There are two pictures of my great grandpa Frank.  They aren’t in great shape.  One is dark and badly faded.

At a glance you might think they are the same picture.  In both he is sitting in an arm chair with his right leg crossed over his left.

The thing that caused me to take a longer look was the back of the armchair.  It was above his shoulders in one of the pictures but not in the other. 

Huh.

Looks like the same suit—pants creased and cuffed.  Same high-collared white shirt.  Same tie.  Maybe. 

But definitely not the same chair. 

The high-backed one is somewhat throne-looking with…are those itty-bitty wheels on the front legs?

The other looks like he is sitting in a finely carved egg cup.

Well, let’s see if I can figure out which one of these was taken first. 

Of course, nothing was on the back but a rather generic pre-printed “POST CARD.”

The chairs struck me as particularly odd so, I leapt to the internet and Googled “vintage chairs.”  Scrolling through images, I found several chairs that looked somewhat like the egg cup.  It is actually a type of folding chair called a curule. Or Savonarola. Or Dante.  Depends on when and where in the Holy Roman empire you’re from.  Because they have been around for years, I realized that chair probably wasn’t going to be much help in dating the photo. 

Regarding the chair with wheels, I was unable to find a replica of it or anything that resembled it.  However, MyAntiqueFurnitureCollection.com shed some light on the wheels.  Apparently, from shortly before the Civil War until the early 1920’s, parlor and dining room chairs had wheels on them.  This was so furniture could be moved quickly (without scratching those lovely old hardwood floors) in order for a room to accommodate the needs of the homeowner—a parlor could be quickly transformed to a dancing area, or quilting bee to borrow their examples. 

Since Frank was born in 1892 and had a full mustache in both portraits, I believe it is safe to assume he was at least of age.  That places the photos, roughly, after 1908. 

But what about the egg cup?  That photo looks older.  More worn.  More faded.

Perhaps the shoes would help. 

In the throne chair, Frank is wearing above the ankle boots with button closures.  In the egg cup chair, he is wearing lace-up shoes.  The button boots look to be worn, the leather is well creased, with no shine.  The lace-up shoes are actually shining—even in the faded picture and the laces are perfect—as though the shoes just came out of the box.  At 18 years of age, according to the US Census for 1910, Frank worked on his father’s farm while his father worked for the railroad.   It is unlikely he would have had money at that age to purchase shiny new shoes.  Also, his face in the lace-up picture is fuller.

At this point in my quest to figure out which one was first, I was seriously leaning toward the button boot being first. 

The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s website supported my hunch:

“The "high button shoe", as exemplified here, is a familiar symbol of the apparel of earlier generations. The button closure had come in and out of style since its initial adoption in the 1830s, but was particularly dominant in the early 1910s. In the 1920s the button boot persisted for dressy wear, but was increasingly considered somewhat old fashioned, and the style had died out by the 1930s.”[1]

The picture of the 1915 button shoe to which they refer looks an awful lot like Frank’s.  It even has the same number of buttons. 

At the age of 28, according to the US census for 1920, Frank was married with two children.   He had a job as an engine coiler working for the railroad.  While I’m sure he wasn’t breaking the bank, he was earning more than a regular railroad laborer would have and the railroad paid a relatively decent wage. It is more likely that he purchased those shiny new shoes—or even perhaps borrowed them to take the portrait—sometime after he had posed for the button shoe portrait.

It is my opinion that the throne-like chair/button boot portrait was probably taken between 1910 and 1920.  The egg chair/lace-up shoe portrait was probably taken between 1920 and 1930.


[1]"Boots." The Metropolitan Museum of Art. N.p., n.d. Web. 23 Sept. 2015. <http://metmuseum.org/collection/the-collection-online/search/158869?rpp=20&pg=2&ao=on&ft=1830&what=Costume&pos=33&imgno=1&tabname=label>.

Last month I had the opportunity to peruse several old family photos and documents.  One that was of particular interest to me was my great aunt Freda’s death certificate.  Her mother, Rosa, was the one who built her own home as a widowed single mother in the 1930’s.

I was particularly interested in Freda’s cause of death as she only managed to live about 7 years longer than Rosa who died of liver cancer.  I wondered if she had succumbed to the same illness. 

I glanced through the unfamiliar record—a New York City death certificate—and could not find the cause of death.  I’ll find it when I get home and take a closer look at the copy.

Last week I finally got to comb through the document.  I hadn’t seen the cause of death previously because there was no cause of death listed.  There wasn’t even a blank for it.  What in the world?!

The attending physician simply certified that she died entirely due to natural causes at the age of 60 (she was actually 61!).

Not to be stymied, I quickly got online and fired off a couple of emails to New York inquiring about this lack of information.  I received two replies.  One fellow was equally stumped about the business but the other, while he did not know the answer, gave me a phone number to call and an address. 

The lady who answered at “New York 311” was very kind, but didn’t have an answer. She did, however, know who issues death certificates, so she connected me to the New York City Department of Health and Mental Hygiene.

