From Beyond The Grave

Sometimes I think, dreams are communications with relatives gone to the great beyond. As a child I would dream I was on a train, and met a man who asked me to find him. I woke to find myself startled and upset. I could not find anyone, for I didn't even know where I was. For many years, this dream would haunt me. I could see his face, he was wearing black, including a cowboy hat. This dream began to change setting as I got older. I was in a cemetery looking at headstones. The one headstone was of my great grandmother and the second was of my great step grandmother. I eventually told my mother about my dream and she dismissed me as if it were a tall tale. Later, she would reveal my findings as fact. The names on the stones were of my great grandmother and my great step grandmother. The old man in the dream I had asked him if he were my grandfather, Henry. The response was; "No, I am Jacob." I had no clue of this name, but when I revealed it to my mother, she said, "Jacob, is grandpa's dad."

Grandpa never really talked about his family. All We knew was that great grandpa had smacked great grandma in the head with an iron skillet. They said she was a dreamer and would not fix the nightly supper for great grandfather. He would come home and find her day dreaming. The roles of husband and wife were quite defined back at the turn of 20th Century. The husband would work the farm and the wife would cook and care for the children. There really was no time to sit idle. If she didn't start baking in the morning, supper would not be ready for that evening. From what I understand, the family committed her to a hospital in Norfolk, Nebraska.

Many years have passed since my grandfather died because of an explosion in his trailer. I never really knew the man, except for what my mother told me about him. She always said he was a drunk, who had another life, that she was not a part. She can recall all the times grandpa would get drunk and then disappear for months at a time. She can also recall the times when he sobered up, he would find some kind of job and everything would be fine. Going through the photo albums I can see some of the good times. Mom seems to not remember those times, but you can see it in her eyes that she loved the old man.

Times have come and gone, but I still feel the lingering effects of the past. The past only gives me an insight of who I am. I am a descendant of a California Gold Rush participant, a Volga German immigrant, and a whole list of lives that once occupied this heavenly planet.

Starting a journey in finding my ancestors was not difficult. I began searching on Ancestry.com. I plugged in my grandfather and grandmother and it seemed to take off. I spent many months tracking census information and birth and death records. After so long, it becomes a bit meaningless. I truly needed more. I found that visiting cemeteries, from Nebraska to California, which gave me a little more information. I connected with each headstone, touching the soil and the marker. While visiting, I ask about other relatives, which are in the great beyond, photos, or stories. It seems, my questions are always answered. I soon began meeting distant cousins who are in search of my same questions. I only visited the Cemeteries in Nebraska and South Dakota, but my search sent me to Findagrave.com to find the distant headstones. Most of the relatives were not listed in the data base, I then became a contributing member, seeking photos of my dear ancestors markers.

Connecting to cousins is a great experience, they might have a bit more of the puzzle that is missing from the tree. A hidden photo that might be hidden in an old album a letter sent many years ago stuck in the bottom of a box, or the family bible. It might still be there. I have connected with many cousins that might have information that is relevant to my quest, or maybe they know someone else that does. My dear cousin Vin is one such cousin, she and her family still had great photos and connected me to other distant cousins who had more photos and family stories. My grandmother on my father's side had no such photos, but to find her sister's line with photos was a wonderful find. After meeting Vin, I was able to meet cousin Ernie. Ernie, had obtained photos from his father. He also helped in my quest. He drove up and down Northern California to speak to other cousins. He obtained a photo of my Great Grandparents and a photo of my grandmother at 5 years old from another cousin. In his search, he discovered the family bible, which had been lost since the 1950's. In a story he told, great grandfather Henry Hamburg, passed away in 1952. On the day of his funeral, Margaret Kinsvater, his niece on his wife's side had taken the family bible. The family began looking for the bible and could not find where it was located. A few years later, it was discovered that she had taken this bible.

It had caused much family trouble between the families. Great Aunt Millie had begged for it's return, however, Ms. Kinsvater would not deliver. My Aunt Lucille, who was living in Washington State decided to do her own research on the family. She contacted Ms. Kinsvater and she agreed to bring the bible to help with her research. As Aunt Lucille was looking at the bible, she ripped out the pages that were needed, with Ms. Kinsvater



There still are more photos out there. I will find them when the time comes.

