I moved to a new job in Azure recently, and that job requires a data platform switch from Azure Data Lake (Cosmos) to Azure Data Explorer (Kusto). I’ve been using data technologies since the late 1990s–a little Sybase and PL/SQL, a lot of MSFT SQL Server (vs 6.5 to present)…
When you have a bunch of people with the same name living in the same state and you can’t figure out which records belong to which person, find all the records, associate them with people based on location, and then consider the reality of distance for the period.
Consider colonial Philadelphia and Manhattan: two major cities about 90 miles apart. Amtrak’s Acela train can make that trip in 90 minutes, a car can do it in two hours. But in colonial times, a horse was the more likely mode of intercity travel.
Now a horse walks at around four or five miles an hour, making the journey take about twenty hours if you canter now and again.
Ninety miles was a huge deal. In reality, before the automobile, your ancestors’ family, friends, associates and neighbors were probably all within a two-hour radius—six miles on foot, ten on horse. If you see records for what appears to be the same person in towns twenty or thirty miles apart at about the same time prior to 1850 or 1860, you can bet they are actually two different people.
Why do we
keep all these people in our family trees?
point, I had close to six thousand individuals in my public tree on
ancestry.com. Some branches of my public tree were meticulously researched over
many years, but others are merely copied from other trees, or represent basic,
easy-to-reproduce research that I no longer maintain because I don’t really
care about those people.
When I look
at a person in my public tree, I ask myself three questions:
Am I making a significant contribution to the person or lineage?
If I’m not making a big contribution, have I at least done enough due diligence to feel confident that the information on my tree is correct?
If I haven’t done my due diligence, then do I really care about this person or lineage?
If I can’t
answer yes to at least one of those questions, I delete that person from my
harm is it to have some extra branches in my tree?
today is really a crowd-sourced exercise—we all borrow and rely upon the work
of others, adding our unique contributions here and there. That means we copy
errors from other trees, and errors in our tree can be copied elsewhere, magnifying
harm, and it is extremely difficulty to stop the spread of an error because…
well, large parts of most trees are just copied, and the owners of those trees
don’t really care about the branch with the error.
important, the repetition of the error can create an illusion of truth: the
more times you see the erroneous lineage, the more likely you will believe it
to be true.
goes for supposition and educated guesses: given enough time, a guess can morph
A great is George
Harding, my wife’s purported 3rd great grandfather. Every tree I’ve
seen on ancestry and familysearch list him as such along with a detailed
lineage for him going back generations. I copied the entire thing but when I
dug in more deeply months later, I couldn’t find any evidence that George or
his parents even existed.
I traced the source for his existence—a genealogy researched in the 1970s which
explicitly stated that the only evidence was a handwritten note on the fly-leaf
of a book, and that researcher couldn’t find any further evidence. They even
wrote that they hoped someone in the future would have better luck!
Not a single tree recorded that this lineage was just a guess, and now that it’s been 40 years, it’s essentially become fact. That’s no help to anyone.
Not every good genealogical resource is indexed and available from a major genealogy website, or orderable from the Family History Library, or requestable via inter-library loan. Sometimes you need to dig. Major genealogical societies and local historical societies are also useful repositories, and these groups often have niche sources that…
Proving a lineage to my satisfaction is one thing, but I’ve run into numerous situations where I had trouble convincing others I was right. For one particular lineage, serious researchers, including myself, had been led astray so many times because there were so many men with the same name in…
When I research my wife’s and my ancestry, I sometimes make a subtle mistake: forgetting the differences of culture.
I’ve seen major cultural changes in my own lifetime, whether it’s social media’s major impact on truth, the internet’s change in how we consume news media, and the decreasing freedom that children have to explore the world without their parents.
Human culture changes dramatically, and in very little time. I know I have a tendency to assume that my ancestors’ cultures weren’t that different from my culture, and that can result in jumping to conclusions and making mistakes.
Let me give you a few examples just to highlight how crazy past cultural practices were.
