Celebrating America 250: Declaring Independence (May 20, 1775 or July 4, 1776?) – Part 1
In honor of the celebration of America’s 250th birthday, this is the first in a series of articles in the coming weeks which are related to this momentous occasion. First up is a two-part article, a thought-provoking one, regarding our founding document, The Declaration of Independence.
May 20, 1775 or July 4, 1776?
Does that seem an odd question to put forth as America prepares to celebrate the 250th anniversary of the signing of its founding document? It’s settled fact the document originally drafted by Thomas Jefferson which proclaimed liberty for all is one of our country’s first and most fundamental founding documents, right?
The image pictured below page is a composite of sorts, depicting what Americans know as the Declaration of Independence signed on July 4, 1776 overlaid with a somewhat questionable document. Some might even call it “fake” (the word is used a lot these days, isn’t it?). Note: Click the image to view the full image if you wish.
Indeed, many historians past and present insist the whole document, the so-called Mecklenburg Declaration of Independence, and its premise are fake, even preposterous. I confess to not having ever heard of the Mecklenburg Declaration of Independence until I was researching family history for a client and discovered her ancestor, John Davidson, was one of the signers of the document. Having no prior knowledge of the document (or the controversy), my inquiring mind wanted to know more. I found some answers and thoughtful insights after reading an excellent book entitled, The First American Declaration of Independence?, by Scott Syfert.
Since we’re approaching “Independence Month” let’s take a trip back in time and put ourselves in the place of our forbears who were growing increasingly agitated with distant and unrepresentative British governance. In May of 1775 news of an event which had occurred, quite shockingly the month before, in Lexington, Massachusetts, finally reached Mecklenburg County, North Carolina. Historians would later refer to this seminal event as “the shot heard ‘round the world”.
The night before several riders, including Paul Revere, had ridden through the countryside warning of approaching British troops. Just past sunup on April 19 the first shots rang out and eight militiamen were felled. The engagement wasn’t a battle, per se, as it’s since been romanticized – more of a skirmish. Nonetheless, eight Americans lost their lives and the fuse had been lit. News at that time traveled at the speed of an express rider, and about a month later word reached the North Carolina backwoods.
The meeting called in Mecklenburg County wasn’t necessarily extraordinary for the times. News of alarming incidents had triggered meetings, pamphlets, essays and newspaper diatribes for some time. In 1774 Rowan County (next to Mecklenburg) stood with Bostonians after the unceremonious tea-dumping incident in December 1773. If Boston was under duress and oppression, then so was Rowan County and the rest of America. One resolution put it rather succinctly: “the Cause of the Town of Boston is the common Cause of the American Colonies.”1
The pot was beginning to boil in Mecklenburg County as well. A summons was sent to the captain of each militia company throughout the county to appoint two persons to send to Charlotte with enough authority to put in action a plan to deal with increasing encroachment on their rights and liberty. At the time Charlotte wasn’t much more than a small village, but it was the county seat and location of the Mecklenburg County court house.
Although records of the meeting were lost in a fire at John McKnitt Alexander’s home in the early 1800s, the oft-repeated story has remained unchanged in North Carolina historical records.
The committee of men met, debated and drafted a set of resolutions, later called the Mecklenburg Declaration of Independence (or “MecDec” for short). Less than a page long, MecDec proclaimed the citizenry of Mecklenburg County “a free and independent People”2 who ought to be free to govern themselves. Furthermore, they proposed to “dissolve the political bands which have connected us to the Mother Country” and solemnly pledged “to each other our mutual cooperation, our lives, our fortunes, and our most sacred honor.”3
About 2:00 on the morning of May 20 all resolutions passed unanimously. One of the delegates, Captain James Jack, was recruited to express the committee’s declaration to Congress in Philadelphia. By mid-June Captain Jack had delivered his package and returning home carried a circular, or open letter, signed by North Carolina’s congressional delegates: Richard Caswell, William Hooper and Joseph Hughes.
Acknowledging alarming concerns of their constituents, the three congressmen urged citizens to prepare as other colonies were doing the same:
We conjure you by the Ties of Religion Virtue and Love of your Country to follow the Example of your sister Colonies and to form yourselves into a Militia. The Election of the officers and the Arrangement of the men must depend upon yourselves. Study the Art of Military with the utmost attention; view it as the Science upon which your future security depends.4
They spoke of readiness, watchfulness and resisting tyranny, then with this seemingly misplaced ending, wrote:
. . . look to the reigning Monarch of Britain as your rightful and lawful sovereign, dare every danger and difficulty in support of his person crown and dignity and consider every man as a Traitor to his King who infringing the Rights of his American Subjects attempts to invade these glorious Revolution principles which placed him on the Throne and must preserve him there.55
Huh? The final sentence seemed totally out of place with the preceding words. Why the hesitancy and caution in the ending? In actuality, while Congress was well aware of growing unrest of American colonists, they were still hoping to find a way to compromise with the Crown and avoid armed conflict. On July 5, 1775, just days following Captain Jack’s departure, Congress adopted the so-called “Olive Branch Petition”.
Clearly, Congress was tip-toeing around this delicate issue:
Your Majesty’s Ministers, persevering in their measures, and proceeding to open hostilities for enforcing them, have compelled us to arm in our own defence, and have engaged us in a controversy so peculiarly abhorrent to the affections of your still faithful Colonists, that when we consider whom we must oppose in this contest, and if it continues, what may be the consequences, our own particular misfortunes are accounted by us only as parts of our distress.6
They were displeased with the state of affairs in America, yet proceeded ever so delicately so as not to outright blame the King – merely his magisterial authorities. Congress needn’t have bothered to broach the subject so delicately as King George refused to even read the document. This was when Congress and all Americans realized war was inevitable. Thomas Paine’s pamphlet, Common Sense, was published in January 1776. On July 4, the Declaration of Independence was signed in Philadelphia. The history seems clear for all the above-described events. Thus, it begs the question as to why and when the Mecklenburg document became such a controversial piece of history. Good question.
MecDec became controversial years later, long after the Revolutionary War was fought and won, when an article submitted by “J. McKnitt” was published in the April 30, 1819 edition of the Weekly Raleigh Register. Dr. Joseph McKnitt Alexander
signed his name just as his father John had.
Dr. Alexander provided details of the Mecklenburg event, noting that Abraham Alexander was elected chairman and his own father elected clerk of the proceedings. He recorded each Resolve in the article and added that “bye-laws” had been added. The resolutions “were all passed, sanctioned and decreed unanimously, about 2’clock, A.M. May 20.”7
Dr. Alexander further wrote that Captain James Jack was sent to Philadelphia to deliver a copy of the Mecklenburg proceedings. He noted that the Captain, upon returning to Charlotte, informed his fellow committee members that while Congress individually agreed with the declaration’s sentiments, they deemed it premature to proceed further at the time. The joint letter sent back and signed by North Carolina’s delegation confirms as such. Again, what was controversial since it seemed to mesh with what one might refer to as “facts already in evidence”.
Perhaps it was how Dr. Alexander ended his article:
The foregoing is a true copy of the papers on the above subject, left in my hands by John McKnitt Alexander, dec’d. I find it mentioned on file that the original book was burned April, 1800. That a copy of the proceedings was sent to Hugh Williamson in New York, then writing a History of North Carolina, and that a copy was sent to Gen. W.B. Davie.8
While his father had maintained custody of all original papers, Dr. Alexander admitted most of them were destroyed in the 1800 fire. From whence came the resolutions published in the 1819 article? John McKnitt apparently attempted to reconstruct what he could from what remained. When he completed the task he sent at least one copy to General Davie, someone John had served with during the war. Historians refer to it as the “Davie Copy”.
It’s doubtful John McKnitt Alexander was concerned with what future historians would think of what he did to preserve an important part of history. In the ensuing years he would always claim it was the correct version of what transpired in May 1775. This was all well and good while residents of the area who recalled those events were still around to verify his claims, but when he and others began dying off it was harder to make those claims. As the Register’s editor pointed out in 1819, there may have been those in the community who were not aware of what had transpired in ‘75.
Stay tuned for Part 2 of this article next week.
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Footnotes:
What’s In a Name: Wartime Baby Names
American humorist Evan Esar once said, “a signature always reveals a man’s character – and sometimes even his name”.8 In the case of those highlighted in this article, their names more likely spoke volumes about the political leanings of the family they were born into.
I came across these years ago when I was writing “Tombstone Tuesday” articles for the Digging History blog. The more I researched the more of them I found. It was simply amazing to discover how many men were named “States Rights” and it appears that most, if not all, were born in Confederate or former Confederate states…hmm.
Many were born around the time of the Civil War. Some carried the name into the twentieth century. South Carolina seemed to have been a hotbed of states rights fervor – Union County in particular – before, during and long after the Civil War. Here are a few examples:
States Rights Aycock
He was born on July 29, 1933, son of Edmund and Lula Aycock. His great grandfather Jasper Aycock had a son named States Rights, born on December 23, 1860, three days after South Carolina seceded from the Union.
