I begin today’s post #1870 with a few historical facts relating to the year 1870:
John D. Rockefeller incorporates the Standard Oil Company. It would eventually become the largest oil company in the world before the U.S. Supreme Court declared it an “unreasonable monopoly” under the Sherman Antitrust Act in 1911.
The National Weather Service issues its first weather forecast on November 1, 1870. The forecast warns of a windy day in Chicago, IL.
February 3, 1870: The 15th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, which gave the right to vote to Black men, became law when the required number of states ratified it.
July 15, 1870: Georgia became the last of the Confederate states to return to the Union.
Franco-German War, also called Franco-Prussian War, (July 19, 1870–May 10, 1871), war in which a coalition of German states led by Prussia defeated France. The war marked the end of French hegemony in continental Europe and resulted in the creation of a unified Germany.
My Great, Great Grandfather Hiram Perry Hancher, on my adopted mother’s side had just turned 18. As did John Wesley Johnston on my father’s side.
It makes me wonder what John Wesley Johnston was doing in 1937 at age 85 traveling cross-country to Oregon? In 1870 he lived in Marshall, Indiana and the year before he died in 1937, his residence is listed as Ithaca, New York – 2,800 miles away from where he was buried. Did he follow the Oregon Trail or more likely the train? His older sister Nancy Elizabeth Johnston died in Seattle in 1934, while her older sister Elinor died in Iowa in 1933. His wife, Eliza Johnston, who passed in 1939 must have stayed behind in Indiana. These are mysteries that I will never uncover, but had I know this fact before today, I should have at least visited his grave while I lived in Oregon.
I had a thought this morning that I was not the first to be called “Grandpa J” in my family. It’s what my three grandkids now call me. I don’t remember distinguishing between my Grandfathers Hancher and Johnston as “Grandpa H” and “Grandpa J” but I also didn’t necessarily use any other terms of endearment. My wife prefers to be called “Nona” instead of Grandma, for example. Her kids called her mother “Grammy.” My grandkids have at least four sets of grandparents, so it’s a challenge to know which ones they are referring to in conversation. It must be more confusing for us than it is for them.
As I think about it, the adults around me growing up called my special male elders “Grandpa Burt,” “Great Grandpa Bill,” and “Great Grandpa Ross. I didn’t necessarily refer to Bill and Ross that way – they were both just “grandpa” to me. However, I never had to contend with multiple marriages. My son also had “Grandpa Phil,” on his mother’s side and “Grandma Cathy,” my mother. In addition, there was Phil’s divorce that resulted in “Grandma Mary,” and his second wife known affectionately as simply “Margie.”
The “Big D” can make a mess of tradition. However, for kids, it means more grandparents and therefore more presents. I can remember celebrating at three different homes on Christmas Day to satisfy my first wife’s separated family. Our son, of course, saw it as perfectly normal, collecting a trunkful of gifts and moving on for more. I think it helped him develop an exceptional memory, trying to keep track of all his loot. My grandson has even more of a challenge, living part-time with one parent each week along with multiple divorces with grandparents and great grandparents. It’s Modern Family for him!
My Grandfather Johnston (the original Grandpa J) was born in 1896 and would have been 125-years old this year. He died two days after my 41st birthday, although I never made that association until just now looking through my genealogy charts. My son was 18 when he lost this great grandfather at age 96. His other great grandfather Hancher died 6 years earlier at age 91. It’s too bad, with me as an adoptee of the Johnston name, that we don’t have this degree of genetic longevity since both of my adopted parents also lived to be 93. Biologically, I’m not really “Grandpa J” at all, but rather “Grandpa B” for Banister.
I found another first cousin on my birth father’s side yesterday as I was updating my Jerry Banister Ancestry site. Dean W. Rigdon is one of three children born to Opal, Cecil Banister’s older sister. I assume the middle initial stands for Willard, a family name dating back to 1881. In past conversations with my half-sister, I heard that Opal Jean Banister was an oddball and there wasn’t much interaction between the cousins. I sent a note to confirm this but have yet to hear back on if there has been any communication from that side of the family. No one apparently knows where Opal Jean is or if she is even alive. She would be 92 years of age, born in 1929, with various married names including Woods and Soledad. I did a quick search for obituaries but came up empty.
Dean Rigdon is my third closest DNA match at 1,045 cM. Half-sister, Julie, tops the list at 1,719 cM and her sister Kristi’s daughter, Ashlee, is second at 1,109. Centimorgan or cM is “a unit used to measure genetic linkage. One centimorgan equals a one percent chance that a marker on a chromosome will become separated from a second marker on the same chromosome due to crossing over in a single generation. The centimorgan is named after the American geneticist Thomas Hunt Morgan.” An additional scientific source indicates that “the total length of all your chromosomes combined is around 7400 cM. Since a person inherits half of their DNA from each parent, you share about 3700 cM with each parent.”