Take Martin Luther’s marriage to Katherine von Bora in 1525. The custom among ethnic Germans was that the marriage was consummated before the wedding—the marriage and the wedding were two distinct events, and the wedding at the church couldn’t take place if the marriage hadn’t been consummated.
after the small ceremony, the couple were escorted to their bedroom in the cloister, where [Luther’s friend] Jonas did the curious honors, watching the two become one flesh literally and figuratively. There was often an observation deck above the bed, though this detail seems not to have been observed in this case.
Can you imagine that the witnesses to your marriage license didn’t just have to sign the paper, but that they had to watch you and your spouse have sex? Privacy had a completely different meaning in 1500s Holy Roman Empire.
What does this mean for genealogy? Because culture varied dramatically, the message here is to immerse yourself in the history of ancestors, especially when things don’t make sense. You can probably find a book about the daily lives of normal people for any period & country. If you look carefully, you may even find one with genealogists as the intended audience.
On page 114, Fischer described Puritan death ways, saying “In early New England, corpses were hurried into the ground with little ceremony… The grave was marked by a simple granite rock, or a rough wooden paling.”
Virginians were so spread out that it was cumbersome to transport bodies to a church that could be miles away, so people were buried in graves in special gardens close to home. Tombstones were rarely used, again considering the cost to transport one. Besides, it was your garden, so you knew where the graves were.
To put it another way, you won’t find graveyards with tombstones of genealogical value in early New England or Virginia. And if you see records for these, be skeptical.
Onomastics or naming ways were also important. Fischer noted that Pennsylvania Quakers typically named their first son and daughter according to a strict pattern, of “honoring the mother’s father and the father’s mother” first. While it wasn’t a 100% thing, that gives you a great clue for getting to the next generation.
Virginians also typically named their first-born children after their grandparents, but in this case, it was the male line that mattered. The first-born son was named for his paternal grandfather, the second-born son after his father.
Virginians also used a mother’s maiden name as a forename for sons—for example, the son of Joseph Chew and Ruth Larkin was named Larkin Chew.
All great clues for discovering the next generation back.
By contrast, New England Puritans often named the first son after his father, and the first daughter after her mother. They also embraced necronyms or naming a newborn after a deceased sibling. Fischer notes that 80% of the time a child died, the next child born of the same sex was given the name of the deceased child.
Puritans also had the singular practice of closing their eyes, pointing to a page in the bible, and naming their child after that word. That’s why you’ll see names such as Thankful, Wrestling and Notwithstanding.
Brick walls are frustrating. I’ve broken through dozens, but I have even more that I’ve been staring at for years. In this quick video, I’ll share one method of breaking through a brick wall and provide an illustrative example.
Quick version: just go back and re-read everything you’ve collected. Don’t just skim it. Read it, and anytime you encounter something that doesn’t add up, look at it more closely.
Let me say that again. Read. Everything. Closely. Because this one of the hardest things you will do in genealogy. Why? You have to fight yourself. You’ll place more weight on your memory—which is plastic and unreliable—than in the document in front of you. You’ll suffer from confirmation bias, which is when you ignore or discount evidence that doesn’t support your existing conclusion. You’ll be overconfident in how you interpreted a given document.
If you’re going to use this brick wall technique, make sure you have a good chunk of free time with few distractions, so you’ll have the patience to review things your brain won’t want to review.
Let me give you an example: Jane M Haggerty, my third great-aunt. I had pulled together a clear map from her birth in Delaware on 4 July 1852, through the 1870 U.S. Census, but she disappeared after that when she was in her twenties.
I figured she either died or got married but I couldn’t make any progress at all. It was like she just vanished. That was the case for two of her sisters as well. I was struggling with all three sisters, and one morning when my wife and kids were out of town, I decided to re-review everything I had.
One document had an oddity: a typed record of the Haggerty burial plot at Old Cathedral Cemetery in West Philadelphia that my Uncle Jim had put together in 1989. A young woman named Mary J. Hunsinger and her three children were buried in that plot, but they weren’t anywhere in our family tree. I had just dismissed them the first few times I reviewed the document.
I also reviewed some notes my grandfather had written down one day when his dementia was in full force. Among other disconnected memories, he noted that his mother had given the title to the burial plot to his sister.