States Rights Crawford
He was born in March 1860, according to the 1900 census, to Benjamin Franklin and Emily Crawford. He died suddenly and unexpectedly on March 19, 1904. His obituary stated the town of Union was shocked by his death. He had been away on business in Atlanta, returned home a day after feeling a carbuncle (boil) coming on. He went to bed, “blood poisoning at once set in and after suffering intensely Mr. Crawford passed away.”9
States Rights Gregory
He was born in Union County, South Carolina on July 14, 1859 to William and Evaline Gregory. In 1860 and 1870 his full name was recorded and thereafter he would be enumerated as “States R.” or “States”.
States Rights Gist
He was born in Union County, South Carolina on September 3, 1831 to parents Nathaniel and Elizabeth Gist, his name owing to his father’s “nullification politics”10 His family was wealthy, with roots dating back to early Maryland settlements.
After graduating from South Carolina College (later University of South Carolina) in 1852 he attended Harvard Law School for one year. States, as he was known to his family, returned home to South Carolina and was admitted to the bar in 1853.
Not long after his return States joined a local volunteer militia as captain, quickly advancing to aide-de-camp to the governor and promoted to brigadier general at the young age of twenty-four. His cousin, Governor William Henry Gist, appointed States as his special aide-de-camp, bringing him to Columbia to live in the governor’s residence. In April of 1860 States resigned his military position and worked full-time for his cousin.
With it appearing Republican Abraham Lincoln would win the election, the governor sent States to visit six other southern governors to gauge their support in advance of a likely secession convention. When Governor Gist left office in December 1860 the new governor, Francis Pickens, appointed States as his adjutant and inspector general, beginning in January 1861. South Carolina was the first state to secede on December 20.
States’ job was now a challenging one as he was tasked with overseeing the mobilization of military forces and keeping an eye on operations in Charleston. Fort Sumter fell into Confederate hands, and on April 14, 1861 he accompanied the Governor and General Beauregard to the fort to raise the Confederate flag.
While continuing to recruit troops for the Confederate Army he paid a visit to Richmond and was introduced to President Jefferson Davis and General Joseph E. Johnston. The General sent States as a volunteer aide-de-camp to General Barnard E. Bee at Bull Run on July 20.
When General Bee and one of his officers, Colonel Jones, were killed, States assisted Beauregard in commanding the regiment. Upon his return to Charleston he continued recruitment and by March 1862 had been commissioned as a brigadier general in the provisional Confederate Army. From May 1862 to May 1863 he would be in charge of defending the Carolina coastline.
Along with General William H.T. Walker of Georgia he would lead two brigades from South Carolina to join forces with General Johnston in Mississippi. They would participate in the Vicksburg and Jackson campaigns in July 1863. Walker’s division was sent to Chattanooga to merge with General Bragg’s Army of Tennessee in late August 1863. A few weeks later, as preparations were underway for Chickamauga, States was summoned for duty in the main army.
The brigade he led was just under one thousand infantryman and upon arrival he found himself being appointed acting commander of Walker’s division, Walker having been promoted to temporary corps commander. His brigade went right into the thick of things by plugging a hole in Breckinridge’s division. In the short span of forty-five minutes he would lose more than 170 men. He took charge again during the Battle of Chattanooga.
During the Atlanta campaign of 1864 he served again with Walker’s division. Walker was killed on July 22 and States suffered a hand wound. His brigade was again reassigned, back to Tennessee. On November 30, 1864 States Rights Gist was killed while leading his brigade on foot after his horse had been killed. He was buried near the battlefield; his remains were re-interred in Columbia, South Carolina in 1866.
Despite his lack of formal military training, his service was exemplary. “He was a strict disciplinarian and his brigade was deemed by superiors and peers to be one of the finest in the Army of Tennessee in appearance as well as in conduct. States Rights Gist was the model of a civilian gentleman turned solider.”11 No doubt, his father would have been proud.
States Rights Gist Finley
States Rights Gist Finley was the son of David Edward and Elizabeth (Gist) Finley and born on August 30, 1898 in York County, South Carolina, “on the day of the first primary election, while his papa was being nominated for congress.” David Finley served as a Untied States Congressman from March 1899 until his death on January 26, 1917.
Interestingly, States Rights Gist Finley had a brother named “Gist Finley”, but he would be known as either “States R.” or just “States” Finley. While States Rights Gist did not have any children (he had married in May of 1863), perhaps members of his extended family chose to later honor him by passing on his name.
States Rights Compere Fowler
He was born on June 9, 1860 in Yell County, Arkansas. His father, Coleman, had been born in Union County, South Carolina. In census records he was enumerated as “States R.C. Fowler” or “S.R.C. Fowler”. He died on February 17, 1937 in Yell County.
States Rights Sartor
He was born August 1862 to parents Joseph and Elizabeth Sartor in Monroe County, Mississippi. He is enumerated as “States R.” in 1880. He died in 1896 and his grave stone reads “Steven R. Sartor”. Perhaps he tired of his birth name?
States Wright Jolly
States Wright Jolly, as he signed his World War I draft registration in 1918, was enumerated both as “States W.” and “States R.” The Social Security Death Index referred to him only as “States Jolly”. He was another South Carolinian.
Not that it wasn’t common practice at the time, but it’s interesting to note many of them simply went by their initials “S.R.” One can imagine how someone might have wanted to conceal (or change) their real name following the South’s defeat, but most seem to have proudly borne it, and in some cases continued passing the name down through the family line.
It’s conceivable that female names were also influenced by the volatile time around the Civil War, as evidenced by a baby girl named Shellanna Marvilla (or Marviller) Holt. Born during the Atlanta Campaign in Jonesboro on August 30, 1864, family researchers claim she was named by Union General John “Blackjack” Logan. The bullets (shells) they were surely a-flying!
War time baby names popped up during World War II as well. In the days leading up to D-Day the world was on edge. Americans waited anxiously to hear word and many towns and cities across the country made plans to sound sirens when word came the invasion had begun. California’s war council, however, decided to forego the sirens because, according to Governor Earl Warren, it would “be bad to celebrate until we’ve won something.”12
Woodall Rodgers, Mayor of Dallas, Texas received a letter from the National Noise Abatement Council criticizing plans to sound sirens across the nation because it would create “unnecessary and needless noise.”13 Rodgers ignored the criticism and emphasized the city of Dallas would herald the nation’s push into western Europe.
Those sirens began to sound in Texas between 2:00 and 2:30 a.m. on the morning of June 6, 1944. In Houston most retail stores were planning to close and more than four hundred churches opened their doors early that day for twenty-four hours of special prayer for peace and early victory.
As sirens sounded in Dallas, a doctor arrived at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Lester Renfrow to delivered their baby girl. In honor of the faraway invasion, her mother proclaimed she would name her Invasia – Invasia Mae Renfrow.
News of her birth appeared in newspapers across the country, tucked in amongst war headlines. One newspaper displayed a picture of Invasia and her mother Willie Mae, surrounded by soldiers at war around the world – she was “Invasion Girl.”
The Renfrows weren’t the only family to patriotically name their newborn in honor of the day. In Norfolk, Virginia, parents Randolph and Alice Edwards named their daughter “Dee Day”. Patrolman L.B. Hoedling made it public after driving a member of the King’s Daughters staff to their home to deliver her.
The King’s Daughters started out as a small group of women in Norfolk, Virginia, all members of the Granby Street Methodist Church, who set out to make a difference in their community. These women from privileged families had never known hardship, yet they determined to care for the less fortunate. What they started in the late nineteenth century is now known as Children’s Hospital of The King’s Daughters.
Invasia Mae and Dee Day weren’t the only children born around that time with patriotically- themed names. Another baby had been christened SteVen, the “V” capitalized for victory. It appears to have been common at the time, as noted in a column by William J. Conway published in several newspapers in April 1950.
He was musing about that year’s census and the challenges faced by the census takers. “Enumerators the last time out came up with some unique combinations indeed. Such as Carbon Petroleum Dubbs, Early Christmas Bennett and States Rights Finley.”14 Conway reminded readers of the names which made headlines six years earlier and wondered if any changes had been made in those war-time names.
One baby born that day doesn’t appear to have made any headlines in 1944, but on June 6, 1964 it was observed, by obtaining a marriage license in Bozeman, Montana, that Earl D-Day Samuel Campbell had also been named in honor of the invasion.
The 1950 census records were released in 2022. Might there have been lots of kids named Ike, Winston, Franklin, Douglas or perhaps Patton? One thing’s for sure . . . it’s not likely we’ll find many (if any) named Adolph!
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Footnotes:
Pedigree Collapse: Are We All Cousins?
Have you ever thought about how many ancestors one person could possibly have? Mathematically speaking, taking one’s family tree out thirty generations would result in about a BILLION ancestors. Taking it out forty to fifty generations would result in approximately a TRILLION ancestors — more people than have EVER lived on the earth!
Of course, that has never happened (or ever will), but why is that? The answer is pedigree collapse.
Pedigree collapse is defined as “the phenomenon in which ancestral inbreeding causes the number of a descendant’s ancestors to be smaller than that predicted by a binary tree:
where n represents number of generations.”15
Researchers and theoreticians have hypothesized that historically eighty percent of all marriages have been between second (or closer) cousins. Some geneticists also estimate that every person on planet earth is at least a fiftieth cousin to everyone else.
