52 A Genealogy Year In Review

 

52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks

Week 52 December 22, 2025

Prompt: Memorable

A Year of Questions, Clues, and Breakthroughs

When I committed at the beginning of the year to participate in Amy Johnson Crow’s 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks challenge, I didn’t know where it would lead—only that I wanted to write more intentionally about my family history. What I didn’t anticipate was how memorable the journey itself would become.

The first challenge was simply learning how to build a blog that could support weekly writing. I fumbled my way through layouts, widgets, images, and formatting, gradually creating a space where my research and storytelling could live together. That alone felt like an accomplishment—but it was only the beginning.

Early in the year, I also learned how to use ChatGPT as a writing and research assistant. What started as help with polishing paragraphs quickly evolved into something much more valuable: a thinking partner. Together, we summarized documents, untangled timelines, tested hypotheses, and—eventually—wrote full Genealogical Proof Standard arguments. It changed how I work.

One of the most meaningful breakthroughs came when I finally broke a long-standing brick wall involving my maternal great-grandmother, Lucinda. A response from a DNA match opened the door to identifying her parents as Daniel Crull and Elizabeth Lent. That discovery led me to find Lucinda living with them in the 1870 census in Lawrence County, Missouri—a moment that still feels surreal. Seeing her placed in a family, rather than floating unnamed through records, was unforgettable.

This year was also memorable for the friendships that make genealogy richer. I went on a research trip with friends that took us to the National Archives at St. Louis, where I found military records for several relatives. We spent a full day at the St. Louis County Library, followed by two intense (and exhilarating) days at the Allen County Public Library, and then wrapped it all up at the Ohio Genealogical Society Conference. Those days reminded me how much research thrives on shared excitement, conversation, and laughter.

Back at home, new tools continued to reshape my research. Using FamilySearch’s Full Text Search, I dove into court records for my Warren County, Tennessee McCorkles—only to discover that my great-uncles were, frankly, a memorable bunch: scoundrels, bootleggers, and repeat visitors to the legal system. It was a vivid reminder that our ancestors were complicated, messy, and very human.

The year ended with another major breakthrough: confirming through DNA that my maternal third great-grandmother Elizabeth was a Choate. What followed was some of the most satisfying research I’ve ever done—layering sibling-level DNA matches, upstream family connections, migration patterns, and probate context into a complete proof. With ChatGPT’s help, I documented the findings in a formal GPS argument, something I never would have imagined doing at the start of the year.

Looking back, what made this year memorable wasn’t just the discoveries—though there were many—but the way each answer led to better questions, deeper confidence, and new ways of working. I began the year hoping to keep up with a weekly writing challenge. I’m ending it with solved mysteries, stronger skills, and a renewed excitement for whatever questions come next.

As the year comes to a close, I’m already looking ahead. There will be more research trips, more archives to explore, and more long days spent chasing clues alongside good friends. I plan to continue with Amy Johnson Crow’s 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks challenge in 2026, curious to see what new prompts—and new puzzles—it will bring. If this year taught me anything, it’s that the most memorable discoveries often come from questions I didn’t yet know how to ask. I can’t wait to see what the next year uncovers.

51 One of Her Kids: Remembering Grace Pickell

 Grace Pickell:  Neighbor, Teacher, Friend

52 Ancestors in 52 weeks

Week 51 December 15, 2025

Prompt: Musical

Some families are filled with natural musicians. In mine, that gift belonged to my Aunt Betty — my mother’s sister — who could sit down at a piano and play anything by ear. She especially loved to jazz up hymns, turning When the Saints Go Marching In into a full honky-tonk celebration.

But the musical thread that runs through my own childhood belongs to Grace Pickell.

Grace was our next-door neighbor in Bartlesville, Oklahoma. She was also my kindergarten teacher, my piano teacher, and one of the earliest adults outside my family to shape how I learned, performed, and understood myself.

Happy Kindergarten Days

In August 1959, Grace opened a private kindergarten in her home in the Pennington Hills neighborhood, emphasizing music, rhythm, speech, and reading readiness. Years later, I found the newspaper announcement and realized something remarkable: I was in her very first kindergarten class.

Note that there was emphasis on music. 

My first day of kindergarten.

At the end of that school year, Grace staged a kindergarten graduation program at the Women’s Club building. We wore construction-paper mortarboard hats she made herself and sat in a circle on the floor with rhythm instruments. I can picture it clearly even now — my legs stretched straight out in front of me, a tambourine in my hands, trying very hard to do everything just right. It was my first performance, and my first experience being part of something carefully planned and lovingly taught.