I obtained a lead Jacob was buried somewhere in South Dakota. The summer of 2011 I went searching for this mysterious cemetery out in a field somewhere by Martin. This cemetery was down a dirt road about ten miles, take a cow path east five miles, turn at an old farm house, take another cow path and on the top of the hill is Gamble Cemetery. These directions will not get you there, but it was a trek that I took my cousin and aunt on. We were in my all terrain vehicle; there would be no other way to get down these cow paths, with all the bumps, potholes and pastures. We finally made it to the cemetery. It was gated with a bob wire fence. As we approached, I didn't know if we were at the right place, the sign was old and faded. The only way to tell was by some of the residents markers. As I photographed the whole cemetery, I noticed, Jacob was not there. It was not a waisted trip. Many of the headstones were needed by some of the FindAGrave members. There were also headstones there that were not recorded. Many of them were from children that passed in the 1920's an 30's.

My Aunt commented on this, "There are a lot of children buried here."
On our way out of the field we noticed an on coming truck. We followed this vehicle out of the cow trails and finally stopped to talk to the owner. It was an elderly lady and her daughter. They were out visiting the rural cemeteries. It turned out, her Aunt was my grandfather's cousin. She had been searching for her Aunt Innis for almost 50 years. The family would not give the family the info needed to find their relative. Cousin Innis was on my list and she was buried in Scottsbluff, Nebraska. The family could rest after 50 years of searching. I guess I was not supposed to find Jacob, but to give information to another seeker.

I have found much information on my ancestors, but to help another seeker is a great feeling. I have been asked by other seekers if I have any more information on lines, but I only have what I have been given.

The dream puts me on a train, I never saw a train on my journey to Gordon, Nebraska, but there once was a train that would pass through there every day, bringing goods and folks to the area. The tracks have been ripped up and the whistle has not blown in over forty years. Maybe my grandfather and great grandfather rode that train.

The Girl With Bloody Hands

In the Winter of 1978, my family lived in Hawk Springs, Wyoming.  A small town between Torrington and Cheyenne.  This town had not much to offer small children, it had it's bar, post office and an old abandoned school.  I had to be bussed an hour or so to the next town over to attend classes.  Every once in a while a family would move into town with kids, but most of the time it was just my brothers and I.  The residence of Hawk Springs were aged folks who had spent most of their lives in the community.  There once was a restaurant, a DeSoto dealer, a couple of gas stations and a movie house; but all had dried up long ago.

That year was quite chaotic.  My sister had broken up with her boyfriend and had moved to Wheatland with a man we called baggy pants.  There was a cartoon back then which was called Baggy Pants and the Nitwit, and we always referred to them as so.  Mom would laugh when they would come to the door, for the song would always get stuck in her mind.  It wasn't too good for her, we had to go to Wheatland and rescue her from Baggy Pants.  She had come home one evening from working at the Brown Derby, a local restaurant, and found him passed out in the chair.  He had a shotgun and was waiting for her to return.  She then called mom and we quickly drove to Wheatland, on the back roads through Chugwater and over to Wheatland.  When we arrived, we found that he had also removed her tires off the car. That day she left and never returned.  From then on he was referred to as Drip.

Most nights were spent doing homework and watching television.  I never missed any of the shows on CBS.  We only could get two stations and sometimes when the sky was cloudy we could get a third.  As most of the winter was cloudy we could get good reception all winter long; even with the rabbit ears.  Mom always said that when we get some money we could get an antenna for the house so we could finally see what was on the the third channel.

I was a latchkey kid, my family had split up when I was very young and mom never remarried.  She hated dealing with the stuff that goes on with a violent family life.  After school, I'd return home with my brothers and we'd sit and watch TV until my mom or older brother came home.  It was quite good watching Star Trek or some of the shows that came on after school. 

On a very cold evening, we were all home.  Doing the usual, watching whatever came on CBS.  It could have been Dallas, or some sitcom, Alice or the Jeffersons; when we got a knock on the door.  It was a strange teenage girl.  She stood in the doorway.  I recognized her from the park earlier in the day.  She and her family had been hanging out in the Hawk Springs Park, right across from the post office. I yelled for mom.  Mom sent my older brother to talk to her.  She asked if we wanted to get rid of  one of the puppies that our dog recently had .  It sounded crazy, but when my brother was talking to her, she implied that she didn't want the puppies; but the mother dog.  I remember crying and saying that they couldn't have my dog.  Mom then sent us downstairs so they could talk with out the noise from the little kids.  I could hear them trying to take Misty from her area by the porch.  I could hear her growl and fight with whoever was trying to lead her away.  Misty would not go.