Susan Colleen Barker Smith is number four on my list of Ancestry.com matches with 991 cM. She connects me with my birth mother, Edna Faye Banister, as the daughter of her oldest sister, Helen Banister and husband, Walter Barker. Gabe Burkman is next at 894 cM. He is the son of my half-sister, Julie, that tops the list. I have yet to identify Sue Ramsey that follows him at 654 cM. There are 51,879 other matches on the Ancestry site that range from 1st cousins down to distant relatives like Barbara Ryker at the 6 cM minimum, making her last on my current match list. New connections are added every day as more DNA tests are confirmed. So far, I’ve only managed to link 737 to my tree, as the rest remain unidentified.
This total includes 23andMe matches that are sometimes duplicated as people like myself submit saliva to multiple testing sites. I have 1500 matches on 23andMe that sorts by percentages rather than centimorgans. They both apparently use the same testing lab. My highest percentage match on 23andMe is currently Joyce Gourley at 7.22 percent. This would rank her in my Top 10 if combining the results from both website sources. I share 25% DNA for example with my half-sister and 13% with her son. First cousin, Dean W. Rigdon, that I found yesterday genetically shares 15% with me. Each match that I’m able to accurately trace is then marked with a green DNA symbol on my family tree. Currently that number stands at only 737 out of 35,740 relatives identified on it’s sprawling branches – or about 2%.
Seven years ago today mom passed away. I thought she would live forever because like her father she was rarely ill. He was a hardy postman who rose through the ranks to be Postmaster of his hometown. I had to chuckle when my granddaughter’s favorite task was delivering the mail when we took her to see Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood. I know that when grandpa died unexpectedly, it broke my mom’s heart, thinking that she would have alone time with him at the end. Ultimately, I feel that taking care of my dad and his memory issues eventually wore her down. He lived another few weeks after her funeral, going out of this world together just as they had come in, born a few hours apart.
We all lose important people in our lives, but it was hard to see her go, leaving my dad all alone in a memory care facility. Sadly, he often didn’t remember her, shocking me on the day she died with news that he was getting married to what was nothing more than a figment of his imagination. Both of my parents were fortunate to live into their nineties with mostly good health. Walkers and wheelchairs eventually became part of their lives, but were able to live independently until the last few years. I’ve now reached that time of life myself when those close to us suddenly begin to depart, leaving holes in our hearts. It’s important to make each day precious and remember the good times.
I’m not a religious man, although my mom tried her best to expose me to the “good word” by getting me to church on Sundays. I could never understand why some had to suffer while others were safely protected, or how one belief was seemingly more important than another? We did not discuss religion or politics as a family and they are subjects I still tend to avoid, along with talk of Bobby Knight. My mom was a college graduate, where she met my dad at I.U. Although, as was traditional, she stayed home to raise her adopted children, but somehow found time to start her own small business – The Calico Cottage. She was loving, smart, creative, and active with her church, clubs, and community. I miss her greatly, but carry her memory as if she’s always by my side.
This is probably as close to stalking as it gets, but a man has to do what a man has to do! I saw another picture of my 88-year old birth mother on Facebook, along with her two great grandchildren. It made me sad that we’ve been unable to reconnect and inspired this letter to her son:
Dear Jerry,
I’m not a car guy but appreciate some of the classics you’ve restored. I have, however, been involved in the racing business. We also have grandchildren and divorce in common.
Over the past five years, I’ve sent several letters to you, Edna, and Janet, without a single response, even though we share the same genetic ties. We even look a little alike. There has been no acknowledgement, not even a “get lost.” We are half-brothers – several DNA tests prove it, regardless of how embarrassing or shameful the circumstances might have been for your mother at age 17.
We have a common friend and relative, Deb, who I have met and shared my documentation. She will vouch for the fact that I’m a decent guy with nothing more than a friendly agenda. I find it hard to believe that you aren’t even curious. You’ve already unfortunately lost two other brothers, while I will be seventy in a few months. Time is short!-ye
I’m not really looking for anything but a simple hello – even returning the enclosed self-addressed, stamped envelope empty will at least tell me that I’ve done everything possible to make contact. You can also text, e-mail, friend me on Facebook, or call me at any time. We don’t even have to get your mother involved, if that’s a concern. I understand that she denies my existence or claims not to remember. It was a cruel world for single mothers in 1951. I was lucky to find loving parents through adoption.
You’re probably getting ready to retire like I did five years ago, so you may get more interested in genealogy or family history. I also have legitimate DNA connections with Bruce and other cousins that can further confirm our connection.
Please give me a chance to tell my story, at least to you, starting with a simple acknowledgment that you got this letter. It might be interesting for both of us!
Best Regards, Mike
We’ll see what happens!
