Floyd J Parker

As I mentioned in the last post, Lester Smith Kingsley is the only non-living grandparent I have. I am waiting on my dad to write up something on his parents. In the meantime, I thought I would go to the other side of my family tree and continue with my "organized" write-up.

As the title explains, this is going to be about my maternal grandmother's father, Floyd J. Parker. I would assume J. stands for Joseph as that is his "father's" middle name. I will explain the quotation marks in a little bit.

Floyd J. Parker was born 29 Jun 1907 in Wales, Erie Co., NY, to Lottie M. Cox and Miles Joseph Parker.

On this 1910 Census there are several things to note. First, Miles J Parker is on line 92 with his immediate family following. Next, line 63 is his father, Joel A. Parker and Emily J. Parker (Clift? I haven't proven that one yet).

Now, to let you in on a deeply covered up family secret... According to Floyd Parker's daughter, my grandmother, there was a farm hand "Harry or Henry" (according to Grandma, but her memory isn't the best) but it was really line 96, John G. Meyers. To continue on with the family secret, John was a farm hand who had a room on the farm. After a period of time he was given a room in the house. Grandma says it was known that Lottie M. Parker (Cox) was close to John but nobody ever spoke of how close.

"After a while", according to Grandma, Miles Parker moved out and made a living working around Buffalo doing odds and ends. They never divorced.

Again on this 1920 census you can see Miles J Parker on line 30. Line 35 is John G. Meyers.

Anyways, according to Grandma, Floyd J Parker much more resembled old John Meyers than Miles Parker.

In this 1930 Census, Floyd J Parker (line 80) married Leona Winifred McKay (Line 81,... the next entry should be about her) in East Aurora, Erie, New York. It shows my Grandma's sister (Mary, line 82) but Grandma wasn't born until after '30.

Enough about his parents, this is about Floyd Parker. According to my grandparents (his daughter and son-in-law), He was a very hard worker. He worked for the telephone company in upstate New York. During the depression he was laid off and had to take a job as a truck driver and worked for a potato company. It was during that time of his life, Grandma says, that he developed some sever back problems. A little way through the depression, when the phone company started hiring again, He was one of the first to get rehired. He was taken back on as a foreman.

When the draft was started for WWII the telephone company had a meeting with him. They said that there were many young men in that area that had farming waivers that made them ineligible for the draft. The company and Floyd agreed that he would most likely drafted so he better join doing something he wanted instead of waiting for the draft and getting stuck with something less than what he was capable of. The phone company said that they would have a better job waiting for him when he got back. According to Grandma, "he went and enlisted as an officer". He joined the signal corp as a 1st Lieutenant. He was sent to Europe and was there from just after DDay until VDay.

He was in Holland, France and "all those little countries". He sent home some crystal from "a place with a castle" (Grandma, Germany?). The Crystal went to one of Grandma's siblings, but she did get 1 ~10" serving dish from there. While he was there, he sent Grandma a birthday card and a silver dollar for her 15th birthday.

He got orders that took him straight from Europe, through the Panama Canal, straight to Japan. (Grandma). He was gone a total of about 4-5 years. When he got back He and Leona (McKay) Parker decided that they wanted a son. Although their oldest daughter was 18 when they Leona got pregnant, they had another daughter. Almost 2 years later they had a son.

When he got back, he got out of the Army as a Captain. The phone company hired him on as a lead foreman. Later he was the head of the telephone company from "Buffalo to Oleans" (According to Grampa). He was always willing to help anybody. When Grampa ever needed any help, Floyd would come over and help "at the drop of a hat".

When Grampa lived in Holland, NY, he had a 2 story gabled barn behind his house that he would always say "One of these days, I need to take that barn down." It was apparently close to the house because grampa was worried that if it came down wrong it would hit the house. Floyd would always say that when they took the barn down to call him and he would "drop it where it stands." Grampa laughed and wouldn't believe it. When the day finally came to bring it down, Grampa called Floyd and he came over with a "cable and a cinch." He walked around it, sized it up, and set the cable around the barn and through the cinch. He tightened it taut and set it around half way up the studs holding the barn up. With the cable where he wanted it, he simply started tightening the cinch. After a short time the rafters started creaking and, suddenly, the barn fell... right where it stood. Grampa still finds that amazing.

One more thing and then I am done. Apparently Floyd and Leona had a "trial" period for young men dating their daughters. Actually the period was until about 2 years AFTER they were married. During that period they made sure that the men would be good to their daughters, "feeding and not beating them" (Grandma). "But once you made it through that trial, you were in their family and their hearts forever" (Grampa)

Lester Smith Kingsley, by E. Daniel Kingsley

I told you I was going to start putting this in some kind of order. Here is the first stab at it... #1 Kingsley, Lester Smith... The lowest spot on my genealogy chart not living. Written by my father, his son.