That meant old George Haggerty, Jane’s father, had purchased the lot, which I hadn’t realized. So if George owned that lot, why were four unrelated people buried there? It made no sense.
It was an oddity, so I ran it down. That’s the whole point of re-reviewing everything you have. If something doesn’t fit, or there’s a fact you missed, go check it out.
I searched for death records for a Mary J. Hunsinger and found a record for a Mary Jane Hunsinger whose date of death matched the one in the burial plot record. I was shocked to see that Mary Jane’s residence at death was 2213 Lombard Street, which was George Hagerty’s home in Philadelphia’s seventh ward. Then I looked up the death records of the three Hunsinger children, and two of the three had died at 2213 Lombard Street as well. What was this family doing living with my 3rd great-grandfather and his family?
Could this be Jane M. Haggerty?
I looked back over everything I had on Jane M. Haggerty and noticed her baptismal record named her as Johanna Maria. I had never bothered to type out her full middle name, I just left it as “M” from when I first found her in census records.
Several of Jane’s sisters swapped their middle & first names at various points in their lives. Jane must have done the same. I’d found her, along with her three children. They weren’t unrelated strangers buried in George Hagerty’s burial plot. They were his family.
It’s worth noting that I figured this all out five years ago, in 2013. When drafting the script for this video in 2018, I noticed a baby named Lena Haggerty was buried in George’s plot as well. She wasn’t anywhere in my tree. Even though I had pored over that burial plot and discovered a tragic branch of my tree, I never bothered to investigate that entry.
Little Lena Haggerty had died at 2213 Lombard Street as well. She was born to Jane’s brother, John Haggerty and his wife, Mary. John had died in 1880, and while his death certificate noted that was married at the time, I had no idea what his wife’s given name was until now.
I just finished a video about differences in German naming conventions from today’s naming conventions in the U.S., and I started thinking about how dated and culturally biased most genealogy tools are.
Why do German naming conventions highlight this? Well, take a look this branch of my wife’s family tree in 1600s and 1700s Baden-Württemberg. Look at all those guys named Johann. Of course, they weren’t all named Johann, not really. Ethnic Germans from this period were typically known by their middle names, not their first names.
But Ancestry.com is completely beholden to Anglo-centric naming conventions and shortens those incredibly important middle names to a single letter. Ancestry also places a greater weight on that first name in searches, so I have to manually delete Johann to get meaningful results.
Another group of white, western Europeans has another variation on Anglo-centric naming: those of Spanish descent may have two surnames. The father’s first surname typically precedes the mother’s first surname. But modern sources tend to be anglo-centric, and the first surname is the only one recorded. When I was researching my sister’s partner’s Cuban ancestors, I had all sorts of trouble with the incorrect way ancestry.com’s search tools handled family names.
And it’s not like I’m not being hyper politically correct or something here. I’m talking about different practices of three different groups of white western Europeans. But all the genealogy tools out there only support a single cultural norm.
Still, genealogy isn’t just a Western European hobby. Working in the tech sector, my co-workers come from all around the world, and everybody is interested in their family history. For example, I know that Brahmin Hindus have maintained detailed genealogies across twenty+ generations. I was also told of a massive boulder in Mongolia upon which one Mongol family carved their family history over the course of generations.
So… if you’re of Han Chinese ancestry and record your family name first and your given name second, genealogy tools force you to use the anglo-centric convention. Or you’re of Egyptian Muslim ancestry, and prior to name standardization about a century ago (when people were required to use their paternal grandfather’s given name as a surname), your ancestors were typically known by your father’s name and possibly a tribal name. I might have been known as Michael bin Yusuf or Michael bani O’Neill, and I’m quite sure Ancestry.com’s search tool would return every single ibn and bani as a match.
Thing is, these aren’t hard things to build into code. Again, I work in the tech sector, and I can see in my mind how to abstract multiple naming conventions from the storage layer.
But I don’t think any genealogy tools company has bothered to do the work, not because it’s hard, but because it would be different.
I found a fun video from Family History Fanatics listing seven common genealogy mistakes. I’ve made every single one of these mistakes, and have developed some guidelines for avoiding them.