I started my running steak on December 29,2008 – a monumental Monday as it turns out. As a sign of the times, there was an article that I came about this morning regarding an enterprising young skateboarder that was commandeering swimming pools of foreclosed homes and turning them into skate parks. We were on the precipice of economic disaster ourselves after I just lost my TV management job in Decatur Illinois. My wife had just quit hers at the same station, so we moved to Austin, Texas that year for a job opportunity that she was offered. Little did we know that it would take over six years to sell our Decatur home, while I struggled financially. Running was probably my savior from depression!
This coming Monday will be my 653rd consecutive run to start another week – 4,572 days without a single interruption. Some people call me “Forrest Gump. Run, Forrest, Run,” they tease. I do like the word “Gumption,” meaning “initiative; aggressiveness; resourcefulness.” It has taken all of that to maintain “The Streak” of now over 12.5 years. It keeps me healthy and happy, despite the strain on my body. There are days that have generated blood, sweat, and tears to add some drama to this accomplishment. Today was an uneventful 79 degrees with 89 percent humidity and little shade. It feels good to sit down and write.
There are many things I contemplate during my daily run. Yesterday would have been my birth father’s 90th birthday. I never met the man but keep the date on my calendar and sent a note to his daughter. We stay in touch after a DNA test put us together. She sent my a nice story about her dad, a man that I have learned a lot about in the past few years, but I’m sure my curiosity will never be satisfied. I resemble him physically but want to know more. The birth mother is still alive but there has been no contact. She’s the only one on earth that knows the whole story of my existence. I guess I just haven’t had enough gumption to get the truth. Maybe I should try harder?
I have more dads than most people, considering that I’m adopted, although only one of them really deserves that title of affection. I knew only one of them, but have gotten to know more about the biological aspect of the other man in my life. He gave me life while the real dad gave me everything else. I’m also a dad myself and this son gave me three grandchildren. My true family tree consists only of these four people but in reality there are nearly 30,000 people that somehow affected my life. All of these DNA connections are relatively new discoveries, as I continue to search for natural connections. However, nothing is stronger than the love I feel for the couple that adopted me who were the only people that I called “Mom” and “Dad.”
I’m thinking of them today, along with grandfathers and grandmothers that made me who I am. So many memories of those that treated me as their own, despite the fact that I was not legitimately connected. I cannot possibility express my gratitude and love for this family. This is what today is all about – being thankful to those who shaped our futures. Sadly, all of mine are now gone, but hopefully still looking out for me. Maybe they are reading over my shoulder as I write this? They fought for my freedom, paid for my education, and taught me how to be a good person. Although I have failed on occasion, I feel that they are all proud of what I have achieved and become.
I’m also a proud step-father and spent yesterday at the ballpark in San Francisco with my wife’s daughter and husband. Today, we travel to Portland to be with my other step-daughter and her spouse. I had just moved to Florida, just a few miles from my son’s home, yet we once again forced to celebrate a long distance Father’s Day. The difficultly in balancing our family time is that Father’s Day is often also my wife’s birthday, so she naturally wants to be around her girls. As a result, my son and I will have to sacrifice this day together, but we’re both glad to finally be living close by, thanks to my wife’s offering to move far away from her kids. I hope everyone is enjoying time with family, as we are. Happy Father’s Day to all!
“I want my mommy!” Once the words of a cry baby are now a sincere plea, as I reflect on the memories. She’s been gone for nearly seven years, and I think of her often, a remarkable woman with the kind of heart it takes to adopt someone that the heartless might consider to have been a “mistake.” I’m reading American Baby: A Mother, A Child, and the Shadow History of Adoption by Gabrielle Glaser. It was recommended by a thoughtful friend and certainly appropriate for Mother’s Day, although I’m only through the first few chapters. It sets the stage for the all too common story of a young girl who falls in love but is accused by her parents of being “a bad girl and whore.” “How could you do this to your selfless parents who gave you everything, while throwing away your life and reputation, bringing nothing but shame to your loving family?”
Let me first say that I would not even exist without a young girl like this. I do not yet know the rest of this story nor do I really know my own. What I do know is that there was another young woman and her husband that saved my life and raised me as their own. Thankfully, abortion was not legal and birth control often ineffective or unavailable, while adoption was the only safe option, although not necessarily honorable. I realize that not everyone in my position has a story that ends happily, but mine does, so every Mother’s Day I think about my good fortune.
My birth mother is still alive at 88-years old. I’ve never met her and probably never will. Many sources in this book claim that a woman never forgets the birth of a child, regardless of the circumstances. It’s a nine-month long bond that never ends, even though my bio-mom claims that it never happened. I fully understand that she was told to forget and to never admit her sinful indiscretion. Sadly, many women have been buried with their “dirty little secrets” while their offspring never know the truth, but with DNA testing and open records there is no longer a way to hide it. I know the truth. I just don’t know the circumstances – only she does.
