” sign with his right. The crowd roared its approval.

Another vignette: after Texas passed its gas proration laws, producers had to calculate something called “allowables,” the amount of gas which they could legally produce. Daddy went to Austin frequently to testify in rate cases or whatever the current issue may have been. He stayed in the Driskill, still a lovely old hotel with a fabulous bar. Those oil and gas guys would head to the bar at the end of the day. Every evening, at least one producer would accost him with, “Hey, Jimmie, I’ll buy you a drink if you’ll calculate my allowables for me.” I seriously doubt that he ever paid for a drink.

Another vignette from before I was born, related by my mother. He returned home early one morning from a train trip to Baton Rouge. My mother found a metal door plaque identifying a men’s restroom under the bathroom mat. She accosted him with the evidence, with some asperity.

– Jimmie, what on earth is this doing here?

– I don’t know … we were having a pretty good time, and I didn’t know where else to put it when I got home.

Train car bars weren’t as classy as the Driskill, but the bourbon probably tasted the same. I wish she had saved the damn sign.

Here are a couple more vignettes, featuring the sense of humor he displayed as a pretend celebrity at the airport in 1951.

We were having our weekly dinner at Morrison’s Cafeteria in Shreveport. Daddy turned to me conspiratorially.

– There were a bunch of bees flying down a highway. They needed to stop. They passed by a Gulf station, a Texaco station, and a Shell station. They finally turned in to an Esso Station.

(That was Standard Oil of Ohio at one time. I think).

– Why do you think they passed up the first three stations for the Esso station, my father asked me, a perfect 14-year-old straight man.

– I don’t know, Daddy.

– Because they were SOBs, he chuckled.

– Jimmie! my mother said reprovingly, suppressing a grin.

Another family meal, but this time I was 18 or 19, home from school for a holiday. It was the three of us in a local Mexican restaurant, plus my maternal grandmother Ida Burke.

Granny examined me with a mildly disapproving look and pronounced her verdict.

– Robin looks just like her father.

I can understand some disappointment: my mother was a world-class beauty.

Without missing a beat, Daddy turned to me and patted me on the arm.

– Of course she does!!! That’s why she’s so pretty!!!

He did enjoy rattling a Burke cage from time to time. I dearly loved my Burke relatives, but they were outmatched.

In his family, he was always characterized as a man who was too kind to swat a fly. He was the family caretaker. Needed a will probated? He was your man. Taking care of his mother when she reached the age of frequent doctor’s visit? Selling her house after she died? Ditto. Helping with whatever? Just ask.

He was bitten with what he called “the genealogy bug” after he retired in the late 1960s. My husband Gary was in pilot training at Craig AFB, Selma, AL. He and I were too poor for long distance calls (and Daddy was too frugal, and naturally disinclined to talk). Instead, we wrote letters. His regular salutation was “Dear Robin Baby.” Or perhaps it was “Dearest Robin Baby,” my memory is unclear. He and his sister Louise, who lived in Heflin, Bienville Parish — the only one of the four Rankin siblings who didn’t have the sense to get the hell out of rural north Louisiana — drove all over the area visiting relatives, collecting family stories.

They found a good love story and a mystery about their Grandfather, John Allen Rankin. Turns out John Allen met his future wife Amanda Lindsey in 1863, when he knocked on the door of her father’s house in Monticello, Arkansas. He was reportedly looking for a sister who lived in the area. Amanda later said that she “opened the door to the handsomest soldier you ever saw and fell in love on the spot.” The mystery was why he was “already out of the War in 1863,” as Daddy put it. So he sent off for John Allen’s military records, writing to me that he would keep it a secret if there was “a skeleton in the attic.”

There was, but it’s not a secret because I’ve written about it on this blog. My Confederate great-grandfather, displaying what I consider imminent good sense after being in a losing battle near Vicksburg and approaching the second year of his 6-month enlistment, deserted. He had just been issued a new uniform and several months back pay in Selma, Alabama. He evidently walked to Monticello, where he made Amanda Lindsey swoon.

What else about Daddy? He was a sentimental sweetie who carefully saved every scrap that was important to him. I found among his keepsakes an envelope labeled “Burke’s baby tooth,” with one of our son’s teeth carefully wrapped in folded tissue paper. There was also every report card, piano recital program, dance recital program, and twice-yearly reports from the private school I attended through the third grade.

He taught me how to play baseball, of course. Better yet, he taught me how to keep score. He and I would occasionally go (just the two of us!) to a Shreveport Sports game. He encouraged me to join him in booing lustily when an umpire made a bad call, defined as most anything unfavorable to the home team. He told me that a batter would hit a foul ball 5 out of 7 times when facing a full count. One of these days I’m going to test that theory.

He had a table saw and other carpentry tools in the garage. He made a back yard high jump for me. It consisted of two upright 2″x 2″ boards on wooden stands, with nails in each upright marked at one-inch increments for height. A bamboo pole served as the horizontal piece.

He also made a fancy cage for one of my Burke grandfather’s fabulous gifts: a pair of quail. Gramps also brought me baby ducks, baby chicks, and other wildlife. Also a B-B gun and a small rod and reel.

– I swear he will bring her an elephant one of these days, said Daddy.

He was 5’7″ and 140 pounds soaking wet, but nevertheless a fine athlete. He excelled at pretty much anything he tried. As an adult, he was a good golfer and above-average bowler, as evidenced by a “250” coffee mug from Brunswick. In high school, he was on the tennis and baseball teams. He was voted “Most Handsome.” He was the editor of the high school yearbook. I suspect he took that job to make sure his name appeared therein as JIM, not JAMES. My son wasn’t the first person who made that mistake. The engraver who did my wedding invitations didn’t believe that my mother, who had been married to him for a mere 31 years in 1967, actually knew his first name was Jim. He appeared on those wedding invites as “James.”

One of my high school best friends died in Vietnam. At his 1970 Shreveport funeral, Daddy (who loved my friend) cried like a baby. He wrote to one of his genealogy correspondents — Mildred Ezell, the woman who published the definitive books on the Brodnax family — that he never wanted to hear “Taps” played again.

Roughly a quarter-century later, I exchanged emails with Mrs. Ezell. She had posted a query online asking for information about my Brodnax great-great- grandfather. I replied, identifying myself as Robin Rankin Willis. She asked me in the next email if I knew whatever had happened to Jim Rankin. He clearly made an impression.

I’m going to omit the part where he got cancer and died. I don’t think I can stand to write about it.

And that is all for now. See you on down the road.

Robin

Some Virginia Winn families: a Holland connection

I’ve been organizing my files, a project I undertake whenever I’m overcome by guilt re: the mess I will leave behind if I’m hit by a bus. I persevere at this Sisyphean task until something mercifully diverts me.

Sorting through random paper yesterday, I ran across information I had collected on a colonial Holland family of Goochland, Hanover, and Amelia Counties, Virginia. My cryptic and somewhat snarky note about them implied that Winn researchers had not noticed the connection between these Hollands and the well-known Winn families of Hanover/Amelia/Lunenburg. I penned that note a couple of decades ago and it is probably no longer true, if it ever was. But it got me out of organizing my files to write this post, for which I am grateful.