Family researchers may not see pedigree collapse for several generations, but inevitably it will pop up as you climb the family tree. For my own family (starting from my father), it occurs in the fourth generation when first cousins, John Clayton Hall and Catherine Kate Hall, married in 1879.
As the chart shows, John Clayton’s father was John Oxly and he was a brother to Catherine’s father Eli. Consequently, for the sixth generation Hall line pedigree collapse occurs because there are shared grandparents for John C. and Catherine — Joseph Hall and Mary Catherine Matlock.
I haven’t come across any other instances of pedigree collapse in the Hall line . . . yet. There is, however, an anomaly of sorts on the Strickland side. Mary Angeline Hensley was both my 2nd great-grandmother and my 3rd great-aunt.
CRAZIES, BLACK SHEEP AND MURDERERS (OH MY!)
Let’s face it — everyone has relatives they’re not necessarily proud of. Harper Lee, author of acclaimed novel To Kill A Mockingbird, said it best:
You can choose your friends but you sho’ can’t choose your family, an’ they’re still kin to you no matter whether you acknowledge them or not, and it makes you look right silly when you don’t.16
The “anomaly of sorts” mentioned above unravels like this:
My three-times great grandmother Eliza Boone (Mary Angeline Hensley’s mother) married James Henry Hensley at the age of eighteen in 1855. Eliza was born in Rankin County, Mississippi and she and James were married in Lafayette County, Arkansas.
Sometime after their first child John was born in 1856, James and Eliza migrated to Jack County, Texas to become cattle ranchers. Their daughter Mary Angeline was born in 1857, followed by another daughter, Pink, in 1861 and one more son, Henry, circa 1862.
James Henry Hensley died in February of 1865 at the age of thirty-six, leaving Eliza with four children and a cattle ranch to run. Eliza married John Wesley Brummett probably around 1866 or 1867 in Jack County.
The family was enumerated in 1870 with Eliza’s four Hensley children and two of their own, Lizzie (3) and Wilborn (4 months). Eliza’s oldest daughter, Mary Angeline Hensley, was thirteen years old. Another daughter, Sarah Belle Brummett, was born around 1871.
There appears to have been some hanky-panky going on though. According to Hamilton County, Texas history, John Wesley and Mary (Hensley) Brummett came to the county in 1874. John had married his step daughter (I haven’t been able to locate the marriage record, however), and if the divorce records are correct, his and Eliza’s divorce was not finalized until April 7, 1879 in Jack County. A distant cousin believes J.W. and Mary ran off to Illinois (his birth place) and then returned to settle in Hamilton County, though their first child was born in Kansas.
After reading testimony and depositions regarding attempts by Eliza’s family to get on the Dawes Commission Rolls (Indian Rolls), I strongly suspect there was “bad blood”. Throughout the proceedings, every single person in Eliza’s family, including Eliza herself, never once acknowledged or mentioned Mary Angeline as her daughter (sort-of-like “you’re dead to me”). By the way, Eliza and other family members were unsuccessful in their attempt to get on the rolls — they made it the first time and had it overturned (identity of an ancestor too sketchy apparently).
John Wesley Brummett had fathered three children with Eliza. He fathered SEVENTEEN children with Mary. Two of those children died shortly after birth and one daughter, Maggie May (age four), died in 1900 of a snake bite. After Mary died in 1906 (my theory — he killed her with all those kids!) he married Mary Owen, a widow with four children of her own. They had one child together, Lincoln, born around 1908-9. Impressively, J.W. Brummett fathered TWENTY-ONE children!
Despite whatever hanky-panky might have occurred, John Wesley Brummett appears to have become a pillar in his community. He helped purchase land for the Fairy Church of Christ in 1896 and was a faithful member until his death in 1935. In a related story, I wrote an extensive article, entitled “Dying (or Lying) to Get on the Dawes Rolls (or, how my ancestors were Indians one minute and the next, not so much)”, featured in this 2025 issue featuring the “Sooner State” of Oklahoma. Eliza and her family, or at least her sister Martha, were desperately trying to convince the Choctaw tribe that they were of Native American descent. If you have ancestors who tried to get on the Dawes Rolls and failed (or, for that matter, succeeded), it’s quite a tale!
I categorize this story (at least somewhat) under the heading of “black sheep” — in my family research I haven’t found any crazies or murderers (yet).
While researching family history for my Aunt Patsy I did run across both a “crazy” and an attempted murderess. First of all, my aunt didn’t know much about her father’s side of the family. She had never seen a picture of her grandfather. I located a picture of George Thornton Lawson – she wept for joy. Having never seen a picture of George she certainly had no idea of his parentage.
George was the son of Henry William and Nancy Catherine (Potts) Lawson. Henry had immigrated to America from England. By trade he was a tailor. Henry came to America through New Orleans, and as the family legend goes, was determined to marry an “Indian princess”. He headed to Alabama. Princess or not, he married Nancy Catherine Potts around 1861. Nancy was twenty-five years younger than Henry. All seemed well. I’ve since discovered deed records in Colbert County from the 1870s indicating the couple was selling land to various individuals.
However, in 1880 I noticed an anomaly in the census records. Nancy was enumerated twice – once at the family home in Colbert County and again as an inmate at the Alabama insane hospital in Tuscaloosa. Whatever did that mean?
With a little digging I found a Lawson researcher who had uncovered the likely story. It seems that Nancy tried to kill Henry and instead of jail she was apparently sent to Tuscaloosa. Perhaps she suddenly snapped unexpectedly, and rather than jail she was committed to the asylum.
Whether or not she was unhinged enough to warrant commitment to the state’s insane asylum is unclear. What is clear, via subsequent census records, is that Henry eventually left Alabama with the children and headed west to Texas.
In 1900 Nancy was enumerated as a married woman with six children and living at the Bryce Insane Hospital in Tuscaloosa. Her family, unbeknownst to her, had left her behind. Much the same record appeared in the 1910 and 1920 censuses at the hospital.
Nancy died on June 10, 1925 and was buried in the hospital’s cemetery, her family long gone. Her husband Henry had died in Kaufman County, Texas in 1897; her son George had died in 1913 in Dallas County — perhaps, unbeknownst to her.
What about your family . . . any crazies, black sheep or murderers?
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Footnotes:
Obsolete Occupations: Getting Knocked Up (a queer English custom)
If you regularly research family history, you’ve probably come across occupations which you don’t recognize. Technology has steadily replaced, and made obsolete, many common jobs our ancestors performed. Even things which we find quite common today, weren’t at all common back then (if they even existed at all). For instance, not everyone in eighteenth century England had a clock or watch. This Industrial Revolution era (and beyond) occupation is indeed curious, or as Americans called it – “a queer English custom”.
Once upon a time everyday working folks paid someone to “knock them up”. This, of course, elicits winks and giggles amongst us 21st century denizens as “knocked up” often refers to what Merriam-Webster calls “sometimes vulgar: to make pregnant”.17 There was nothing vulgar intended or implied as this quaint and curious English and Irish custom, begun during the Industrial Revolution and carried forward into the early twentieth century (and beyond for some locales), was an honorable occupation. Before alarm clocks were available and affordable, “getting knocked up” was essential to ensure working men and women avoided fines for arriving late to work.
It may have been a curious custom, but it was honest work for anyone willing to arise before anyone else in the neighborhood, and rain or shine, walk around tapping on their clients’ windows, or should I say “knocking them up”. They would advertise themselves as a “knocker-up” or “window tickler” and were paid perhaps two to three pence per week to make sure their client rolled out of bed on time.
The work of knocking up the neighborhood was necessity on one side of the world, while on the other side Americans found it a “Queer English Custom”.18 For some it wasn’t a neighborhood job, but rather a part of their duties as caretakers at prominent residences. At Fullham Palace, the bishop of London’s residence, the lodgekeeper began working up servants around 5:30 a.m.
The palace knocker-up used a fifteen-foot pole known as a “rousing stave” to wake up the servants, knocking until the “wakee” gave “a more or less grateful answer in reply.” Although similar, there was a difference between the pole used in rousing the help and the one used during church services “directly upon the persons of inattentive or dozing members of the congregation.” The church rod was meant to bring slumbering congregants “a proper sense of their position.”19
During the era before alarm clocks were more readily available in the United Kingdom, one might see a card in the window of the general store: “Workmen called early in the morning. Terms moderate.” The Washington Post, musing about knockers-up in England, opined:
The “knocker-up” would have a much harder job in America than he has in England, for there he is favored by purely local condition. In the first place, the houses in the industrial sections are closely packed together in long rows, like the buildings in the business sections of American cities, and are very seldom more than two stories high. Thus the “knocker up” is able to quickly arouse an entire street of workers, the rattle and roar of his stick bringing the men and women promptly from their beds. And his work is expedited by the fact that many of the sleepers hear him while he is a dozen hoses away, and are out of bed and rapping on their windows in reply by the time he reaches them.20
In other words, a knocker-up would have a harder time making a living in America since buildings in larger cities were built so close together. Why pay for a knocker-up when the rap on your neighbor’s window is sufficient to arouse you? Perhaps the equivalent today would be people who “borrow” a neighbor’s Wi-Fi signal instead of paying for their own Internet service?
