Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Tombstone Tuesday - Arms

Phinehas Arms
October 26, 1793 - June 11, 1872

Phinehas Arms was the son of Phinehas and Lydia (Root)* Arms. He was born in Wilmington Township, Windham County, Vermont. Phinehas was a soldier in the War of 1812.
On April 4, 1822, he married Maria Bolles in Bridgewater, Luzerne County, Pennsylvania. They lived in Rock County, Wisconsin, in 1850 and 1855. They were living in Winnesheik County,​ Iowa, in 1860.
Phinehas died in Nettleton, Caldwell County, Missouri. He is buried in the Rohrbaugh Cemetery in Hamilton, Caldwell County, Missouri. His widow, Maria, died on September 9, 1880, also in Nettleton, and buried in the Rohrbaugh Cemetery.

* There is a record of Phinehas' birth in Vermont stating his mother's name is Abigail. However, a christening record in Massachusetts names Lydia Root his mother, as well as numerous user-submitted family trees at ancestry.com. This would take some research to straighten out, which I will leave to the family members, at this time. JA

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Sunday, October 28, 2012

One Man's Journey - Part XV

In the stretch of river one and a half miles east to about six to eight miles northwest of our place, there were numerous islands, and for most of them we had names. The one running opposite and east we called Long Island. It was about a mile long, so it extended beyond the boundaries of our place. Opposite Mack’s place there was a small, I believe formed, island on which we spent most of our time. We called this Little Island. Downstream and nearly connected to Little was Middle Island, and then there was Froman’s, Fry’s, etc. Ed and Giles Bacon, Colonel and I roamed these islands at every opportunity. In doing so, we could not use the old boat since, as explained above, it was too heavy to either row upstream or to carry since horses were not always available to us; but, we could handle the currents in the canoes and also carry them if necessary, two or three miles. (We did a lot of walking.)

Island Hide-away

On most of the islands, we had built some kind of shelters and also had odds and ends of food and utensils cached on most of them, especially Little Island. Two pennies was a lot of money to us, but we figured we’d never be broke if we could come back and dig them up if needed. –Dreamers- I suppose those pennies are still there, but surely the tobacco can must be rusted away as it’s been close to 70 years {about 1915} since we buried them. We didn’t do much on Long Island. I’m sure there was a lot there and it could be reached rather easily with the boat, but there were no beaches to speak of as water had cut away the banks so they were quite sharp. The island was also quite brushy. There were a lot of wild gooseberries and wild current that Colonel and I picked for Mama to make jelly, jam or whatever.

Ernie Bedford used to pasture his horses on Long Island quite a bit and it was quite a sight to see Ernie get the horses over to the island because they had to swim.

I suppose there were a lot of artifacts on these islands because the Indians had lived along the rivers hundreds of years and, perhaps thousands, so they had to leave something; but, we didn’t seem to be too interested and came by materials mostly by accidental means. It wasn’t until many years later that I realized the opportunities I had missed of being a budding anthropologist.

Between Little Island and Middle Island the water ran quite swift and deep, so it had cut into the east end of Middle Island, causing erosion. In shooting this gap in the canoes one day, some of us noticed some bones sticking out of the bank about six to eight feet above the water. We did not investigate at the time, but did tell the Hammer’s boys about it. They dug it up and found part of a skeleton as well as many stone points and other prehistory artifacts. Dad plowed up an ivory tusk about 18 to 20 inches long. We kept it around the house for some time and eventually he gave it to the college in Caldwell. During a trip through the area several years ago, Buddie {Florence Totten, Jack’s wife} visited the college, contacted the department head and asked to see the tusk; but, the pieces were not marked by the donator’s name. I did pick out one I believed was plowed up by my father.

A little explanation

For the past seven to eight sheets, I’ve been dealing pretty much with “fun and games,” but there is much serious information to follow; but, I think I shall continue with the “fun and games” until they are somewhat played out and hope they are not too boring to you.

In view of the above, I shall therefore, continue with the case of the mid-winter swim.