Piano Lessons and Recitals

From there came piano lessons. We had an upright piano in the den that my mother bought at auction, and Grace expected me to practice daily — fifteen minutes, which felt like an eternity. I hated to practice. What helped was my grandmother, MeMe, sitting beside me, patiently encouraging me. One of my lesson pieces had a line drawing at the top of the page, and I remember coloring it with crayons to make practicing more tolerable.

Grace held weekly private lessons and Saturday morning group theory classes. By 1962, my name appeared in the newspaper for her January and May piano recitals. I would have been eight years old, in second grade, sitting at a grand piano much larger than I was, wearing my Easter dress and playing a very short piece from memory. To my family, it was a moment of triumph.

As I read those recital announcements decades later, what struck me most were the names. So many of them belonged to children I knew — neighbors from our street, kids from church, classmates from elementary school. The lists weren’t just recital programs; they were snapshots of a close-knit community where music lessons, school, church, and neighborhood life overlapped. Reading them brought back faces, friendships, and shared experiences I hadn’t thought about in years.

At the end of those recitals, Grace presented merit ribbons and little composer statuettes for completed theory work. I must have participated in more than one recital, because I still have two statuettes: Chopin, whom I confidently called “Chop In,” and Tchaikovsky. I don’t know why I chose those composers. My family thought I should have picked Bach or Mozart. But for some reason, eight-year-old me was drawn to the dramatic Romantics — and those tiny composers followed me home.

Eventually, Grace did something else that stayed with me just as strongly. One evening, she called my mother and gently said she didn’t think piano was for me. And that was that. Looking back now, I hear kindness in her honesty. She knew when to encourage — and when to let go.

My father’s dream of me becoming a church pianist ended there, but I tried many other things: ballet, tap, acrobatics, junior choir, baton twirling, even the clarinet (which I hated). I didn’t excel at any of them. What I loved most was playing outside, reading, and making things. Grace may not have made me a musician, but she gave me confidence, structure, and the courage to try.

In 1968, our family moved from Bartlesville to Bentonville, Arkansas, and I lost touch with Grace — or so I thought. Years later, when I began sending Christmas cards, I added Grace and her husband, Marion, to my list. They sent cards back, year after year. Grace always commented on my news, following my career as an air traffic controller as I moved from Houston to Los Angeles to Overland Park, Kansas.

Surprise Visit

One summer, while driving from Overland Park to Tulsa, I missed a turn and unexpectedly found myself passing through Bartlesville. On impulse, I stopped to see Grace and Marion. They were as happy to see me as I was to see them. It felt like no time had passed at all.

Marion and Grace Pickell

Grace and Libby

Cassadaga, Florida

In 1994, while attending FAA training in Florida, I visited Cassadaga — the so-called psychic capital of the world. During a reading, the medium told me that someone whose name started with a G had just died, someone who said I was one of her kids and always would be, and that she was very proud of me. I knew it couldn't be my Aunt Gladys or I would have been contacted. I immediately knew it had to be Grace. 

Typical medium's house in Cassadaga, Florida. 

A week or so later, when I returned home, there was a letter waiting from Grace’s daughter, Nancy. Grace had passed away. As they went through her things, Nancy realized we had exchanged Christmas cards for years. A memorial service was planned, and my brother Storm and I were able to attend.

There, I reconnected with Grace’s son Franky — three years younger than me and one of my childhood buddies. I always teased him about having to go to kindergarten three years in a row. We built forts out of rocks at a place we called "down the hill",  a dump for dirt and rocks. We built a treehouse and he was my first groom when I played dress up with a bride's dress my mom made. Frank and I now stay in touch on Facebook. He surprised me by showing up in Arkansas for my father’s funeral, and later came to Sand Springs for my mother’s service.

Grace Pickell taught me music, yes — but more than that, she taught me how to belong, how to try, and how to be remembered. Long after the piano lessons ended, she still claimed me as one of her kids.

Closing Reflection

Genealogy isn’t only about ancestors and bloodlines. It’s also about the people who shape us — the teachers, neighbors, and mentors who leave an imprint on our lives long after childhood has passed. Grace Pickell may not appear on my family tree, but her influence runs through my story just as surely as any inherited trait. Remembering Grace is a reminder that our lives are shaped not just by where we come from, but by who walks beside us along the way.

And in every way that matters, she was right — I was one of her kids.

