Sunday, April 13, 2014
Growing up, I remember my conversations with my grandma Luella, my father's mother. As a teenager, I was already curious about my family history and wanted to know more. The day that she told me about her family, I quickly grabbed my yellow notebook and began writing as she talked. Grandma began to rattle off names of her parents, sisters and brothers..and then she began to talk about her grandmother.. Mariah. She said that her grandmother looked like a white woman and could have easily passed for that. Even though she looked white, she was made a slave. I still remember the tone in her voice that day, she said it like she was surprised, she just couldn't believe that she was a slave. I remember having the feeling that Grandma wanted me to know. I was 16 at the time and little did I know that this would be the last time that I spoke with my grandma Luella. I still have that yellow notebook, the one that I wrote in as she spoke to me. Over the years I have referred back to this notebook often, searching for clues to find the woman named Mariah.
I found that Mariah Hall Connaway, was born in or around Franklin county, Missouri in about 1839 to MYRA and Abraham HALL. She married Curry CONWAY around 1865. Together they had children; Joseph, Daniel, Maggie, Sarah, Frank, Louis, Benjamin, Barbara. I descend from Barbara who was grandma Luella's mother. I have found CONWAY spelled at least six different ways. I'm not sure what the original spelling was, perhaps Conway turned into Connaway, Connoway, etc. As a result of how the name sounded to the census taker. Mariah and Curry lived their life in Franklin county, Missouri with most of their family members. Looking into my father's family I found that their roots run deep in Missouri. My search for Mariah led me to find her mother MYRA HALL as well as some of Mariah's siblings; Rufus, Sedonia and Wesley Hall. Aunt Frankie, my father's sister, remembered Mariah, her mother Myra and Mariah's daughter, Barbara all being light skinned with long brown hair. Being that I've yet to find any photos of Mariah, Myra or Barbara, I really enjoyed hearing about what they looked like. Mariah died in 1928 and is buried in the Old City cemetery in Washington, Missouri along with her husband Curry and several other family members. Sadly, there are no headstones for any of them.
Researching slave ancestry has been challenging to say the least. Spending hours searching slave documents trying to find ancestors is painful. Although I have yet to find the owners of Mariah and her mother Myra, I have not given up the search. The ancestors are calling, and they have a story to tell.
© 2014 Denise Muhammad
Sources: Interviews with Luella Pryor
and Frankie Taylor
Thursday, December 5, 2013
|My father: Jesse Carl Taylor-Pryor "Pete"|
I'm sure that I will never understand the reasons that he stayed away after he and my mother divorced. They are long gone and buried with him. I've always been careful in talking about him. Knowing that his departure and absence left scars on the hearts of my loved ones that still remain after all these years. However, I must talk about him. As he is part of the story. There is no shame in speaking about an absent father. When you grow up without your father, and the years roll by, with no phone calls, no letters, no visits. It's only natural to be curious about him and why he's not with you.
On my journey to find out more about him, I found his family...my family. I'm realizing that this work of finding ancestors is my calling and it applies to finding the living relatives as well as those who are gone. Growing up my mother made sure that I knew that I had other siblings. She told my sisters and I often. Always saying just what my father had told her. That he had ten children.That never bothered me. I just wanted to know who they were, and where they are. After I found my father's siblings, my aunt sent me baby pictures of children that she said were my siblings, also an obituary of a brother who passed away before I had a chance to meet him. As I talked more with my family. His story began to unfold. It was so touching to hear my aunts and uncles speak fondly about this man that I remember, yet hardly knew. They gave small details of the brother they remembered. It was fresh, new and exiting. All I had ever heard was my mother's story. How I wished that I had known them when I was a child.
|The reunion: L. to R. Uncle Charles, Me, my sister Tiffany and Uncle Steve|
When I shared this information with my sisters they couldn't believe it. They told me "Denise, You have to find them". My first thought was, Lord, why Me? and how am I supposed to do that? I don't know if they even want to be found. However, I knew that I had to try. I would love to find them all. I called my father's brother, He confirmed what my aunt had told me. "Yes", he said..Pete did have many, many children. He told me that Missouri was the place to start and that he was willing to help me find ALL of them. Well there it was. I had my starting point.
