What are the odds that you and I are related?

I recently traced a particular branch of my father's family tree back for 21 generations! Maybe. I'll talk about the maybe part later, but at the moment I can make a pedigree chart starting with my father, then his father - a grandfather I never met, then his father's mother - my great grandmother, then her father, and her father's father, and his father's father, and keep doing this until the chart has "branched" 21 times.

Laura Jane "Jennie" Coleman - my great grandmother - is the key to this prodigious branch. Described as "very skilled and industrious" woman, my parents took a picture - back in 1985 - of a bed spread that she made. And when I say made, she spun the wool into even thread that she had dyed, using walnuts for the browns and berries for the the red color. At that time the spread was nearly 100 years old and still beautiful. My mother said, "the colors are not faded, nor does the wool look old."

The earliest individual in this long line is Sir Roger Coleman (or Sir Roger de Colville), born in 1215 probably in Lincolnshire, England, who married Margaret de Brewes, also known as Margaret Devereaux (de Brewes) or "Margery (de Braose) Colville." They had a son also named Roger and he and his wife had a son Geoffrey, and Abraham was the father of Isaac, Isaac the father of Jacob, Jacob the father of Judah and his brothers... and you know the rest.

Twenty-one generations (or 23 generations from my own grandchildren) poses an interesting question. Just how many people could be descended from Sir Roger? A lot. It's a question that interests genealogists, mathematicians and the curiously idle (like myself), and surprisingly there is a lot of math that one can employ to find the answer, starting with the formula:

Total direct ancestors = (2 to the nth power)- 2, 

where n=the number of generations (counting yourself). 

I was never fond of math, so let me just sum it up. My grandchildren and I are part of more than 16 million directly related ancestors and family members of Sir Roger Coleman and Margaret de Brewes. People who study this stuff say that at 25-30 generations (67,108,862 direct ancestors) any person alive should by pure mathematics have a common ancestor with any other known person, alive or dead.

There's a whole lot more math involved besides the simple formula above. For example, purists insist that one must consider ancestors that pop up in more than one line of descent (like when cousins marry, which happened a lot in the earlier days). This reduces the number of direct ancestors significantly if it occurs in the first 8 or 10 generations. The second problem is that a huge total of direct ancestors does not necessarily mesh with actual population statistics throughout the time span involved.

And the "Maybe" I mentioned at the beginning? It's awfully hard to actually prove kinship through 21 generations. The genealogy program that I use to keep up with kith and kin is linked to a couple of major ancestral databases, including the vast genealogical holdings of the Mormon (LDS) Church. That's where this long list of Colemans came from, but it's only a list, and the LDS database, for reasons of their own, is woefully deficient in actual proof. So, while this line of Colemans is interesting, it may not be accurate.

But what one can take away from this exercise is that the next time some idiot cuts you off in traffic or otherwise riles you, be kind. He or she is probably your 26th cousin, 3-times removed. Heck, it might even be me.

Monday Meanderings - 3.28.2016

Well, it's official. More people are moving to the ATX metro area every day than to anywhere else. Anywhere. We passed the 2 million mark sometime last summer but it has taken this long to count everyone. I guess they had to wait until no one was moving - WHICH HAPPENS EVERY RUSH HOUR! Duh!

What's more, another recent analysis shows the Austin-San Antonio region along the I-35 corridor, is rapidly becoming the next Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex. I suggest we call it ASA. You heard it here first, folks.

Barb and I came to the conclusion this weekend that checkers at the registers in places like the market and Walmart must lead very lonely lives. We base that on the long, long conversations we experienced at both venues. In fact at Walmart, the checker spent so much time talking to the customer in line before us, that the customer, after she finally freed herself from an interminable, one-way conversation, turned to us and mouthed, "Sorry."

Burger King has been running saturation TV ads for their new flame-grilled hotdogs. Don't think that's working out well for them - at least not at the store on Lamar, closest to us.