August 20, 2008 Lester Smith Kingsley by E. Daniel Kingsley

Lester Smith Kingsley was my father. He was born 31 Aug 1924, to Ernest Daniel and Grace Smith Kingsley on a farm uphill from Wyoming, county of Wyoming, New York. All the following information came from him or noted references.

Lester attended school there in Wyoming, NY, and worked the farm of his Father his entire life until he left it to buy another farm in Erie County.

Lester worked hard, but his parents had no tolerance for some of the modern world. He did well enough in school. He loved to play basketball, and was hurt during a game. The muscle over the right femur was crushed by the knee of another player, and his parents simply let him get over it. According to Dad, the muscle never healed properly, and when WWII broke out, it disqualified him from enlisting as category 4F. I have heard this may not be quite so, as he was also eligible for a farm waiver from the draft. Lester limped around on that leg but did OK.

He married (living) Marsh of Marilla, Erie County, NY in 1946 and attended Cornell University in order to pursue Veterinary Science, but ran out of money. He did however get medical treatment for his leg… they wrapped a hot wire around his leg and kneaded that muscle over months, according to him, until they finally got it to sort of grow back together. He limped the rest of his life, but he always got around well.

My Father and Mother bought an old farm up on Fish Hill Road outside of South Wales, Erie County, NY, and he turned it into a good farm. Dad had arthritis badly, and according to him, he could not always get up off the floor without help in the winter.

They had two boys there , Myself, Ernest Kingsley and (living) Kingsley.

He sold that farm and moved to Phoenix, AZ in 1955.

Sparing you a lot of details, Dad opened a tiny restaurant in Phoenix, and that little business failed quickly.

After the restaurant folded, Dad took a job as an employee at Imperial Valley Hardware, in Somerton Arizona. He worked there and quickly opened a refrigeration business (Kingsley Refrigeration, Somerton, AZ) . They stayed there 12 years.

Dad opened Kingsley Refrigeration and ran a gangbuster business for several years. My sister, (Living) Kingsley was born around there.

The business went bust around 1965 and Dad lost the business, the house and all in bankruptcy between 1966 and 1967. Dad and I packed up and sent Mom and the kids north to NY, stayed the summer and we drove there in August 1966.

We moved to South Wales, and Dad went to work for Mullinburg & Betz in Buffalo, NY as an ammonia refrigeration specialist. He remained there for several years, divorced and went to work for Rich Non-Dairy products. They moved him out to California, where he died in 1978 of cancer of the pancreas. He was always a heavy smoker and drinker, and his untimely death at age of 54 was a direct result.

This summary misses the essence of his life. Dad was a good man, trapped in his habits. He was abusive in his nature due to a brutal upbringing, but he worked very hard and his failure in business left him a broken man. Nothing he did after that showed much success, and in fact he had a nervous breakdown in Buffalo around 1969, and soon after divorced Mom and lived erratically the rest of his life.

I flew my family out to see him before his death, and he did see my two oldest children (Living). He was very sick then, not really interested in my family but only in me and my uniform.
Dec 1978

I wrote an article about Dad’s funeral… see below.
Copyright 1992 ONE TIME NORTH AMERICAN RIGHTS ONLY Article # 92-08-Q

E. Daniel Kingsley

From MOBY DAD: Tales of the Great White Father by Dan Kingsley

The Day Dad Died…

I had a peculiar relationship with my Father, and I suppose I will always remember him best because, as a father, I have a terrible inability to relate to my children. I often compare myself to him. I look so much like him that sometimes I want to reach into the mirror and slap him… or hug him… or something…

He was an alcoholic, but not a bad man. He loved his family as well as he could, and gave us as much as he was capable. He worked like a Trojan, and cared about many good causes. But as with all alcoholics, there was a lot of fantasy and untruthful things about his life.

For all of that, I was serving in the Army as a Warrant Officer at Fort Rucker, Alabama in 1978 when my Father called and told me he was dying. I had dearly loved him as a child, but had become terribly disillusioned by him later in life. I didn't believe him. I think my feelings were a coping mechanism… children of alcoholics will relate to this baffling feeling…

I was not able to react to his announcement, though he was clearly expecting me to be upset. I had become completely numbed by our relationship, and pondered over his fate for several days before calling back. He had been "dying" for 20 years, and I didn't see how it was any different now.