If I could talk to my father today. I wouldn't have any harsh words for him. I wouldn't ask him for money. I wouldn't even ask him where he has been for all these years. I would only ask him where are all my brothers and sisters.
|Kimberley Ann Taylor |
|Peter James Davis|
|Jesse Renald Williams "Skip" 1955-2008|
A Letter To My Father:
I have often wondered where you are and what happened to you. Years have gone by and you've missed so much. How could I have known that when I was seven would be the last time that I saw your face. Your girls are all grown up now with families of their own. You have 12 grandchildren and 14 great-grandchildren. Mom took great care of us. She made sure that we never forgot you. I've often wondered what our life would have been like had you stayed. I believe that everything happens for a reason, It just wasn't in the plan. Through genealogy research, I've found your family. My aunts,uncles and a ton of cousins. They've embraced me with loving arms. I've also found a sister, Tiffany. Were so happy that she came into our life. Dear Daddy, It's now time to put you to rest. I am letting you go. I have so much work to do. I must try to find my other siblings, hopefully I will find them all. The ancestors are waiting. They, like you, have a story and it must be told.
Peace & Love,
© 2013 Denise Muhammad
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
|Grandma Luella 1910-1991|
My relationship with my paternal grandmother Luella Evandle FOWLER was different than most. Because I never once met her. Something that I never fully understood. Growing up, my sisters and I only knew her through phone calls and letters. Mom would call her and put us on the phone. She would always talk to us about our father, her son. She would tell us that he loved us girls in spite of his absence in our lives and that we should always be sweet to our mother. Looking back, I am thankful for the many conversations that I did have with her. However, it was one conversation that gave me the pieces to this family puzzle and started me on my journey. At sixteen, my habit of writing everything down was just beginning. I still have the notebook that I took notes in during our conversation all those years ago. I guess that being a "Pack Rat" has it's benefits.. Little did I know that this would be the last time that we spoke.
I remember our conversation like it was yesterday. She started by telling me when she was born, November 5, 1910 to James Fowler and Barbara Christine CONNWAY. She married Ollie Taylor, her first husband about 1926. She married her second husband Paul C. Pryor, in the 1930's. Her family was from Missouri. Most lived in Frankilin county. The towns of Washington, South Point, Pacific. Also, Boonville and Webster Groves. Her siblings were; Golden, Lawrence, Hazel, Charles, Sadie, Archie, Barney and Frankie. She told me that her maternal grandmother was a slave. Her name was Mariah CONNWAY and even though she looked like a white woman she was still sold into slavery. Mariah's mother was an enslaved woman named Myra HALL. Myra was born about 1807, some records say Kentucky and some Virginia. She is thought to have been owned by a German slaveholder in Missouri. Like her daughter, Mariah, she also was very fair and looked white. Grandma Luella continued to give me more information, telling me about the day my father was born..in a little shack of a log cabin along side of the Missouri river in Washington..all I could say was Wow!
I was amazed as I later found that my grandmother's family stayed in the same location generation after generation. The only ancestors in my entire family on all sides that stayed in the same area after years after slavery ended. They never left. I have located most of them in Franklin county records from 1870-1940.
Melanie: An Angel in Genealogical Kindness
I few years ago I posted a message to the message boards. I had found many death records on the Missouri Digital Heritage website, an absolutely wonderful site for Missouri research. I was curious to find out more about the location of the cemetery's and my relatives. Called Washington and Old City Cemetery. I received an email from a woman asking me if I was sure about the name of this cemetery. After my reply, She offered to search for cemetery records. I was surprised and very grateful for her kind offer.
