Dear Grannie,

Evelyn Himel Cross French, 1906-1988

Dear Grannie,

I'm sorry.

I get it now and I am so, so sorry.

How many days and nights did you sit at your beautiful antique dining room table (your mother-in-law's table), surrounded by stacks of papers and books as you searched and searched and searched for the Himels and Frenches and Crosses that fit in your family tree?

How many hours did you pore through those books? How many hours did you spend in every library within 100 miles searching for more?

And how many times did you finally hit a jackpot -- a name, a date, a birthplace, another mother, father, sister or brother -- and, nearly overcome with excitement, go to share it with someone ...

But no one was there?

Or they were, but they just didn't care?

Grandpa was in the den watching some ball game with his eyes closed. Mom was off taking a painting class. Rhett was at Spots. Jo Lee was already off raising her children. I was probably there with you,  but more intent on pretending I was Barry Manilow on the piano (I wasn't) than on your latest find.

And I'm sorry.

Maybe you knew, though. Maybe you knew that I someday I would be the one to take all your boxes and binders home, go through it, become fascinated and carry on your legacy. Maybe I just picked it up by osmosis or something.

Because now I'm the one who has boxes (well, plastic bins) of books and keepsakes and census records and indexes and keepsakes and mementos that just can't be thrown away.

Now I'm the one who stays up until all hours of the morning searching and searching and searching...

Now I'm the one who gets overcome with excitement when I hit a jackpot. Like a few hours ago when I stumbled upon a signer of the Declaration of Independence who is a fourth cousin eight times removed!!!! Or a few weeks ago when I found a connection to The Mayflower. the Holy Grail for genealogists.

I was dying to tell someone!

And my husband was at a ball game.

And my teenager is, well, a teenager. And like me when I was her age, I didn't care. I made her pretend to be excited. (She really wasn't.)

I did get to share it on Facebook, though.

My mama would have been pretty excited for me -- more if it had been her ancestor too,  but it was my dad's side.

But mama went to join you in December, and so many times since then I've wanted to show her or tell her what I found. She would have been thrilled today to see your mama's name on the 1930 census, a nurse shown as the "matron" of the house for nursing students -- listed as "inmates." She would have gotten a chuckle at the notation that, yes, she did own a "radio set." And we could have marveled at your dad's occupation listed on the 1910 census. We knew he was a salesman. But of "tea"?

So, Grannie dear, I thank you for leaving me all of these treasures and this long, winding path to follow. You did take some wild twists and turns that I had to unravel, but I had the internet and you didn't.  I wish you could see what I've done.

But I'm still sorry that I didn't sit down and let you show me, let you tell me, more. That I didn't pay more attention. That I never pulled out a recorder. That digital recorders and iPhones weren't invented yet.

If you're in genealogy heaven with all of your -- our -- ancestors, I hope you're all smiling down on me and getting excited at each and every find I make

And if you can find Deliverance Priest's parents, I'd appreciate it.

Your sleepless and excited grand daughter,

Lori

Death notices

Like so many of my fellow journalists, my writing career began with what comes last -- death notices and obituaries.

I was still in high school when I was hired as the Assistant Society Editor for the Houma Daily Courier in my hometown. Every other Saturday I had to call the local funeral homes and gather the information for the Sunday obituaries and write them up.

There isn't a lot to it.

Most follow a pretty standard formula: Who? Age? What were they (occupation)? When did they die? Where? How (optional)? Who survived them? Who preceded them? When are the services?

The information is usually typed up in a few inches of small type and put in the back of the news section. It's called a death notice. Sold as ad space, they can run up a hefty price tag, though, especially if the deceased had a lot of children and grandchildren.

If the deceased is a prominent citizen, he or she usually gets an obituary. That's a longer news story about the person's life and accomplishments. And it's often free.

Lately we've seen a trend towards more personal obituaries and death notices. Some are funny. Some are sad. Some are downright clever. It's a definite move away from what has become a cookie-cutter formula in the newspaper business.

But it wasn't always the case.

As a genealogist, I read a lot of obituaries and they certainly run the gamut of styles. I came across one recently that read, So-and-so died. Services were held Tuesday. That's it. No occupation, no family members, no survivors.

Then I've seen the flowery.

For as long as I could remember, there was a yellowed old newspaper obituary tucked away in my grandfather's family bible. It's contents were legendary in our family.

