31 Tracing Royal Roots: William the Conquerer

 William the Conqueror – My Paternal 26th Great-Grandfather

52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks

Week 31 – July 29, 2025

Prompt: Earliest Ancestor

I’ve traced many lines of my family tree back through time, some with painstaking care, others with the help of modern DNA tools or digitized records. But it was in the local library—quiet, old-school research—that I stumbled onto perhaps my most surprising “find” yet: William the Conqueror, my paternal 26th great-grandfather.

It happened while I was researching in the genealogy section of the Hardesty Regional Library, a branch of the Tulsa City-County Library system and home to their excellent genealogy collection. I was flipping through the multi-volume set Royal Ancestry by Douglas Richardson, trying to verify a possible connection I had uncovered to English royalty. Bit by bit, the line held together, generation by generation, until—there he was—William I of England, Duke of Normandy, victor at the Battle of Hastings in 1066, and the first Norman king of England.

I turned to the man seated at the next table and said, probably a little too proudly, “It looks like I descend from William the Conqueror.”

He didn’t even blink.

“Honey,” he said, “if you’re white Anglo-Saxon in the United States, you descend from William the Conqueror.”

Well then. That put me right in my place—and squarely among millions of others.

And still… there’s something thrilling about seeing it in print. Knowing that this towering figure in European history appears in my direct line, no matter how distant. His name may appear in history books and TV dramas, but for me, now, he also appears on my tree.

2025-30 Charity Cook: A Liberated Woman

Charity Wright Cook - My Paternal 4th Great Grand Aunt 

52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks

Week 30 – July 22, 2025

Prompt: Religion

A Quaker woman on horsebac, evoking the spirit of Charity Wright Cook as she journeyed hundreds of miles to share her ministry across the American Frontier. 

In the heart of the 18th-century Quaker migration through the American frontier, one woman’s voice rang out over the clamor of revolution, wilderness, and war. That woman was my 4th great-grandaunt, Charity Wright Cook, a Quaker traveling minister whose religious conviction and relentless journeying helped bind the Society of Friends together across a growing and changing nation.

Charity was born on December 2, 1745, in Prince George’s County, Maryland, to John C. Wright and Rachel Ann Wells, my paternal 5th great-grandparents. She was the sister of my 4th great-grandmother, Alisabeth Wright McCool. Their family moved to Cane Creek, North Carolina, when Charity was still a young child and eventually settled at Bush River in Newberry County, South Carolina, around 1760—part of a wave of Quaker families seeking religious community and opportunity in the Southern backcountry.

At just 17, Charity married Isaac Cook, a fellow Quaker, with whom she would have eleven children. But her journey into ministry did not come easily. In 1760, she faced accusations of impropriety and was separated from her meeting. For eight years, she remained outside the formal fellowship of Friends, raising children, maintaining her faith, and waiting. In 1772, the meeting not only welcomed her back but recognized her calling: Charity was appointed a minister.

What followed was a life of extraordinary commitment and endurance. During the turbulent years of the American Revolution, when Quaker pacifism was often viewed with suspicion or outright hostility, Charity traveled through the Southern colonies, preaching steadfastly to small and scattered meetings. As war reshaped the political landscape, she helped the Society of Friends hold firm to its spiritual principles.

And her journeys didn’t stop there.

In 1797, she boarded a ship for England to visit Friends across the Atlantic. Over the course of five years, she traveled through England, Ireland, and perhaps Europe, sharing messages of peace and unity across distant Quaker communities. She returned to America in 1802 and turned her focus to the expanding frontier. With Isaac, she helped establish new meetings in the Ohio Valley—including Caesar’s Creek and Silver Creek in Ohio and later in Indiana, as waves of westward migration continued.

Even in her seventies, Charity did not slow down. She lived her final years in Clinton County, Ohio, near the Silver Creek Monthly Meeting, and died on November 13, 1822. She is buried at Caesar’s Creek Cemetery—still remembered among Friends today.