Not everyone appreciated their neighbors’ knocker-up at such an early hour, especially actors and actresses who tended to “sleep in” after arriving home late the night before. One London actress, a Miss Hay, was just dropping off to sleep when she heard a “weird sound against her window.” Startled, she rushed to the window and threw the curtains aside, and heard “Coom on, Joe,” shouted a voice. “Are you no gettin’ oop to-day?” The knocker-up had forgotten his regular client was away.21
Not only did the knocker-up arouse his clients, he even saved a few it appears. The London Evening News reported two women saved themselves from a burning house by sliding down sheets to the street. The fire was just below their living area and a knocker-up had sounded the alarm when it was apparent escape by the stairs would be impossible. The building was gutted, but the occupants were saved thanks to their neighborhood knocker-up.22
As well known as their services were in certain parts of England, one journalist was startled out of a sound sleep one morning after relocating to Lancashire. He also received quite an education about “knocking up” in the process:
TEN MINUTES WITH A “KNOCKER-UP”. When the present writer first settled in Lancashire, he took up his residence in one of a row of new houses – the landlord called them “villas,” but that is a detail. Early on the following morning he was rudely awakened by a sound at the window which can only be likened to the rattle of peas, though they seemed to be propelled by steam power through a “shooter” about fifty times the usual size. Jumping out of bed, he rushed to the window and pulled aside the extemporised blind, whereupon a cry, which sounded like “fire” came from below, followed immediately by the retreating clatter of clogs. This was puzzling, but in no way alarming, for the house, exuding moisture as it did from every pore, was as safe as a freezing chamber. Later the same day the mystery was cleared up. The supposed man with the pea-shooter practised the little-known industry of the “knocker-up,” and roused people at any time they liked by rattling wires, fastened to a long stick, against their window-panes; and, not being then accustomed to the new hours, he woke up the wrong man. “I was always a good getter-up,” said a knocker-up to the writer recently, “and some of the mean at the mill used to ask me to give them a call. I did, and for nothing, except, perhaps, a drink now and then; but when they got too many – I had to go to work myself – I charged them 2d. a week. I kept at my work until I was getting a bit done, and then, as I had got a pretty good connection, I started knocking-up for a living. I get up a four; sometimes earlier, especially in Whit week and holiday times, when people go off on trips; them I’m at it pretty nearly all through the night. But, as a rule, it’s four, and I’m done about six – yes, done for the day. It’s not so easy as you think. You see there’s a man in the next street here that wants calling at four, and another right over yonder at a quarter-past four. It’s a good walk. Well, then I have to come back here; and so I go on. There’s so much dodging about, arrange things how you like. I’ve above two hundred to knock up every morning, and they pay me 2d. a week; it takes me best part of Saturday afternoon to draw the money. Some knockers-up have a good many more than that, particularly the old widow women, but their sons or daughters help them, or, perhaps, an old couple manage it between them. How many knockers-up in Lancashire? I don’t know; I don’t think anybody does. Thousands, I should think. You see nearly everybody among working folk has a knocker-up, because they’re on the safe side then. If they get a few minutes late, they’re ‘baited’ (fined) or lose a quarter. Yes; I should hear about it if I stopped in bed till seven some morning. But sometimes I oversleep myself a bit, and then I have to tell them to look sharp, as I am late. Oh, yes; I have known knockers-up to miss a morning altogether; but they mustn’t do that very often, I can tell you. If they won’t do it right, somebody else will.” Thus the knocker-up. It may be added that in some places the charge for the service he does is 3d. a week, and that his industry is a favourite refuge for men when they become too old to follow their trade.23
Such was the life of one knocker-up who admittedly himself didn’t always “rise to the occasion” on time himself. One humorist mused a veritable tongue-twister about a knocker-up’s dilemma:
Tommy Jones was always late for work, so his employer approached him one morning and inquired what had made him so late.
“Well,” replied Tommy, “it’s this way. You see our knocker-up has a knocker-up that knocks our knocker-up every morning at four o’clock. Well, our knocker-up’s knocker-up didn’t come to knock our knocker-up up, so our knocker-up didn’t come to knock us up.”24
While the job normally provided steady income, a knocker-up was out of luck when worker strikes occurred from time to time. One such person ended up in court after he’d stolen a pair of boots, “pleading that because of the cotton lockout nobody wanted his services and that he was starving.”25
One knocker-up in particular was adversely affected during the same cotton lockout. He had been calling on clients every morning for forty years, his only occupation and sole means of support. Suddenly, two hundred clients didn’t need his services or perhaps couldn’t afford them during the lockout. In 1912 clients still preferred their reliable knocker-up to alarm clocks.26
One of Oldham’s best knocker-ups was a deaf and dumb man. Why was that? As one client explained, “He’s the best caller-up I could have,” because he can’t hear me when I should all right. I have to get out of bed and go down and push him away from the door.”27
Unfortunately, there were no knocker-up trade unions either to protect their livelihood in the event of work stoppages. In one town, however, knockers-up combined their efforts and began demanding advance payment.
For many years the profession was strictly male-oriented, but in the early twentieth century women began to pursue careers as knockers-up – an oddity for sure. Still it must have taken a special kind of person to arouse themselves before heading out to arouse others. Such was the case of Henry Wood, who years before had been nursed back to health by Florence Nightingale.
Despite the challenges of his chosen occupation, Henry seemed well suited for the task:
Leaving his bed every morning at four o’clock he is soon afterwards in the streets. He meets nobody but the friendly policeman as he goes from house to house and taps with a long stick at the bedroom windows of cotton-workers who pay him a few pence a week to do so. “Owd Harry” has to face many bitter and wretched mornings in the course of a year, yet he is hale and hearty and likely to go on rousing people to the duties of the day for a long time to come.28
Despite occasionally over-slumbering themselves most knocker-ups were reliable. Indeed, it was true, according to Mr. W.B. Mucklow who produced a stereopticon slide show in 1892 – a sort of “man-on-the-street” exposé. Mucklow had met with every day “street characters” in the great cities of the world. At the top of his “50 Life Models” was none other than a knocker-up, followed by the milk boy. Other life models included “two old fruit women”, “the Italian and monkey”, “the blind Bible reader” and last of all “the policeman”.29
The profession eventually experienced a setback of sorts, as evidenced by a news blurb entitled “Persons Not Insurable”. In 1913 certain provisions of British law forbade the following men from obtaining insurance: “men who volunteer, or are asked, in a market, to put burrs under the wheels of vehicles, cover the horses, and adjust their nose-bags, while the drivers are in a shop, no payment for these services being promised; a ‘knocker-up’, engaged by various people to wake them daily for a fixed weekly payment.”30 Brits did have some unusual occupations, didn’t they?
When World War I broke out, knocker-up services were in even higher demand in Lancashire especially as workers went to work in military-related industries. It turned out to be a boon for a knocker-up who might normally receive up to three pence a week per client. Now that the war effort had kicked in, they could demand four pence as extra war pay.31
It appears the practice wasn’t going away even though the rest of the modern world had long since adapted to waking up to alarm clocks. During World War II certain areas of England still employed their friendly neighborhood knocker-up. Men were off to war and women took up the profession “in English mill towns, making the rounds and knocking on houses to waken workers in time to get to work.”32 Scotland adopted the practice briefly in 1941 when a shortage of alarm clocks for factory workers was noted.33
Alarm clock shortages aside, the reliable knocker-up was sorely missed in some communities. London’s Guardian held a poetry contest, offering “a first prize of two guineas and a second prize of one guinea…for Lines on the Alarm Clock’s Summons.” First prize was a clever acrostic:
A voice to all the houses crises: “Sleep no more!
Laggards and lie-abeds, awaken!
Abandon now the sonorous snore;
Rise up and get you read for
Munching your matutinal bacon!”
Cursing, I scramble out of bed; half-blind,
Look for the place I put my socks in.
Oh! what a bane this bell I find!
Cannot some keen, ingenious mind
Kindly invent an anti-tocsin?
Second prize was a short homage to bygone days:
The knocker-up with rattling canes
Rapped against the window-panes.
Nor did he cease his strident knocking
Until you “showed a leg” – or stocking.
Buy nowadays our chanticleer
Crows lustily beneath our ear.
Often from the bedside locker
We receive our morning shocker.
Do not ignore thus siren’s warning,
Or blitzed will be your busy morning.34
In the early 1950s there were still a few knockers-up awakening railway workers in Derby, England. However, in 1951 it was announced that English railroads had ended the “ancient job” of knocker-up:
Britain’s most unique jobholder – the “knocker-up” – had been declared extinct by a ruling of the nation’s socialized railways. Ever since trains began running in Britain, “knockers-up” have plodded before dawn through snow, fog and rain to awaken engineers and firemen in the big railway towns.
They knocked on doors until sleepy heads emerged from windows above and assured that the men behind the throttle would get to work on time.
But the railway management decided it could save about $840,000 yearly by asking the trainmen to wake themselves.
Today, 1000 former “knockers-up” were looking for new jobs. They predicted, however, that the muddle caused by their absence would convince the railway management to revoke its order before the month was out.35
Alas, it appears this was the end of the knocker-up. After years of indispensable service to mankind they were suddenly quite the opposite – “dispensable”.