The Winn context here is provided by Richard and Phoebe Wilkes Pledger Winn of Hanover County, Virginia. Richard’s family of origin is the subject of much speculation but no apparent evidence. He died about 1750. There is no extant will for him in Hanover, although he probably had one.[1] He did, however, own land and enslaved people located in Amelia which provided an essential link to establishing Richard and Phoebe’s family. Five children — there might be others — are established by excellent circumstantial evidence. I consider them all proved, although you might disagree.[2] I described the evidence in this article, so you may judge for yourself:

Here is a refresher on Richard and Phoebe’s five proved children, birth order unknown, just in case you’re new to them or have forgotten:

Col. John Winn of Amelia County, whose wife was Susannah Irby, daughter of Charles Irby Senior. Col. John died in Amelia in 1781, leaving a will naming his children Richard, Jane, Charles, John, and Susannah.[3]

Col. Thomas Winn of Lunenburg County, who was married twice. His first wife is usually identified as a Miss Bannister, although the only evidence I know is that the couple named a son Bannister Winn. Col. Thomas’s second wife and widow was Sarah, a genuine character who was almost certainly née Bacon.[4] Col. Thomas died in Lunenburg, also in 1781. His eleven children — including which ones were Miss Bannister’s and which were Sarah’s — are conclusively proved by a fabulous chancery lawsuit in Lunenburg.[5] I explained the lawsuit in this article.

Daniel Winn, also of Lunenburg. His wife was probably Sarah Tench, about whom I know nothing except that she was a daughter of Henry Tench. Daniel died in Lunenburg in 1799 leaving nine sons and one daughter. His will named only his son Joseph, although his other children are established by gift deeds and a web of other convincing evidence.[6] His children are identified and the evidence concerning them described in this post.

Susanna Winn, who married John Irby (also a child of Charles Irby Sr.) in Amelia in 1757. John Irby died in 1763, and his will identifies their young children as Charles, Lucey, and John Irby.[7] Susannah and two of the Irby children witnessed her brother Col. Thomas’s Lunenburg will.

Phoebe Winn. And here, at last, is the Winn-Holland connection. Phoebe’s husband was Michael Holland Jr., son of Michael Holland Sr. of Hanover and Goochland Counties. Michael Jr. died in Amelia County in late 1762 or early 1763. Their only proved children were Joseph and Mary Holland. Both were established by a deposition concerning Michael’s estate.[8] Joseph is also proved in a deed in which he sold some of his father’s land. His mother Phoebe, identified as such in the deed, released her dower interest.[9]

And with that, I will add a brief chart for the family of Michael Holland Sr. of Hanover and Goochland, along with a few notes which (I hope) will help you track these guys if you wish.

See you on down the road.

Robin

1 Michael Holland Sr., wife Judith _______. They apparently lived in Hanover, although a will was probated in Goochland.[10] He amassed an enormous amount of land in Louisa, Goochland, and Hanover Counties, much of it on Licking Hole or Lickinghole Swamp or Creek. He died in early 1746/47.

2 John Holland, inherited 800 acres on Lickinghole. Died in 1773. Wife Martha _______. Seven children are named in his Goochland will.[11]

3 John Holland, b. by Oct 1746

3 Judith Holland Parish

3 Hezekiah Holland

3 Martha Holland Graves

3 Nathaniel Holland, inherited land on Little Bird Cr. in Goochland.

3 Lucy Holland

3 Alice Holland Nash

2 Michael Holland Jr., inherited 400 acres in Louisa Co. Born about 1695. Was in Goochland Co. in Aug 1752 when he bought 865 acres from Philip Pledger. Was in Nottoway Parish, Amelia Co., by 28 Mar 1755, when he sold some of that tract. Died in the 4th quarter of 1762 in Amelia County. His wife was Phoebe Winn, sister of Col. John of Amelia, Col. Thomas of Lunenburg, Daniel Winn of Lunenburg, and Susannah Winn Irby of Amelia.

3 Joseph Holland

3 Mary Holland

2 Elizabeth Holland m. Pouncy Anderson; he inherited several tracts from his father-in-law.

2 Richard Holland, inherited a plantation in Louisa Co. and “Meridith’s Branch” in Henrico, where he lived as of Oct 1746, probably 500 acres and 450 acres, respectively.

2 George Holland, inherited 700 acres in Louisa Co., plus another 650 acres, location uncertain. Wife Sarah Ford, daughter of William Ford. Michael Sr. had to leave this large legacy to George Holland to assure that Mr. Ford would give Sarah a legacy.

2 Judith Holland m. Henry Martin, inherited 520 acres on Lickinghole plus 50 acres in Hanover a half-mile below the plantation where Michael Holland Sr. lived.

2 Anne Holland, under age in Oct 1746.

2 Susannah Holland, under age in Oct 1746.

2 Mercy Holland, under age in Oct 1746.

[1] There are few Hanover Co. records prior to 1865.

[2] Professional genealogical proof standards are relaxed somewhat when burned records result in the loss of primary conclusive evidence, such as Hanover County wills.

[3] Amelia Co., VA Will Book 2: 360. Will of John Winn of Amelia County dated 3 Mar 1780, proved 25 Jan 1781. Daughter Susanna when she reaches age 18 or marries, 7 slaves of equal value to those given daughter Jane Epes before her marriage. Son Richard Winn, 2 years after my death, 2 slaves (for support of wife until delivery). Wife Susanna, possession of dwelling house and sufficient maintenance out of my estate. Sons John and Charles Winn, remainder of my estate divided equally 1 year after death. Wife Susanna Winn, executrix, and Truman Epes and Charles Winn, executors. Witnesses: Giles Nance, John Irby, William Gooch, Elisha Winn, Joseph Winn, and Jane Epes. Charles and John qualified as executors.

[4] Lunenburg Co., VA Deed Book 25: 82, agreement dated 16 Mar 1820 between Edmund Winn (son and executor of Col. Thomas), Sarah Winn (Col. Thomas’s widow), and John Winn Jr. providing that Edmund would build a house for John Jr. on land where Edmund lives. The land belonged to Edmund’s mother Sarah for her lifetime, then descended to Bannister Winn, a son of Col. Thomas. However, John Jr. had bought the remainder interest in the land from Bannister Winn’s heirs. Edmund and his mother Sarah agreed not to deprive John Jr. of use of a certain part of the said tract. Edmund was expressly not bound for his mother’s conduct, only his own. I’m not sure who “John Jr.” is, probably either the son of John Winn m. Ann Stone or the son of Daniel.

[5] Col. Thomas Winn’s children by his first wife were Mourning, Elizabeth, Thomas, Richard, William, Bannister, and John Winn (who predeceased his father). His children by Sarah Bacon were Keturah, Henrietta Maria (AKA Marie), Edmund, and Washington.

[6] Lunenburg Co., VA Will Book 4: 264, will of Daniel Winn dated 23 Apr 1789, proved 14 Feb 1799. After payment of debts, remaining estate to son Joseph, other children already provided for. Daniel’s children were Marticia (wife of Cornelius Crenshaw Jr.), Joseph, John, Thomas, Elisha, Alexander, Orsamus, William, James, and Galanus.

[7] Amelia Co., VA Will Book 2X: 45, will of John Irby dated 28 Jan and proved 27 Oct 1763. Witnesses Thomas Wilkinson, William Fitzgerald, Mary Irby, and Henrietta Maria Irby. Executors Susannah Irby, “her brother John Winn,” and my brother Charles Irby. Wife Susanna Irby, 15 slaves and personal estate until the eldest child is 21 or wife remarries, then an equal division between my wife and children Charles Irby, Lucey Irby, and John Irby. Sons John and Charles, 560-acre tract where I live divided equally when son Charles comes of age or marries. Wife to have manor house and 1/3rd of land for life.

[8] The deposition suggests that Michael Holland may have had more than two children, although I can only prove two.Amelia Co., VA Deed Book 8: 314, deposition signed 3 Jan 1764 by John Nance repeating Michael Holland’s stated intent to give his daughter Mary two enslaved women and his son Joseph two enslaved men, and identifying Michael Holland’s wife’s brother as Mr. Winn. Holland also said his family was so large that he “wished his children could go for themselves.”

[9] Amelia Co., VA Deed Book 9: 105, deed dated 26 Feb 1767 from Joseph Holland of Nottoway Parish, Amelia, to Charles Irby, same, 118 acres in Raleigh Parish adjacent Winn’s line et al. Phoebe, the mother of Joseph Holland, released dower.