The NYCDH&MH almost gave me a cramp in my mental health.  After punching every number (plus pound and star!!) I came to the realization that the automated menu was only ever going to allow me to correct or request a birth or death certificate.  There would be no human with whom to speak.  *ARRRGH!*

I hung up and wrote a brief letter to the NYCDH&MH asking for an explanation about the lack of a cause of death. 

Then I began to write this blogpost.  After the first paragraph it occurred to me, You need the answer in order to write this you dope!

So I went back to the internet and began to web crawl through statistics and articles and finally, I EUREKA-ED!!

Regarding death certificates issued by New York CITY:

“There are two forms, one for natural causes and one for medical examiner cases.

•Natural cause practitioner certificates - Most deaths (85%) are due to natural causes.

•Medical examiner certificate of death - When the cause of death is an accident, homicide, suicide, or is unattended or due to certain other circumstances (approximately 15% of deaths), the New York City Office of Chief Medical Examiner (OCME) completes the medical examiner certificate of death and supplementary report.

The two forms are similar. Both collect important information pertaining to the fact of death…. Both collect “personal particulars”….Both collect cause of death, which is completed by the physician or a medical examiner. On the natural cause certificate, the cause of death is entered on the confidential medical report, the OCME certificate, and on the death certificate itself. In addition to cause of death, the OCME certificate collects information on the circumstances of external causes of death. The OCME certificate indicates manner of death: natural, accident, homicide, suicide, or undetermined. The confidential medical report information is for the compilation of public health statistics and scientific purposes only.”[1] [emphasis mine]

Huh, well what do you know?

I suppose I’ll wait for a reply from the NYCDH&MH and then send them a request for the confidential medical report in order to determine Freda’s cause of death. 


[1]"Summary of Vital Statistics 2010, The City of New York." POPULATION AND MORTALITY (2011): 52. www.nyc.gov. Bureau of Vital Statistics, New York City Department of Health and Mental Hygiene. Web. 17 Sept. 2015.

When my husband was forced to live on the couch while recuperating from open heart surgery, we watched a LOT of television. 

Although I enjoyed some more than others, one show really made me stop and think.

It was Pawn Stars, a “reality” program about a family owned pawn shop in Las Vegas. 

In each episode we saw people drag items into the pawn shop they hoped would be of some value.  For me, the most enjoyable part was the experts giving the history of an item and an estimated value.   

Sometimes the item would be worth a decent amount or even a great amount of money, sometimes not.  Regardless, it seemed to be a rare occasion when a person would say, “I think I’ll just keep it.”  They almost always took the cash. 

While it was interesting to learn all the history, a recurring theme began to needle me.  Many people said, and I’m loosely paraphrasing here, “It doesn’t mean anything to me.  I’m going to the casino!” 

Please understand I really don’t care how people spend their money. 

The one that sent me over the edge was the man selling his great-grandfather’s World War II helmet.  As I recall, it was banged up and missing something which detracted from its “collector’s value.” 

In the end, the man took the money—it wasn’t much—indicated that the helmet meant nothing to him and that he was going to take the money and either have a party or go to the casino. 

Okay.

By my calculations, he could have skipped fast food for a couple weeks or gourmet coffee for a few days and had the same amount of money AND worn the helmet at the party!

It doesn’t mean anything to me.

Perhaps it meant something to the grandfather who got it from his dad.

Or to the man’s father who got it from his dad.

In this day and age of instant-newest-brightest-shiniest, I fear that dusty, old and you-spent-how-much-time?! is being pushed aside; sold for a few coin.  Inherently historical and/or familial value is completely missed or disregarded. 

It doesn’t mean anything to me.

Thinking of all I have gathered in my family history search I admit it is a lot of stuff and means quite a bit to me.  However, my family doesn’t share my enthusiasm for the discoveries I’ve made. 

“What is going to happen to all this work I’ve done when I’m gone?  Will they toss it in the Herbie?” 

Remembering a local special collections library I frequented in the past, I recalled having truly enjoyed reading the 1862 writings of a 42 year old man whose family had moved to Indiana when he was young.  That diary mattered.  His family realized its value and donated it to the repository. 

Because of that experience, I made the decision to have my materials donated to organizations which will benefit from my research and make it available to others. 

One day, it might mean something to someone.

About this time last year I wrote a post about my great grandmother Rosa Mary.  It was basically about how, after becoming a widowed single mother, she managed to build her own home in the 1930’s. 

This year, with Labor Day next week, I decided to write about her husband, Linsey Frank Nelson. 

Great grandpa Frank died mining bituminous coal in southeastern West Virginia.  My mother remembered, “Maw Rosie said he talked about how loose it was and how he didn’t know how long it would hold for days before it happened. 

“crushing injury, slate fall in coal mine instantly fatal.”[1]

was the cause of death listed by the attending physician.

Why did Frank continue to go back into that mine day after day when he had such a great sense of foreboding? 

