Mary and Harry Whitaker, Childhood Photos

Grandma Bonnel's photo album includes several photographs of her young children, Harry Allen Whitaker (born 21 Nov 1893) and Mary Irene Whitaker (born 23 May 1901). The first photo is of Harry as a young boy, still with ringlets, posed with his youngest maternal aunt, Laura Bonnel (b. 1884).

Laura Bonnel and Harry Whitaker, c. 1896

Next is a baby picture of Mary, taken in late 1901 or early 1902. She, her brother and Aunt Laura have those big Bonnel eyes. Photos of Laura in old age look so like Mary that we were more than a little confused telling them apart.

Mary Irene Whitaker, c. 1901

Finally Mary posed with Harry about 1903.

Mary and Harry Whitaker, c. 1903

There are no other childhood photos of the two in the album. The next photo of Mary is at her high school graduation. 

Joe & Eva Whitaker of Atchison & Jefferson Counties, KS

The first pictures in my husband's great-grandmother's photo album are of his great-grandmother and her husband.

Joe Whitaker was born 22 Dec. 1866 in Atchison County, KS. He died 25 June 1948 in Nortonville, Jefferson, KS and was buried in Nortonville Cemetery, Nortonville, Jefferson, KS. He was one of nine children born to Henry Lyman Whitaker and Harriet Merriam. 

Eva Bonnel was born 12 Feb. 1869 in Center, Atchison, KS to Charles Frederick Bonnel and Mary Catherine (Mollie) Shouse. She was one of sixteen children. Eva died 27 Feb. 1963 in Benkelman, Dundy, NE and was buried in Benkelman Cemetery, Benkelman, Dundy, NE. 

Joe & Eva Whitaker, undated.

Eva and Joe were married 24 Dec. 1888 in Atchison County, KS. They had two surviving children. Harry Allen Whitaker was born 21 Nov. 1893 in Pardee, Atchison County, KS. Mary Irene Whitaker was born 23 May 1901 in Effingham, Atchison, KS. The couple separated and may have divorced once their children were grown. Though no mention has been made in the family of a legal divorce, Eva was listed in the 1920 census as divorced. Joe has not been found, but their children had moved out and were living independently. In both the 1930 and 1940 census Joe and Eva were listed as widowed and enumerated in separate households in the small town of Nortonville. Both lived on Main Street. 

Eva Whitaker, "Grandma Bonnel"  c. 1960. 

Joe Whitaker with his eldest great-grandchild  in 1943.

Sources

Whitaker, Eva Bonnel. Bonnel Photo Album. c. 1885 - 1960. Privately held by granddaughter of E. B. Whitaker, McCook, NE. 1994. 

"United States Census, 1920," index and images, FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/pal:/MM9.1.1/MF6F-ZML : accessed 29 May 2013), Eva Whitaker, 1920.

"United States Census, 1930," index and images, FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/pal:/MM9.1.1/X7QH-91R : accessed 29 May 2013), Eva Whittaker, 1930.

"United States Census, 1930," index and images, FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/pal:/MM9.1.1/X7QH-9PZ : accessed 29 May 2013), Joe Whittaker, 1930.

"United States Census, 1940," index and images, FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/pal:/MM9.1.1/VRKC-LP5 : accessed 28 May 2013), Eva Whitaker, Nortonville, Norton Township, Jefferson, Kansas, United States; citing enumeration district (ED) 44-9, sheet 4A, family 85, NARA digital publication T627, roll 1236.

"United States Census, 1940," index and images, FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/pal:/MM9.1.1/VRKC-B6T : accessed 28 May 2013), Joseph Whitaker, Nortonville, Norton Township, Jefferson, Kansas, United States; citing enumeration district (ED) 44-9, sheet 6B, family 151, NARA digital publication T627, roll 1236.

Westward Ho!

I am temporarily changing directions at Nolichucky Roots. Or expanding my compass. This blog is named for the East Tennessee river my mother's family lived by for generations. I have also written about the Carpatho-Rusyn roots of my father's family and the Tidewater roots of my mother-in-law.