Grace's Kids

As a final way of honoring Grace and the community she created, and because genealogy is as much about community as it is about family, I’m including the names of the kids who shared these early musical experiences with me in her kindergarten class and piano recitals. Reading these lists now feels like reopening a scrapbook — familiar names from my neighborhood, church, and school, all brought together by one remarkable teacher.

Grace Pickell’s Kindergarten Class (1959–1960)

(Alphabetical by last name)

Jimmy Adams

Nancy Bridges

Pamela Hefner

J. R. Huffman

Denise Norwood

Franky Pickell

Gary Smith

Libby Wallis

John Whitaker

Students Listed in Grace Pickell’s Piano Recital Announcements (1962)

(Alphabetical by last name; combined January and May recitals)

Jimmy Adams

Julie Adams

Mike Adams

Mark Alford

Kim Baker

Jean Beckett

Linda Bell

Marsha Bell

Jeff Brashear

Toni Burks

Kay Chrisman

Elizabeth Ann Cook

Mary Helen Cook

Judy Crow

Kathy Crowe

Kathleen Currie

Kelly Dishman5

Lauri Edens

Barbara Faver

Julie French

Janey Gray

Becky Hamilton

Kathleen Harper

Doug Heady

Susan Heady

Laurie Irons

Elana Johnson

Mike Johnson

Jimmy Kuepker

Scott Lamkin

Cathy Lhuillier

Calveta Lucas

Andy McBrayer

Nancy McBrayer

Becky McConnell

Cheryl McConnell

 Jennifer McCoy

 Eileen McKinney

Kathy Morris

Patty Neubauer

Laurie Nicoli

Donna Jo Norwood

Glen Pharris

Franky Pickell

Nancy Pickell

Ruth Ann Rains

Linda Reilly

Bill Retterath

Ray Retterath

Joe David Roper

Bonnie Sue Roper

Sara Nell Roper

Barbara Smith

Christi Shack

Steven Shack

Susan Smith

Becky Spieth

Barbara Stalder

Kathie Stalder

Raymond Stewart

Janet Thompson

Pam Uzzel

Libby Wallis

Dan Washburn

50 A Christmas Keepsake

 

Ralph David Wallis and Margaret Ella Nolen, My Parents

52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks

Week 50 – December 9, 2025

Prompt: Family Heirloom

Some heirlooms are precious because of their age, their craftsmanship, or the generations they pass through.

Others are treasured because they hold a story no one else could ever carry.

Mine is the latter.

I was born two months early on December 20, and I spent my first Christmas in an incubator at Hillcrest Hospital. In those days, mothers stayed hospitalized much longer after a difficult birth, so my mother spent Christmas in the hospital too — a young woman with a fragile newborn she could not yet hold. Her Sunday School class brought her a large ceramic Santa head vase filled with red carnations, her favorite flower. To her, it was a bright spot in a frightening season — a reminder that she was surrounded by love and that better days were coming.

And that Santa vase stayed with her for decades.

This is how Mom used the vase, plastic greenery with red boots. 

One Christmas, long after the decorations were put out in their familiar places, my mother told me that she had always intended to give me the Santa vase when I had my first child. It was meant to be passed from mother to daughter, a quiet symbol linking her experience to mine.

But life did not unfold that way.

I wasn’t married yet, and no children were expected. She knew it. I knew it. And with a tenderness only a mother can offer, she handed me the vase anyway.

There are two photographs taken that day.

In one, my mother stands proudly beside her Christmas shelves, the Santa vase prominent beside her — not small at all, but bold and unmistakable. In the other, my father stands beside me as I hold the vase for the first time. The moment is preserved forever: my eyes glistening, my face caught between surprise and longing, the emotion just beneath the surface. It is plain to see that I am about to cry.

I cried because of the sentiment, yes.

But also because the gift acknowledged a truth I had lived with quietly — that I was not going to have children of my own. Even when I finally married at age 57, motherhood was no longer possible. My husband had never married, so there are no stepchildren waiting in the next generation. There is no obvious heir to receive the Santa vase.

But maybe that isn’t the only way an heirloom can matter.

This Christmas keepsake carries the story of my earliest days — days my parents feared they might lose me, days shaped by hope, prayer, and the devotion of a young couple who wanted their daughter more than anything. The vase holds their love through the years, my mother’s sentiment, my father’s support, and the journey I’ve traveled to become the woman they raised me to be.

Every December when I set it out, it reminds me that I was cherished from the beginning… that my story mattered… and that family heirlooms don’t need a next generation to be meaningful.

Some treasures exist simply to tell the truth of a life —

and this one tells mine.

