Every Family Has a Maverick, Part 1
Every family has a maverick (or two), and one of my family’s mavericks was my great-great-great-grandfather Walter White Collins. Walter was born in Guernsey County, Ohio, in 1838 and moved with his family to Lineville in south central Iowa around 1855. In 1857, Walter, then 19 years old, married Elizabeth Paul, and settled on a small farm next to those owned by his father and two older brothers. He and Elizabeth had two children over the next few years, and had it not been for the Civil War, that might well have been the end of his story.
Nettie’s Story
My family was surprised when I told them that my great-grandmother, Florence Roberts, had three siblings. They only knew of one, her older brother Walter. The explanation for one of these missing siblings is easy to understand. Florence’s younger brother Schuyler was born in 1895 and died as a child between 1900 and 1905. In that era, the fact that his family didn’t talk about his death is unremarkable. The mystery of what happened to Florence’s older sister, however, is a much more complicated story.
Who Needs the Mason-Dixon Line?
In reading about Pennsylvania, as I have been doing a lot lately, I have come across many references to the Mason-Dixon line, the southern boundary of the colony and eventually the state. We’re all familiar with the Mason-Dixon line, of course. It has served as a powerful symbol of the division between the free North and the slaveholding South, the line enslaved people had to cross to escape to freedom. Despite that knowledge, it had never before occurred to me to wonder why the Mason-Dixon line exists at all. It’s quite a story, involving royal patronage, feuding families, a minor war, a famous lawsuit, and some cutting-edge science.
The Motherlode of Erismans
I have an unusual last name. For much of my life, I never met anyone named Erisman to whom I wasn’t closely related, close enough that we could easily calculate what flavor of cousin we were. Some years back, however, while visiting Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, on a business trip, I was suddenly inundated by Erismans—a colleague’s child’s kindergarten teacher, a local car dealership, the high school’s star quarterback smiling from a billboard. There were Erismans everywhere, even on a road sign. I had, I concluded, found the motherlode of Erismans.