Cousins in Common: Vikki Young and Becki Siler

When I wrote an earlier blog post called “Cousins in Common, Featuring Nathaniel Bartlett,” I didn’t know that Cousins in Common would become a series of posts. But David and I stumbled across a second instance of relatives that we share, so here’s a second Cousins in Common post—and I already know this one won’t be the last.

As I wrote in the first Cousins in Common entry, one of the factors that first got me interested in family genealogy was to see whether my partner David Maxine and I might have a common ancestor. So far, unless one believes I'm descended from the early Stewarts of the Scottish royal family—I wrote about that possibility here, but it will probably remain just that, a possibility—I haven’t found any common ancestors. What I have found are more cousins that we share, people—like Nathaniel Bartlett (1722-1802) and his descendants—who are related both to David and to me, but who don't make us blood relations to one another.

Information about David's father's family has long been fragmentary, but his unanticipated discovery of some Miller cousins last summer, as David wrote in this post a couple weeks ago, helped him put together many of the stray puzzle pieces. That was the bridge he'd been searching for.

In the center sit David F. Sellers (1845-1927) and Caroline Lower Sellers (1853-1923), great-great-grandparents of David Maxine, with their eldest daughters flanking them. On the right sits David's great-grandmother, Nora Belle Sellers Miller (1873-1948). On the left sits, very likely, David's great-great-aunt, Eva May Sellers Montgomery (1871-1935).

David learned that his great-great-grandparents, David F. Sellers (1845-1927) and Caroline “Anna” Lower Sellers (1853-1923), lived in Seneca County, Ohio. The mention of Seneca County rang a bell for me. Many of my paternal grandmother’s relatives lived in southern Sandusky County, Ohio, in the towns of Clyde and Green Springs, just across the border from Seneca County. I thought it was quite possible that some Sellers relative of David's from Seneca County could have married one of my Hawk, Huss, or Rathbun relatives from Sandusky County. So we started searching for information on the Sellers family.

David F. and Caroline Sellers had nine children, but only five daughters survived past childhood. Their second daughter, Nora Belle Sellers Miller (1873-1948), was David Maxine’s great-grandmother. She married Edward Nelson Miller (1868-1950) in 1890. The Millers lived for awhile in Tiffin, Seneca County, Ohio, then moved to Willow River, Minnesota. Nora Belle Sellers Miller and Edward Miller are both buried in Jamestown, Stutsman County, North Dakota. No connection to my family there, as far as I know.

David's paternal grandmother Fern Naomi Miller Maxine (1890-1945) stands between her parents Edward Nelson Miller (1868-1950) and Nora Belle Sellers Miller (1873-1948), David's great-grandparents.

Nora Belle Sellers’s three younger sisters who survived past childhood seemed to have remained in Seneca County. At least, they’re all buried there. So none of them seemed to offer promising leads.

But the eldest sister, Eva May Sellers Montgomery (1871-1935), was a different story. She took a path in life that neither David nor I expected. Eva May and Chester A. Montgomery (1869-1926), after marrying in Tiffin, Seneca County, Ohio, moved to Willoughby, Lake County, Ohio. Eva May spent her last days in the home of one of her daughters in Painesville, Lake County, Ohio, and is buried in Painesville’s Evergreen Cemetery.

When David mentioned Evergreen Cemetery, it more than rang a bell, it set me on high alert. Dozens of my relatives, including both my parents, are from Lake County, Ohio. Many relatives of mine are buried in Evergreen Cemetery in Painesville. There had to be a Lake County connection between our families.

David found the names of the spouses of Eva May’s daughters and I began trying to match them to names on my family tree. Bingo! Eva May’s daughter Mabel A. Montgomery (1902-1951) married Clyde Robert Colgrove (1893-1986). I had Colgroves in my family tree on my mother’s side. This surprised me, since I’d been initially expecting to find the match on my father’s side. But the connection wasn’t proven yet.

I went to the internet, looking for evidence to link my Colgroves to David’s. I found posts from another genealogical researcher named Vikki Young who was also searching for Colgrove information. The name Vikki spelled with two Ks seemed strangely familiar, but it took me a little while to recognize Vikki Young as someone I was already aware of—my Colgrove third cousin Victoria Marie “Vikki” Colgrove Young. She and I had been separately exchanging information with a third family researcher, all three of us cousins.

Vikki has a sister Becki, and I managed to trace the ancestral line from them back to David F. Sellers, their great-great-great-grandfather on their father’s side, making Vikki and Becki third cousins once removed to David Maxine.