Charity’s life was remarkable not only for her unwavering faith, but for her movement—across colonies, countries, and cultural boundaries. She was a mother of eleven, a preacher at a time when most women were confined to the home, and a healer of communities through the simple, powerful gift of presence. In the words of biographer Algie I. Newlin, who wrote Charity Cook: A Liberated Woman: A Minister in the Eighteenth Century Quaker Movement, she was truly a liberated woman—ahead of her time, and deeply grounded in her own.

Note: This blog post was researched and written by ChatGPT. 

29 The Pin, the Pearls, and the Photo: Finding Cousin Ola Goldsmith Cobb

 

Viola “Ola” Vesta Goldsmith Cobb – My paternal first cousin twice removed

52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks

Week 29 – July 15, 2025

Prompt: Cousin

Among my father’s photos, I found this  portrait of an older woman wearing pearls and a pin that said “Mother.” I had never seen a photo of his mother, so I assumed this must be her—Gertrude Susanna Goldsmith. But the cardboard mat around the photo said it was taken by a photographer in Bartlesville, Oklahoma, and that didn’t make sense. Gertrude had lived her adult life in El Dorado, Arkansas.

Later, while assembling a binder with everything I had on my father’s parents, I came across photos of Gertrude that my Aunt Gladys had sent me years ago. She didn’t look like the woman in the “Mother” pin photo.

Around the same time, I was reading letters my parents wrote to each other in the fall of 1944, a few months before they married. Mom was working at a radio station in Tulsa, and Daddy was working for another station in Bartlesville. In one of the letters, he mentioned that his cousin, Mrs. Cobb, had him over for dinner a few times. Could the woman in the photo be Mrs. Cobb?

A quick check of my Ancestry tree confirmed that Mrs. Cobb was Viola “Ola” Vesta Goldsmith Cobb. She had been widowed in 1935 when her husband, Henry Davenport Cobb—a Bartlesville police officer—was shot while investigating a domestic disturbance.

I had DNA matches to two of Ola’s grandchildren and one great-granddaughter. I decided to reach out to the great-granddaughter, Jeanne, to confirm my hunch. When I didn’t get a response to my Ancestry message, I found her on Facebook and tagged her in a post with the picture.

February 10, 2024

This may be Ola Goldsmith Cobb. Hoping Jeanne can verify this is her great-grandmother.

Jeanne replied:

“Yes, that is definitely Ola! Thank you so much for sharing!”

“I’ll have to look, but I do believe I have that pin!!!”

And later: “I do have it—and I also have the pearls.”

Viola “Ola” Vest Goldsmith Cobb, Bartlesville, Oklahoma. The “Mother” pin and pearls were passed down to her great-granddaughter, Jeanne. I passed the photo on to Jeanne and she created this shadow box. 

Ola is my first cousin twice removed. In March 2025, blog post #10, I wrote about two sisters who married two brothers. I descend from one couple—Nancy Curtis Dudgeon and David Milton Goldsmith. Ola descends from the other—Missouri Ella Dudgeon and Carlton Goldsmith. That means we share two sets of common ancestors: Richard Alphon Dudgeon and his wife Cynthia Jane Moran, and James Goldsmith and his wife Susanna Harding. Ola’s great granddaughter is my third cousin once removed.  

28 Back to the Krone Hotel: A Father's Return to Postwar Germany

 Ralph and Peggy Wallis — my parents

52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks

Week 28 – July 8, 2025

Prompt: Travel

In the fall of 1983, I took my parents on a “trip of a lifetime” to Europe. At the time, my partner Pat and I were both air traffic controllers at the Houston Air Route Traffic Control Center (ARTCC). We had heard that CargoLux, which flew cargo flights from Houston to Luxembourg once a week, allowed a limited number of passengers to fly in a special section of the Boeing 747—an upper-deck area typically used as a bar lounge on passenger jets. Seats were available to airport employees for $50 round-trip, and a family member could accompany them for $250. When Pat decided to visit his cousin, who worked as a civilian for the U.S. Navy in Naples, Italy, I said, “If you’re going, I’m going.” And then we realized—it was such a good deal, why not invite my parents?