[10] Michael Sr.’s Hanover will, if any, is probably lost. Benjamin B. Weisiger, III, Goochland County, Virginia Wills and Deeds 1742-1749 (Richmond: 1984) 222, will of Michael Holland dated 10 Oct 1746, proved 17 Mar 1746/47. Wife Judith, 800 acres in Louisa County and 800 acres on Lickinghole Cr. Son John Holland, 800 acres on Lickinghole. Son Michael, 400 acres in Louisa bought from Craddock. Son-in-law Pouncy Anderson, 900 acres on Lickinghole and 200A bought from William Owen and other land. Son Richard, the plantation in Louisa County and “Meridith’s Branch” in Henrico where he now lives, 500 acres and 450 acres. Son George, 700 acres in Louisa County and other land. Son-in-law Henry Martin, 520 acres on Lickinghole plus 50 acres in Hanover, 1/2 mile below the plantation where Michael Sr. lived. Daughters Anne, Susannah and Mercy when of age or married. Daughters Elizabeth Anderson and Judith Martin. Grandson John Holland, the son of John, 500 acres in Orange County. Executors Henry Martin, Pouncy Anderson and Richard Holland. Witness John Martin, John Parrish, John Sandland.

[11] Goochland Deed & Will Book 10: 378, will of John Holland dated 7 Jun and proved Sep 1773. Wife Martha. Children John Holland, Judith Parish, Hezikiah Holland (female), Martha Graves, Nathaniel Holland, Lucy Holland, and Alice Nash. Son Nathaniel inherited land on Little Bird Cr.

A weird genealogy problem: location fixation error

This is a cautionary tale about being too invested in a particular fact. In my case, the culprit is usually location. If you are convinced Prince Charming lived and died in Perry County, Alabama, you may miss him popping up in Ouachita County, Arkansas. I have made the location fixation error several times, most recently in the case of a Quaker Loyalist from York County, Pennsylvania.

Specifically, I am talking about John Rankin Jr., one of the three sons of John Sr. and Ann ______ Rankin Niblet/Niblit.[1] My last post told the three brothers’ stories. All three were “attainted of treason” in Pennsylvania and fled York County to save their necks during the Revolution, first to Philadelphia then to New York City. Two of the brothers — William and James — wound up in England.

The third brother, John Jr., went to Canada. His “memorial,” i.e., his request for compensation for losses he sustained because he supported the British, mentioned that he had gone to Pennsylvania for “trading” in about 1785. He stated he returned to New Brunswick, and I concluded he died there. An excellent researcher in this family concurred, so I felt comfortable with that conclusion.

Too comfortable. I now believe John Jr. died in Pennsylvania between 1808 and 1810, although I found no estate records. Of course, it is possible he returned to Canada or relocated elsewhere.[2] If so, I would be completely wrong about the same person twice, which isn’t easy to do.

Here’s how the evidentiary trail unfolded. At any point along the way, the obvious should have become obvious — but for my certainty that John Jr. never lived in Pennsylvania after the Revolution.

The first clue was a 1790 York County deed conveying a one-third interest in four tracts in Newberry Township, York County. The Rankin brothers lived there before the Revolution broke out. That deed was a conveyance from John Sr.’s widow Ann to some John Rankin.[3] Convinced that Ann’s son John Jr. was in Canada, I guessed that the grantee was Ann’s proved grandson John, son of William and Jane Rhodes Rankin — John Jr.’s nephew. The deed described John the grantee as residing in West Chester, Goshen Township, Chester County. It made no sense to me for a convicted traitor to return home to face possible execution, especially since the conventional wisdom was that John died in Canada.

In hindsight, how could I have been so blind? William and Jane Rhodes Rankin had eight children, seven of whom remained in Pennsylvania.[4] Why on earth would Ann pick out only one of those grandchildren for her largesse? Worse, note that Ann conveyed a one third interest in the four tracts to John: who do you suppose the other 2/3rds may have been intended for? Gee, were there by any chance three Rankin brothers having some association with Newberry Township, York County?

Duh. What can I say.

Second, I was doing what Jessica “Gams” Guyer and I call a “blitzkrieg” through the deed records of Chester County, trying to find information on several mysterious Rankins who left tracks there. I ran across some Chester deeds executed during 1792-1803 in which a John Rankin of West Chester, along with his wife Abigail, conveyed land. As you know if you read the prior post about the three Loyalist brothers, John Rankin Jr. married Abigail Rhodes in 1760.

Those deeds finally aroused a niggling suspicion that I had stumbled across one of the Loyalist Rankins, despite his conviction for treason. I gave short shrift to my suspicion, however. Instead, I again focused on the other John Rankin, the son of William and Jane Rhodes Rankin. “Abigail” was a popular Rhodes name, so it seemed conceivable to me that John Jr.’s nephew John coincidentally had a wife named Abigail.

At this point, I remembered Rule 1: coincidences in genealogy are rare as hen’s teeth.

Belatedly, I consulted Google to learn whether Pennsylvania pardoned Loyalists convicted of treason. And, if so, when.

I didn’t find whether there was ever a general pardon. Instead, I found a 1905 article about five men who were specifically exonerated by the Supreme Executive Council of Pennsylvania, which was charged with considering pardon requests.[5] Here is what it says about John Rankin:

“The last member of this group [of five men] was John Rankin, who settled at the conclusion of the war in the Quaker colony at Pennfield, N. B. [New Brunswick], the lands of which he helped to select, being one of the three agents sent from New York City by an association of Pennsylvania Quakers for the purpose. The vicissitudes which this colony passed through in 1787 and the years just following served to disperse many of the settlers at Pennfield, among them being John Rankin, whose petition must have expressed a deep desire of his heart, when he asked to be restored to the rights of citizenship in Pennsylvania. The Council acceded to his prayer on March 9, 1790.”

It’s not hard to imagine the “deep desire of his heart” that might have swayed the Council to restore John Jr.’s citizenship. His mother was still living in York County in 1790. She must have been about eighty, since her three sons were probably born in the 1730s.[6] John Jr.’s wife Abigail had family in the area as well, including her sister Jane Rhodes Rankin and her children, who had been left behind in Pennsylvania when Jane’s husband William Rankin fled Pennsylvania. Two of James Rankin’s children also still lived in Pennsylvania in 1790.[7]

The vicissitudes of the Quaker Colony at Pennfield in 1787 undoubtedly contributed to the family’s yearning for home. I didn’t do sufficient research to learn much about their troubles, although I read that they were desperately poor and initially supported by contributions from family and friends. I also found a document signed by the Pennfield residents agreeing not to own enslaved persons.[8] John Rankin Jr.’s original signature is included, as is his nephew Abraham’s, a son of John’s brother James.

If I were weaving a story about John, I would have him returning to Pennsylvania in 1788 or 1789 and staying with friends or relatives until his petition was granted. John was not nearly as prominent as his brothers James and William, and after the passage of so much time — John fled Pennsylvania in 1778 — it is unlikely that anyone who hadn’t been close to the family would have recognized them.[9] Surely John and Abigail would have been reasonably safe if they stayed a fair distance from their former residence, which they did: they settled in West Chester, about 70 miles east of their former home in York County, on the other side of the Susquehanna River.

In any event, it didn’t take long after the March 1790 pardon for the Rankins to start making tracks in the records. In June 1790, John bought a 99-acre tract in West Chester. The metes and bounds description of the tract is tortuous, but it is adjacent at some points to High Street and Church Street, both of which run roughly north-south through the middle of town, and Gay Street, which runs east-west.[10] The historic Chester County Courthouse is located on what was probably once John Rankin’s tract. It is bounded by those three streets.