My father-in-law's family has been neglected. Certainly not in research! They have been a fascinating bunch to trace. While the other three lines have strong ties to particular geographic areas, his lines are distinguished by few ties to any location. Over the 19th & 20th centuries they moved. And moved. And moved. I call his family the Westward Roots, for the only constant has been the direction of their migrations. 

Other family members have, however, done good research, and with little new or original to share, and no photographs to illustrate the stories, I set them aside. No more. My husband's aunt recently showed me her grandmother, Eva Bonnel Whitaker's (12 Feb. 1869 -  27 Feb. 1963) photo album. 

Grandma Bonnel's photo album

Eva had photographs of her parents and grandparents, of family businesses, her children, brothers and sisters. I shall be sharing them here with her granddaughter's permission. It is a thrill to be able to do so, and a whole new world. We shall be in Kansas, Nebraska and Wyoming. 

Blog Caroling - The Carol of the Bells

My Christmas this year is filled with bells, and the carols playing are no different. The Carol of the Bells is based on a Ukrainian song and was adapted by Peter Wilhousky, who lived down the street from me when I was a child. He was long retired by that time, but it was a thrill to know he created the carol we were singing. 

The lyrics are layered - the carol is sung in under two minutes. But it is tremendous, tremendous fun. 

Blog Caroling is an annual tradition started by Footnote Maven. It is a joy to participate again this year. 

Baubles, bangles and bells ~ Celebrating Christmas

As a family historian, a second generation American of Eastern European ancestry and long time lover of musicals, tradition - no - TRADITION means everything. Come Christmas, however, and traditions can overwhelm. 

I want it all. The Christmas of my childhood. The Christmas of my faith. The Christmases of our families' past. The Christmas of today.   What I end up with are layers and layers of moments, each a link to a Christmas past.  

The music playing references our heritage and our own lives. Slavonic, Latin and English hymns. Folk music and saxophones. Choirs and bells. When the Hallelujah Chorus plays I remember singing it myself for the first time, my daughter's choir, and my mother giggling as she told us of the time she "hallelujahed" a beat to soon. One unanticipated solo. 

This year I was able to spend several days decorating our tree. For the last few years we've traveled at Christmas, visiting family and celebrating afar. No trees put up at home. It was a luxury and joy to reflect on each ornament as I hung it on our mishmash tree. 

There are wheat ornaments from Kansas that remind me of our first home and daughter's birth - and of my husband's ancestors who settled there a century earlier. Tin instruments that make me think of the music we've played over the generations.

A straw ornament from my cousins in Slovakia reminds me of a stable. Lovely little birds make me think of my three mothers - birth, in-law and step. Birders all. 

There are stars that reflect beaches we've walked on. Stars that remind me of the Carpathian mountains. Stars because we remember a Star in the East. A lobster that reminds me of summer dinners and winter parties. 

Angels who herald or chime, angels that hung on trees of grandmothers and great-grandmothers decades ago. 

Our lady of the torch reminds me of a frantic visit decades ago and the earlier passages of my grandparents almost 100 years ago. Our Lady of the tree is an ornament I made 50 years ago. 

There are church spires from Frederick, Maryland and from farther east. And lighthouses from the coasts we've lived on to bring us safely home.

A small home or cabin covered in snow reminds me of growing up in Connecticut and of the many generations of my family who have lived in the mountains. 

A very old Santa from my parents' Air Force days in Europe still peeks out from behind Alice in Wonderland - one of the many children's book characters hiding in the tree because we read. 

My sister's carousel brings back the our early adult years, when money was tight but her love was shared. I remember rides with her in Binghamton at the carousels and watching my own children whirl round on ones at carnivals and even looking over the Grand River in Michigan.

But above all there are bells. Bells that remind me of church and choirs and songs ringing out across the fields. Bells that help me remember that time and those we love pass, traditions change, but the joy and beauty of Christmas can lift our spirits each winter.