Anyway, I packed up my little family, mortgaged my good name and flew to California to visit him.

Dad looked terrible, but not a lot worse than usual. He was awful thin, and was more impatient than ever, having little interest in my wife and less in my children. He was always in pain, and I did what I could to be around without wearing him down. I still could not relate to his suffering, or his illness.

The doctor was absolutely unwilling to speak to me in reference to his real condition, though I asked several very specific questions about 'How bad' and 'How long'. Dad had a lady friend who wouldn't talk about his dying and Dad was pretty vague, except to say he would be cremated. So I left there feeling wasted, as I usually did in our relationship. But it did not occur to me that he would really die. I just could not believe it.

My poor pregnant wife and two babies had a miserable stay. I was glad to leave, and we were glad to get back into the busy flow of Army business.

Four months later he died. I happened to be enroute to Germany, so it was easy to get leave. I raced home to western New York, where he was to be buried. The entire process was a continuance of his life, as though the Great Practical Joker simply had to wring this out into one last gasp of anguish shared with all who loved my Dad.

Someone who knows me, and knows that we do not believe in cremation, asked me how I could let that happen. Without explaining, I was rude and told her to butt out. I never tinker with a dying man’s wish. And I don’t tolerate anyone who presumes to provide that guidance to me.

On the day of his funeral, I ordered flowers from a great florist who had a minor problem… one I did not know about at the time. He was a binge drinker. I arrived to find his wife frantically trying to finish my arrangement. I waited an hour, and she was in tears when she handed them to me. I told her it was OK, that I understood. I didn’t lie. I hated it, but I did understand

perfectly.

I drove the 40 miles to the place of the funeral, late, where the funeral director had not yet located the urn. It was lost in the shipping. I tried to ask how that could happen, and the funeral director treated me like any other inept moron… and was deliberately vague. But he assured they would get it there…

The funeral started late shortly after the urn arrived. When it did arrive, it arrived absolutely without ceremony, or even dignity, enclosed in the strange little pine box (like a tiny orange crate) in which it had been shipped. It was smaller than a shoebox, and came complete with handling tags, address and postage markings. Did I say it arrived without dignity??

A pale little man in a dark suit with a spade went up to the place directly in front of the stone where the urn was to be buried. He eyeballed the little box, and quickly dug out a chunk of dirt, leaving a small hole, barely large enough for the box. He placed the box in it, and covered it with the chunk of dirt. The dirt stuck up obnoxiously, and the man was in a hurry. He stepped on it, jumped once and crushed the dirt into a less formidable chunk. He then tried to smooth it down.

When that clod burst, I could feel the bones in my chest break. It was the nearest thing I had to honest pain the whole day. I felt tears rush to my eyes… I was afraid I would cry… I thought about getting that guy by the throat and inspiring his social skills… when a funny thing happened. That batch of tears stuck right behind my eyes… I couldn’t see well, but I would be damned if I was going to let this get the best of me.

But the day was not over. There was an incident with my Dad as a young man in Arizona, where a young pilot had been killed in a dust-cropper accident. The coroner had signed his death certificate with a pencil, rather than a pen, a sin about which my Father mourned his whole life. “Hope someone thinks enough about me to sign MY burial slip with a PEN…” he would quip from time to time. I had thought about this several times when the driver of the delivery truck came up to me, as Dad’s next of kin… to have me sign for it… and offered me a pencil…

I took it… broke it… ripped the receipt out of his hands and signed it with a pen… gave him the pen… and I cried. It was a wimpy, drippy, stupid flood of feelings. It was for me, to miss whatever he was to me, and it was for him, that he had swung so hard and missed so clean on the important things in life.

I loved my Dad, but nothing about his family seemed normal. There was no sorrow, no mourning. But nice people came to pay respect, lots of honest, hardworking people. What was left of his family was there… but there was no closeness. There are other indicators of unhappiness there I won’t go into, but it is sufficient to say that I have been back only once, to visit my Aunt Issie, the only person at that funeral who really loved him. And to visit his grave. I am ashamed to admit it… but when I went back, someone had to show me where it was.

Andrew J Fancher and Maryette Nichols (Marietta Nichols)

So, I am really going to try to put this in a reasonable understandable fashion but when I run into little things that just don't make sense I get excited. It makes me want to talk to people but who to call? Well, I figured I would throw it out here and see if anybody could make sense of it.

Andrew J Fancher is Grampa Fancher's Great-Grandfather. I have had his 1870 census (1st on left) for a while. It shows 3 children... Eddy (age 4) and Elliot (age 2) and (before Eddy, btw) another girl. "Eddy, Lydia A" (age 8) like the rest of the family was born in NY. I assumed, and bounced it off B.J., that Lydia A Eddy was from a previous marriage of Maryette.