******************
Postscript: Being a knocker-up wasn’t the only “curious profession” of the nineteenth century, however. Others included: “artificial ear and nose makers, prayer-makers, leg stretchers, saladmakers, knockers up and fourteenth men.”36
The “fourteenth man” was much in demand in Paris where, to avoid the awkwardness of having thirteen guests at a dinner, the “lucky man” always ready at a moment’s notice. This is, of course, in contrast to the Thirteen Club whose express purpose was to challenge the notion of the number thirteen being unlucky.
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Footnotes:
Digging History Magazine: Volume 2026: Issue 2
The second issue of 2026 features articles on Iowa, “The Hawkeye State”. This issue, like all issues in this continuing series (Illinois is next), will feature the state’s history, including how to find great historical and genealogical records and more:
● Mining Genealogical Gold: Finding Historical Iowa Records (and the stories behind them). The land we now call Iowa stands as a testament to American possibility. Here, upon vast prairies that once stretched beyond vision, a story unfolded that tells us not just about a single state, but about our nation itself. This story begins long before recorded history, when glaciers sculpted the terrain and left behind soil so rich that it later earned the title of “black gold.” In continues through centuries of native peoples who built civilizations among its rivers and rolling hills. And it carries forward into our present age, where Iowa remains fundamental to understanding America.19
● The Vacant Chair: Iowa’s Civil War Soldier Farmers (and the families they left behind). The premise of this article is two-fold, not only highlighting the Civil War service of Iowans, many of them farmers, but the wives and families they left behind. While there were no battles fought in the state, the war and its aftermath nevertheless left its mark on the young state of Iowa.
● Weathering Iowa. If Iowa were a person, its best friend would be agriculture and its worst enemy would be the weather. The land may have the richest soil in the world, but the sky seems determined to destroy it at every opportunity. Iowans do not just farm; they battle nature as if it were a seasonal sport. Tornadoes, floods, blizzards, and droughts all show up on the schedule, and if the Bible promised plagues of locusts, Iowa has the climate to make it happen.27
● The Dash: Vida Lois “Mom” Moreland Wade (1891-1976). In the 1930s and ‘40s she was known as “Mom Wade”, and historical evidence confirms how fondly she was remembered. For as long as she could remember, Vida wanted to be a nurse. Instead, years later, she established a maternity home, perhaps, as her family speculates, to fulfill her long-held dream.
Purchase the issue here: https://digging-history.com/store/?model_number=mar-apr-26
Or consider a regular subscription: https://digging-history.com/digging-history-magazine-subscription/
Thanks for stopping by! Purchasing a subscription entitles you to subscriber benefits (20% off all services, including custom-designed family history charts) AND a chance to win your very own custom-designed family history chart! Details here (or click the ad below).
Footnotes:
History Twisters: (Naming Our Fair City: Lubbock . . . . or Willis?)
I wrote this article several years ago as newsletter editor of the South Plains Genealogical Society (SPGS), and presented it as a “theory”. We simply don’t know for sure, as you will see.
By the way, if you’re interested in exploring your family history (or you’ve been working on it for years), consider joining SPGS. On Saturday, May 9, we will be celebrating the 65th anniversary of our founding at our regular meeting at Mahon Library (Community Room) at 10:00 a.m. More info here: https://spgstx.org/
Long-time Lubbockites are no doubt familiar with the story of how our fair city came by its name. Articles have been published over the years in the Lubbock Avalanche-Journal. You might think the article title a bit odd, but there’s another story (theory) to be told.
Thomas Saltus Lubbock was born on November 29, 1817 in Charleston, South Carolina to parents Henry Thomas Willis and Susan Ann (Saltus) Lubbock. At the age of seventeen Thomas went to New Orleans and became a cotton factor. A cotton factor worked with cotton planters to market and sell their product, acting as a broker for a commission.
That career was short-lived after Thomas heard about the Texas Revolution. He then marched to Nacogdoches with Captain William Cooke’s New Orleans Greys and participated in the Siege of Bexar, the Revolution’s first major campaign. Lubbock then set out to once again acquire an honest living, taking a job on an upper Brazos River steamboat.
Unbeknownst to Lubbock the Revolution continued as Santa Ana laid siege to the Alamo and later General Sam Houston, in turn, laid waste to the Mexican forces at San Jacinto. Meanwhile, his brother Francis Richard Lubbock had arrived in 1836 and would later serve as Texas governor during the Civil War. In 1838 twenty-one year-old Thomas sailed from Galveston back to New Orleans.
Three years later he served as lieutenant in a combined political-military-commercial fiasco (as it turned out to be) known as the Texas-Santa Fe Expedition. The expedition, conceived by Republic of Texas President Mirabeau Lamar, was tasked with establishing a trade route to Santa Fe and, hopefully, persuade New Mexicans to join the new republic.
The party, consisting of merchants and civil commissioners protected by the military force, headed out from Kenney’s Fort about twenty miles north of Austin on June 19, 1841. Traveling north and crossing the Brazos River they arrived in present-day Parker County on July 21.
Their intentions were to travel northwest and find the Red River, but instead mistook the Wichita River for the Red and had to backtrack. Meanwhile, the Mexican guide had disappeared. Fighting off both Indians and starvation, the expedition eventually reached Quitaque Creek in present-day Motley County. Not knowing how to best descend the steep Caprock, part of
the military force was sent ahead to locate some New Mexican settlements.
After finally making it across some rather difficult terrain, and expecting to be welcomed with open arms by New Mexicans, the group was instead met with armed resistance. New Mexico Governor Manuel Armijo had been informed of the expedition and sent forces to dissuade the Texans. Around the area of present-day Tucumcari, without a shot being fired, the expedition force surrendered itself into Mexican hands.
Thomas was among those captured and he and his men were marched to Mexico City and confined in the Santiago Convent. Ever the adventurer, Lubbock escaped by jumping from a balcony and made his way home to Texas.
Lubbock continued serving in various military campaigns, and by the early 1860’s he was an avid secessionist, a member in good standing of the Knights of the Golden Circle (KGC). KGC sought to establish a slave-holding empire throughout the South, stretching all the way to Central America, with Havana as the center of the so-called “golden circle”.
Lubbock accompanied other secessionists to Virginia and in June of 1861 petitioned President Jefferson Davis for “authority to raise a company or battalion of guerrillas”.37 Impressed with this band of Texans, Davis wholeheartedly welcomed their support.
While still in Virginia, Thomas Lubbock, Benjamin Franklin Terry and fifteen other Texans organized as independent rangers who would act as civilian scouts for the Confederate Army. Lubbock and Terry both served as battlefield aides at the “First Bull Run” and were afterwards authorized to raise a cavalry regiment. The regiment, the Eighth Texas Cavalry, was more
commonly known as Terry’s Texas Rangers, however.
Terry served as the regiment’s colonel and Lubbock its lieutenant colonel. Lubbock fell ill and left the regiment at Nashville. While recuperating at Bowling Green Hospital, Lubbock received word that Colonel Terry had been killed at the Battle of Woodsonville (Kentucky) on December 17, 1861. Lubbock, however, never recovered nor returned to active duty, dying shortly thereafter in January of 1862.
Good story and a worthy namesake for our beloved city, right? But, what if Lubbock wasn’t actually his family surname? And, why in the world would I ever propose such a thing? For the answer to that question, read on.
Can you imagine Lubbock being named Willis — I can’t. However, the actual and historical family name from which Thomas Saltus Lubbock descended could possibly have been Willis and not Lubbock. I came across research notes assembled by Eric Lubbock, 4th Baron Avebury, and was intrigued. Following is a summary of his research and various hypotheses.
The story begins with Reverend Henry Willis, born in 1738 or 1739 to John and Temperance (Hames) Willis. Following a brief naval career, Henry Willis married Jane Lubbock, daughter of Richard and Jane Lubbock. They married in 1765 and together had six or possibly seven children. Their third child, Richard Lubbock Willis, was born in 1770.
It is assumed Jane died in childbirth since Henry remarried in 1784. Prior to his remarriage Henry had attended Merton College and Oxford in pursuit of a career as a minister. He later served as Rector of Little Sodbury and Vicar of Wapley. Henry remarried yet again in November of 1792 and subsequently took an appointment to a parish in East Shefford, Berks.
Along the way Henry obtained land and had the expectation of inherited wealth if certain conditions were met. However, Eric noted that Henry’s wealth may have been depleted by the extravagances of his son Richard Lubbock Willis. In his original will dated October 3, 1783 Henry wrote: “Having by some Indiscretions (but much more by disappointments) only a small matter to leave behind me . . .”38
A codicil dated August 30, 1791 referred to son Richard’s excesses and/or improprieties:
My eldest son Richard Lubbock Willis having by his Infamous Conduct forfeited my favour & affection I here cut him of [sic] from any Share of my Effects except for one shilling to be paid him after my decease by my Executors.