SAD DEATH OF MRS. P.J. MURTAGH, A BRIDE OF ONLY THREE WEEKS

It was a shock to all who knew her to learn that Mrs. Patrick J. Murtagh, nee Sutherland, died yesterday afternoon at 1:10 o'clock, and that the cause of death was due to congestive chills.  Her demise was as surprising as it was sudden, as only several hours before it came, she was seen and was apparently in the best of health.  Mrs. Murtagh was a lovely young woman of 20 years, and was universally esteemed for her many sterling qualities by the residents of Algiers. But a little more than three weeks ago, Mr. Murtagh led Miss Clara Sutherland before the altar and there made her his wife.  That happy event was the culmination of a courtship lasting more than three years and occurred on Dec. 17 last.  Since the marriage, they have been boarding on the corner of Pelican and Atlantic avenues, and were hardly in the midst of the honeymoon ere the death angel called the happy bride to another world. She was enjoying good health and her death was wholly unexpected.  Yesterday noon, Mr. Murtagh was home with his wife and at a quarter of 1 o'clock they sat talking in their room.  The topic of conversation was about xxx wife and left the house for his work.  He had not been gone more than five minutes when a messenger was sent after him to tell him that his wife had been taken suddenly ill.  He hurried home and had hardly reached there when the sweet spirit of his wife passed away.

Wow. What a sad story for poor Clara. But we all sure remembered her untimely demise. I also remember being terrified of that "death angel."

Some old newspaper writers editorialized more than others. Here is an obituary for my great-great-great uncle, David French, in the 1902 Mobile Daily Item:

Mr. David French, a well-known carpenter and contractor, died yesterday morning about 6 o'clock at the family residence, southwest corner of Bayou and Charleston Streets, after a lingering illness. The deceased was an industrious man, and was loved by all who knew him. His death notice will be read with regret by his many friends throughout the city. Mr. French was born in Ireland, and came to this country when quite a young man, and when 21 years of age he came to Mobile and has resided here since. At the time of his death he was 65 years of age.

The Daily Register  also recorded his death, including the fact that "many flowers were placed upon his grave."

My first cousin, thrice removed was a popular man as well.

Mr. Ed French died at his home in the city yesterday afternoon after a brief illness. Mr. French was a most estimable young man, and a consistent member of the Presbyterian Church. He had many friends who will be greatly grieved to learn of his death. The family has the sympathy of the entire city in their sad bereavement. The funeral service will be conducted this afternoon from the family residence on Capitol Street by Rev. Hutton and Hill, and the remained will be interred in Cedarlawn Cemetary.
Daily Clarion Ledger, Jackson, MS, Sept. 12, 1907

And you can't help but be sad for poor young Georgie.

After a lingering illness with that dread disease, consumption, Mr. George French died this morning at the home of his parents on East South Street.
The deceased young man was born in Jackson, Miss., but had resided in Vicksburg nearly all of his life. He was the second son of Mr. and Mrs. Sam French, and was only about 21 or 22 years of age, just entering manhood. He was a good, kind and generous boy, industrious and exemplary in his habits, and loved and esteemed by all who knew him.
He has been afflicted with this terrible disease, consumption, for some years, but has only been confined to his bed for a few weeks.
Everything that loving hands and hearts could do to ward off death and soothe and alleviate his sufferings was done, but death came to his relief this morning. He died peacefully, surrounded by his relatives at the family residence on east South Street.
He leaves a father and mother and two sisters and a brother to mourn his early and untimely death, and will be sadly missed by many friends."
Vicksburg Evening Post, Tuesday, August 27, 1895

I certainly have written my share of obituaries, for family, for prominent members of my community and for friends. Several years ago, one of my dearest friends asked me to write the obituary for her husband, a policeman who was murdered in the line of duty. She wanted to tell his life story. She wanted me to help her. I also was asked to cover his funeral. When I asked if that was OK with her, she replied, "I wouldn't want anyone else to do it."

Of course I was left to write my mother's obituary just a few months ago, -- no easy task, let me tell you! How can you some up such a fierce and multi-faceted person in just a few hundred words? She used to tell me not to write anything crazy. I didn't.

Lettie Lee French, a mother, grandmother, great-grandmother and eccentric character passed away Monday, December 4, 2017 after a brief illness. She was 84. Fiercely independent and a mistress of reinvention, she had careers as a comptometer operator, restaurant hostess, hotel night auditor, office manager and hobby shop owner in Houma and New Orleans. She was a talented painter who studied with well-known American artist Henry Hensche. After moving from Bay St. Louis, Miss., to Norco, La., she spent 10 of her final years as a Tarot Card Reader at The Bottom of the Cup Tea Room in New Orleans. She loved her family, her poodle, Lulamae, and the casinos. 

But don't you think for a second that I have left this task to MY husband and daughter. Oh hell no. Mine is already written and ready to go. All they have to fill in is my age, the date and the services.

 And it's going to be expensive as hell.