Some local restaurants are doing away with the pagers issued for notification that your table is ready. Now they just ask for your mobile phone number and text you when it's your turn. Just don't get the number wrong; you might be in for a long wait.

Yes, we still have the blanket on the bed, and we may keep it there a while. Our A/C-heater is very confused about whose turn it is to run. We went ahead and moved the plants outside last week, and several times since we have looked out to see them lined up at the door, begging to come back inside. Pathetic.

Aunt Lou Amma's Memoirs - Part IV

Lou Amma Bramblett Armstrong, my mother's oldest sister, at age 79 wrote down a few pages of her childhood memories growing up in Johnson County, Texas, in the early 1900's, along with 7 other brothers and sisters, parents and grandparents.

In this final segment, she describes one of the family enterprises - a local telephone company owned by her father, Lee Bramblett, and staffed by the entire family.

 Lou Amma and Elna, operating the switchboard

One day when Carl was attending the switchboard one line crossed with another and the man on the live end of the line helped the other one get central. He rang a long time. When Carl answered he said Helooooooooh, It made the man so mad he had his phone taken out. Later he got over it and asked for it back. Papa told him all right, but he would not get any better service.

Mama used to let Elna and me hitch up to the buggy and go as far as 4 miles to uncross lines or fix the telephone (watch the ground wire). She would tell us what to do and we usually fixed it. That was in the Fall when all the men were busy.

Carl could answer the phone when he was crying, and when he answered, it was always a very pleasant “Hello.”

One time an electrical storm suddenly came up and I was ringing someone. It knocked out every line on the board. Shocked me until my arm just ached for 2 hours. All was well when we went behind the board and put in new fuses.

John and Cora Latina Doss Hall

I remember when G’ma and G’pa Hall moved from west of Cleburne to the Indian Territory (before it became a state). Uncle Jimmie [Hall, brother of Cora] also lived out a claim and I remember G’pa had a 2 room dugout. Herbert [Hall; Jimmies' son] was 2 years older than I and used to tell about them driving 25 miles to Hammon and he saw a train “The largest one he ever saw before or since.”

I can’t figure out how papa and mama met. Maybe some of you know. They used to go to big singings all over the country. Papa sang tenor. Mama sang alto.

The memoirs end here. At least, I have no additional pages, and I suspect there were not any more. 

Monday Meanderings - 3.21.2016

You are probably not aware that I can control the weather. Yes, it's true. All it takes to bring a significant chill across most of the state is for me to utter the phrase: "Let's take the blanket off the bed. I think we are done with cool weather." Sorry.

Well, welcoming the FLOTUS to ATX for SXSW is a lot less trouble than preparing for her husband, the POTUS. She slipped in and out of town PDQ, and I can't think of any more letter abbreviations to stick in here.

There must be a law or rule, such as Murphy's Law, that postulates that you can't do a single repair to an automobile. Once you replace oh, say, the brake master cylinder, the O2 sensor will act up, which prompts the radiator to leak, which brings on a failed motor strut. I'm going to call it Anderson's Automotive Imperative.

The curator of the Traces of Texas posted a picture on Facebook the other day that jogged my memory.

The sign (which was on a BBQ joint in Hatch, New Mexico) is a remnant from the Dallas-Fort Worth Turnpike, which obviously connected those two cities after completion in 1957. And yes, it was as straight as the sign implies.

Dallas was the first place Barb and I lived after marrying in 1961. We spent 3 whole months there. We had many opportunities to travel this 30 mile superhighway during that period, and on many other visits to Dallas in the years to come. But the most memorable trip was right after we moved into an apartment on Rainer, in the southwest part of Dallas, just a few blocks from the Turnpike.

We had no money to speak of in those days, and one evening we splurged and spent what we had at a movie in downtown Dallas. New to the area, we thought we could take a shortcut home, but our route dumped us right into the west-bound toll plaza. I had no idea where the next exit was, or how much it would cost, not that it mattered. We couldn't pay it.