My great-great-grandparents with some of their children in 1897. Clockwise from top left: Matti Juhonpoika Uhmusberg Hietanen (1859-1915), Selma Marie Hietanen Filppi (1892-1978), Aliisa Elviira "Ella" Hietanen Quiggle (1894-1950), Liisa Kristiina Herttua Hietanen (1861-1943), Juho Tauno "John" Hietanen (1897-1973), Santra Aliina "Lena" Hietanen Krause (1896-1976).

I already knew that Vikki and Becki are my third cousins on their mother’s side. Our mutual ancestors are our great-great-grandparents Matti Juhonpoika Uhmusberg Hietanen (1859-1915) and Liisa Kristiina Herttua Hietanen (1861-1943), who emigrated from Isokyro, Finland. Matti arrived in the USA on June 16, 1887, and it seems that Liisa and their two sons arrived later on July 5, 1890. The eldest son was Matti Hietanen Jr. (1883-1921), my great-grandfather, whose death I wrote a post about here. Matti Sr. and Liisa’s first child born in Fairport Harbor, Lake County, Ohio, where they settled, was daughter Selma Marie Hietanen Filppi (1892-1978), the great-grandmother of Victoria Marie “Vikki” Colgrove Young and her sister Rebecca Louise “Becki” Colgrove Siler.

Matti Jr.'s sister, Selma M. Hietanen Filppi.

Matti Hietanen Jr., my great-grandfather.

Vikki and Becki’s mother is my second cousin once removed. Their father is David’s third cousin. This may not seem such a close connection between David and me. But compared to the long chain we each had to trace to reach the previous common cousin we knew of, Nathaniel Bartlett, the connection between us through our mutual cousins Vikki and Becki seems like almost nothing. It’s been almost two weeks now since I discovered that these sisters—and their children—are David’s and my cousins in common, but it still kind of blows my mind.

My Gay Relatives: Gold Miner Jacob Huss

Everyone has gay relatives, whether one knows they’re gay or not. As a gay man, I’m interested in identifying my gay relatives. I know several living ones, but I’m more intrigued by those from the past, the hidden ones.

Before the twenty-first century, being attracted sexually to someone of the same gender was far less acceptable in Western society than it is today. There was a time when the subject of homosexuality was taboo in public. Today’s familiar topic of equal marriage rights for LGBT people would have been a concept inconceivable to many in bygone days. Of course, prejudice against homosexuals is still around, but it used to be greater. Most lesbians, gay men, and bisexual people of yesteryear tended to hide their sexual preferences. They would “stay in the closet”—consciously or unconsciously—to avoid negative repercussions from society, from family, from the workplace, from organized religion, even from self.

So it’s difficult to identify gay relatives when most traces of their homosexuality never made it out of the closet, much less into the historical record. How can one draw conclusions about any aspect of people’s lives when all that’s left are names, some dates, and family relationships?

Marital status can be a clue. Homosexuality is one obvious reason an adult might remain single. But a lack of marriage is hardly conclusive—there are any number of reasons people don’t marry. And in a culture of repression, gay people do marry those of the other sex. Married or unmarried, a specifically gay person is virtually impossible to recognize from such scanty remains.

More information is necessary. Most times there isn’t more information—not information that contains clues to sexual preference, anyway. But once in a while there is. Case in point: Jacob Huss.

Grave of Jacob "Jake" Huss (1830-1911), Clyde, Ohio

Jacob Huss (1830-1911) was the tenth of eleven children born to my great-great-great-great-great-grandparents Noah Huss (1790-1843) and Mary Burkholder Huss (1789-1849). Jacob’s elder sister Eleanor “Ellen” Huss Hawk (1812-1889) was my great-great-great-great-grandmother.

The information that I have about Uncle Jake comes primarily from his 1911 obituary in an unidentified Sandusky County newspaper. He was born and died in Green Creek, Sandusky County, Ohio, but what he did in between is fascinating.

Uncle Jake lived with his parents on the family farm until he was twenty years old. In 1850 the California gold fields called to him. He followed the footsteps of the previous year’s Forty-Niners to northern California and became a placer miner. Placer mining is the mining of gold or other minerals from alluvial deposits found in stream beds. So far, so good. Nothing to exclude that Jacob Huss was gay, but then, nothing to confirm it, either.

Uncle Jake never married. His obituary calls him a “bachelor,” a word that, if spoken aloud with a certain emphasis, has long been a code word for “gay.” I can’t honestly claim that the person who wrote the obituary definitely intended this understanding, but it’s a possibility—especially when considered in the light of what follows.

Grave of James Carson (1822-1906), Weaverville, California.