I obtained a European train timetable from Cook’s Travel and purchased 15-day Eurail passes, planning every leg of our journey in advance. I knew my father had been based in Wiesbaden, Germany during the post–World War II occupation, so that was a must-see destination.

Pat standing in front of our Cargolux B-747. Mom and Dad are at the bottom of the stairs. We departed Houston on October 22. Our first stop was for refueling in Reykajavik, Iceland. The crew invited us to stretch our legs in the Terminal. Daddy and I went in just so we could say we had set foot in Iceland. 

Ralph's postcard to Cooper Homes in Bentonville, Arkansas (his office): “10-24-83 Dear Gang, Made it here OK. Leaving here for Koblenz, Germany by train to catch a boat down the Rhine to Assmannhausen where I was billeted in 1946.” 

Mom wrote on the back, “Koblenz Depot. After 36 hours without sleep everything is funny.” 

"Libby finally got the lid off the cream."

Daddy was reading one of my tour books on the flight and found an entry for the Krone Hotel in Assmannshausen, about 25 miles from Wiesbaden. He remembered it as the place where he had been billeted in 1946. So instead of taking the boat to Wiesbaden as I had planned, we got off the boat at a small pier near Assmannshausen. We walked to the Krone Hotel, dragging all our bags, still having not slept, hoping it would be open and have a vacancy. Luck was with us! When the hosts learned Daddy had lived there during the occupation, they treated us like royalty.

Ralph to Cooper Homes, “10/26/83 Dear Gang: This picture is where I ate and lived in 1946. We stayed her one nite, but not the “old room” of 1946. Went 25 miles to Wiesbaden, where I worked and called you from. Now in Wurzburg for “Romantic Road” tour. Ralph”

Peggy sent the same postcard to Ralph “Dear Ralph, Having a wonderful time - Glad you are here."

The next morning, we strolled around Assmannshausen before taking a short train ride to Wiesbaden. 

We took a similar picture showing the distances to Wiesbaden and Koblenz. Then we hopped a short train ride to Wiesbaden.

I brought a photo of Daddy taken in 1946 standing beside a mileage sign near the Rhine so I could take a current one.  

Not quite the same location, but this shows the mileage to Koblez, 59 km and Wiesbaden, 28 km. The perpendicular sign is the mileage to Assmannhausen, 1 km. 

In Wiesbaden, we took a city bus tour. Daddy pointed out buildings that had been bombed during the war. I had planned for us to spend a night there, but after about an hour, Daddy said he had seen enough and was ready to move on. 

Pat and Ralph waiting for train to Würzburg. 

Pat and I took a converstional German class before the trip. I thought I was a pretty good student. When I kept seeing signs that said "Ein Bahn Strasse" I commented that it was interesting that they always put First Street next to the train station. Later I realized that it meant "One-Way Street". 

Ralph, Peggy and Pat at the bus stop for our tour of the Romantic Road. This route included stops in Rothenburg ob der Tauber and Dinkelsbühl, two of only four towns in Germany that still have completely intact medieval city walls. After shopping for souvenirs, we continued on to Füssen for the night.

Mom’s postcard to Benton Co. Social Services, Bentonville, AR (her office), “Oct ?, 1983 Hi All, We are still speaking to each other and having lots of fun! We are in sugar beet country - it is harvest time. I’m not sure I’ll go back to B’ville donut shop. The pastry shops here are really great - but no fritters. The weather is beautiful. It was cold the first day. Thinking of you, Peggy” 

Mom’s postcard to Daddy, “ Oct 27th, 1983 Having a wonderful time. Glad we’re here. Going to the Castle! 