49 Five Little Words

Elizabeth Crull, My Maternal 2nd Great-Grandmother

52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks

Week 49 – December 2, 2025

Prompt: Written

Five little words stopped me in my tracks:

"Elizabeth Crull ordered to Almshouse. "

They appeared in a short notice titled County Court in The Springfield (MO) Leader on January 10, 1878. Until that discovery, the last record I had of Elizabeth and her husband Daniel was the 1870 census in Spring River Township, Lawrence County, Missouri—thirty-two miles west of Springfield. I had never thought to look for the family in Springfield.

But recently Nancy—who helped me research my great-grandparents Lucinda and Josiah Coon long before I knew Lucinda’s maiden name—sent me the link to that newspaper snippet. And with those five words, a new path opened.

Following the Clue

My first questions were immediate and practical:

• What was the Almshouse like?

• Did it have a cemetery where Elizabeth might be buried?

• Did Daniel die before she was admitted?

• And why was Elizabeth in Springfield at all?

The Greene County Almshouse—also called the county poor farm—sheltered the impoverished, disabled, or ill. It wasn’t a place people entered lightly.

I posted my new clue on Facebook, and Annette—one of my genealogy friends with a legendary personal library—replied within hours. She said she had a book that indexed the Superintendent’s Register of the Almshouse. She scanned it and sent me a PDF.

There, on page 50 (page 56 of the scan), I found Elizabeth Crull, age 40.

But then came the surprise.

Lucinda, age 14, was listed too.

And beside her—Samuel, age 6—a younger sibling I had never heard of.

The Almshouse Records

The index listed their dates of admission and dismissal. The “date of death” column was blank for all three, confirming that Elizabeth did not die in the Almshouse.

Their timeline:

• January 8, 1878 – Elizabeth and Samuel admitted

• March 10–11, 1878 – Elizabeth dismissed; Samuel dismissed the next day

• November 11, 1878 – Elizabeth, Lucinda, and Samuel all readmitted

• January 13, 1879 – All three dismissed together

The index noted that the original Superintendent’s Register was held at the Greene County Archives and Records Center, so I contacted them to see whether anything more could be learned. Jake at the Archives checked for a surviving court record (none exists) but confirmed they still had the original register itself. Within minutes he photographed the relevant pages and emailed them to me. The entries didn’t offer much beyond what the index provided, though they did include Elizabeth, Lucinda, and Samuel’s race—listed as white—but seeing those original pages felt like touching their lives directly.

So why were they admitted? Illness seems unlikely with all three together.

Most likely they were destitute.

What Five Little Words Revealed

Those five words—“Elizabeth Crull ordered to Almshouse”—gave me more than I expected.

I learned:

• Elizabeth lived at least until 1878, extending her known life by eight years.

• Lucinda had a younger brother, Samuel Crull.

• The family lived in Springfield in 1878–79, adding a new location to their story.

The Springfield Thread

Springfield has appeared in this family’s story before.

Lucinda wrote in her Bible that she and Josiah Coon were married in Indian Territory in 1898, yet her oldest son, Charlie Walter Coon, was born in Springfield in 1890.

Her son Frank Coon’s WWII draft registration gives his birth as February 29, 1898 in Springfield, while his WWI registration and Social Security record list February 29, 1896. Since 1896 was a leap year, that is likely correct.

Family lore says that Charlie died in Springfield when the horse-drawn hearse he was driving overturned.

Springfield keeps returning—quietly, unexpectedly—like a place that refuses to be left out of the story.

48 Bread and Butter Pickles

Gertrude Susan Goldsmith Wallis, My Paternal Grandmother 

52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks 

Week 48 – November 25, 2025 

Prompt: Family Recipe 

 A few months ago, my first cousin, John Wallis White, called and said he had something I might want: a 1944 church cookbook that contained a poem written by our grandmother. I rushed right over to pick it up. It was compiled by the “Ladies of the First Christian Church, El Dorado, Arkansas. Sponsored by Circle No. 4.” Gertrude had already passed away by then—she died on August 16, 1943, at age 54, from diabetes—but her voice lived on in these fragile pages.

When I first glanced through the cookbook, it didn’t appear that many recipes listed contributors’ names. But on page 4, there it was: a poem titled My Mother’s Hymn, attributed to Mrs. Charles B. Wallis, deceased. 

 In preparing this blog post, I carefully reviewed each page and discovered two recipes submitted by Mrs. C. B. Wallis: Eggless Cake and Bread and Butter Pickles. 