The obituary continues. “For nearly 40 years he and his boon companion, James Carson, made their home at Weaverville, Trinity county, California.” Now, when I first read this, I immediately leaped to the conclusion that Uncle Jake and Irish immigrant James Carson (1822-1906) were a gay couple. Two men who live together for almost forty years as boon companions is about as clear an announcement of that as seems practical in an Ohio newspaper of 1911.

Eventually paralysis struck James Carson, who was Uncle Jake’s senior by eight years. Jake “cared for him as a brother until the end, then gave him a Christian burial” in Weaverville Cemetery. Clearly Uncle Jake was devoted to the man the obituary calls his “partner.” Now, the word partner has many aspects. In 1911 could it have implied a member of a gay relationship, however that was conceived of? Possibly not—but the obituary certainly doesn’t say that Uncle Jake and James were business partners.

Now comes an interesting twist. After James died, we learn that “kind friends at Weaverville, especially Miss Lizzie Fox and her family, did what they could” to comfort Uncle Jake. Who’s this Lizzie Fox? Should I throw out the window my assumption of Uncle Jake being gay?

Not necessarily. Elizabeth “Lizzie” Fox (1833-1908) seems to have been part of a crowd. She was the foremost of Uncle Jake’s “kind friends” along with unnamed members of her family. Lizzie was evidently important in Jake’s life, but who knows if there was more than friendship between them? They were close in age. He would have been in his mid-seventies and she was three years younger.

Perhaps there was a romantic relationship between them, and because no marriage resulted, the writer of the obituary, for propriety’s sake, calls them friends and doesn’t mention romance. Or perhaps Lizzie had romantic intentions that weren’t reciprocated. Or perhaps there was no romance because Jake was known to be gay and the obituary writer hoped to obscure this by throwing in a woman’s name. Or perhaps there was never any thought of romance on either Lizzie’s or Jake’s part because Lizzie was gay, too. I find no indication she ever married.

[UPDATE 11/27/2012: In nineteenth century Weaverville, California, there was an Elizabeth Johnson born in Ireland in the 1830s, who immigrated to the USA in 1847. Elizabeth married William Orson Fox—called Orson—on August 15, 1861, and gave birth to five children. Orson Fox was born in Suffield, Connecticut, on October 31, 1824, and died in 1897 in Weaverville, leaving his wife Elizabeth a widow. It's possible that she is the Lizzie Fox mentioned in Jacob Huss's obituary, although I don't know why she'd be called "Miss."

Also in the Orson and Elizabeth Fox household were five nephews and nieces, children of Elizabeth's brother-in-law William I. Hupp and apparently left with Elizabeth and Orson after their mother Isabella Johnson Hupp, Elizabeth's sister, died in the 1870s. One of these nieces was also named Elizabeth and called Lizzie. So it's also possible that Miss Lizzie Fox of the obituary instead refers to Elizabeth Fox's niece Elizabeth Hupp, who perhaps was called Fox instead of Hupp because she'd been raised in her aunt and uncle's Fox household.]

Extremists may question my conclusion that Jacob Huss was gay. I would argue that the evidence weighs more on the side of his being gay than not. It’s unusual for two unrelated straight men to live together for forty years and care for each other like family, particularly with no indication of one employing the other. The obituary provides subtext—as well as not-so-subtext. Remember that “boon companion” bit?

In addition to the obituary’s wording, which can’t help but be subjective, I believe that the context of Uncle Jake’s traveling to the California gold rush is also telling.

The frontier has always been a place where non-normative activity is tolerated. The California gold rush was overwhelmingly male. Many of the miners were unmarried. I’m not saying that all or even most of the men who went to the gold rush were gay. I am saying that gay men in the gold rush had fewer societal pressures to conform to heterosexual norms than gay men had in the east. The attraction of such an environment to a twenty-year-old young man who felt different from those around him is easy to understand. The opportunity to explore one’s homosexuality without negative consequence was greater in the west—and so was the opportunity to strike it rich.

But I don’t think Uncle Jake and James Carson made fortunes in the gold rush. In January 1909, less than a year after Lizzie Fox died, seventy-eight-year-old Uncle Jake returned to Green Creek, Ohio, to live with relatives. He died two years later, February 13, 1911, at the home of his nephew, Chaplin Lorenzo Rathbun (1845-1921), who’s my first cousin, five times removed. Jacob Huss was buried in Bakertown Cemetery, in Clyde, Sandusky County, Ohio. A few months ago I was happy to visit my gay great-great-great-great-great-uncle’s grave.

Uncle Jake and me.