The Castle was Neuschwanstein Castle, perched high above the Pöllat Gorge in the Bavarian Alps. Commissioned by King Ludwig II—“Mad King Ludwig”—in 1868, it was never completed. Its fairy-tale towers later inspired Disney’s Sleeping Beauty Castle. The thing I remember about the castle is how vivid the colors were in the huge paintings and murals that were over 100 years old.

Daddy to Cooper Homes, “10/27/83 This must be Thursday. On the way to Zurich. Paris tomorrow. Wow!”

Mom to her neighbor:  “Oct 27 Dear Leta, Weather is great, country is beautiful and we are enjoying Pat and Libby, the trains, wine and a lot of nice people. We’re on a train in Germany, headed for Switzerland.”

Pat, Libby, and Ralph reviewing train timetable and tour books at the hotel in Zurich. The next morning we would split up.  Ralph and Peggy headed to Paris while Pat and I traveled to Naples passing through Milan, Florence, and Rome along the way.

Peg to Ralph, “Oct 28, 1983 6:15 a.m. Hi, I’m looking forward to seeing Paris with you. Will see you on the train at 6:57. Peg”

Mom to her office: “Sunday, October 30 – We went on a bus tour of the city, ate French onion soup and French pastry for lunch, rode the subway, and I am awed by this big place. The piano player in the café where we ate was from Texas. Love, Peg”

Daddy to his office: “Sunday Oct. 30 I’m feeling more continental every day—French onion soup, French pastries, and French wine. Rode the Metro subway yesterday. Wow! Leaving at noon for Switzerland on a high-speed express train.”

Ralph to Peggy: “Sunday, October 30 French food, French wine, French traffic, French wine, French bed, French ways. WOW! I love you, Ralph”

Mom to Mr. & Mrs. R. D. Wallis (themselves) “Paris Oct 30, 1983 Faster than a speeding bullet.” She signed it Mere Mere & Pere Pere

Meanwhile, Pat and I had a hiccup in Naples. Our train from Rome required reservations we didn’t have, so we had to take a different train, arriving at a different station than expected. Pat’s cousin didn’t have a phone, so we had written to tell him which train and which station to meet us at. When we arrived at the wrong station late at night, we found a pay phone and after some difficulty in figuring out how to use it, we left a message on his cousin's office phone, hoping he would check it when we didn't show at the prearranged time and place—and thankfully, he did. He and his wife eventually found us, well past midnight.

We stayed at their home a few days, but didn’t get to enjoy much authentic Italian food, as his wife was eager to cook for us herself. Still, we made it to Pompeii. I was surprised by the number of vendors selling souvenirs right outside the site. When you see pictures of Pompeii, you don’t expect that. It reminded me of the first time I saw the White House—so familiar in photos, yet surrounded by the unexpected in real life.

One vivid memory from that leg of the trip: sitting in the dining car of a train winding through the Alps, I noticed bed linens hanging from the porches in every little village. Was it laundry day everywhere? But the real delight came when the waiter served café au lait from two pots—one with black coffee and the other with steamed milk—pouring both simultaneously into a large cup. It was my first taste of café au lait, and it was heavenly.

The four of us met back up in Bern, Switzerland. From there, we traveled to Interlaken. Daddy found a small restaurant boasting an “American Breakfast.” He was thrilled to have bacon, eggs, and American-style coffee again. That night we went to a one-tent circus—no animals, just acrobats and comic acts. We loved it.

Ralph to Peggy, “Nov 2, 1983 Honey, It has been one big “high adventure” with you. I love you. Ralph”

Brig, in the Swiss canton of Valais is spelled “Wallis” in German. Daddy couldn’t get enough of the name. He bought decals, little flags, and took pictures of the Wallis Bank and anything else with his surname on it. We took a cogwheel train from Zermatt to the Matterhorn, adding yet another spectacular view to the trip.