If I can recall, it was about 4:00 a.m. when Colonel and I got up to tend our traps set in the river along Mack Stocker’s place about one-half mile northwest of our house. It was extremely cold with a huge full moon so bright that I believe you could read a newspaper. Hoarfrost was clinging to everything and the air was extremely clear and clean. Huge chunks of ice were moving slowly downstream, some of the chunks were twelve to fifteen feet square. The traps were located in such a place that we had to use the double ended boat to get to them. After clearing our traps, it was so cold we decided to moor the boat at this point, crawl through the willows and go home. I was in the front end of the boat, ready to step out onto the shore, and Colonel, always in a hurry, tried to get ashore ahead of me. Since we were both on the same side of the boat, it tilted. I was going and grabbed Colonel, so both of us landed in the water. It wasn’t too deep, three to four feet, but we were loaded down with heavy clothing and five to six dead muskrats. We got home okay, took off our clothes, which were frozen solid, and got in bed. However, before getting into bed, I put my shoes, the button variety, into the oven of the kitchen range. This was a mistake because Dad got up sometime later and built a roaring fire in the stove. I don’t know if it was the odor or smoke from the burning shoes that caused Mama to open the oven door. The shoes were ruined. They were the only pair I had. But for my thoughtless act, I was told I had to wear those shoes. I did. But, after they were baked, they didn’t last long, maybe two to three days. The worst part: Dad had to get another pair for me. We were fortunate that Colonel didn’t put his shoes in the oven, too.


I’ve mentioned fishing a few times somewhere above, but never got around to describing some of the fish we caught.

There was a lot of what we called scrap fish in the river; namely, carp, suckers, squaw fish, chisel mouth, white fish and sturgeon. (Not scrap. Read on.) All but the sturgeon were full of very small bones. If you could get a carp large enough, they weren’t too bad to fight the bones; but, they tasted muddy. We ate some of all the fish, but never made a practice of it. It was too bad, since the river was full of the things and it was no trouble catching them.


The sturgeon, however, was different, as their skeleton is made of cartilage, which I believe is similar to the shark; no small bones, the meat slightly oily, but delicious. Nearly every year we caught at least one of these fish, usually two to three feet long and up to about 12 pounds; and then, we caught one that really paid off. I think sometimes it must have been an accident, since neither the place nor time was right. The water was high up past the fence Dad had built along the shore. One of us tied about eight feet of line on the corner fence post with a single hook. Fairly large. The line must have been weighted, but I don’t remember how. We baited with angle worms and left it there all night. We got down to the river fairly early to check our lines, never dreaming that we’d have more than a carp or sucker. We took one look and started to yell and holler. It was a whale! Nothing could be that big! I just can’t remember how we got him out of the river.

I do know that he was too big for Colonel and me to handle. Mack Stocker, Dad and Mama arrived on the scene. The hook was straightened out, so it wouldn’t have taken much action on the sturgeon’s part to free himself. He was just under six feet and weighed 75 pounds. Now, that’s a real fish story.

Sturgeon got quite large in the river. Dad saw one at Nampa’s ferry, about one-and-a-half to two miles southeast of our place. They claimed it weighed 300 pounds. It was longer than a wagon box. Check your encyclopedia on this fish.

We were never able to catch a salmon. They did get up that far to spawn, as we found many dead ones on the beach. They had to come up the Columbia and then the Snake, so that was several hundred miles travel.

Edgar and Clarence

We spent quite a bit of time with our cousins Edgar and Clarence, fishing, swimming, etc., in the summer times. Many of the pictures we now have, both of those boys were in them. However, there is one thing that bothers me: I do not remember either one of them going to our school and they don’t show up in any of the school pictures. Why? Edgar was one grade ahead of me and Colonel was one grade ahead of Clarence.

One day, Edgar and I decided to go duck hunting on Little Island. Of course, we used the double-ended boat and muffled the oars so the band of ducks on the upstream point of the island wouldn’t spook. It was a fairly dark morning, so we made the crossing without trouble and tied the boat up on the lower part of the island. We sneaked up through the willows, but by the time we’d gotten in shooting range, the ducks had moved upstream and were slowly floating back down. We sat down in the willows to wait for them. We sat there for some time in semi-darkness, and as it grew lighter, I saw that Edgar had his gun across his lap with the business end pointed right at me, not four feet away. I asked him to point it the other way. No sooner did he get it pointed in the other direction than it went off. Of course, it scared all the ducks in a half-mile radius and it ended the duck hunting for that day. I was scared and, as I recall, I never went hunting with Cousin Edgar again.