EGGLESS CAKE

One cup raisins; 2 cups Menu flour; 2 cups water; 1 teaspons baking powder; 1 teaspoon soda; 1 teaspoon salt; 2 tablespoons shortening; 1 teaspoon cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice; 1 cup sugar. Cook raisins in water down to 1 cup juice, stain and add soda to juice. Cool slightly, cream sugar and shortening, add juice alternately with Menu flour which has been sifted with baking powdere, spices. Add raisins last. Makes 1 10-inch cake. Mrs. C. B. Wallis

Note: Menu Flour was an advertiser in the cookbook.

BREAD AND BUTTER PICKLES

8 cups thinly sliced cucumbers; 2 cups thinly sliced onions; salt, let stand 2 hours, drain juice off; add 3 cups sugar; 2 teaspoons turmeric; chopped peppers (peppers can be omitted); add vinegar to suit taste; boil about 2 minutes. This makes 2 quarts. — Mrs. C. B. Wallis 

 My father loved bread-and-butter pickles, although in my childhood we always bought them at the grocery store. But now I imagine that his mother made them often — perhaps he loved them because they tasted like home. 

 The recipe sounds easy enough. It reminds me of the cucumbers and onions my mother kept in the refrigerator every summer — although she never called them pickles. A few months ago, I tried making them myself, improvising sugar and vinegar without a recipe. They didn’t turn out quite right. Next summer, I’ll try Gertrude’s version. A poem, a recipe, and a grandmother whose voice reached across eight decades to find me — all preserved in a humble 1944 church cookbook. Some heirlooms fit in trunks. Others fit in jars. 

47 Benmamin Logan Wallis / Wallace: The Name's the Same

 Benjamin Logan Wallis / Wallace, my paternal great grandfather

52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks

Week 47 – November 18, 2025

Prompt: The Name’s the Same

The Wallis Family: Seated are Benjamin Logan Wallis and his wife, Sophia McCool.

Standing: Left, Charles Lewis Woten and wife, Gertrude Mae Wallis.Behind and between them Charles Bertum Wallis (my grandfather). Center: Calvin Luther Morrison and wife, Emma Maude Wallis. Right: Scott Adema Wallis and wife, Julia Dollie Daniels Wallis.

Some families have a surname that stays the same for generations. Mine is not one of them.

In the case of my 3rd great-grandfather, Benjamin Logan Wallis, the spelling of the name flips so many times across censuses, military records, and legal documents that it feels like tracing two people instead of one. But it turns out Benjamin wasn’t confused at all—he simply lived in an era when clerks spelled names as they heard them, and our family answered to both.

And the story begins even earlier than Benjamin.

The First Wallis in America: A Name Already in Flux

Family tradition holds that our immigrant ancestor, John Wallis, arrived from Scotland in the early 1700s and settled in colonial Virginia. In Scotland, records consistently used Wallace, the classic Scots surname familiar from William Wallace of “Braveheart” fame.

But once John stepped onto Virginia soil, even his name began appearing as Wallace in some records and Wallis in others. It seems the surname was already fluid by the time it reached America—setting the stage for generations of spelling shifts.

And none illustrates this more vividly than Benjamin.

A Timeline of Two Spellings: WALLACE and WALLIS

Here is a chronological look at the official documents that recorded Benjamin’s surname—sometimes one way, sometimes another, depending on who held the pen.

1850 — WALLACE

Harrison Township, Delaware County, Indiana

Benjamin (17) appears with his parents and siblings as Wallace, the ancestral spelling.

1857 — WALLIS

Kansas Territorial Census, Allen County

Listed as Benj Wallis — the first documented flip

1860 — WALLACE

Deer Creek Township, Carroll County, Indiana

Back in Indiana, he is Benjamin Wallace again.

1861–1864 — Civil War Service: WALLIS AND WALLACE

46th Indiana Infantry, Company C

Benjamin’s Civil War file is a perfect example of the confusion:

• Main index card: Wallis, Benjamin L.

• Filed under: Wallace, Benjamin L.

Even the federal government couldn’t decide which spelling to use.

He served honorably under Generals Hovey and McClarren and was discharged December 1, 1864, at Delphi, Indiana.

4 July 1865 — Marriage: WALLACE

Three separate Indiana marriage documents list him as Benjamin L. Wallace.

The clerk used the familiar local version.

1880 — WALLIS

Iola, Allen County, Kansas

The family appears as Wallis, suggesting Benjamin was using this spelling socially.

1890s — WALLIS (Consistent)

Kansas newspapers and city directories throughout the decade consistently list him as Wallis.

This is the first time we see a single spelling used uniformly in civilian life.