Once the car drove off, I and my smaller brother ventured back upstairs.  We were upset that they were going to give away our dog.  It all turned out that she would not go, so instead took one of the puppies. Mom was upset from the whole situation as well, she didn't trust anyone and tried to be calm about the whole matter.  My brother then told us the girl had blood on her hands and they feared what might happen.  They were trying to get whatever the girl and the people wanted and get them away from the house.  Ben, had went outside to talk to the people in the car when the mother dog would not go.

Every weekend, my brothers and I would go to Torrington to visit with my father.  We'd always get into the white International truck and head on down the road.  The truck had no radio, so my sister had sent one to my brother as a birthday gift.  The little black radio we'd listen to on the way.  We'd always hear the latest news.  On one such occasion the news anchor reported that a headless naked body was found in Wheatland.  That news had hit the playground like a storm that following Monday.

2008, I had gone to my 20 year reunion.  We had dinner at the Little Moon Lake Supper Club and spent a little time with my old classmates.  I liked seeing everyone; they  had grown and most had families that seemed to be ready to graduate from school. I stayed with my brother that weekend in Torrington.  The following morning, as I prepared to leave, my brother asked me if I remembered the incident with the girl who wanted our family dog.  I replied, Yes.  He stated that he went out to the car and remembered the men in the vehicles.  He told me to Google, Henry Lee Lucas.  He said he would never forget that face of that man in the car.

Volga German

The past few years I have been dabbling in the family heritage.  My father was born here in the US, however, my grandparents are of German Russian decent. I never knew my grandparents, but as a small child I met them.  They lived on fourth avenue in Gering, Nebraska.  My father took me to meet them.  On that occasion, I was frightened by meeting these strange people.  My grandfather, Conrad, was sitting on a chair in the kitchen and my grandmother was making strawberry preserves on an old wood burning stove.  I can remember them.  My grandfather with his large nose and his face was hidden by the shadows of the brim of his hat.  Grandmother was stirring her preserves.  I stayed close to my father, fearing the strange new people we were visiting.  My father, said, stay away from the corners of the counter.  They did not talk to me, however, they talked to him.  They were speaking a language I had never heard before. My father later told me it was German.

A month or so later, I was back in Gering, attending a funeral for my grandfather.  I remember my father tell me, don't cry.  The day was rainy and all these strangers were huddled around a casket. I never even knew him.

Many years passed and I still remember the day in my grandmother's kitchen.  I often wondered if she thought about me in her last days.  Did she want to know me, or even care to love me?  I think she did.  As I have visited them in the Gering Cemetery, I have asked them questions.  Many of those questions seemed to have been answered in my quest.  I have found distant relatives; which have sent me photos and told stories of the life and times of the German Russians.

The Old Man in the Camper Trailer

Recently, I was at the Elder House's drive to help raise money for this nonprofit organization. They help people who are handicapped, elderly parents and even veterans, who need to be somewhere, while the family is working. While there, I was reminded of my own grandpa.I really didn't know my grandpa, he was someone my mom used to visit. We'd spend afternoons at his blue and silver striped camper trailer in the Traveler's Court on the south side of Torrington. Usually, grandpa would kick us boys out of the trailer, and my brothers and I would hang out by the North Platte River. We'd go watch the raging water flow from beneath the bridge. Once in a while, we'd see a fish or two flopping around the shallow area. Sometimes, we'd hang out in the trailer. I'd watch grandpa doodle with his crosswords, or just sit there with his beer. He always had beer in hand, and he would sometimes let me taste it. The cold salty taste always made me want more. I'd watch the beer foam up as he poured salt into the glass.On rare occasions, grandpa would be a different sort of person. Sometimes, he'd have out his banjo, or his violin and would play a song. Other times he'd get out his junk jewelry and tell us that these gems were very precious and were worth a lot of money. While on other occasions he'd just talk about people who I had no clue about.He really didn't talk to us. He just talked.I'd go lay down in the back room and look at the cartoons he had pasted on the wall above the bed. One was a man with a forked tongue and it read, White man speaks with forked tongue. I really didn't know what that meant at the time, but it was a peculiar thing to have pasted on the wall. Grandpa would always tell us he was an Indian. Mom would always laugh and tell him, "no your not, dad." Grandpa had grown up outside the Pine Ridge Reservation in Martin, South Dakota. Mom said he could speak the language and used to have a lot of friends there. However he was not native. He was raised around the res. He always said that he remembered Chief Sitting Bull being paraded around town.The longer we stayed at the trailer, the drunker grandpa would get. At times I really didn't want to be there. He would have to say something mean to my mom before we'd leave. I always thought to myself, why do we come over to this place. Mom would always manage to say something about that she needed to take care of him. On one visit, grandpa had a record on the phonograph. The record was of Lawrence Welk and his band. Grandpa sat there listening to the album. During the middle of one of the songs, he remarked. "I wrote that song." I really didn't listen to anything he'd say, but this caught my attention. He continued, "yes, I used to play with the Lawrence Welk Band, but they tossed me out for getting drunk, all the time."