Our final stop before returning to Luxembourg was Brussels, Belgium. Pat and I visited the FAA’s international office there, thinking we might one day want to work overseas. That evening at dinner, we met two businessmen from Philips Electronics who thanked us for what the U.S. had done during WWII. They insisted on taking us on a nighttime stroll to see Manneken Pis, the iconic bronze statue of a little boy peeing into a fountain—a quirky emblem of the city’s humor and pride.

Back in Luxembourg City, our return flight was delayed, giving us an extra day to explore. We visited the Luxembourg American Cemetery, a fitting and quiet place to reflect.

Mom to Daddy: “Nov 4, 1983 It has been great seeing Europe with you. Hope we have a safe trip home and we don’t get lost. We’ll have as much fun talking about it as we had doing it. Peg”

And they did. For the next thirty years, they never stopped talking about that trip. It truly was the journey of a lifetime.

Weary Travelers waiting for flight home. Notice there are no suitcases on wheels. We schlepped those bags all over Europe. 

27 Everything for Horses and Mules: P.J. Nolen's Harness and Saddle Shop

 Parmenas James “P. J.” Nolen, my maternal great-grandfather

52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks

Week 27 – July 1, 2025

Prompt: Family Business

NOTICE! 

Everything for Horses and Mules!

At the bottom of the handbill was the name of the shop: P. J. Nolen & Sons

P. J. was the second of six children and the only son of Parmenas James “Pet” Nolen and Louisa Jane Foley. He was born in Arkansas around 1860 and died on April 1, 1924, in Batesville, Independence County, Arkansas. His death certificate listed heart disease and nephritis as the cause, but his obituary in the Tulsa World on April 6, 1924, stated pneumonia. His son Leonard brought his body to Sand Springs, Oklahoma, for burial in the Nolen family plot at Woodlawn Memorial Park.

P. J. does not appear in the 1860 census, but by 1870, he was living in Cotton Plant, Woodruff County, Arkansas, with his parents and three sisters: Ellen, Josephine, and Surrilda (aka Riller).

By 1880, both parents were deceased, leaving four minor children. Josephine and Riller were living with their aunt, Mary Foley, and her husband Stephen Adair. I have not located P. J. or his sister Ellen in the 1880 census. And, of course, there is no 1890 census.

P. J.’s father died intestate but left a note asking that J. E. James be appointed as P. J.’s guardian. J. E. James, a farmer, served in that role for several years. Upon his resignation, his son D. W. James became guardian. There is no evidence that P. J. ever lived with the James family.

On October 1, 1891, in Prairie County, Arkansas, P. J., age 31, married 17-year-old Mattie McCorkle. Her father wrote a note giving her permission to marry.

P. J. and Mattie's Marriage License

They had three children:

• Pet, a daughter, was born sometime after the marriage and died before the 1900 census. She is mentioned in a letter from P. J. to his son Leonard many years later.

• Robert Luther, born in 1893 in Augusta, Woodruff County, Arkansas.

• Leonard, born in 1897, also in Augusta.

In 1900, P. J., Mattie, and their two sons were living in Marianna Village, Independence Township, Lee County, Arkansas. (Mattie’s parents, Daniel and Hester McCorkle, were also living in Lee County at the time.) P. J.’s occupation was listed as “Harness Maker.”

In an undated handbill, P. J. wrote, “I have been cutting leather for 32 years this fall.” That would place the start of his work around 1882.

Sometime after 1900, Mattie left P. J., taking the boys with her. In 1907, she married William F. Jones and was living in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

In 1910, P. J. was listed as a harness maker with his own shop in Batesville. By 1920, the listing described it as a “Harness and Saddlery Shop.”

The shop was located at 458 Main Street in Batesville. According to one of his handbills, he opened each morning at 4:00 a.m. and closed at 9:30 p.m.