In November 1790, his mother Ann granted John Jr. the undivided one third part of four tracts in Newberry Township, York County.[11] Beginning in May 1792, John began selling town lots and other tracts in West Chester. Because of her dower right, the law required his wife Abigail to acknowledge any conveyance.[12] Three of the tracts John and Abigail sold were identified as town lots on High Street or the south side of Gay Street.

John may be, and most likely is, the John Rankin listed in the 1790 census in Goshen Township, Chester County.[13]The family was likely also enumerated in the 1800 census for Goshen Township in the household adjacent to his nephew Abraham Rankin, who had also been a member of the Pennfield Colony.[14]

Abigail died sometime between 1803, when she acknowledged a sale of land, and 1808, when she was no longer named in a conveyance by John.[15] He probably died by 1810, when he was no longer listed in the census. I would guess he was in his mid to late 70s. I identified only one son, Rhodes Rankin, who I was unable to trace, and two daughters, given names unknown. A descendant of James Rankin identified three sons, although I don’t know their names.

I am still looking for a living male Rankin descendant of the York County Loyalists who might be willing to Y-DNA test. A descendant speculates that John Rankin Sr. had roots in Scotland, which would make the family a solid bet to match one of the existing Rankin DNA Lineages. If you find a male Loyalist descendant with the Rankin surname, please swab his cheek. I’ll pay for the DNA testing, but you are on your own for any legal fees.

See you on down the road.

Robin

[1] Ann Rankin, birth surname unproved, married Abraham Noblit after John Rankin Sr. died.

[2] I would wager a small sum that John did not return to Canada. If you have evidence that he died there and will share it in a comment, I will publish a post naming you the blog’s Family History Wizard of the year. “Many internet trees” saying John died in Canada do not constitute evidence.

[3] York Co., PA Deed Book 2G: 81, Ann Noblit, widow of Newberry Twp., to John Rankin of Goshen Twp., Westchester Co. (sic, Goshen Township was in Chester County; the town of West Chester was in Goshen Township), an undivided 1/3rd part of 4 tracts in Newberry Twp.: (1) 100 acres granted to William Rankin in 1762, he sold it to Ann in 1775; (2) 75.5 acres granted to Wm Baxter who sold it to Ann in 1770; (3) 100 acres granted to James Rankin in 1762, who sold it to Ann in 1770; and (4) 100 acres in Newberry Twp. that Ann bought in 1765.

[4] York Co., PA Deed Book 3B, deed dated 17 June 1816 naming all the heirs and parties in interest of Jane (Rhodes) (Rankin) Walker, “late widow of William Rankin dec’d.” The deed recited the names of eight children and their locations: (1) James Rankin of Missouri Territory, (2) John Rankin of Newberry Twp., (3) William Rankin of Philadelphia County, (4) Nathan Potts of Newberry Twp. and wife Ann (Rankin) Potts, (5) William Webb of Abington Twp., Montgomery Co., and wife Abigail (Rankin) Webb, (6) Jesse Walker of Wayne Co. and wife Catharine (Rankin) Walker, (7A and 7B), grandchildren, Thomas Robinson and wife Anna and Charles Branson, all of Chester Co., two children of Jane Rankin Walker’s daughter ________ Rankin Branson), and (8) Isaac Walker and wife Mary (Rankin) Walker of Washington Co.

[5] Wilbur H. Siebert, “The Loyalists of Pennsylvania” (Columbus, OH: Ohio State University, 1905. Available online at this link.

[6] James Rankin’s London tombstone says that he was born in 1730. My hunch, based on no evidence whatsoever, is that James was the eldest son.

[7] See Note 4 for the children of William and Jane Rhodes Rankin. THe children of James and Rebecca Bennett Rankin who remained in Pennsylvania when James fled were Abraham Rankin (who wound up in Pennfield Colony with John Jr.) and Ann Rankin Nebinger, wife of George Nebinger. James and Rebecca Rankin’s son John died in York County in 1785.

[8] Here is the document with John’s signature.

[9] John Rankin’s “memorial” included an estimate of the value of the estate which he possessed as of 18 March 1778. John’s Memorial begins at image 65 of 235 in this link.

[10] Chester Co., PA Deed Book E2: 478 and Deed Book W2: 324.

[11] I don’t know what became of that York County land. I need to persuade Gams to ransack the York County courthouse and any county genealogical societies.

[12] Other than two Quaker records, I have no information on Abigail Rhodes Rankin other than her deed acknowledgments. Thank goodness for the dower right.

[13] The 1790 census entry is 1-1-3-0-0, meaning 1 male 16 or over (John), 1 male < 16, and three women of indeterminate ages, one of whom should be Abigail. John and Abigail had two daughters. If I were continuing to weave a story about this family, I would make one of the women in the 1790 census record a widowed daughter and the remaining male and female her children.

[14] The entry for John Rankin in 1800 in Goshen, Chester Co. was 10001-00101, putting John and Abigail in the “over 45” category, with a female age 16 – 26 and a male less than 10. Abraham Rankin, in the adjacent household, was listed as 20010-1001, with the two adults in the age 26 < 45 category and 3 children less than age 10.

[15] Chester Co., PA Deed Book W2: 324, deed dated 8 Mar. 1803, John Rankin and wife Abigail of West Chester, tract on the south side of Gay Street, one acre; Deed Book C3: 109, deed dated March 29, 1808, John Rankin of West Chester, conveyance without mention of wife Abigail.

Schemes to quell the Revolution, buried treasure, horses in canoes, and more

Imagine a Pennsylvania Tory writing about his plan to kidnap the Continental Congress. The same man proposed several other schemes to “suppress the Rebellion,” some almost plausible. One of his Tory brothers reportedly buried gold coins and other loot before he fled the country, then made a royal pain of himself seeking restitution in London. And, of course, there were the horses in canoes.

But I’m getting ahead of their stories. Here’s the Cliff Notes version …

There were three brothers in York County, Pennsylvania in the late colonial period: William, James (1730-1803), and John (Jr.) Rankin.[1] They were sons of John Rankin (Sr.) and his wife Ann.[2] They owned a lot of Pennsylvania land and lived high-profile public lives. They were Quakers. Each man was married with children. They became Tories, i.e., Loyalists who supported Great Britain during the Revolution. All were “attainted of high treason” and fled to Canada and England to save their necks. One of them left his wife and eight children behind in Pennsylvania. Each man asked the Crown to compensate him for the loss of his estate, which had been confiscated by Pennsylvania.

The information I have about the Tory Rankins is primarily from their “Memorials” — requests for restitution to the British Commission handling Loyalists’ claims. Images of the original Memorials are available online.[3]

William (d. before 1816)

William was a Justice of the York County Court of Pleas & Quarter Sessions by at least 1771.[4] He was the commander of the Second Battalion of York County militia, holding the rank of Colonel.[5] He was a representative to the Pennsylvania Assembly.[6] His wife was Jane Rhodes, a Quaker, with whom he had three sons and five daughters.[7] He claimed about 2,500 acres of his land in Pennsylvania were confiscated,[8] including a one-third interest owned with his brothers in the “Middletown Ferry.”[9]

William claimed he was originally a staunch supporter of redress for the Colonies against British oppression. He never resigned his commission in the militia. This required some artful tap-dancing when he made his request for restitution. He explained that he changed his mind about supporting the Colonies after what he considered a generous offer by the British to redress grievances, plus his growing perception that the colonists’ objective was complete independence. That was presumably plain by July 1776, even on the Pennsylvania frontier. He would immediately have resigned his commission, he said, except that he was persuaded he might help the British more if he retained command of the militia.

He concluded that was wise, because the militia was soon ordered to destroy the estates of certain Tories in York County. He claims to have carried out the order in some manner that protected the endangered estates.[10] Gary, the military expert in the family, is skeptical — how does one manage that? “Yeah, we burned ’em to the ground, but please don’t go look.”