Along the old trail three to four miles northwest of our place (about where the hounds chased the coyote) and about 300 to 400 yards north of the river were a number of natural ponds, heavy with alkali. The ducks used these ponds as a way-station quite often. We’d never been able to shoot ducks in these ponds because the country was open and we couldn’t get in shooting distance. This particular day, we were in the area fairly early, maybe nine or ten a.m. We saw the ducks in the ponds and as we walked toward them, they stayed. It was a cool morning and had been cold all night. As we got closer, the ducks still didn’t move and that was when we discovered that there were 10-15 frozen in the ice. Duck dinners were in order and we saved a lot of ammunition.

I believe it was the same day, or at least the same area, when Eddie Bacon lost two inches of his gun barrel. There were about three to four inches of snow on the ground. Somehow, Eddie had poked the muzzle of his gun into the snow. When he took the next shot at a rabbit, about two inches of the barrel went right along with the shot. The recoil knocked Ed down and from there on out, the gun was about as useless as a pilgrim's blunderbuss.

I must tell you this story now since it was on the same trail and in the same general area as the preceding stories. Giles and I had one of the Bacon horses, bareback, with halter and lead rope to guide the horse in the general direction we wanted to go. We were loaded down with guns and maybe other trappings. We were headed toward our place at a very gentle gallop or lope. The horse had been running in that manner for some time, but for some reason, he decided to go home. He didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow up, just made a 90-degree left turn. What a pile up, and it hurt; but we managed in due course to get home. I don’t think that horse ever broke his stride until he got into the barn at his home.


[I] drew a rather crude drawing of a ferry, powered, or rather, pushed along by the flowing water, i.e., current.

I don’t know how big these ferries were, but they did transport a freight wagon and six to eight horses at a time. They may have unhitched some of the horses and stowed them alongside the wagon.

The position of the rudder was all important since the angle determined the speed of crossing. As you can see, the rudder was fastened near center of hull so it could swing in either direction.

This was Froman’s ferry, which I shall note in the following pages. [JA 11/5/1986]
Jump Creek fish

Mack Stocker and, I believe his uncle, took a fishing trip over to Jump Creek. According to the map I now have, it is probably about eight miles from ours or Mack’s place. They went down river one-and-a-half to two miles south to the main Oregon Trail, thence northwest about six miles. Mack and his pardner were gone three to four days and when they got home, they gave us a dozen or so fish. The fish were not too large, six to eight inches long, but we had never eaten anything like them. The main thing, of course, was that there were no bones; and, of course, Colonel and I were all gung-ho to go over there.

Mack told us about the campgrounds where some of the immigrants had camped and the number of graves where some were buried. Mama knew the story and told us about these people and how they tried to survive starvation. It seems that some soldiers out of Fort Boise found them in time to save most. It was a horror story and would serve no purpose to enter it here.

Of course, Colonel and I lost no time in telling our friends the Bacons about those good fish. We all wanted to go over there, but we got opposition from all the parents. We were too young to make such a trip by ourselves. I don’t know how much time passed before our parents agreed to let us go, but we had to take Robin, the Bacon’s  elder son, to see that we got there and back, as well as take care of horses, etc. As it turned out, Robin wasn’t too smart after all. Read on.

We collected all of our stuff at the Bacon place; food, bedding, guns and ammunition, and some feed for the horses (oats). I believe we had a couple of water bags hanging under the wagon where they would stay cool. All this stuff was stacked in the yard, and Colonel and Eddie were elected to stow the stuff in the wagon. We stayed in the Bacon bunkhouse that night so we could get an early start. There was much horseplay during the night. Eddie got his .22 rifle, and while lying in bed, began shooting the nail heads that held the ceiling lumber up. We found out that if you hit enough nail heads, the lumber would fall down. How many holes we put in the roof I’ll never know. I do know one thing; our dad would never have stood for such shenanigans.

I’m sure we got a fairly early start the next morning. I don’t remember crossing the river, but the slow trip up to Jump Creek was fun. I don’t recall that we had anything to eat after breakfast.

It was late afternoon when we arrived at Jump Creek, and of course, being very hungry, we started to unload the wagon. But, there was no food, a tin camp stove, yes, no food, no fishing tackle. Those two characters left everything for survival back in the Bacon’s yard. How we had gone off and left the stuff, I’ll never know; but since Robin was responsible for our welfare, we laid part of the blame on him. We didn’t want him to go along in the first place.