The next day she emailed me back with not one, not two, but a whole list of names. I recognized the names. Many were my grandmother's family. I was floored when she told that she would search the cemetery over the weekend and try to find their grave sites. WHAT! did I read this right? I thought to myself..okay, surely she charges a fee for her research services. When I asked her, She replied "No" and said that she would be in that area and that it wasn't far from her. The next email a day or two later provided me with more than I expected. Not only did she walk the cemetery, finding that there was not one single relative that had a headstone, she went to the county office and found obituaries, Birth, death and marriage announcements. I thought to myself, this woman must be a relative of mine. Who would do that? spend their whole weekend searching for a family that's not theirs. Her final emails contained maps of South Point, Missouri with links to other websites.
I never did find out who Melanie was. If she was a relative, or just a kind woman who wanted to help me. I truly appreciate her time and her sacrifice to find these gems of information. This was an act of Genealogical Kindness that I will be sure to pay forward.
|My great-Grandfather, James Fowler|
|My 2x Great-Grandfather James Fowler Sr.|
© 2013 Denise Muhammad
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
she knew that it would. This article really hit home with me because Gullah Geechee is part of my heritage. My great Grandmother Frances (Fannie) WILLIAMS was of this culture. Her family, originally from New Orleans, migrated to Mississippi and later settled in Arkansas where my Grandfather, Ollie Taylor was born.
The article talks about this small community in Georgia, called Sapelo Island. It is one of the earliest freed slave settlements. Many of the descendants of slaves still live there today. The Gullah Geechee people are being forced to sell because of rising property taxes. The owners aren’t giving up without a fight, they are making their story known. No, my family is not from Georgia..that I know of. I cannot remain silent. I feel that I must share this and speak up.
I cannot believe that this is happening! all because of taxes?..really? a whole 50 people on the island. What exactly are they being taxed for? why can't this land be preserved. I think that it should be declared a national historic landmark. It's more than just a place. It's about a culture, a way of life. The history of a people that would be destroyed if this land is sold. If dozens of plantation homes, civil war lands, buildings are declared historic why shouldn't this be?
Shouldn't our history be preserved?
Okay, I'm done ranting. Just had to get it out. I hope that others will stand and lift their voice. Someone has to help share the story.
If you don't stand for something. You will fall for anything.
Sapelo island historic-slave community Faces Tax Rise
Monday, October 14, 2013
|My father,with my sister and brother-about 1968|
After my recent post, I spoke with my sister over the phone. We talked about many things, mainly about our parents, our history and the mystery of Grandpa Ollie's name, TAYLOR. Which isn't really his name. My sisters are amazing, the encouragement that I get from them to continue blogging and search for our family's past is awesome! They are all my team. Our conversation made me realize something that I never thought of before. That tracing our Genealogy brings pain. I didn't realize that as much as we want to know about our father's past, that it would hurt so many to dig into it?. Pain is definitely the gift that no one wants.
I think that sometimes the pain of remembering the past is just to difficult for some, especially the elders. They just don't want to talk. They will tell you in a heartbeat that they don't know anything. Short and to the point! like, don't ask me, I don't really want to talk about it. I have heard it so many times before. I was recently asked, "Why in the world would you want to look up dead people? " Yes, that bothered me. However, It does not stop me. I realize that I am supposed to tell their stories.
If you can get them to talk, good for you! Fortunately I was blessed with a grandmother that wanted to share her history and always pushed me to find out more about our ancestors. She once told me about a cousin that had started researching the family and uncovered some big family secret and stopped researching. We never did find out what that secret was. They come from a different generation, when children were seen and not heard. Grandma used to say that you just didn't ask questions back in those days. Oh, if only I would've of been a fly on the wall!
I have learned that there is a method to asking questions, always be respectful and don't push. They talk when they are ready. Be patient. Although digging into our past can sometimes be very painful and feelings and emotions surface that we thought we buried deep in us long ago..The pain becomes a real and necessary process on the journey to finding who we are and where we come from, the struggles our ancestors endured and the sacrifices they made.
The Pain of Genealogy, it's all part of the process as we follow the footsteps of our ancestors. Let go and follow the spirit!
© 2013 Denise Muhammad
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
|My father, Jesse Carl Taylor w/ my sister Lisa and brother Tony. 1965|
Growing up my mother taught us to be proud of who we are, which included being proud of our name. We were the PRYOR'S. Growing up in a small community, I had eyes all around me. EVERYONE knew my mother. Those were the days when you got checked by the other mothers in the neighborhood if you were caught doing wrong..and they had no problem at all letting your mother know!