Henry’s daughters Temperance Jane and Ann Packer Willis immigrated to Augusta, Georgia, either with Richard Lubbock or perhaps on their own in 1794 following Henry Willis’ death. Richard Lubbock Willis immigrated sometime around 1790 to Augusta. A man named Richard Lubbock married thirteen year-old Diana Sophia Sandwich in Beaufort, South Carolina and
their first child, Henry Thomas Willis Lubbock, was born on July 24, 1792. Was it possible Richard had dropped the Willis surname? Had he named his first child after his father to regain favor with him? Or, was this even the same person?
According to Eric it seems likely Diana Sophia’s husband was somehow related to the Willis family since she was named executrix of the will of Ann Packer Willis, “formerly of Grovesend, Alverton, Gloucestershire, sister of Temperance Jane Willis”. Even though the Gloucester Record Office had concluded Richard had dropped the Willis surname, Eric believed that may not have been the case.
How could the ill-tempered and disinherited Richard Lubbock Willis possibly be the same man who was by all accounts a pillar of his community? While Ann Packer Willis had referred to Diana Sophia as her “sister and wife of my brother Richard” Eric proposed Diana’s Richard may have been a first cousin named Richard Lubbock, and referred to colloquially as her “brother”. That might be a stretch too, but still intriguing.
Richard the “black sheep” was in England in June of 1794 following the birth of Henry Thomas Willis Lubbock in 1792. If this Richard was indeed the father, then perhaps he had returned to England before Henry Willis’ death in December of 1794 to get back in the good graces of his father.
Henry Thomas Willis Lubbock studied medicine and was a practicing physician until 1819. He married Susan Ann Saltus and in 1817 Thomas Saltus Lubbock was born — and later his name attached to our city.
Based on Eric Lubbock’s research, this story does beg the question: was Thomas Saltus Lubbock really a Lubbock or descended from a man named Henry Willis? Perhaps this particular bit of history isn’t so settled after all, eh?
If you’d like to read more about Eric Lubbock’s research and theories, see the footnotes below and draw your own conclusions. Eric Reginald Lubbock was born in 1928, inherited his title in 1971 and served in the House of Lords. The long-time politician was passionate about family history and passed away on February 14, 2016 at the age of 87.
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Footnotes:
A Genealogical “Head-Scratcher”: Stumbling Across Hidden Cousins
After years of learning the ins-and-outs of family history research (and still learning!), I’ve come to the conclusion that “genealogy is not for the faint-of-heart.” Just when you think you’ve busted through one “brick wall”, yet another one pops up. Genealogical research is fraught with pitfalls – from “brick walls” to missing records, mysterious disappearances and more. Then, there’s the following tale of stumbling across “hidden cousins”.
It all started with a Surname Saturday article for the Digging History blog in mid-August 2015. I hadn’t written one of those articles in awhile, and after stumbling across an interesting bit of family history I felt compelled to write about the Renfrew (variously spelled Renfro, Rentfrew, Rentfro, Rentfree and more) surname.
While researching for an interesting character for another regular column (Tombstone Tuesday), I had recently come across an unusually-named woman: June Victory “Queen Victoria” Rentfrow Parrish. While attempting to find out more about “Queen Victoria” I came across others with the Rentfrow surname who might have been related to her. I tucked away the entry for her and proceeded to write a Surname Saturday article, which turned out to be much more than the normal fare – a genealogical head-scratcher for sure!
One of my rules for selecting entries at Find-A-Grave (the most common source of Tombstone Tuesday articles) was that it couldn’t be someone I was knowingly related to. Yet, as I began looking at “Queen Victoria” and her Rentfrow family, I eventually discovered something quite startling to me — these people with the Rentfrow surname were related to me even though I have no such name in my ancestral line … anywhere. How could that be?
I came across two records, one at Ancestry.com and another the Find-A-Grave entry of Thomas Jefferson Rentfrow. When I saw the Ancestry.com record, I thought it very unusual and perhaps someone’s mistake. T.J. Rentfrow’s parents were Hickman Hensley and Elizabeth Rentfrow. But, why were their children surnamed “Rentfrow” and not “Hensley”?
The most compelling detail was the name Hickman Hensley. I have at least one ancestor, and possibly two by that name: Hickman John Hensley (1806-1872), my fourth great-grandfather, and Hickman Hensley (1759-1815 or 1816), possibly my sixth great-grandfather. Hmm. A little more digging was clearly in order. Here’s what I discovered.
According to family researchers who base their findings on the Bible records of Hickman Hensley and Elizabeth Rentfrow, Hickman was born in Virginia on April 15, 1759 to parents Benjamin and Elizabeth (Hickman) Hensley. From what I had skimmed through it appeared Hickman was first married to Agnes Fisher – sometime before 1778 perhaps. By 1790 he is enumerated in the first United States census with a large family.
While it’s unclear just how many children Hickman and Agnes had (or, for that matter, their names), one researcher believes four of their sons were Larkin, Samuel, William and James. Some believe they also had a son named George Washington Hensley, who may be my fifth great-grandfather and Hickman John Hensley’s father.
Some believe Agnes died before 1800 (perhaps sometime in the 1790s following the census). This is likely when Elizabeth Rentfrow entered the picture. Elizabeth was the daughter of John and Elizabeth (Fisher) Rentfrow – Agnes was her aunt and, by marriage, Hickman’s niece. Researchers claim records prove that Hickman and Elizabeth never married and their children listed in the family Bible were: Jesse, Rhoda, Rodice, Joseph, John, Eli, Levi, Thomas Jefferson and James Madison – all taking the surname of their mother Elizabeth Rentfrow. As someone pointed out, it seems an odd place to list children born outside of marriage. Technically, they were Hensleys, making them my kin even though none of Elizabeth’s children are part of my Hensley line.
It’s possible George Washington Hensley was not the son of Hickman and Agnes – it doesn’t appear that Hickman’s children with Agnes were enumerated in the Hickman-Rentfrow family Bible records either. Still, it seems logical and certainly possible there is a link if George Washington Hensley had a son named Hickman John and perhaps named him after his own father?
I may not be able to prove if Washington belonged to Hickman and Agnes but I found this such a fascinating story. After writing the article, I started thinking Hickman who had Rentfrow children might be a great uncle instead. However, I’ll still file this away as part of my Hensley history.
A few days after publishing the article, I received my first contact from one of my Rentfrow (really Hensley) cousins!
Thomas Jefferson Rentfrow
Thomas Jefferson Rentfrow was born to Hickman Hensley and Elizabeth Renfrow in Maury County, Tennessee on July 12, 1812. It appears for a period of time Hickman had been in and out of Tennessee before settling there sometime between the 1800 and 1810 censuses. When or where Hickman died is uncertain, but Elizabeth was later enumerated in 1850 living in Effingham, Illinois with her son T.J. Rentfro.
T.J. married Eleanor Trapp in 1843 and was a prominent citizen of Effingham County. I wouldn’t normally quote such a lengthy passage, but this one has a great deal of information about early Illinois settlers. His biography was included in the History of Effingham County, Illinois:
Thomas J. Rentfrow, farmer, P.O. Effingham, was born in Maury County, Middle Tennessee, in July, 1812. In the fall of 1829, he came to Illinois with his mother, who settled in Wayne County, near what is known as Fairfield, until the spring of 1830, when they came to Effingham county. Richard Cohea and Hickman Langford, brothers-in-law, came at the same time, and four brothers of our subject, Jesse, John, Joseph and Eli, joined the party in this county in 1860. They settled on the Little Wabash, just above Ewington, this county. At this time there were more Indians in this county than white people. Our subject states that there were only two white families within 10 miles of their home; these were John P. Farley and Samuel Bratton. The Rentfrows brought four horses and one ox team.
On their arrival, they went into a deserted Indian Camp on the Wabash bottom, near what is now known as the old Reynolds place, in the month of March, while snow was yet on the ground, making their surroundings as comfortable as possible, they began to tap the maple trees and make sugar. The old camp was made of linn puncheons pinned to trees with wooden pegs; they contented themselves as best they could in this temporary shelter, until they had time to build a house on the hill, near a spring, as the Tennesseans in those early days did not know what a well was. Joseph was the bread finder, and went as far as Paris, in Edgar County, to get corn, on horseback. In those days, the greenhead flies were so thick and ravenous that it was impossible to travel in mid-day with the additional pest of mosquitoes and gnats. They cleared off a patch in the bottom and planted corn, and also a patch of cotton, but the latter was a failure. The corn for bread was pounded in a wooden mortar, dug out of a log or stump, with a pole attached like a well sweep, with an iron wedge as a pounder. Raising early in the morning, preparing the frugal breakfast, the pounding for meal was answered by the gobbling of the wild turkeys, which were very abundant in those days.
In a few years, the convenience of the colony was improved by the erection of a horse mill on the Okaw, thirty-five miles distant, whither the subject would go with his grist, and had to wait four or five days for his turn at the grist, living on parched corn and sleeping in the mill. The journey on these occasions was made with ox teams across the prairie at night, driving into the bushes, cutting them down and building “bush harbors” for protection, the oxen feeding on the high grass so common in those days. When the grist haulers arrived and squatted around the mill, it had the appearance of a modern camp meeting. Deer, wild turkeys, and bee trees were plenty, and it took but a short time to accrue either to supply their need. A few black bears could be encountered, and wolves, big and little, were plenty, and at times dangerous.