1900 — WALLACE

Elm Township, Allen County, Kansas

The census enumerator reverts to Wallace—likely because it was the common spelling in the area.

1910 — WALLIS

LaHarpe, Allen County, Kansas

The final census of Benjamin’s life shows him once again as Wallis.

This is the spelling his descendants, including my branch, ultimately carried forward.

What His Widow Said About the Name

After Benjamin’s death, his wife Sophia (McCool) Wallis applied for a Civil War widow’s pension.

Her sworn statement resolves the mystery better than any historian could:

“My husband spelled his name sometimes Wallace, but he usually wrote it Benjamin L. Wallis. The only legal docket using Wallace is our marriage certificate.”

There it is.

Despite the back-and-forth of census takers, clerks, soldiers, and reporters, Benjamin preferred Wallis.

The inconsistencies were not his doing—they were the record keepers’. And he apparently saw no reason to correct anyone.

A Name That Followed Me, Too

The Wallis/Wallace confusion didn’t end with Benjamin—or even his children.

It followed me all my life.

Growing up, I always had to spell Wallis, carefully emphasizing the -i-s, only to watch people confidently write Wallace anyway. When I corrected them, they would scratch out the “-ace” messily and squeeze in “-is,” leaving my name looking like an afterthought. Sometimes I’d hand the form back and politely ask them to start over.

I tried helpful hints:

“Like Wallis Simpson.”

“Like Hal Wallis, the Hollywood producer.”

But most people didn’t recognize either name.

So when I got married—at age 58—my fiancé asked if I wanted to keep my name.

I laughed and said, “Heck no. I’m tired of always having to spell it.”

Of course, I soon learned that Russell needs spelling too…

but at least it’s easy to say, “Two S’s, two L’s.”

46 On the Air from Germany: The Wartime Story of Ralph David Wallis, Sr.

 Ralph David Wallis, Sr. — My Father

52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks

Week 46 – November 11, 2025

Prompt: Wartime

My father, Ralph David Wallis, enlisted in the Army of the United States on August 2, 1944, in the midst of WWII and just five days short of his 18th birthday — which means he was still 17 years old when he enlisted, probably to avoid being drafted. His date of entry into active service was delayed until February 2, 1945. In the interim he married my mother, Margaret Ella (Peggy) Nolen, on January 21, 1945, in Sand Springs, Oklahoma.

Ralph and Peggy married under the clock at the Sand Springs Home just as her parents had.

 

Before his enlistment, he and my mother were students at John Brown University in Siloam Springs, Arkansas, where Dad was studying to be a radio announcer. He and Mom both worked at the school’s radio station, KJBU. She wrote scripts while he was live on the air. They even did a few skit-type programs together, and he proposed to her on air.

Young lovers at John Brown University. He must have really loved her to wear the shirt she made him. 

Once engaged, and knowing he was entering military service they both quit school. He worked as a radio announcer at KWON in Bartlesville and she worked for another station in Tulsa, writing scripts. 

Since he enlisted rather than be drafted, he was able to have the military occupational specialty of Radio Operator and Mechanic.

18 year old Ralph boarded a bus in Tulsa for Camp Chaffee, Arkansas, on February 2 for his initial indoctrination, after 12 days of marriage. His initial medical review even mentioned the acne. 

Peggy, of course, had to stay behind at her parents’ home on the Sand Springs Line between Sand Springs and Tulsa.

Ralph had numerous duty locations before he was shipped overseas to Germany, including Amarillo AAF, Sioux Falls AAF, Truax Field in Madison, Wisconsin, and Scott AAF in Belleville, Illinois. Peggy worked as a civilian clerk at his duty locations and always knew where he was going next because she typed up the orders. Peggy would make arrangements for their housing and her own transfer before Ralph even knew where they were headed. 

All of their household items fit in a footlocker and included two Blue Willow plates and one bowl, which were probably wedding gifts.

They were either at Truax Field or Scott AAF when the war ended on September 2, 1945. Ralph continued training at Scott AAF through the end of 1945. In early 1946, he began processing for travel to Germany. This involved duty without Peggy at Greensboro, North Carolina, and Camp Kilmer, New Jersey.

Peggy and Ralph before he left for Germany. 

On March 8, he wrote Peggy saying that he was finally on board ship. On March 14, he wrote:

“Well we finally made it. We’re now stationed at the ‘Randolph Field’ of Germany.”

He goes on to say that it was where the German cadets were trained.

