Family Tree Photos--My Great Grandfather

Rev. James Edward Hutson (front left) in his later years

Rev. James Edward Hutson as he appeared as pastor of Byrne St. Baptist Church of Petersburg, Virginia, between 1866 and 1876

What's in a Name?

I  have to say that discovering genealogy and researching my family tree has been the biggest adventure in my life so far.  To some that may seem like I have lived a very sheltered life: to others it may mean that I have no life at all and that at 62 years of age, I may need to find one before it's too late.  Both may be true, but  I don't always know what is going to blow my skirt up.  I know that I can count on a few simple things--a pretty girl always turns my head, I enjoy a good football game, nothing beats a good book and I am never too old to learn how to make something delicious.

For example, I just got 8 new books on the Deerfield Massacre, two on Jamestown and one on the history of 17th Century, Eastern Shore, Virginia.  Life is rich.  My OCD nature requires that I share every single detail that I learn.  My wife can't stand hearing the same stories over and over again, but my captive audiences (Uber customers) have no choice but to endure the history lesson of the day. It is a large component of why my job satisfaction is so high for such low wages.

I am still exploring several areas of American and Canadian history concurrently but it is genealogy that brought all of the areas to the forefront.  Until a few weeks ago, I never knew of  any English ancestors from New England, except for one from Upstate New York.  However, because of family tree research, I have discovered two ancestors who fought for the Union and 14 relatives who were either murdered, or kidnapped and enslaved by the French and Indians. Now how many white boys do you know that can honestly say that they have family members who were lynched or slaves?  Too much fun, right?  I will share some of the stories as time permits in the future, but recently, what has jumped out at me has been a variety of cool first names that I  have discovered among my grandparents. To avoid rambling, here is the short list: Freedom (a mother and a daughter), Patience, Experience, Mercy and Israel.  You just gotta love those New England Puritans...almost every given name is a character from a Morality Play.

More Uber Notes

So on Thurs. I pick up a guy at a hotel in Petersburg and take him to a Family Medical Practice in Sutherland, Dinwiddie Co.  It's so far out, he is not sure he can get an Uber ride later.  I tell him to just call me and I'll help him out.  When I pick him up at the end of his work day, it turns out that he is going back to Charlottesville, Va.  He just finished his last day of work.  He is a third year medical student at U of Va. He shares that the job is part of his medical training.  He is travelling light for having been in the area for over a month. He has one small box of food, one small bag of clothes, and his bike, which we throw in the back of my truck. On the ride to his home, he shares his passion for bike riding and tells me he rides his bike from his hotel in Petersburg to Sutherland every day.  Wow.  Then he tells me of a long bike trip he took.  He says something about St. Louis and then Oregon.  Hold on a minute.  You rode your bike to Oregon?  "Yep".  I said, "You ought to write a book".  He said, "I did".  He gave me the copy pictured above but forgot to sign it.

"That's Just the Way It Is"

So I pick up a guy at the airport this past Wed.  He lives close to U of R, so it's about a 25 minute ride.  We had an easy rapport and good conversation.  We talk basketball, history, and food from my very limited repertoire.  I ask him why he has to travel so much and he tells me it goes with the territory--a large component of his job.  He was returning from Florida that afternoon and would be leaving Richmond again the following morning.  I ask him, "What exactly do you do?".  He replies that he is a sound engineer. You guessed it.  He's the sound engineer for Bruce Hornsby. I tell him that I am a big fan and have two of his albums (still a vinyl addict).  I start to sing my favorite Bruce Hornsby basketball song, "Take Me to the Old Playground".  He tells me that the band hasn't performed that one in concert in forever, but promises me that he will tell Bruce that his Uber driver sang that song for him.  You're welcome, Minneapolis. You probably got to hear that song Friday night because of me.

Grandma got kilt by some injuns

Until yesterday, I don't think I ever heard of the Deerfield Massacre.  I can't recall it from any history class I have ever  taken.  During a session of digging up old bones, I came across a large family of Englishmen deep in my family tree from the Deerfield Settlement in Massachusetts in 1704.  What jumped out at me was that of the 7th and 8th generation great grandparents and their kin, several had died on the same day, February 29,1704, which made me mighty curious.  It didn't take long to discover that most of my ancestors there were either killed or kidnapped during that historic event in Queen Anne's War.  Curiously enough, I descend from these English settlers through a genealogy line going back though multiple layers of my father's French Canadian roots because of those who were kidnapped and assimilated into the French culture during the early days of Montreal's history. Wikipedia has a good synoptic account of this raid and I also found a good narrative account in the archives of American Heritage, that explores the first-hand perspective of Rev. John Williams, who survived the attack. In a nutshell, over 50 were murdered, about half being children, and over 100 were kidnapped and taken as hostages back to Montreal, where they were divided up as slaves by the victorious Frenchmen and their Native American allies.Some escaped their captivity (my great grandfather Thomas French) and made it back to Massachusetts, some assimilated with the French and others assimilated into the tribes of the Abanaki and Iroquoi Indians. RIP Thomas French, who escaped, his wife, Marie Catherine Catlin, who was murdered and her parents, RIP, John Catlin and Mary Baldwin, who were murdered. Additionally, Marthe Madeleine French, daughter of Thomas and Marie Catherine Catlin was kidnapped and assimilated into the French culture, eventually marrying my 6th generation great grandfather, Jacques Roy (Roi). Can you imagine having to endure watching your children being murdered right in front of you and then being forced to travel through three feet of snow, walking from Massachusetts to Montreal in the dead of winter?