The tables of the settlers were furnished with wild meat, wild honey and corn bread. Our subject went to school for a few months in Tennessee, but never had an arithmetic or a quire of paper, and never attended a school after settling in this county. He remained a member of his mother’s family until he was married, May 18, 1843, to Miss Eleanor Trapp, daughter of John Trapp, of this county, who was at one time Sheriff of Effingham County. He had made improvements on the first settlement of the family, and bought the interest of his mother and others, which he sold to Reynolds for $160.00 and entered 120 acres in Section 35 in 1842, afterward entering 280 acres more; he now owns 300 acres, all under cultivation, raising principally grain, with good success.
Mr. Rentfrow, is the father of ten children, six of whom are living – John C., of this county; Mary E., wife of Dennis O. Keating; William Elijah, of this county, Sarah, wife of Lee Burrell of Effingham; Stephen A. and Michael, at home. Once upon a time, Mr. Rentfrow, while hunting with Alexander McWhorter, they would lay out all night, Rentfrow placing a coon skin under his head for a pillow; the natural warmth of his head united with the heat from the log heap, melted the snow and frozen ground while he was sleeping, on awakening; he found his hair frozen to the ground, requiring skill, patience and solid pulling to get him loose. Mr. Rentfrow was elected sheriff of this county in 1843, which he held for eight years; he was nominated by the Democrats of which party he had been a lifelong member.39
Thomas Jefferson Rentfrow (actually a Hensley, and more than likely my kin) died on October 6, 1889 and was buried in the Rentfrow Cemetery in Effingham County.
Like I said, “not for the faint-of-heart!
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Footnotes:
Don’t Be Duped: The King of Genealogical Fraud
Being Aware of Past Incidences of Genealogical Fraud
Not intending to throw a “monkey wrench” into anyone’s long and relentless pursuit of family history, but I draw attention to another important thing to be aware of: blatant genealogical fraud which occurred in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Believe it or not, it is in fact still possible these genealogical hoaxes have crept into our own research today.
Harriet de Salis was a British authoress (publishing under the name “Mrs. de Salis”) of numerous books in the late nineteenth century. She was well known for a variety of published cookbooks and it appears she fancied herself an expert on an array of other subjects such as raising dogs (Dogs: A Manual for Amateurs, 1893) and poultry (New-Laid Eggs: Hints for Amateur Poultry-Rearers, 1892). Her book, The Housewife’s Referee, was a “treatise on culinary and household subjects”.
Mrs. de Salis also had a rather short career in the field of genealogy. In the 1870s she began sharing tidbits of genealogical “research” which came to be recommended by one of the most distinguished resources for early American ancestry, The New England and Genealogical Society. Harriet had formerly worked with Joseph Lemuel Chester, who although born and raised
in America, left the country and settled in England in the late 1850s.
Chester embarked upon a career in genealogical research after receiving a commission from the United States government to research wills recorded in England prior to 1700, thereby contributing vital research data concerning early American ancestry. Joseph Chester was the person who eventually revealed the de Salis deception after she confessed to him she had
fabricated at least two wills. By 1880 Mrs. de Salis’ genealogical career was over and eventually her fraudulent claims were corrected.
Meanwhile, back in America, Horatio Gates Somerby (1805-1872) was subtly perpetrating a similar fraud. Somerby wasn’t necessarily attempting to link various family lines to famous or noble ancestors. As Paul C. Reed noted in his 1999 article published in American Genealogist, Horatio Gates Somerby was “not necessarily better at fakery than Mrs. de Salis”.40 Still, Somerby probably thought he could get away with it because records were far less accessible than they are today.
In 1976 American Genealogist identified some lesser-known genealogical fraudsters: C.A. Hoppin, Orra Eugene Monnette (founder of the Bank of America), Frederick A. Virkus and John S. Wurts. The history surrounding these hoaxes is fascinating, but one man’s genealogical hi-jinks topped them all.
The King of Genealogical Fraud
Swedish-born Gustave Anjou perhaps got off on the wrong foot in life, so to speak, as Gustaf Ludvig Jungberg, the illegitimate son of Carl Gustaf Jungberg and his family’s housekeeper Maria Lovisa Hagberg. After serving a prison term for forgery in 1886, he changed his name to Gustaf Ludvig Ljungberg. Following his marriage in 1889 Anjou took his wife’s maiden name and changed the spelling of his first name to Gustave.
After immigrating to America in 1890, Gustave was up to his old tricks – more or less back in the forgery business. Anjou began developing a mail-order business, targeting wealthy American families who were willing to pay $9,000 for their family history. That was a lot of money and today would probably equate to well over $200,000.
Coal baron Josiah Van Kirk (“J.V.”) Thompson ended up paying Anjou over $50,000 to research several family lines he was interested in. Thompson had declared voluntary bankruptcy in 1917 and began devoting himself to genealogical research, with hopes to compile his research, publish it and make a tidy profit. In 1930, before an Orphan’s Court, defending himself against contempt charges, Thompson admitted to paying the considerable sum to Anjou.
Anjou would travel – his obituary cited some sixty trips to Europe and several around the world – to “research” his clients’ ancestries. He would place various noble and royal ancestors on their family trees, often using made-up European parishes and forging wills and vital records. Many of these genealogies would be published, reprinted several times and distributed to the genealogy collections of large libraries.
Not content to forge his clients’ genealogies, Anjou forged his own as well. According to Robert Charles Anderson, author of an article entitled “We Wuz Robbed!”, an Anjou genealogy would typically consist of four recognizable features:
- A dazzling range of connections among dozens of immigrants (mostly to New England).
- Many wild geographical leaps, outside the normal range of migration patterns.
- An overwhelming number of citations to documents that actually exist, and actually include what Anjou says they include.
- Here and there an “invented” document, without citation, which appears to support the many
connections as noted in the first item.41
One can imagine what all the fakery could lead to – estate fraud stands out as one of the most damaging. Someone basing their claims, even if unknowingly, on a fraudulent genealogy would have themselves been committing fraud.
It wasn’t uncommon either for so-called “confidence men” to pepper advertisements throughout American newspapers searching for “missing heirs”, the prospects of which were “ripe for the picking” on the unsuspecting (and gullible) general public. Newspapers like the Boston Evening Transcript and the New Orleans Times-Picayune began running genealogy columns in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Because “Dr.” Anjou was considered an “expert” his work was sometimes cited as a resource.
Of course, Gustave Anjou wasn’t a genealogist, but rather a forger of genealogical records. Somewhere along the way he “obtained” a Ph.D apparently as the New York Times reported on November 17, 1905 that “the library of Gustave Anjou, Ph.D, an extensive collection of American history and genealogy, was sold.” The collection consisted of “privately printed or locally published family and local histories of America, Ireland, Scotland, Wales and England”, which unknowingly at the time were likely based largely on falsified records.42.
In 1921 an article appeared in the Baltimore Sun, stating Anjou was willing to pay $100 for information about the Jack/Jacques family. Was Anjou about to be exposed and perhaps he decided to establish some sort of legitimacy? Although it’s unclear as to why, by 1927 Anjou had dropped his fees considerably as he spread the net wider to garner more clients – making his fees and services “within the reach of many”. However, he made no guarantees as to the accuracy of the genealogies provided.
An article appeared in the December 12, 1927 issue of The Brooklyn Daily Eagle, sounding like the editors might have figured out that Anjou was mostly a fraud, mildly mocking the “gullible with social aspirations . . . trying to convince themselves that there may be something after all” to Anjou’s mail-order offer. For only $250 they might receive a complete list of “forefathers running back to the Crusaders.”43
Of course, Anjou’s mail-order catalog included glowing testimonials like this one:
I am delighted at what you have accomplished in regard to our line, and am really amazed at it, as all clews back of my grandfather seemed obliterated and shrouded in oblivion. I consider you quite a genius in this particular work.44
Anjou conducted his scam from an office building on Staten Island. He was described as “a well-groomed man of 60 with gray hair, a waxed mustache with turned-up ends and he speaks with a foreign accent.” He could not promise royal ancestry, however, the caveat being that many “noble families did not have stamina enough to become ancestors of our sturdy immigrants”.45
Gustave Anjou died on March 2, 1942 and his obituary, published in several newspapers across the country, was a little short on details of his life (or maybe not – since after all this was what he was known for):
Gustave Anjou, 78, genealogist who made 60 trips to Europe and several around the world, tracing lineages of wealthy families at a price of $9,000 a pedigree, died Monday night.46
It would take years, however, to uncover the blatant fraud following Anjou’s death. Some newspapers would cite his research for years to come. Meanwhile, false information continued to be propagated and other fraudulent genealogies were uncovered in the meantime. Such was the case of the Horn Papers. More on the duplicity of William F. Horn later.
If you’ve relied heavily on “hints” that lean more to conjecture rather than solid historical facts and records to fill out your family tree – and one or more of your family lines is on “The Anjou List” (see the link below to download) you might want to do a little more research to ensure you aren’t perpetuating any myths and hoaxes, and as the saying goes “barking up the wrong
tree.” Caveat investigator.
If you have research which you suspect might have been “tainted”, feel free to contact me for a consultation.