By 1778, William was making regular proposals to Sir General Henry Clinton after the British captured Philadelphia. The Continental Congress fled Philadelphia, initially to Lancaster, Pennsylvania. They then went to York, where they met in the York County courthouse, virtually under William’s nose. He proposed kidnapping the entire delegation and delivering them as prisoners of war to Philadelphia.[11] Rankin claimed the delegation was guarded by “not more than forty invalids.” The delegation itself was small: by the time it was meeting in York, a mere eighteen delegates were attending.[12]

His strategy was sound, says Gary. Washington’s army was then in camp at Valley Forge. The Susquehanna, rendered unfordable by the spring thaw, lay between Valley Forge and the York courthouse. William proposed taking the captured delegation south to the Chesapeake and delivering the prisoners to a British frigate, presumably a bit north of Baltimore (controlled by the Patriots). The British Navy controlled the Bay.

For reasons William couldn’t fathom, General Clinton did not endorse the plan. Could Clinton have smelled a trap? After all, Rankin was still a Colonel in the York County militia and a member of the Pennsylvania General Assembly in the spring of 1778. Also, Clinton believed — probably correctly — that British efforts should concentrate on defeating General Washington’s army. But Gary would have given the kidnap scheme a thumbs up.

William said he was so demoralized by the rejection of his proposal that he thought about giving up on helping defeat the Revolution. He was persuaded otherwise by a message from Joey Galloway, who had been an influential member of the First Continental Congress but became an opponent of American independence.[13] Galloway, who was the Philadelphia Chief of Police after the British captured the city, encouraged William to continue expanding “the Associators,” a group of Loyalists who took oaths to the Crown and reported to William.

Another scheme of William’s was supported by some in the King’s army. The main supply magazine for Washington’s army was located about midway between York and Carlisle, within spitting distance of William’s residence. It contained substantial stores of beef, pork, gunpowder, guns, and the like. Here, however, Rankin’s tendency to exaggerate and his inevitable request for British help probably doomed the proposal. He claimed that the supply magazine was guarded by 600 people, of whom 400 were “Associators.” Further, he asked for a detachment under British Col. Butler, then in Detroit, to come to Pennsylvania to join up with the Associators, who would seize the depot. Gen. Clinton agreed to the proposal, said William, except he declined to order Butler from Detroit to Pennsylvania.[14] The plan never happened, although it’s hard to understand why the British did not try to capture the supply depot themselves.

The Patriots finally noticed William. In March 1781, he was put in the York Town jail. With the help of friends, he escaped and fled to New York. There, he gave Gen. Clinton a “full account” of the Associators. He claimed a force of the Associators could “put the three provinces of Maryland, Pennsylvania & the Delaware Counties into the peace of the Crown.” Rankin needed only a small detachment of British soldiers and supplies of arms and ammunition for the Associators. Like William’s other proposals, that never took place.

Nevertheless, William persisted. Ultimately, he claimed some 20,000 Associators under his command. By contrast, there were never more than 48,000 men in the Continental Army at any one time.[15] Surely, either William knowingly exaggerated or he was unrealistic.

Gen. Clinton privately expressed his opinion that Col. Rankin was “not much of an officer … but he appears to be a plain sensible man worth attending to.”[16] Perhaps weary of William’s proposals, Clinton sent him to Virginia in May 1781 to present his plans to Gen. Phillips. However, Phillips had died and been replaced by Cornwallis by the time William arrived. Cornwallis also declined to implement any of William’s proposals. One of them required sending a detachment of British troops up the Chesapeake to rescue “upward of 150” Associators who had been betrayed and imprisoned in Maryland.

However, William arrived when Cornwallis was fresh from his purported victory against General Nathaniel Greene’s band of mostly backwoods farmers at Guilford Courthouse in March 1781.[17] The British suffered heavy losses in that battle, prompting a member of Parliament to exclaim that they could not afford any more such victories. Cornwallis cannot have been inclined to use his exhausted forces to rescue some of Col. Rankin’s friends in Maryland.

Having no luck with Cornwallis, William returned to New York. When the British evacuated in November 1783, he went to England, where he lived on a pension of £120 a year and was awarded £2,320 to cover the loss of property confiscated by Pennsylvania.[18]

His mother Ann Noblet helped support William’s wife Jane and eight children during his exile, creating a trust for their use and funding it with land given her by her late husband Abraham Noblet.[19] There doesn’t seem to be a Find-a-Grave memorial for William in London, although he lived in Mill Hill, Hendon Parish, in the County of Middlesex. So did his brother James. His children all remained in America at least through 1816.[20]

James (1730 – 1803)

James was also a delegate in the Pennsylvania General Assembly back when his focus was apparently on acquiring land. When the revolutionary unpleasantness began, he said he “set his face like a Flint” and openly and actively opposed “every measure and step taken by the Seditious leaders.”[21] James claims he broke up “a public Election to constitute a new fangled rebel Provincial Assembly which the populace had conveined [sic] for the purpose … by appearing in person … pointing out to them the illegality of their proceedings and absolutely forbidding them to proceed on pain of having the Court House in which they were then assembled leveled about their Ears.”

Not surprisingly, he says he “soon became the object of Popular outrage and suffered not only every insult hurtful to the feelings of an honest Man and a Man of Spirit but real Injury of his Property and was moreover hourly exposed to emminent [sic] Danger of his person from being considered as the most mischievous Character to the Cause in the part of the Country where he resided.”

His brother John’s Memorial, however, says James “never took any part one side or other,” suggesting that James may not have been the most mischievous character in the area. Or perhaps John Jr. had an agenda: James expressed contempt for his brother in a submission to the Commission, saying John “was never worth £200 in his life.”

In addition to breaking up the election at the York court house, James helped some British soldiers who were imprisoned in York. One of them, a Lieut. Robert Chase, swore that James “always assisted us … for which he fell under the displeasure both of the Committee appointed to sit at York Town as well as the Committee of Safety at Philadelphia.” James was soon sent to jail. He escaped and fled with his family to the British lines in September 1777. From there, he went to Nova Scotia and then to England.

His real work began in earnest in England: convincing the Commission evaluating Loyalists’ claims to pay him more than £74,000 in Pennsylvania currency for his real and personal property. That was then equivalent to £44,000 British sterling. His estate included twenty-two farms and plantations, a fishery, two ferries, a mill, and “seven Negroes.” He was asking for roughly $105,000,000 in today’s U.S. dollars.

He stayed busy in his own behalf. He had (back in the Colonies) boarded a British ship in Chesapeake Bay to ask Lt. Chase to provide evidence of his help to the British prisoners in York. He sought witnesses and dug up old facts — e.g., an arbitration property valuation in 1768 — to bolster his case. He testified to the Commission in person, when (he said) they were “candid” about their view of his claims. One gathers they expressed some skepticism.

Mostly, he bombarded the Commission with letters about his claim. Frankly, he sounds arrogant and entitled. He asked for a speedy hearing because his “allowance is inadequate for support of his family and obliges him to incur debts.” He noted that other claims filed after his had already been considered. He wrote about “a small estate he wants to buy if assured he would participate in the £178,000 granted by Parliament.” He wanted to know if he would come in for payments of 30 or 40% of the last grant for the Loyalists, whatever that means. When the Commission complained that James lacked proper deeds, his reply asked for “Mr. Penn” to testify on his behalf. I can’t figure out who that was, but he sounds like he might be a member of William Penn’s family.

In December 1788, James complained that the amount he had received thus far — £10,772 in total — was “not one half of the real loss” he suffered. The amount received is equivalent to about £1,889,515.03 in 2013.[22] In 2024 US dollars, that is roughly $2.4 million, which is probably close enough, give or take a million, to explain why James exhausted the Commissioners’ patience.[23] James’s actual award was a substantial multiple of what many others received.[24]

The final straw was apparently James’s letter of 15 March 1790, asking if the Commissioners “had any news” for him about his claim. The Commission responded with asperity a mere two days later: “The Claimant’s case has already undergone a full ______ [unreadable] & the Commissioners have done everything in it which they consider themselves at liberty to do.” With apologies to Peter O’Toole in Becket, one could easily picture a Commissioner saying, “Will no one rid us of this meddlesome claimant?”[25] The documents in James’s file indicate that was his last exchange with the Commissioners.

My friend Jess “Gams” Guyer found an image of James’s will in the prerogative court at Canterbury. James named his wife Ann and eight children, but he probably had another son who had remained in York County and predeceased him. So far as I have found, three children never left Pennsylvania, one died in the West Indies, one may have returned to Canada from England, and four remained in England.[26] His widow Ann, birth name unknown, was either his second or third wife.[27] And that is all I have found about James Rankin.

John Jr.

Of the three brothers, John Jr. was the least successful financially. He left little information in either his Memorial or York County records. He was a militia Captain, although he doesn’t mention that in his Memorial.[28] His brother William was his agent in John’s claim before the Commission. The information in his Memorial was short and sweet; John claimed two pieces of real property and very little personalty. John said he was living on one of James’s farms at one time. John’s Memorial, bless his heart, identified both James and William as his brothers. I don’t know how much he was awarded for his claim, if anything.

John said that he, too, assisted the British prisoners in York, and thereby “brought upon himself the hatred and Resentment of the Rebels, was obliged to fly for refuge to the Kings Army then at Philadelphia, had his property real and personal sold and his Person proscribed and attainted by High Treason, and is now for Refuge in the Province of Nova Scotia.”

Specifically, John said he “joined the British in March 1778, and remained with them until the evacuation of New York.[29] He came to Annapolis [Canada] in 1783 and settled in New Brunswick.” He went back to Pennsylvania at least once, about 1785, for trading; he was the only one of the three brothers to return, so far as I know.

John’s wife was Abigail Rhodes, sister of his brother William’s wife Jane Rhodes. John and Abigail had three children: two daughters (given names unknown) and a son Rhodes Rankin, a mariner. John also identified himself as a mariner, stating in an affirmation that he owned a schooner named Rebeckah.[30]

Finally, the horses and the canoes: John Rankin Sr., the family patriarch

One of those hoary old histories of Pennsylvania families says that a John Rankin emigrated to Pennsylvania from England before 1735, probably from Yorkshire, and probably by 1730.[31] He is almost certainly the John Rankin who obtained a 1733 grant in what was then Lancaster County on a memorable waterway: Yellow Breeches Creek. The creek location establishes that John’s grant wound up in York County.

Some of the English Quakers, including John Rankin (Sr.), reportedly crossed the Susquehanna from east to west about midway between Lancaster and Carlisle in what is now Middletown, at the mouth of Swatara Creek.[32] That location subsequently became the site of the so-called “Middletown Ferry,” jointly owned by the three Tory brothers. Here’s the canoe story …

“Some of the English Quakers crossed the Susquehanna [in Middletown] as early as 1730. Five years later a temporary road was opened on the York County side. Thomas Hall, John McFesson, Joseph Bennett, John Heald, John Rankin and Ellis Lewis from Chester County, crossed the Susquehanna from the mouth of the Swatara, and selected lands on the west side of the river in the year 1732. It has often been related of them, that when they arrived at the eastern bank of the river, and there being no other kinds of crafts than canoes to cross, they fastened two together, and placed their horses’ front feet in one canoe and the hind feet in another, then piloted the frail crafts, with their precious burden, across the stream by means of poles.”

Glad I didn’t have to help load the horses.

I don’t know anything else about John Sr. except that he died in 1748.[33] That was the perfect time to insure that his estate administration would fall between the cracks, since York was created from Lancaster in 1748. I didn’t find his estate in either county.

Epilog

I will be happy to share mostly verbatim transcriptions of the three Memorials with anyone who asks. Will also share my start on an outline descendant tree for this family, just in case someone has a yen to find a living male Rankin who might Y-DNA test.

See you on down the road.

Robin

[1] Birth and death dates are proved only for James Rankin, per his tombstone. Online trees show James as the eldest and William as the youngest, with no evidence that I have seen.

[2] Ann Rankin’s birth surname is usually given as either Brown or Moore, although I have found no evidence for either. John Rankin Jr. is proved as a son of John Sr. by a Quaker marriage record; John Rankin Jr.’s Memorial (request to the Crown for restitution) proves that James and William were his brothers; and Ann Rankin Noblit/Noblet is proved as William Rankin’s mother by deeds. In short, there is a wealth of evidence establishing the members of this Rankin family.

[3] If you are interested in the originals, John Rankin Jr.’s Memorial begins at image 65 of 235 in this link. James Rankin’s Memorial begins at image 115 of 482 here. William Rankin’s Memorial can be found in the same link as James’s, beginning at image 234.

[4] York Co., PA Deed Book D: 374, 400, 523, all three deeds dated May 1771, each one acknowledged by the grantor before William Rankin, Justice.

[5] Colonel William Rankin is listed as commander of the Second Battalion, York Co. Militia here.

[6] William Rankin was reportedly a member of the Pennsylvania Assembly from Sept. 30, 1777 to June 27, 1778, see info here.

[7] The children of William and Jane Rhodes Rankin were James, John, William, Ann (m. Nathan Potts), Abigail (m. William Webb), Catharine (m. Jesse Walker), Mary (m. Isaac Walker) and a daughter who m. a Mr. Branson. York Co., PA Deed Book 3B: 312.

[8] William Rankin’s Memorial lists confiscated properties of about 2700 acres, including his one-third interest along with his brothers in the 300 acres with the Middletown Ferry. He removed a 220-acre tract called “Noblett’s Old Planation” from his claim, noting that his mother had claimed and taken possession of it. A deed proves his mother was Ann (Rankin) Noblett. See York Co., PA Deed Book 2I: 305, 1790 deed from Ann Noblet conveying a tract in trust for the use of Jane Rankin, identified as the wife of Ann’s son William Rankin.

[9] History of York County, Pennsylvania, John Gibson, Editor (Chicago: F. A. Battey Publishing Co., 1886) 630. The Middletown Ferry, located in Newberry Township, opened in 1738. It was originally called Hussey’s Ferry. The ferry obtained its present name and was licensed in 1760.

[10] The story is repeated in an online article in Encyclopedia.com, citing Carl Van Doren, Secret History of the American Revolution (New York: Viking Press, 1941), at this link.

[11] William “sent a confidential message to the General [Clinton] proposing that if he would send a Frigate or two (& more would not be necessary) to receive them in the Cheasapeak, he would deliver to him every member of the Congress then sitting & directing the affairs of the Rebellion at the Town of York … he was in his own Mind perfectly convinced that the Attempt would be crowned with Success: Washington’s Army, the whole force of the Rebellion was then at the Valley Forge sixty miles distant from York, a river unfordable at that season lay between his army and York. The place where the frigate was proposed to receive the Congress was about forty miles from the place of their Capture. The associated Loyalists under my command, being reputable farmers of the Country, had provided themselves with horses, arms, & ammunition, & could have delivered the Congress in a few hours to the Captain of the Frigate, which might have been ordered to receive them.”

[12] The number of delegates meeting at the York courthouse comes from the Mt. Vernon website. The reduced delegation nevertheless accomplished some important work, including drafting the Articles of Confederation.

[13] Here is an article about Galloway, an impressive character.