We managed. We’d shot a couple of rabbits earlier along with two mallard ducks upon arrival at the junction. We had the stove, but no utensils. Scattered around through the brush we found two to three items we could use: a wash basin, an old rusty iron fry pan, and what looked like a battered tin dish pan. We got the utensils all straightened out, built a fire in the stove and roasted our meat. It was OK, but the lack of salt made it rather flat. At least we didn’t starve.

That night was wonderful. The gurgle of the waters and howling coyotes lulled us to sleep. I don’t remember a thing about the trip home, but the one thing that I shall always remember is seeing that stack of groceries as we pulled into Bacon’s yard.
to be continued...

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Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Question Everything!

Tonight, I had the opportunity to teach a class through the Poulsbo Parks and Recreation on using a variety of sources in genealogical research, what can be learned from them and how they can help us determine our next research steps. The members of my class are interested and interesting. They share their own research experiences and ask pointed questions. They give me a good stretch!

We went through a case study from my own family history research, highlighting several different types of resources, all secondary. However, these sources are extremely valuable and useful. They add interest to the family story and lead, in many cases, to finding the primary sources we all hope are out there.

Some of the resources we discussed are:
  • Personal knowledge
  • Photographs 
  • Extracted information from family resources, like bibles
  • Information obtained from relatives, both living and deceased
  • Letters, in the family memorabilia or in response to a query (could be e-mail)
  • Census information
  • Compiled histories, as in county or family histories

Using these resources, as well as many others, researchers can find bits and pieces of information about their families. Besides filling in specific data gaps, it can increase their knowledge of their family's activities and, possibly, migration. Asking questions about the information will lead to more questions and the desire to learn where the answers might be found. In this way, genealogy gets us hooked! Just kidding.

Repeating the process of setting a goal, finding and searching the record or source, recording the information, evaluating (questioning) that information and setting another goal helps us to not only fill in the blanks in our forms, but also in our histories.

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Sunday, October 7, 2012

One Man's Journey - Part XIV


I haven’t mentioned Arthur much except to note his birth, but at this point he was still a baby and couldn’t have entered too much into our activities. I think he was somewhat spoiled, but that was only natural because he got a lot of attention. As a matter of fact, if he did not get the attention required, he would hold his breath for long periods, until he turned blue. That scared us all, but he eventually outgrew the habit.


I believe it was shortly before Arthur was born that someone showed up one evening with a phonograph. It was one like you’ve seen in pictures with the dog captioned “Know his Master’s Voice.” The machine was placed on a center table that Mama usually kept in the center of the living room. I know it was evening because we had a couple of kerosene lamps going to light up the proceedings. The black rubber records were cylinders and it was wonderful when we heard the voices coming from it. I don’t recall that there was music, but it was enough to hear the magic. (What will they think of next?)


I believe we got our telephone sometime later, maybe 1914. Anyway, it was another thing that was hard for us to comprehend. It was extremely hard for me to talk on or over it since you were standing there talking to a blank wall. Soon after we got the phone, Giles Bacon called me. I couldn’t say a word, he did all the talking.

Of course, you probably can guess it was a crank operated contraption. A ring would get the operator and she would get the other party. I believe there were some phones that could be used by ringing the other party who had 1 – 2 - 3 or 4 rings and you must believe when other households heard the rings of their neighbors everybody in the valley was listening in on the conversation. That way you could pick up a lot of dirt. ? !

When some people in Caldwell found out we had a phone, they would call us in an effort to get Ernie Bedford. As described earlier, Ernie lived about ¾ mile away across the river. We tried to accommodate the callers, so Mama would go out to the knoll back of the barn and holler –Ernie!- etc., telephone. He would then get into his boat and row over and call his caller. I don’t imagine this process happened too many times because it was a long haul across that river and rowing a boat across that current wasn’t much fun, so the call had to be very important.


As I have described, we had a number of horses, but none that you could call saddle horses except maybe Mazeppa, who I described earlier; but she was too hard to ride, so we spent nearly all of our traveling by foot. But Mack and Dad did ride her on occasion. One time, the regular ditch rider was off for a day or so and Dad was elected to ride ditch. In this case he used Mazeppa. About two to three miles from home, they came to a drop where a large rattle snake was sunning himself on the planks across the top of the drop. The horse either scented or sighted the snake and promptly started to buck. She dumped Dad off on the ditch bank and came home by herself at a dead run. Of course, we got excited and got a hold of Mack who went looking for Dad as he made his way slowly home on foot. Dad did kill the snake. He had either 11 or 12 rattles, indicating he was about 12 years old.