The fifth one was not citing sources, which refers to writing down a fact you discovered in a non-digital source but forgetting to write down where you found it.
I’ve done that. Drove me nuts when I wanted to go back to confirm some tidbit. My solution to this is sitting in my pocket, combined with two free apps, Office Lens and OneNote.
When you find a source, pull out your phone and take a photo. And don’t just take a picture of the page with the fact, take a picture of the container, too. For a book, the title page at the front is perfect. For a microfilm, if the machine can’t take images, just take a picture of the box before you start taking snaps of the screen. If the machine can scan images, name the file with the FHL film number, or something similar.
Pretty quickly, though, you’ll run into issues managing all those images. I ran into this app called Office Lens, available for iOS, Android & Windows. Full disclosure, I worked on the Office team at one point. Anyway, it’s a really simple premise: take a series of related photo with Office Lens, and the images are transferred to a page in OneNote.
Let me show you how it works. I’ve got this genealogy of Mayflower families. First, I take a picture of the title page. Then I add another image of the page I care about—I think you can take up to ten before you need to save. Then I save the images to OneNote and put in a quick title.
When I go to OneNote, all the images are there on one page. Even better, OneNote uses optical character recognition, so you can search through the text from your images.
It’s so much faster than what I used to do: typing in a citation and the information I wanted.
OneNote is also a big plus for capturing sources from websites. When you go to the Insert section of the ribbon and choose screen clipping, OneNote will not only copy your selection from the computer screen, but it will get the hyperlink from the browser as well, so you can go back to find that anytime.
If you have any ethnic German ancestors, you may wonder why so many of them are named Johann or Johanna. Or perhaps you have a pair of records that you’re convinced are for the same person, except that one is for Johann Peter Wagner, the other Hanes Peter Wagner.
Ethnic Germans had different cultural conventions for naming than the naming traditions we mostly follow in the U.S. today. I’ll highlight some of the common ethnic German naming conventions that can be confusing today.
People were typically known by their middle name, not their first name.
The names Johann and Johanna had multiple forms used interchangeably in documents.
The letters “in” might be added to the end of women’s surnames.
If a child died, parents might give a newborn the same name.
First, in German tradition, people were typically called by their second name, called a rufnamen or common name. Their first name was typically a saint’s name and was rarely used outside ecclesiastical records.
Johann Peter Wagner, for example, would have been called Peter, not Johann, in eighteenth century Baden-Württemberg or Pennsylvania. Johann Sebastian Bach would’ve been called Sebastian.
It’s not a hard-fast rule, though. For the most common names, such as Johann, Johanna & Maria, you can safely bet the middle name is the important one. For rarer names, such Philip Daniel or Ernst Bernhard, the rufnamen may have been the first name. If you’re lucky, the rufnamen will actually be underlined in the original text.
Things also get confusing in the U.S. As families anglicized, you’ll encounter a generation where the first name became the rufnamen, and that kid baptized Johannes Peter was actually called John not Peter.
Second: Johanna and Johann. These were the two most common saint’s names, and because they’re so common, they ended up with multiple forms.
Johanna and Anna, for example, are interchangeable. If you see two records that seem perfect matches except that one says Johanna, the other Anna, don’t worry about it. They’re the same name.
The same goes for the many variants of Johann, including Johannes, Hanes, & Hans.
Put all of this together, and you can understand how a child born in 1874 to German immigrants and baptized Johann Peter Wagner ended up with the name Honus Wagner on his plaque at baseball’s hall of fame.
Third, when you’re looking at ethnic German parish records, you may see a woman whose surname ends with the letters “in” such as Wagnerin or Muellerin. The “in” is a grammatical construct, it’s actually not part of her surname. Skip the “in” and just record Wagner or Mueller.
Finally, you may encounter baptismal records for more than one child with the same name. For example, in my tree, I have two Johann Jacob Schlauches born to Ernst Bernhard Schlauch and A. Elizabeth Frick, one in 1715, the other in 1717. This means that the child born in 1715 died before the birth of the second, and they were re-using the name. This practice was very common, even though it might seem tasteless today.