Then, on March 22, from Wiesbaden, Germany, he wrote:

“Well, I put in my first day’s work yesterday. I work for Special Services out of Col. Hubbard’s office at Headquarters. He is Chief of Special Services for the entire European Theater. Most of my work is done at the opera house here in Wiesbaden. My exact title is Radio Publicity man, a liaison man between the radio stations in Europe and the Special Services here. They put stage plays on at the opera house with soldiers as actors and civilian women of the stage in America for the actresses. ‘Amen’ closed Wednesday nite. I furnish spots and stories to all the radio stations here in Wiesbaden. W.A.F.S. A.F.N., American Forces Network in Frankfort, Munich, Stuttgart, Nuremberg, and Berlin. I have a phone that I can call anyone of these stations anytime. The Lt. I work under says he wants me to act in some radio plays over the local station, W.A.F.S. They have a civilian running the station here, Joe Cochran, formerly with N.B.C. and he sure is swell. He wants me to do some announcing for the station. Also says he needs an engineer - Boy is this going to be swell. While everyone else in the squadron goes to work at 8:30 in HQ, I don’t have to go until 10:00. Of course while a show is playing I may have to be at the opera house till 11:00 at nite.

Yesterday afternoon they asked me if I had a G.I. driver’s license. Naturally I didn’t. So they sent me to get a license. I got one easy as heck. Then issued me a vehicle. Its a old ambulance. We’re going to make a sound truck out of it. Going to put loud speakers on top and drive up and down the street advertising stuff at the opera house.”

Ralph and Peggy’s first child, Ralph David Wallis, Jr., was born June 25, while Ralph was in Germany. Ralph sent a telegram on June 27.

It was the first time he used “Sr.” after his name. Davy was six months old when Ralph returned to the States and was discharged from his military duty — that is, until he was recalled during the Korean War in 1950.

But that’s a story for another time.

Closing Reflection

My father enlisted in the Army as a 17-year-old with a strong voice, a hopeful heart, and a gift for communication.

Wartime didn’t silence him — it amplified him.

His letters reveal a young man discovering the world, missing his wife, and finding purpose in the power of radio.

His voice carried across Europe then.

His story carries across generations now.

45 Two LIves, One Beginning: Twins - William Antino and Lizzie Moore

William Antino Moore My Maternal Great Uncle 

52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks

Week 45 – November 4, 2025

Prompt: Multiples

Some twins share a lifetime of parallel steps.

Others part early and walk very different paths.

This is the story of my maternal great uncle, William Antino “Bill” Moore, and his twin sister — my grandmother — Elizabeth Moore Nolen.

Born Together in Indian Territory

In our family’s handwritten record dated August 10, 1908, my great-grandmother Lucinda recorded their birth:

“My twins born in Tulsa Town in I.T. in Aug 1st, 1905 cross street in old house from railroad tracks.

Dr. McGinis name them Billy Antino and Lizzie.”

Tulsa was still part of Indian Territory — a young frontier community of rail lines, tents, and new opportunity.

A Family Story Rewritten by DNA

For generations, our family believed the twins’ father was Josiah “Joe Moore” Coon, who claimed them in his 1907 will shortly before his death.

DNA later revealed that their biological father was George Neal.

It didn’t change their place in the family — it simply gave us a fuller truth.

Loss, Hardship, and a Mother Trying to Survive

Lucinda married Lew Boone on February 20, 1909, but just three months later Lew was murdered.

A Tulsa newspaper reported:

“He leaves a widow and three children. The family is in hard circumstances and living in a tent near the cemetery.”

By April 1910, Lucinda had secured a home in Lynn Land Township Tulsa County.

The twins appear in the census as Lizzie and Willie, with their younger sister Annie.

But on May 30, 1910, Elizabeth, William, and Anna entered the Sand Springs Home after neighborhood gossip reported their mother as negligent.

The family story is that Lucinda had locked the children in the basement while she looked for work.

William Moore front row, far left, with other boys at the Sand Springs Home. 

It must have been a heartbreaking moment — mother and children separated not by lack of love, but by poverty and circumstances.

A Life in Institutions

In a 1960 letter, the Superintendent of the Sand Springs Home wrote that William “did not develop mentally” and was committed to the State Institution at Norman.

In 1920 there is a William Moore working as a woodcutter in the lumber camp at the State Penitentiary in McAlester. I believe this is our William Moore. 

In 1930 William is living with his mother and step-father William Scott in a tent in the Newblock Park area of Tulsa. The census enumerator indicated he was divorced and a veteran of a war but I have no  evidence of either and he would have been too young to be in WWI.