Why didn’t Frank go to the fire boss,[2] who was responsible for safety in the mine and tell him of his concerns? Perhaps he did.  If the fire boss didn’t or wouldn’t red light the shaft it is possible Frank second-guessed himself and thought he had been mistaken about how sound the roof was. 

Why didn’t Frank just quit and go get another job? Jobs were probably pretty hard to find during that time—the Great Depression. 

From U.S. census and vital records, I have been able to gather quite a bit of information about Frank.  He was born in 1891 to Coleman and Lucy Nelson and in 1910, at the age of 18, was working on his father’s farm.[3]  On 18 February 1914 he married Rosa Mary Swope of Monroe County, West Virginia.[4] By 1920, Frank and his family were living in Avis in Summers County, West Virginia.  They shared a house with the Crawford family; both of the husbands worked for the C & O Railroad.  According to the census code, Frank was an engine coiler—a person who was a boiler washer or an engine hostler.[5]  Ten years later, in 1930, he was still working for the C & O—now as an unspecified laborer.[6]

Fast-forward to 1932.  The country was picking its way through the Great Depression.  As the unemployment rate soared well over 20%, jobs that paid well were extremely hard to find, especially for blacks living in rural areas. 

Frank was trying to provide for a wife and 15 year old daughter. 

I believe he went into the mines and stayed there in an effort to provide a better life for his family.

He had worked for the railroad for at least 10 years.  In 1920, according to a 1933 National Bureau of Economic Research Bulletin, the average railroad worker earned 66¢ per hour.[7]  Using an 8 hour work day, five days a week for 52 weeks we see that the average railroad worker brought home about $1,370 per year in 1920.

The coal industry in 1920 was paying bituminous pick miners up to 70¢ per ton.  A good pick miner could load eight to nine ton per day.[8]  Working 219 available days a year (312 minus an average of 93 lost days per year), a pick coal loader could earn up to $1,226 in the mines in 1920.   

By 1929, the average yearly wage for a railroad laborer was $888.[9]  A 35% drop in wages from the early 1920s.  In contrast, bituminous coal miners were making $5.35 per day for the 219 available days and bringing home $1,170 per year.[10]

I think about how physically hard I have to work each day (not very) and I think about how blessed we are—roof over our heads, food in the pantry and no debt.  I can’t wrap my mind around loading one ton of coal—let alone EIGHT in one day. 

Great grandpa Frank did it every day.   

To bring home $5.35 for the day’s work.

Happy Labor Yesteryear Day.


[1] West Virginia State Department of Health, death certificate no. 10327, Frank Nelson (1932); digital images, West Virginia Division of Culture and History, West Virginia Vital Records Research Project (http://www.wvculture.org/vrr/va_view.aspx?Id=1946783& :  accessed 5 June 2012.

[2] Winona Phillips Donnally, ‘Dirk’ Deep Within the Mountains, (www.trafford.com:  Trafford Publishing), 61; download from Google Books.

[3] 1910 U.S. census, Greenbrier County West Virginia, population schedule, Blue Sulphur District, sheet 8-B, dwelling 169, Frank Nelson; digital image, Ancestry.com (http://www.ancestry.com : accessed 24 August 2015); citing FHL microfilm 1375694.

[4] Monroe County, West Virginia, Marriage Licenses and Returns, Nelson-Swrope, 1914; digital images, West Virginia Division of Culture and History, West Virginia Vital Records Research Project (http://www.wvculture.org/vrr/va_view.aspx?Id=11370506& : Accessed 5 June 2012.

[5] 1920 U.S. census, Summers County, West Virginia, population schedule, Avis Town, sheet 7-B, dwelling 122, Frank Nelson; digital image, Ancestry.com (http://www.ancestry.com : accessed 1 June 2012); citing National Archives Microfilm publication T625, roll 1968.

[6] 1930 U.S. census, Monroe County, West Virginia, population schedule, Alderson Town (part of), sheet 5-B, dwelling 119, Frank Nelson; digital image, Ancestry.com (http://www.ancestry.com : accessed 1 June 2012); citing FHL microfilm 2342283.

[7] Leo Wolman, “Wages During the Depression,” National Bureau of Economic Research bulletin number 46 (1 May 1933) : 4; digital image, National Bureau of Economic Research (http://www.nber.org/chapters/c2256.pdf : accessed 31 August 2015).  

[8] Rhonda Janney Coleman, “Coal Miners and their Communities in Southern Appalachia, 1925 – 1941,” West Virginia Historical Society Quarterly, Volume XV, No. 3 (July, 2001); digital image, West Virginia Division of Culture and History (http://www.wvculture.org/history/wvhs1503.html : accessed 4 September 2015).

[9] U.S. Department of Labor, Handbook of Labor Statistics 1931 Edition (U.S. Government Printing Office, 1931), 830, “Earnings of Steam Railroad Employees in 1929 and 1930.”

[10] Handbook of Labor Statistics 1931 Edition, 734, “Table 2. –Average Starts, Hours, and Earnings of Miners and Loaders in Half-Month Pay period, 1929 by State.”