Mack had an old horse we called Slocum which we used a lot for derrick horse. Mack let Colonel and me use Slocum a lot and sometimes kept him at our place overnight. We didn’t use a saddle or bridle, only a halter and a lead rope to steer the horse. One time, Dad and Mack were moving the derrick to a different location and were in the yard between the house and the barn with some cable trailing and the boom loosely anchored. Mama asked me to go up to Uncle Andy’s and get a pound of butter from Aunt Ellen. I got Slocum out of the barn and mounted him and took off, but Slocum had different ideas. He didn’t want to leave the barn. He had to skirt one side of the derrick on the way out to the road, but he continued around the derrick headed back to the barn. He was nearly around the derrick when one of his feet caught on the trailing cable. Somehow that tripped the chain that was holding the boom. Slocum stopped dead in his tracks. He did not move a muscle. The long end of the boom came down, missing Slocum’s nose by inches, then bounced 10 to 12 feet into the air. This process was repeated a couple of time and then Slocum proceeded on into the barn, scraping me off on the low door on his way in.

While the boom was bouncing around, nobody could do a thing. I don’t think they could even yell a warning, but old Slocum knew what he was doing. I don’t recall anything more about the butter, but if I got it, I’m sure I walked. To put it mildly, I was scared, as was everyone else.

The Hammers

To the west of us and a little bit north lay the Hammer place. Mack Stocker’s place was between our place and the Hammer place. The reason I write about these people is because they were fine neighbors and I worked for them part of one summer.

Albert Hammer and his wife, I’ve forgotten her name, were immigrants from Sweden. Mrs. Hammer was a huge person; she loved to eat and her use of sugar was enormous. She drank sugar with coffee, not coffee with sugar, using a teaspoon of sugar with each sip of coffee. I don’t remember too much about Mr. Hammer. Strange. {Albert and Marie Hammar lived on their place as described by Uncle Jack in both 1910 and 1920 when the censuses were taken. They also had a younger daughter, Margareta. Albert's brother, Oscar, was single.}

They had three children – Carl, George and Ruth. The children were somewhat older than we were. As far as I can remember, they never went to school in our area. Ruth, who was a wonderful person, was crippled, having been born with a club foot and as you know, in those days, they didn’t make much effort to repair the affliction.

The Hammers had homesteaded considerable more land than we had, and in addition with the land of Albert’s brother, Oscar, they had a considerable spread. None of it fenced except, maybe, the immediate corrals, etc. Their cattle holdings were considerable and that is where I came in. I was hired for the huge sum of 10₵ a day to herd 100 to 150 head of cattle over a range of bunch grass, cactus and sage brush. They furnished me with a horse, saddle and a pair of spurs that were a little difficult to wear on bare feet, so I was forced to wear shoes at least part of the time. The horse was rather gentle and he didn’t need much guidance in keeping the cattle in line. There was only one time I can recall that he got a little bit fractious and I landed in the middle of one of those desert cactus plants. I walked the rest of the day. Mama spent considerable time that evening pulling cactus spines out of my back side.

I always took a lunch with me, but getting water to drink was a problem. We had cloth water bags, but in that hot climate, water didn’t last too long. There was an irrigation ditch running through part of the range that I could get a drink of water, but you had to get rid of the water lice before you could sip the stuff up. It’s a wonder we didn’t get typhoid fever from some of the water we drank. Us kids made it a practice of drinking out of the river whenever the need arose. Typhoid fever was prevalent and many in the valley died from drinking polluted water. We must have been tough!!

As Colonel and I got a bit older, several of us, maybe eight to twelve boys, would congregate at the Hammer place on Sunday afternoons and ride horses, cattle or anything else that would buck. Sort of a miniature rodeo. We also did a little shooting on occasion, like at the back house or shot gun shells, etc. We would place a shot gun shell on top of a fence post and try and hit the cap with a .22 rifle bullet. If you succeeded in hitting the cap, the shell would explode, allowing lead pellets to travel in all directions, hopefully, not in your direction. Dangerous? No, I don’t think so. Nobody ever got hurt and some pretty good marksmen were developed. This was almost as much fun as exploding shot gun and 30-30 ammunition in the school’s pot-bellied stove.