His mother’s obituary May 30, 1938 included mention of her son, William Moore of Vinita. 

The 1940 census confirms that William A. Moore was an inmate at the Eastern Oklahoma Hospital in Vinita in 1935 and 1940. 

And again in the 1950 census Wm A Moore is a never married inmate at the Eastern Oklahoma State Hospital, a mental institution in Vinita. 

A letter from “Uncle Bill” to my mother in 1960 is postmarked Vinita, Oklahoma. He writes that he is getting along alright and had been down to see Sis. 

Despite challenges, he kept a thread of connection to family — especially to his twin.

A Gentle Ending

Uncle Bill spent his final years in a nursing home in Skiatook, Oklahoma, alongside his older brother Frank Coon and Robert Nolen, the brother of his twin sister’s husband.

Frank Coon, Leonard Nolen, Robert Nolen and Bill Moore. 

William Antino "Bill" Moore passed away on June 27, 1977.

He rests at Woodlawn Cemetery in Sand Springs, buried near his twin sister Elizabeth, and also near their younger sister Anna — the three children who entered the Sand Springs Home together in 1910 are reunited again in rest.

The uncertainty about the birth years is reflected in the tombstones. 

44 Scouts & Spies on the Kentucky Frontier

 Scouts & Spies on the Kentucky Frontier

My 5th Great-Grandfather, William Myrick Williams

52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks 

Week 44 Prompt: Rural

October 28, 2025

A Frontier Where Silence Meant Survival

Long before the word spy suggested trench coats and coded messages, it meant something far more rugged: a man moving silently through the woods, rifle in hand, watching for danger along the frontier.

My 5th great-grandfather, William Myrick Williams, was one of them — a frontier scout working in the wilderness of Kentucky and the Ohio Valley, when the land was raw and the line between settlement and survival was razor-thin.

“On the frontier, spies didn’t hide in cities — they melted into the trees.”

Family Background

William Myrick Williams was born in 1734 in Prince William County, Virginia. He married Elizabeth Settels in 1767 in Fauquier County, Virginia.

By 1775, they were in Kentucky, where their daughter Sally — my 4th great-grandmother — was born. Elizabeth died in 1783, leaving William a widower with grown children and a life unfolding at the edge of settlement.

In 1789, he appears in Madison County, Kentucky — deep in the frontier.

Service as a Frontier Spy

In the 1790s, this region was a volatile crossroads where American settlers, Native Nations, and military forces collided.

William served as a private in a company of scouts and spies, under Capt. Ephraim Kibbey, operating with Gen. “Mad” Anthony Wayne’s Legion of the United States.

Scouts and spies on the frontier were the intelligence corps — the silent, watchful eyes in the woods.

They traveled alone or in small groups, covering 30–70 miles at a time, monitoring troop movements, warning settlers, and relaying critical information back to fort commanders.

Historic-style illustration created to represent the dangerous work of wilderness scouts on the early American frontier.

Muster Roll for Private William Williams in company of scouts and spies under Capt. Ephraim Kibbey, doing duty with the Legion of the United States commanded by Major General Anthony Wayne.

Date of enlistment: July 6, 1794, for four months

Another muster roll shows pay of one dollar per day for a period of 129 days and no allowance for a horse. 

William's muster roll ties him to Fort Greenville (Greenville, Ohio) — the hub of Wayne’s frontier operations and later site of the Treaty of Greenville (1795).

From Fort Greenville rangers and scouts fanned out into dense forest, along rivers, and over rugged terrain — watching, listening, and protecting the scattered cabins of the Western frontier.

Frontier blockhouse, the type of fortified station used by scouts and settlers along the Kentucky–Ohio frontier in the post-Revolution era.

Frontier map centered on Fort Greenville — headquarters of General Anthony Wayne, and staging ground for scouts and spies like William Myrick Williams.

 Scouts based at Fort Greenville traveled up to 70 miles through dense frontier wilderness, gathering intelligence, tracking movement, and protecting isolated settlements. 

 

A Quiet Return

Like so many frontier veterans, William returned to ordinary life without fanfare. No monument, no pension story — only a quiet line on a muster roll and descendants who still remember.

But in those silent woods, with only trees and danger for company, he helped secure homes, families, and the future of a nation.

And in that solitude — he served.

Closing Reflection

When we picture spies, we often imagine cities — not silence, not timber, not listening to the wind for danger.

William Myrick Williams didn’t work in shadowed alleys, but in the deep stillness of the American frontier, where the stakes were life, land, and survival.

Sometimes the most rural places hold the most heroic stories.