At this point in life, I don’t really even care. I’m glad it happened and grateful for my life. I want Edna to know that she made the right choice, raising four more children who gave her the joy of great grandchildren. More importantly, she gave my mother a gift (hard to think of myself as this) that she wanted more than anything but couldn’t naturally produce. I only wish that I had given her more in return for the pain and trouble I caused in my teenage years. I was an ungrateful pig, taking advantage of their love and kindness, but somehow she stuck by my side through thick and thin. I express my undying love for my adopted parents today, known exclusively as my mom and dad. No one else qualifies. With tears in my eyes today, I just want to say with endless thanks, “I miss you Mom.”
On St. Patrick’s Day everyone wishes they were Irish and some say that on this day everyone is.
An Irish wish from the heart of a friend:
“May good fortune be yours, may your joys never end.”
There’s a little bit of Irish in everyone. According to my DNA, I’m 18% Irish, 10% Scottish, 20% Germanic, and 52% English, but 100% Hoosier. My birthfather’s father had red hair and was named Arlie, while my adoption records describe his son Cecil Banister to be of Irish descent. However, I question the accuracy of this information as reported by a scared teenager, my birthmother.
For years, all that I knew about my heritage was a few paragraphs that made up the Social and Medical Background Information that I was provided with by the agency. The father was listed as “alleged,” although we both had dark eyes and wavy hair, characteristic of the Irish. This document was the very first step in satisfying a curiosity about where I came from. For about thirty years, I thought I was Irish until a DNA test proved otherwise. It shows my Ban(n)ister roots to be in England, so I should probably be drinking green tea rather than green beer today.
None of the Ban(n)ister family genealogical researchers can establish a documented link beyond Laborn Banister (1801-1885) of Indiana. However, I’m showing DNA connections through Col. John Bannister (1749-1815 of Virginia) and his wife Elizabeth Willis Banister (1754-1832) from Hampshire, England. John’s father William (1707-1779) was also from Hampshire. The earliest Ban(n)ister in this line is John (1650-1692) from Gloucestershire – less than 280 miles from Dublin. This is as close to my Irish wish as I get, as the Jerry Banister Family Tree has yet to span the Celtic Sea.
I have submitted three DNA tests in my quest to find biological matches. In Ancestry.com, I’ve 677 such matches (out of 48,267 total) that I’ve been able to make a DNA MATCH connection on the Jerry Ban(n)ister Family Tree. 23andMe has yielded another 43 tree connections out of 1500 possible matches. A couple of these are duplicates with Ancestry. Family Tree gives me nine more Ban(n)isters plus links to the Sproul(e), Forbes, Koch, Vazquez, Ornes, and Hood families. Only Paul, Bruce, and Michael Patrick (all Ban(n)isters) have so far been identified on my tree that now includes 34,252 ancestors.
The strongest DNA connection I’ve found is half-sister, Julianna Proctor, at 1719 cM across 32 segments. Her niece, Ashley Wilson Fujawa, is next with 1,109 cM across 31 segments. Susan Smith, the daughter of my birthmother’s sister is third at 991/33 and Julianna’s son, Gabe Burkman, is fourth at 894/25. Unidentified Sue Ramsey 654/27 rounds out the last of the First Cousin category. These five matches were all from my Ancestry test.
The closest matches on 23andMe are 22 segments with Joyce Gourley, Janine Marthai at 17, Marilyn Banister with 12, Deb Vaughn with 9, and Brandon Willard, Marilyn’s son, at 7. These are ranked by percentage related, also positioning them as First Cousins. Those next closest DNA cousins with higher segments on this site include Carolyn Erley (11), Elsa Schneider (10), Derrick Sibley (8) just found today, Martha Napier (8) unknown tree connection, Phillip Legg (8), and Melisa Fales (7) found today.
Ancestry shared segments included Kristina Sampson (20), Telessa Hadley (19), Ada Pershing (15), Terry Bannister (14), Jessy Bramley (13), Cathy Crews (13), Shanda Heubner (13), Eva Alama (13), Gladys Eichenbary (13), Jenny Bramley (11), Donna Pearcy (11) unknown, and Krista Hale (10). These 23 people, in addition to the other five, would complete my list of nearest biological relatives.
There’s a lot more evidence of my connections on the birth father’s side from this data, but it’s all a matter of who submits to testing. New results come in every day and I was fortunate to find two new Top 28 connections today. It had been months since a close relative was discovered in my research. There are also too many people that try to remain anonymous on these testing sites by simply submitting initials. Without a name, I can’t find their relationship to me. However, not everyone is as motivated as me to find these family links. I scour through Facebook, Linked-In, obituaries, old newspapers, on-line reports. It often feels like stalking, but I continue my mission.