I could see a tear begin in his eye. I never forgot that moment, it was the first time he'd showed any real emotion about anything.Once he talked about, how he never could remember his mother, when he was about 7 years old, his dad took a frying pan and smacked her in the head. The only photo he had of her, was the wedding photo from 1902, but he left it in one of the motels the family had been staying in back in the 40's. She was sent away to the hospital and never returned. He was raised by his dad part of the time and an Aunt in Souix Falls, South Dakota, Aunt Anna. I really had no information on her, until recently. That is where he would have met the band.I always thought he was raised in Gordon, Nebraska. However, that is just where his dad's family were all located. He never had much to do with them. Just probably on an occasion when his dad went to visit his brothers.Going through old photos, mom would always tell us what they were, or who they were. One was of grandpa on a train. She'd say he used to be an engineer for the railroad and another photo was of grandpa with a car and she'd say he was a body and fender man. I really didn't know what he did, all he ever did was sit in the trailer and drink.On my search, I came across Cousin Rose. Rose is my grandmother's sister's daughter.

All she could talk about was Hank. Hank this and Hank that. Hank is what everyone in the family called my grandpa. She told a story of hardship for my grandmother and the no good person my grandpa was and how cruel he was to my mom and her siblings. Rose told that one winter, somewhere in the 40's, great grandma received word that Midge, my grandma, and the kids were on foot somewhere in Iowa. Great Aunt Nelly and cousin Rose got into the car and headed toward Iowa, seeking her older sister. Rose said, they found the family on foot somewhere by Omaha. She said that grandpa had left the family in Souix

The neighbor kids would come by the house and go to his trailer. Not for his company, but I think he was giving them beer. I don't know, but when I went over, he would have nothing to say.On a Friday, I went to the skating rink in Torrington. I usually went there to meet up with my friends and skate. On that night I got a call at the rink from a friend of the family. She said that grandpa was in an accident. I asked, and the little camper trailer had blown sky high. Grandpa was messing with the gas pipes to the stove and blew himself to kingdom come. He had to be airlifted from Torrington Hospital to the Denver Burn Unit. On the way to Torrington, he had told mom and the ambulance drivers that he was going to make it and he really didn't need to go to the hospital. He would doctor himself up with some absorbing jr.I remember, he had lived a few days at the Burn Center. We went down to keep him company while they fixed him up. When I saw grandpa, I held his hand. He was completely pink. They said that they had removed all the burned tissue and he was burned 70%.

Mom stayed with him until he passed. I remember him shaking and mom in tears, we are with you dad. You are going to make it. We love you. Ruby is here, and all the boys are here. Laying under the chairs in the waiting room, wishing that day would end. I could feel mom's pain. I loved mom and knew she loved this old man. When grandpa passed, the TV show Dallas had just begun. All I could remember the first scene when Pamela finds Bobby in the Shower. As that scene came on the nurse came out and said grandpa had passed away.I asked mom a few years later what grandpa had said to her in the ambulance and she said that he said he was sorry for treating her and her mom the way he did and that she was his daughter. However in my research mom said he didn't say that and that she just really wanted him to say it.Grandpa is not buried anywhere. There is a joke about having canned grandpa. His ashes are still in the can sent by the mortuary and is still in my mom's closet. I asked her if she wanted me to take it to his grandparents in Gordon, she told me no. Grandpa will always be with her.