As a side note, I was still at this point trying to tie Elbert Fancher (Grampa Fancher's Grampa) to this Andrew J Fancher. Elbert (Bert) Fancher was born in 1867 so it makes no sense that he isn't on this census. Then again, there is a child that doesn't belong. I searched and searched for the 1880 census (2nd on left) for this family to no avail. Then I decided to check out familysearch.net. Although they have been mostly useless to me in the past, I found an Andrew Fancker indexed who proved to be the proper person. Although someone familiar with the family would be able to read Fancher, it is funny how a simple mistake can throw off a search. As you can see, there is also an Elbert that ties us together

So, that brings us back to the original reason for this post. Now I find the 1900 Census (3rd on left) for Andrew and Maryette. As you can see on lines 25 and 26, Andrew and Maryette have both been married 41 years. While there is a possibility that they both had prior marriages that lasted the exact same amount of time, it would still be marrying twice very young with no time in between for Maryette. Also note on line 26 (Maryette) that she had 3 children and they all are still living. So, even if they had previously, SHE only had 3 children and Lydia A Eddy must not have been one of them.

So what do you think? Please post comments...

A little more background

When my dad was in the Army and didn't have time for research (in the days before household internet), it would take forever (18 months according to mom) to get even a death record from the Buffalo area. Seen as how 99% of my ancestors are from the western NY, northwestern PA area, that meant that there was no way for them to do any serious family history research from thousands of miles away.

There was a nice elderly lady in the Buffalo area that agreed to work a certain number of hours each month to do this work for my parents for a small sum of money. Well, $50 isn't exactly small, especially back in the late 70's, early 80's, but there you go. She was experienced in that type of research and she compiled huge amounts of data for my parents and, by default, me.

Although we have all that compiled data, it completely lacked sources. While that didn't stop their work from being done, it leaves the work open for doubt. Did this nice old lady continuously produce names to keep her only source of income flowing? Did she find possible family lines and use them as genuine? Were all the family lines that she found actually valid?

When I "inherited" a PAF file that went back up to 28 generations (I think), it made me wonder how that was and how to prove it. I took it upon myself to "prove" the work instead of looking further. As I take that roll on, you will notice that the names I post will most likely all be in your family PAF file (if you need a copy, let me know and I will email you one), but I will list the source from which I made the connection.

Enjoy

Osborn family 1850 Census

Although I have yet to figure a way to put a version of my PAF file on here, I will start using this page as a place to post my progress on our genealogy. Right now I am on a 14 day "trial" of ancestry.com. That means I am using the mess out of it for 2 weeks. At that point I am going to go back to the books I have to get more done.

In the meantime, I have found TONS on Ancestry.com and will post a lot of it later, including all the censuses that I have copies of. One of which, a new 1850 census one I just found, shows F.C. Osborn 1 year old with parents Gilbert Osborn and Almira (Thomas, but I haven't proven that). I noticed that the next family on the census was also Osborn (Curtis, who doesn't show up in MY PAF) and was interested in who else was around. On the page previous in the census there were several Osborn families. Eddie Osborn (first name on page, 38 y.o. born in MD plus family). Further down the page there is Jarrit Osborn (65 y.o. born in MD, a change from my PAF) wife Ruth (62 y.o., born in MD) with children Erastius (30 y.o. Male, born in PA), Celitia (20 F, PA), Emeline (14 F, PA). Changing families, but not residences, Israel Osborn (35M, PA) with wife Sarah A Osborne (32F, PA), Emerett (5F,PA) and Karin (8/12, F, PA).

This will be my first test of saving an image here, cross your fingers!

My Learning Curve

For anyone out there who hasn't done a blog before, there isn't much to it... but there are a lot of details. Like who you let see your blog, who you let add to your blog, etc. As this blog is not just meant for me, please feel free to email me and I will consider adding you to the list of Authors... ahem... (BJ, Nik, anyone else?)

Also, for some privacy (mostly for those still with us), I will make every effort to protect personal information. If I slip up or you simply want me to remove anything, just let me know (or request author permissions).
Donald

My first REAL blog

I am going to start running a blog for the genealogy I have been doing. As it SHOULD become a reference point for more than just my immediate family, I would like to welcome anyone who ends up visiting. There will be a wide collection of family reference dropped in here. I would like to thank all in advance for any additions, help, corrections, etc., as I am only one person. I will make this blog open to the public and try to keep it up to date.
Love Ya'll!!!

Donald