Handbill for P. J. Nolen's Harness and Saddle Shop

Among the many items sold in his shop were:

Whips, saddle blankets, sweat pads, collar pads, buckles, snaps, hames, chains, bits, spurs, rosettes, curry combs, brushes, storm covers, carriage heaters, heater coal, carriage trimmings, storm fronts, dash aprons, neck yoke centers, harness polish, harness oils, metal polish, duck drill, harness soaps, and “all other items that you will find in a first-class store that carries a line of harness.”

He specialized in repairs and even had a good shoe shop in the rear of the building.

P. J. expressed his appreciation in the first handbill above:

“I thank the merchants, the livery stable men, the doctors and lawyers, and the ladies of the city and the good farmers of this county and six other counties for their liberal patronage.”

I have many years of correspondence between P. J. and his son Leonard. In nearly every letter, P. J. mentions the weather, the conditions of local farms, and whether “traide is quiet” or “traide is good.”

One of my favorite details comes from a letter in which P. J. thanks Leonard for sending him a hat. He was proud to wear it and made a point to mention it in several letters. I have two photographs of P. J.—in one, he is hatless, and in the other, he wears the hat Leonard sent. It’s a small thing, but it reflects the love and respect between them.

Parmenas James Nolen wearing the hat that his son Leonard bought for him in New York City. 

In 1912, P. J. added a “first class mechanic,” who may have been Washington Sherrill. Sherrill’s World War I draft registration lists P. J. Nolen as his employer, and the 1920 census lists him as a harness maker. By 1930, after P. J.’s death, Wash Sherrill had his own auto mechanic shop.

Although the business name was P. J. Nolen & Sons, neither Robert nor Leonard ever participated in the shop. Even though they didn’t live with their father after Mattie left, they visited fairly often. From the letters, it’s clear that P. J. was a loving and attentive father—always interested in their upbringing at the Sand Springs Home and their development as young men.

As I reflected on his long career, I wondered how P. J. learned the trade. It seems likely he learned from his uncle, Stephen Anson Nolen, who was listed as a Saddler in White County, Arkansas, in 1880. Stephen held several patents related to the saddlery business, including:

• 1881 patent for a boot and shoe heel

• 1884 patent for a saddle stirrup

• 1891 patent for a bridle

• 1893 patent for a harness saddle

• 1897 patent for scissors or shears with a loop to hang from a pocket

Stephen Anson Nolen's Patent for Harness Saddle

P. J. Nolen spent a lifetime at his workbench, cutting leather and crafting harnesses with the same steady hands that penned letters to his sons. He may have learned the trade from his uncle, but he made it his own—building a shop that served farmers, merchants, and neighbors across seven counties.

P. J. Nolen's Harness and Saddlery Shop, Batesville, Arkansas

This undated photo, likely taken between 1910 and 1920, shows the interior of a harness and saddle shop that closely matches descriptions of P. J. Nolen’s business in Batesville. Though neither man appears to be P. J.—who would have been in his 50s or 60s at the time—the rows of hanging harnesses, leather goods, and display cases evoke the bustling trade he built. The flat-top case on the left especially caught my eye. For years, a nearly identical one sat quietly in my garage—an heirloom from my grandfather, P. J.’s son. I only realized its significance after finding this photo. Regrettably, I sold the case at a garage sale, unaware of its connection. It’s a bittersweet reminder that our family history sometimes lingers in the everyday, waiting to be recognized.

When we cleared out my grandparents’ house, there was also a saddle and a wooden sawhorse-style stand to hold it, both in such poor condition that I don’t think anyone kept them. At the time, we didn’t even know what P. J. stood for, let alone the full story of his trade. We probably first learned about the harness shop when we found the handbills tucked away. Still, I wonder now if another cousin ended up with a tool or two from his shop—something ordinary that once belonged to a man who built a life from leather, grit, and early mornings.

Though his sons never followed him into the business, his legacy lives on—in the letters he left behind, the tools of his trade, and the quiet pride of a man who worked hard, loved deeply, and always kept the door open at 4 a.m.