The Bacons had two canoes which were light weight, wood frame with canvas covering, and a double ended row boat with 8-10” draft. The Bacons lived about one-and-a-half miles from our place and, I suppose, it is two to two-and-a-half miles due south to the river from their place. The canoes could be carried, but the boat and oars were too heavy to carry, so most of the time it was tied up at our place and Colonel and I could use it whenever we wanted. It was almost impossible for us to row the heavy boat upstream any long distances. The water was rather slack and about one-half mile along our place, so we managed to get the boat up there rather easily with two of us rowing, each handling one oar.


The bar out into the river formed by the water from the ditch break and the soil from our place subsequently caused a back water pond that was ideal for muskrats, bull frogs and carp after the lilies and willows started to grow and that took only about a year or two at the most. The muskrats took to building their houses out in the center of the pond, with an entrance below water line. From these houses, we took a lot of excellent hides in the wintertime. The water wasn’t very deep, maybe two to three feet, but in the wintertime, it wasn’t too healthy to wade around in the ice cold water. We did enough of that by accident (see somewhere below). There also got to be a lot of bull frogs that we were able to catch, with a lot of effort, I must add. These frogs had legs on them the size of a chicken drumstick and they were delicious.

The back water also became a nesting place for many waterfowl and birds, the most noted ones being magpies, black birds, both red-wing and yellow head, owls, many hawks and, once in a while, a pair of eagle. A flock of swan usually dropped by, probably for a rest during their long journey, about twice a year.

Colonel and I would stand out on the bank above the river and watch the waterfowl fly south in the fall and north in the spring. During two to three weeks each season, we would watch in amazement because they flew in waves as far east as we could see and the same to the west. There were millions of them, all with the same urge. These waves were about 15 minutes apart, day and night. There were many geese also, but they tend to fly in the familiar ‘V'; and the beautiful call they made will always be remembered.

I must mention here that we used the double ended boat to get around the muskrat houses, as well as hunt frogs. The place abounded with freshwater clams. We dug up thousands of them, looking for pearls. We tried eating them, but they were too muddy. We never found any pearls in spite of the things we had read about the possibility.

Ike Jones

Ike Jones was one of our neighbors living about two miles inland from our place. He liked to come down and hunt with Colonel and me. I would judge that he was about 70 years old at the time. He claimed to have fought in the Civil War, so he had lots and lots of stories to tell us; and, of course, we ate them up. He never tired of showing us the back of his neck where a bullet had gone through. Mrs. Jones sometimes helped Mama during haying, or whatever. Mama said something about Ike being wounded. She told Mama that Ike had, indeed been in the Union Army, but had been wounded by one of his companions while squirrel hunting before the war. Ike was running through the woods and the guy took a shot at him thinking he was a squirrel.

We had gone hunting with Ike on numerous occasions, but Colonel had never before noticed how he carried his shotgun and its position. Ike usually carried the gun, a double barrel with hammers, over his shoulder, muzzle forward, and in this case, Colonel noted, both barrels were cocked ready to fire. Colonel had, in this instance, been walking in front of Ike so the gun was pointed directly at Colonel’s head. Colonel stopped and asked Ike if he knew that both barrels were cocked. Ike admitted this and told us that he always carried his guns in such a manner. Colonel didn’t say a word, just climbed the bank and headed for the house. He would not hunt with Ike again.
to be continued ...

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Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Tombstone Tuesday - Avery

John Avery
1842 - 1936

John Avery was born in about 1842 (the 1900 census says Sep 1843) in England. His parents were John and Ann (or Hannah). He immigrated to the United States in about 1850 and did become a naturalized citizen. 

In 1880, he and his wife Amanda were living in Lake Creek Township, Williamson County, Illinois, with some of their children. The youngest were twins name Merty and Gertie. In both 1900 and 1910, they lived in Owensville, Gibson County, Indiana. Only two grandchildren lived with them in 1910. By 1920, Amanda had passed away and John was living in Bremerton, Kitsap County, Washington, with his son Thomas. In 1930, he was still living in Bremerton; this time with his daughter, Gertie Meyer. 

John died on January 28, 1936, in Bremerton. He is buried in the Ivy Green Cemetery in Bremerton.

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