[14] Christopher Sower, a Pennsylvania Loyalist, told Gen. Clinton that if he would direct that Butler make a raid on the principal rebel supply depot, Rankin and his supporters could not only assist in this operation but could also arm themselves for future action. See this article. Sower was Clinton’s link to the Loyalists in the frontier counties of Lancaster, Northumberland, and York.

[15] For information on the Continental Army, see article here.

[16] Gen. Clinton expressed his opinion of William Rankin in a letter to Gen. Phillips quoted here.

[17] The Battle of Guilford Courthouse was a Pyhrric victory for the British and probably the turning point in the Southern Campaign, see this article.

[18] See this article for William’s award from the Commission.

[19] York Co., PA Deed Book 2I: 305.

[20] York Co., PA Deed Book 3B: 312, deed dated 17 Jun 1816 from the heirs of Jane Walker (Jane Rhoads Rankin Walker, William Rankin’s wife) to Michael Stormington. The heirs: (1) James Rankin of Missouri Territory; (2) John Rankin of Newberry Twp.; (3) William Rankin of Philadelphia Co.; (4) Nathan Potts of Newberry Twp. and wife Ann (Rankin) Potts; (5) William Webb of Abington Twp., Montgomery Co., and wife Abigail (Rankin) Webb; (6) Jesse Walker of Wayne Co. and wife Catharine (Rankin) Walker; (7A and 7B), two grandchildren, children of Jane Rankin Walker’s daughter ________ Rankin Branson, Thomas Robinson and wife Anna and Charles Branson, all of Chester Co., and (8) Isaac Walker and wife Mary (Rankin) Walker of Washington Co.

[21] Here is a link to original images of James’s “Memorial,” available with a subscription on Ancestry. It is undoubtedly also available free at FamilySearch.org, although I have not looked there. James’s claim begins at Image 116 of 482.

[22] £10,000 sterling in 1788 is equivalent in purchasing power to about £1,889,515 in 2013.

[23] £1,889,515 sterling in U.S. dollars = $2,403,211. Wow.

[24] A mere £1,700 was more than many others received, according to historian Maya Jasanoff. See this article.

[25] Peter O’Toole said, as King Henry II, “Who will rid me of this meddlesome priest?” referring to Thomas Becket, played by Richard Burton in Becket.

[26] James’s likely eldest son John died in York in 1785; his son Abraham and daughter Ann Rankin Nebinger also probably remained in Pennsylvania. Son William died in Granada in 1820, see info here. Son James Jr. may have returned to Canada. I have no record of the remaining children — Richard, Rebecca, Mary, and a second son John — who may have remained in England.

[27] James’s first wife was Rebecca Bennett, named in a family history, see Mary Elizabeth Bennett Durand and Edward Durand, Bennett Family History: William Bennett and Grace Davis (married 1789), their ancestry and their descendants (apparently self-published at Hassell Street Press, 2021). Rebecca reportedly died in 1773. James’s Memorial says he had a wife with him in Nova Scotia after he left NYC in 1783, suggesting he remarried in either Pennsylvania or New York. His Find-a-Grave memorial identifies his widow as Ann, birth name unknown. The transcription of the tombstone says “his tomb is erected by his disconsolate widow as a tribute of respect to his memory and a token of affection to a most tender husband.” See Find-a-Grave memorial here.

[28] Captain John Rankin, 2nd Company, Newberry Twp., 3d Battalion, York Co. militia.

[29] On November 25, 1783, Gen. Washington rode into New York City with nearly 800 American soldiers as the British forces evacuated.

[30] John Rankin’s statement about the schooner Susannah was erroneously included among the papers filed with James’s memorial.

[31] Colonial and Revolutionary Families of Pennsylvania: Genealogical and Personal Memoirs (New York: Lewis Historical Publishing Co., 1932, Vol. 4, editor Wilfred Jordan) 579. John Rankin Sr.’s son James was born in Pennsylvania according to James’s Memorial. James’s tombstone gives his birth date as 1730. Assuming that is correct, then John Sr. must have been in the Colonies at least by then.

[32] History of York County, Pennsylvania (Chicago: F. A. Battey Publishing Co., 1886, John Gibson, editor) 630.

[33] John Rankin Sr.’s intestate estate in Newberry Township, Lancaster County was probated in 1748. There do not seem to be records of the estate in either Lancaster or York, except for an index to Lancaster County letters of administration. FHL Film No. 5534638, Image 117, John Rankin, 1748.

William Logan Burke(s): their stories

My mother’s family has produced so many men named William Logan Burke that we had to create nicknames to keep them straight. The first William Logan Burke (1860-1899) was simply “the Sheriff.”

His son, who was inter alia a polo player, was “W. L.” or “Billy” Burke (1888-1961) — AKA “Gramps,” my grandfather.

The next son in line was also a polo player, nicknamed “the Kid” (1914-1975) — AKA “Uncle Bill.”

The Kid’s elder son — our collective imagination failed here — was “Little Bill” (1952 – ?).

The fifth and possibly last of the name is Little Bill’s nephew. He has several brothers, all of whom are grown and might yet produce a sixth William Logan Burke.

They all have stories, with a couple of family legends in the mix. There has been a recent trend toward tragedy. I’m rooting for the most recent of the Sheriff’s namesakes to turn the luck around. As usual, I won’t write about anyone who might still be living.

Here is the Sheriff:

He was born in Wilson County, Tennessee in 1860, the eldest son of Esom Logan Burke and his wife Harriet Munday. Not inclined to be a farmer, he left for Texas shortly before his father died. He wound up in Waco, McLennan County, where he was “an early sheriff” and a U. S. Marshall. He died of tuberculosis at age 39, leaving his widow Betty and their 11-year-old son, the second WLB.

Here is his wife, Elizabeth (“Betty”) Morgan Trice.

According to my grandmother Ida Hannefield Burke, Betty had red hair and “could hold her liquor like a man.” The Hannefields also lived in Waco. Granny told me she always “felt sorry for Mrs. Burke.”

“Why?” asked I.

“Because the Sheriff was gone so much,” said Granny.

“Why was that?”

“I don’t know,” Granny replied. “Out chasing criminals, I suppose.”

Betty Trice’s family also came to Waco from Wilson County, Tennessee. The Burke and Trice families undoubtedly knew each other there, since both owned land on a lovely tributary of the Cumberland River called Spring Creek. Betty’s father, Charles Foster Trice, died in a cave-in of the creek bank in 1881, when she was 18. His estate was insufficient to cover debts and his land was sold, probably providing the impetus for his family to head for Texas.

Before Foster died, though, he and his wife Mary Ann Powell Trice gave rise to a cool family legend. Wilson County is in Middle Tennessee, a part of the state that was not partial to either side in the Civil War. The Union Army had a headquarters nearby and sent a “recruiting” detail around from time to time, looking for “volunteers.” Hearing they were in the neighborhood, Mary Ann dressed Foster up in a woman’s dress and bonnet. She sat him down in front of the fire in a rocking chair, peeling potatoes. The Union soldiers departed empty-handed.

Mary Ann lived to be 95. She died in Waco when her great-granddaughter, Ida Burke, was 18 years old. Ida, my mother, told me she heard that story straight from Mary Ann’s mouth. So it is the gospel truth, in my view.

Berry and Sion Trice, two of Mary Ann’s brothers-in-law, also went to Texas. They walked all the way from Wilson County to Waco — about 900 miles — in 47 days, according to William Berry Trice’s obit. Berry was also famous for weighing 425 pounds when he died, as well as having been a director of the Waco National Bank. Berry and Sion were partners in a Waco brickmaking company. It supplied most of the nearly three million bricks used to build the bridge over the Brazos River in Waco. The bridge was completed in 1870 and was then the longest single-span suspension bridge west of the Mississippi; it was part of the Chisholm Trail. Baylor has some fun photographs and postcards of the bridge at this site.