Thanks for stopping by! For more stories like this one, consider subscribing to Digging History Magazine. Purchasing a subscription entitles you to subscriber benefits (20% off all services, including custom-designed family history charts) AND a chance to win your very own custom-designed family history chart! Details here (or click the ad below).
Footnotes:
Genealogical Fraud: Don’t Be Duped
If you have been researching your family history for any length of time, you very well may have spent time in what I call the “rabbit hole”, à la Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland. “Going down the rabbit hole” is, unfortunately, not uncommon, given what we sometimes rely on to document our research.
I see it all the time when I review family trees on sites like Ancestry and FamilySearch. Many a researcher has obviously taken a trip down the proverbial rabbit hole, relying on dubious research, or, worse yet, copying from someone else’s tree (which may very well have been populated the exact same way).
In particular, genealogical fraud and inheritance scams of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, can still lead us astray – far off the beaten path – even in the twenty-first century. As you will see it pays to know your history, as well as utilizing common sense and some basic math skills. We all need a reminder of the pitfalls of genealogical research from time to time.
It’s no wonder genealogical research has become such a popular pursuit with popular television programming like Who Do You Think You Are? and Finding Your Roots. Ancestry.com and similar sites have ballooned into a multi-million (or try BILLION) dollar industry.
The advertisements seen on television and across the Internet, coupled with the success stories depicted in these shows, have piqued the interest of millions of people around the world. After all it sounds so easy – like magic almost – given the “happy endings” featured in the various genealogy television programs. What is not depicted in these shows, however, are the hours of behind-the-scenes research which must take place in order to deliver those “happy endings”. I hate to say it but so many these days are gullible enough to believe they can discover their family history in a relatively short period of time, just like they do on television. If you are a serious and sober-minded genealogist, you are aware that’s quite unlikely to happen.
There are no magic solutions, nor are there web sites which will reveal each and every detail of each and every one of your ancestors. Remember the old adage: “if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is”? The same can be said for web sites claiming to sell access to databases “you can’t find anywhere else” or quick solutions to your genealogical “brick walls”. These sites, however, are likely to be a total waste of both your time and hard-earned money. Similarly, beware of sites which claim to sell things like your family’s entire history, the history of your family name, or even in some cases a “fake” family crest or coat of arms.
Family Crests and Coats of Arms
One of your ancestors may indeed have been legitimately granted a coat of arms, yet today many web sites seem to imply surnames are attached to these noble symbols. Simply not true.
According to the College of Arms in London, there is no such thing as a coat of arms for a surname. They point out that many people with the same surname can be entitled to entirely different coats of arms, while some people with the same surname (or perhaps a variation) aren’t entitled to one at all.
Furthermore, they point out that coats of arms belong to individuals who have had it granted to them or descendants of the legitimate male line of a person previously granted one. It must be confirmed to be legitimate. And, it’s not that American citizens cannot be entitled to a coat of arms. It depends on whether an American can show proof of descent from a subject of the British Crown or some other royal entity.
A popular misconception exists that the term “family crest” is the same as the entire coat of arms. The crest is “a specific part of a full achievement of arms: the three-dimensional object placed on top of the helm.”45 Thus, those companies who claim to sell your family crest may or may not be on the up-and-up. Caveat Emptor.
Finding the Cherokee Princess in Your Family Tree
Everyone who has actually found a Cherokee princess in their family tree, raise your hand. Hmm . . . I didn’t think so, but why is that? Primarily, it’s because there was no such thing as a Cherokee or Indian princess. Orrin Lewis, a Cherokee, has some observations:
“Princess” may be a very poor translation for the chief’s daughter. Remember, Cherokee chiefs were not kings, but rather chosen by their tribe or community. Lewis muses that perhaps the “mis-translation” may have been the result of American fascination with royalty, or as he called them “romantic-minded white people”.47
“Princess” may also have been a poor translation for an important female politician, peace chief or “Beloved Woman.” Again, these would have been elected positions and not inherited. Should you have such a person, Lewis suggests you not use the term “princess” for such an obviously “interesting and powerful woman”.
The term may have been used by ancestors who married Indian women, hoping to alleviate racial tensions or stigmatization. In fact, men who married Indian women may have referred to their
wives as Cherokee simply because the Cherokees were considered more civil than most tribes.
It’s entirely possible that an ancestor referred to as an Indian princess may have actually been African-American. Lewis related the experience of one family researcher who had discovered that the term was sometimes used derogatorily in the South for light-skinned mulatto women (e.g., “light yellow”).
Next: The King of Genealogical Fraud (whose dubious research still effects family trees today).
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Footnotes:
Genealogically Speaking: Bigger Head
Bigger Head (1812-1912)
I came across this most unusual family name while researching a friend’s Head family line. I found multiple instances of a “Bigger” forename or middle name. First of all, I’ve never heard of anyone with the first name of “Bigger” (have you?) so that alone was intriguing (and near giggle-worthy). Where did that come from?
This particular Bigger Head was born in Highland County, Ohio on October 12, 1812 to parents William and Mary (Elder) Head. According to Head family genealogy, William and Mary were cousins and together had fourteen children, ten of them living to adulthood. Bigger was the second son named Bigger, following the death of the first at the age of eight months in 1807. The name was used twice in this family. Did it have a special significance?
I soon discovered the name began to be used when William Head married his second wife, Anne Bigger, daughter of Colonel John Bigger. So perhaps to honor the “Bigger” surname they decided to name their son (born in 1698) “Bigger Head”. He was the fourth great-grandfather of Bigger Head born in 1812 (if calculations are correct). What became confusing to research (as you might imagine) is sometimes brothers would name one of their sons “Bigger” meaning there could be multiple “Bigger” boys around grandpa and grandma’s table (“Hi, I’m Bigger and this is my cousin Bigger, and my other cousin Bigger”)!
William was the son of Bigger Head, born in Maryland in 1754 and a Revolutionary War veteran, who later removed to Pennsylvania and then migrated to Washington County, Kentucky around 1795. William married Mary Elder in Kentucky, married and then removed to Ohio. Bigger was one of four of their children who later migrated to McDonough County, Illinois. Bigger married Mary Lucas in Ohio on June 28, 1835. To their marriage were born eleven children: Harriet, Lucretia Ellen, James, Mary Catherine, Maria, Renick Richard S., Jennie, Columbia Alta, Augustus Newton, John and Hettie. At the time The History of McDonough County, Illinois was published in 1885, five of their children were deceased.48
After first settling in McDonough County, Bigger owned three quarter sections and retained 340 acres when he and his family moved to the Mound Township in 1876 where he purchased an additional 160 acres. In 1885, Renick, Maria and Hettie still lived in McDonough County and Bigger owned a total of 504 acres.
A school was established on the edge of the Mound Township in 1837. During the winter of 1838, Bigger taught at the school that season. Bigger and Mary joined the Methodist Episcopal Church around 1840 and were faithful members. Bigger served in various offices in the church for over forty years. It appears Bigger also had a “big heart”:
Mr. Head has assisted largely in building six churches. He is always a liberal subscriber to things of that character. He hewed the timber for three churches, while a resident of Ohio. He has always been ready to extend a helping hand to those in need, and when any one has the misfortune to lose his home by fire or other similar incident, Mr. Head always gives liberally.49
In 1860 the value of Bigger’s real estate was $25,000. so he was no doubt prosperous. He had been blessed and gave generously to help others. It is unusual to be able to view 1890 census records as most were destroyed by fire. However, a fragment of that year’s census remains for Bigger and Mary. Bigger’s sister, Mariah who was 74 years old at the time, was either visiting or living with them.
By 1900 Bigger had retired from farming, living in the village of Bardolph which was located in the Macomb township. At the time of that year’s census he was 87 years old and Mary was 84. Their daughter Hettie and her family were enumerated in the same household, either living there or visiting. On February 17, 1905, Mary died just five months and ten days before her ninetieth birthday.
In 1910 Bigger was living with his daughter Marie Winter and son-in-law Wilson in Bardolph. Bigger lived another two years, passing way at the age of 99, four months and eleven days short of his one hundredth birthday. He is buried in the Bardolph Cemetery alongside Mary.
Here are some other “Bigger” fellows (and one gal) that I ran across in the Head genealogy:
● Nancy Bigger Head
● Bigger John Head
● Thomas Bigger Head
● Benjamin Bigger Head
● William Bigger Head
● Bigger Head nicknamed “Round Head”
● One of the Bigger Heads married Lucy Sarah Livers (another unusual surname!)
● Ireland Head (not Bigger, but nonetheless an interesting first name)
Bigger Head of McDonough County, Illinois appears to be one of the last of a long line with that name, however. Today there are but three “Bigger Head” entries at Find-A-Grave. This article has been excerpted from the March-April 2019 issue of Digging History Magazine. In the last issue of 2019 this article was significantly enhanced via extensive newspaper research, entitled “Bigger Family: A Bigger (and Better) Story”. Purchase the November-December 2019 issue here.
Thanks for stopping by! For more stories like this one, consider subscribing to Digging History Magazine. Purchasing a subscription entitles you to subscriber benefits (20% off all services, including custom-designed family history charts) AND a chance to win your very own custom-designed family history chart! Details here (or click the ad below).
Footnotes: