But what did the citizens of the United States think about genealogy 100 years ago? Indications can be found in historical newspapers.
In 1911, Bostonians worried about social correctness:
A genealogical blog of reflections about my family history and my experiences as a genealogist.
Genealogy has recently been touted as the number two hobby in the United States. Pretty popular stuff, analyzing the ahnentafel, perusing the pedigree, tracing the tree...I've got a million of 'em! But what did the citizens of the United States think about genealogy 100 years ago? Indications can be found in historical newspapers. In 1911, Bostonians worried about social correctness: A 1912 Pennsylvania paper kindly recognized genealogy as an acceptable career! Whew! Far south in New Orleans, the bite of the genealogy bug was discussed. This 1915 California clipping implies respect was being given to “Genealogy Bodies.” Meanwhile, in Washington D.C. the implication was that genealogy was beginning to serve evolutionary thought. In 1918 an Oregon newspaper reported residents of Mexico were worried about proving themselves to be “Americans” in view of US passport requirements. As if Mexico wasn’t part of America.... Concurrently, Nebraskans concerned themselves with animal genealogy. Admit it, the horse genealogy is fascinating!
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They were natives. They also came from Barbados, Costa Rica, Great Britain, Jamaica, Peru, Spain, the United States, and countless other countries. They were artisans, clerks, dredgers, food service workers, helpers, painters, messengers, and steam shovel operators. Who were they and what were they doing? Constructing the Panama Canal. If your family lore includes stories of a relative working on the Panama Canal, you may be able to confirm or deny that rumor. National Archives Record Group 185, known as the “Records of the Panama Canal” contains alphabetically arranged service record cards of individuals employed between 1904 and 1920. “The card includes information such as name, legal residence, department where they worked, date of appointment, date they entered duty, their position, age, place of birth, salary, home address, changes in their position, and leave of absence, sailings, and other miscellaneous items.”[1] If you aren’t up for a trip to College Park, Maryland where these records are held, you may find what you need in Family Search’s online collection entitled, “United States, Panama Canal Zone, Employment Records and Sailing Lists.” In addition to service records, this collection also contains metal check issue card requests, and photo-metal applications. Metal checks were what the employees had to produce in order to be paid. You can read more about the Panama Canal metal checks at Plowman’s Coins of Panama. The applications questions included, name, date of employment, date of birth or age and nationality. Thumbprints are also on the cards. Interestingly, the Photo-Metal Checks were only issued for about 16 months during World War I. They allowed employees into restricted areas. The Photo-Metal Check applications are wonderfully rich genealogical documents. In addition to their name and the occupation they held, other information included their hourly or monthly wage, citizenship, date and place of birth, marital status, sex, height, weight, and “physical deformities or peculiarities...” These applications also often included a picture of the individual. The back of the sheet contained the applicant’s full set of fingerprints and prints of the entire four fingers of each hand. Apparently, these employees were paid in silver. While there are thousands upon thousands of images in this collection with no index, I found that a simple search for the name with the place and year of birth brought up Egbert Maynard’s Photo-Metal application—complete with picture: If you have relatives you cannot find on the 1910 US federal census, maybe they were in Panama.
A 1790 act of the first Congress, dated 1 March, mandated the various US marshals also undertake duties as the county’s first census enumerators: “...hereby authorized and required to cause the number of the inhabitants within their respective districts to be taken; omitting in such enumeration Indians not taxed, and distinguishing free persons, including those bound to service for a term of years, from all others; distinguishing also the sexes and colours of free persons, and the free males of sixteen years and upwards from those under that age....”[1] Enumeration was to begin on 2 August 1790. The marshals were given the power to appoint assistants at their discretion to help make the returns. Assistants were given nine months to complete the task and make their returns to the marshal. Both were to be bound by oath before beginning their service. Assistants failing to make their return, making a false return, or failing to make their return by the deadline to the marshal would forfeit $200. Marshals failing to file their returns or failing to return their aggregate amounts to the president on time—1 September 1791—would forfeit $800 per occurrence. So just how much did they earn? Assistants received one dollar for every 150 people returned who resided in the country and $1 for every 300 residing in towns with populations of more than 5000 people. The marshal was allowed to adjust the assistant’s compensation as he saw fit for sparsely populated divisions--not to exceed $1 for every 50 people. Before making his return, the assistant was required to: “...cause a correct copy, signed by himself, of the schedule, containing the number of inhabitants within his division, to be set up at two of the most public places within the same, there to remain for the inspection of all concerned....”[2] Producing and posting those copies garnered the assistant an additional four dollars. Compensation for the marshals, designated by the congressional act, ranged from $200 for the Connecticut marshal to $500 for the Virginia marshal. All in all, an estimated 650 enumerators counted 3,929,214 resident at a cost of $44,000. Flash forward to 2010. It took 635,000 enumerators to count 308,745,538 residents. No, wait, that’s not right. The enumerators of 2010 actually only visited households who couldn’t be reached by the US Postal System or who did not return the census questionnaire mailed to them. These 21st century enumerators received a 164 page Enumerator Manual. In it were topics like “Who’s Who in NRFU” and “Safety.” In addition to daily pay, they were also reimbursed for their mileage. It’s likely the marshals in 1790 received little more than the instructions in the congressional act. I envision it was something like: Go get some paper and a pen and ink, and some helpers if you need them, and go and ask these six questions of every household and count every person in each household in your district. Send the aggregate numbers back by 1 September 1791 or you won’t get paid. Period. But I digress...back to 2010. According to a 2012 Census Bureau report, there were 47,000,000 households in the 2010 census who did not respond to the mailings and had to be visited by an enumerator. [3] Now, for a wee bit o’ math using the Bureau's numbers: 308,745,538 people ÷ 131,704,730 households = 2.34 people per household 2.34 people X 47,000,000 households = 109,980,000 people. The cost of the 2010 census: $12,900,000. From barely a cent per resident in 1790 to eleven point four cents per resident in 2010. In 1790 there were six questions each enumerator asked; in 2010, there were 10 you answered yourself unless you were a Nonresponse Follow Up (NRFU) household. In that case an enumerator asked them. 220 years and four additional questions later, the greatest country on earth failed to conduct a census more efficiently than the marshals did on horseback, dodging bears and wolves, in 1790. I think the 1790 marshals did it better. [1]"1790 Instructions," United States Census Bureau, accessed 7 October 2018, https://www.census.gov/history
/pdf/1790instructions.pdf. [2] Ibid. [3] “2010 Census Nonresponse Followup Contact Strategy Experiment,” United States Census Bureau, accessed 7 October 2018, https://www.census.gov/library/publications/2012/dec/2010_cpex_174.html How do you record names in your genealogical research? There is a method for the madness, a way to make sure there is clarity. It may not seem important now, but when you pore back over 20+ years of research, you’ll be glad you followed these general guidelines because it makes it easy to pick out a last, maiden, married or nick name at a glance. Always try to record names in their entirety having your research to support them. Last names should always be completely capitalized: SCHMIDT not Schmidt. A lady’s maiden name should always be completely capitalized within parentheses unless she is unmarried: (JINGLEHEIMER). There should be no parentheses for the unmarried female: JINGLEHEIMER A man named after his father is typically a “junior”: John Robert SCHMIDT, Jr. This will usually hold true unless the dad is named after the grandfather. If that is the case, the son becomes the third: John Robert SCHMIDT III Be aware that sometimes, after the death of the dad, the son drops the “Jr.” Also be aware that because a sibling would often name a child after one of his own brothers, the “Jr.” designation was to let people know which one was the uncle, and which one was the nephew. While females don’t carry designations such as “junior” or “the third,” their names can be even more confusing—think about girls who are the daughters of sisters who married brothers. A young Elizabeth SCHMIDT may not be the daughter of Elizabeth (JINGLEHEIMER) SCHMIDT, but rather the daughter of Elizabeth’s sister, Jane (JINGLEHEIMER) SCHMIDT, who named her daughter after her favorite sister, Elizabeth. Yes, confusing. Male or female, nicknames are to be placed in quotation marks after the middle name: John Robert “Bob” SCHMIDT, Jr. or: Ann Elizabeth “Betsy” (JINGLEHEIMER) SCHMIDT. Women who married more than once can have extremely long names, genealogically speaking:
Ann Elizabeth “Betsy” (JINGLEHEIMER) SCHMIDT MILLER SANTIAGO. In this example, Ann was born a JINGLEHEIMER. She married a SCHMIDT who died of cholera. After an appropriate mourning time, she married a MILLER who was killed in the war. Her last husband was a SANTIAGO. Each one of her last names could provide clues to more genealogical records. What’s in a name? Genealogically speaking—perhaps a wealth of clues for research! Learn more in this helpful article: The Importance of Names and Naming Patterns by Donna Przecha via Genealogy.com. Happy hunting! |
Cynthia Maharrey
Born and raised in a small town in West Virginia before the turn of the century, Cynthia has always been fascinated by the intricacies that make up her own family history. As a result, she has been researching and studying it since the late 1900's.
Memberships
-Association of Professional Genealogists -African American Genealogical Group of Kentucky -Kentucky Genealogical Society -Kentucky Historical Society -Greenbrier County (West Virginia) Historical Society -Monroe County (West Virginia) Historical Society Archives
October 2018
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