The Sheriff, his wife Betty Trice Burke, her mother Mary Ann Powell Trice, the Hannefields, and a whole host of other Trices are buried in the old Oakwood Cemetery in Waco. Not surprisingly, Sion and Berry have impressive monuments. Made of marble, not brick.

The Sheriff and Betty had only one surviving child, the second William Logan Burke: the polo player, Billy or W. L. Burke, AKA Gramps. He was an orphan by age 18, when his mother died. He went to live with one of his mother’s sisters, his Aunt Mattie Trice Harmon. Here is Gramps in his sixties as a referee in a polo match:

Gramps was the spitting image of his mother, IMO. Here he is as a young man:

Besides eventually becoming the oldest polo referee in Houston, Gramps was a Grade AAA, certifiable, lovable character. Whenever he came to Shreveport to visit his daughter Ida, he brought gifts for me. He started with an add-a-pearl necklace, undoubtedly Ida’s idea. He soon switched to various livestock: ducklings, baby chicks, and — my favorite — two quail. My father built an elaborate cage for the pair in the back yard. Unfortunately, the quail commenced their characteristic “bob-WHITE!” call just before the first light of dawn. They had extraordinary lungs. The neighbors complained. One night, the quail “escaped.” I don’t recall what happened to the cage.

My father was fond of saying that Gramps would probably bring an elephant one day.

Besides being a polo player, referee, and trainer of polo ponies, Gramps was a hunter and fisherman. He also raised bird dogs, including a prizewinner named April Showers. Gramps taught me how to shoot a BB gun at a moving target by hanging a coffee can lid from a tree limb by a string. The gun was another gift from Gramps, as was a small rod and reel. Never mind that my parents didn’t fish.

The Sheriff’s grandfather back in Tennessee was a John Burke whose first wife was Elizabeth Graves, daughter of Esom Graves and Ruth Parrot. John Burke was known as a teller of tall tales. If that is an inherited talent, Gramps most likely got it from his great-grandfather John. Granny once sent Ida a newspaper article she had torn out of one of the Houston papers, date unknown. Granny had written on the article in pencil, “Your father in print with a big one.” It was in a column titled “The Outdoor Sportsman” by Bill Walker. I have transcribed it on this blog before, but here it is again. Cinco Ranch is west of Houston.

“Usually when veteran field trial followers get together the conversations turns to great dogs of yesteryears and this group was no exception.

“W. L. “BILLY” BURKE related one about an all-time favorite of ours — Navasota Shoals Jake.

“Burke and the late W. V. Bowles, owner of Ten Broeck’s Bonnett and Navasota Shoals Jake, were hunting birds in the Valley on one of those rare hot and sultry winter mornings. Jake pointed a covey several hundred yards from the two men and out in the open.

“BOWLES suggested they take their time approaching the pointing dog, since he was known to be very trustworthy. When the two hunters did not immediately move to Jake, the dog broke his point, backed away to the cool shade of a nearby tree and again pointed the birds.

“THE COVEY was still hovering in a briar thicket when Bowles and Burke arrived. Navasota Shoals Jake was still on point.”

Gramps’s only son, the third William Logan Burke, was nicknamed “the Kid” by other polo players, presumably in recognition of his father and the family sport — but also for his wild and reckless polo style, according to his sister Ida. That was Uncle Bill.[1]

He was good. According to Ida, West Point recruited him to play polo, but West Point probably wasn’t the Kid’s style. Ida’s best friend Tillie Keidel once shared a rumble seat with him on a trip from Fredericksburg to the dance hall in Gruene. Exhausted from fighting him off, she told Ida it seemed like the Kid had four hands. She rode with someone else on the trip home.

Ida also said the Kid was a mathematical genius, which might be true notwithstanding her propensity for embellishing Burke virtues. All three of the Burke siblings were smart as the dickens. The Kid’s son believes he was valedictorian of his high school class and received a scholarship offer. Bettye, the youngest sibling, was a member of Mensa. She once created a professional set of blueprints for a home she and her husband were building on the shore of Clear Lake. Ida, the eldest sibling, skipped two grades in elementary school, was valedictorian of her high school graduating class in Fredericksburg, and received full-ride scholarship offers from every major university in Texas.

I always thought she was exaggerating about those scholarships. Not so. After she died, I found them, seven in all, among her papers: University of Texas, Texas Technological College, SMU, Southwest Texas State Teacher’s College, Baylor, and TCU. Rice was tuition free, but they had an offer for her, too, because that’s where she went for her Freshman year. Then she switched to the University, where she was a Littlefield Dorm “beauty.”

October 1929 arrived, and she had to quit school to help support her family during the Great Depression. Gramps was a car salesman in Fredericksburg, and you can imagine how many people bought cars in the early 1930s. The family lived on the old Polo Grounds in San Antone for a while, eating so much peanut butter that Aunt Bettye swore off the stuff for life.

I don’t know what the Kid did in the 1930s, but he didn’t go to college, so far as I know. They would not have been able to afford it, even with a scholarship. I assume he also helped support the family during the Depression, as he was only 16 in 1930. He joined the Marines in time for World War II, probably after Pearl Harbor, when everyone enlisted. His tombstone identifies him as a First Lieutenant.[2] I don’t think he was ever stationed overseas. Mostly, he started getting married and kept it up his entire life. I have a tiny photograph of him in his Marine mess dress uniform when he was still a buck Sergeant, probably on his first wedding day. All told, he married four times. Looking at old pictures and remembering him, I can see why: he was an attractive man, with the standard issue navy blue Trice eyes and a charming grin. I thought he resembled JFK, another man with charisma.

Here’s a picture of the Kid with his sister Ida and her only child, who never learned to sit a horse worth a plug nickel:

Spoiler alert: at this point, the William Logan Burke stories take a dark turn. If you want a happy ending, sign off right now with the picture of Ida, Uncle Bill, and the little girl on the unhappy horse.

The last military record for him on Fold3 identifies him as a First Lieutenant on a 1946 muster roll. For as long as I knew him — beginning in the early 1950s — the Kid worked a blue collar union job in the Dow Chemical plant in Brazoria County. It was one of several plants which manufactured Agent Orange. He died in 1975, only 60 years old, consumed by what Ida called “more kinds of cancer than I ever heard of.” I will refrain from a rant about Agent Orange and just put some information in the footnote at the end of this sentence.[3]

Well, that is a downer of a way to end a story, but you can’t say you weren’t warned. I will demur re: writing about Little Bill, who may still be alive and who has a beautiful daughter out there somewhere. Fortunately, there is definitely another William Logan Burke, the family’s fifth. He is one of the sons of Little Bill’s brother Frank and a grandson of the Kid.

So far as I can tell from our emails, Frank’s nice family is sane, sober, and happy. It is also sizeable, so I’m rooting for a sixth William Logan Burke. Maybe he’ll become a Sheriff, and we will have come full circle.

See you on down the road.

Robin

[1] For some reason, Uncle Bill went by William Logan Burke Jr., notwithstanding that he was the third of that name in the line. He first son went by William Logan Burke III.

[2] Here is an image of the Kid’s tombstone.

[3] As early as 1962, the Monsanto Chemical Company reported that a dioxin in Agent Orange (TCDD) could be toxic. The President’s Science Advisory Committee reported the same to the Joint Chiefs of Staff that same year. As you probably know, Agent Orange was used as a defoliant in Vietnam. Many vets who served there have been diagnosed with cancer, but could rarely prove that Agent Orange was the cause. In 1991, the federal Agent Orange Act created a presumption that the chemical caused the cancer of anyone who served in Vietnam. That includes bladder cancer, chronic B-cell leukemia, Hodgkin’s disease, multiple myeloma, non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, prostate cancer, respiratory cancers including lung cancer, and some sarcomas.