I remember my father, playing with us as children. He always wore a crisp white T-shirt and Khaki pants. His hair was jet Black, thick and wavy with a hint of a curl, much like mine. He was a truck driver for Allied Van Lines for years and drove all over the country. He liked to cook and could fix anything. Even though he made his home in Minneapolis, MN where he met and married my mother in the 60's, home for him was Kansas City, Missouri. His family who had migrated from Arkansas lived in Cape Girardeau and New Haven, Mo.
The decision to look for him was easy. I had been researching the history of my family for years and had found a ton of relatives. So I thought, why shouldn't I be able to locate my father?..piece of cake,..Right? well, it wasn't that simple. After hours of questioning my mother, I found that my father had two Surnames. Actually two names all together; first, middle and last. Talk about confusing! Further research revealed that when his mother married his step father, Paul Pryor. My father took on his surname, although he was never legally adopted. Switching his first and middle name around, he was enrolled in school under the name, Carl Jesse Pryor. He enlisted in the army, and fought in world War II under that name. His military record shows his birth date as 1927. This confirmed the story that my mother told me. That he joined the Army at 15 after lying about his age. He was actually born in 1930. I found it odd that even though my grandmother said his birth name was VALRIE Jesse Taylor. His birth record lists him as Jesse Carl Taylor. How absolutely confusing is that!!!
While the search for my father has been challenging, frustrating at times and very exiting. Especially discovering my Creole ancestry! It has also been painful and disappointing. I never did find my father. By the time I found him, He had passed away five years earlier. What a huge disappointment that was! Little did I know that he had started using his given name, Jesse TAYLOR. His obituary lists him as Jesse Carl TAYLOR-PRYOR..I guess he used both names.
© 2013 Denise Muhammad
Monday, September 23, 2013
|My sister and I|
I never knew much about my father's side of family. My parents had divorced when I was very young. My mother raised us as a single parent. I grew up with my two younger sisters and two older brothers..Yes, I was the middle child! Mom, who was the greatest story teller ever! would tell us stories about her childhood, her family history and my father and his family. Making it like a story, it was fun and exciting, and I loved it! I think that's where it really began, my passion for genealogy. Thanks to my mother. I knew so much about mom's side of the family I decided to start looking for my father's side. I had heard for years that I had other siblings and family in Missouri and I longed to find a connection.
So, I decided to start digging around on Dad's side of the family. My Father, Jesse Carl Taylor, most called him Pete. Was from Washington, Missouri.. he lived in Kansas city. He Passed away in 2000. Armed with my notes from phone conversations with my Paternal Grandmother, Luella Fowler Pryor. And notes from what mom had told me. I began building my tree in Ancestry.com. I made my tree public hoping that a family member would see it.
a few years went by and then one day, Much to my surprise, I received an email from a man who said that he was my father's brother. Although I had never met them, I knew that my father had several siblings. I was beyond excited! he gave me his number and asked that I call him. He explained how he had found my family tree, seeing my Dad's picture on Ancestry.com. We talked over the phone, him telling me all about my father's family. Then he asked me did I know that I had a sister? and my jaw dropped.."No", I replied. He told me that he knew where she was and would put me in contact with her..my heart was beating so fast, I tried not to scream in the phone from excitement! I called my sisters and told them all about our new found uncle and that we had a sister.
In a matter of days my sister and I talked over the phone for the first time. That was amazing! she is a beautiful individual, as are all my sisters.We all have so many similarities. All very artistic..we are Pete's daughters. My youngest sister, was thrilled that she now has a younger sister and can no longer be called the baby of the family..Lol! We finally met each other at the family reunion that summer in St. Louis, Missouri. I met my uncles,who reminded me of my dad., and so many family members. I had found the connection that I longed for. So many tears of joy, I had found my family. I was home.
|Uncle Steve, Me,Tiffany|
© 2013 Denise Muhammad