Back then, an attendant handed you an IBM-type punch card that you surrendered - with payment - at your destination. I remember pleading our case to the attendant, but neither Barb nor I clearly remember the resolution. I think the attendant had us circle around the back of the plaza and join the exiting vehicles arriving from Fort Worth.

Times have changed. Today, there are no attendants - at least on the toll roads in our area. But then again, the need for cash on hand has passed as well. They will mail you a bill. Or in our case, ding your credit card automatically. But perhaps the biggest change is that once the Dallas-Fort Worth Turnpike collected enough tolls to pay its cost, in 1977, they tore down the toll booths and just made it part of I-30.  Not holding my breath for that to happen in these times.

Aunt Lou Amma's Memoirs - Part III

Lou Amma Bramblett Armstrong, my mother's oldest sister, at age 79 wrote down a few pages of her childhood memories growing up in Johnson County, Texas, in the early 1900's, along with 7 other brothers and sisters, parents and grandparents.

One time a man with a covered wagon with a man, woman and baby drove up and said they were traveling for their sick baby girl’s health, but he needed a job and that an old friend of ours in Okla. (Mr Hallford, Beulah Hallford’s father) sent him to papa. He told them they could move in the buggy shed. The baby died in a few days. Mama saw it was going to die, so she brought it in the house to die.

Emma and Ruby [Ellis - neighbor children] were visiting and we - Emma and I - offered to sit up  with the corpse. The papa said he wanted to be with his baby since it would be his last chance. Mama told him do as he chose, but we would not want to stay up if we couldn’t catch up on our visiting and that we would go to bed. It took no time at all for him to decide he had to go to bed.

Next day the baby was buried over by Mr. Burt’s in a little cemetery at papa’s expense. They picked cotton all fall. The woman wore the dress she picked cotton in and left on the train. Dress was starched and ironed and we talked about her doing the best she could (how nice she looked under the circumstances).

The worst tragedy in our family was when the Frank Larimore boys came by to get Tommie to go hunting with them. I don’t remember if Homer was along or not (I believe he was) but as the story goes Buster Larimore & Tommie were ahead of the others and Buster told Tommie to shoot straight up to scare the others. As he brought the gun down it went off again and shot Buster through the head. He died instantly.

Word came in over the switchboard that someone had been shot. Papa and Mamma drove up in a buggy about that time and I remember mama throwing pkgs. out of the buggy for them to go down there. This was Frank Larimore’s son. Mrs. Chris Larimore lived to be over 106 I believe it was (Elna will know).

Instead of them resenting Tommie they seemed to take him on as a son. Tommie was always present when they had a death in the family.When mama died, Tommie went after Mrs. Chris Larimore and brought her over at Elnas. The reason that this impresses me so is this is the day (21 years ago) mamma was buried and Tommie died.

The second tragedy was when Homer was riding on their motorcycle and Buster Ellis was cutting corners. He darted right out in front of Homer and Homer ran over him broke both bones in his leg. It was not Homer’s fault. He (Buster) was not at an intersection. Homer really hated it and was so attentive while he was laid up. Papa paid all expenses. The Ellis’ held no ill will.

John Boyd, Sheriff of Johnson County

Uncle John Boyd... was sheriff of Johnson Co. It became his duty to hang a man and he resigned his job. Just couldn’t do it. I believe he was a superintendent of a reformatory place down south before being a sheriff.  One time when Uncle John lived at Watts Chapel, Dr. George Truitt, Pastor of First Baptist Church came down (his best friend came with him) to hunt. As Dr. Truitt crawled through a wire fence his gun went off and hit his friend. He later died, It was said of him he never was the same he was saddened so, Dr. Truitt loved anyone by the name of Boyd thereafter.  He said they treated him so well.

In the next segment, Lou Amma describes working on the telephone exchange that Lee operated out of their house.