The Passing of a Friend, Ed Criley

     I recently learned that I have lost probably my oldest friend, Ed Criley. Ed and I attended Kent State University in Kent Ohio together from 1948 through graduation in 1951.  We both received degrees in geology, specializing in hard rock geology.  Ed continued on and became a leading geologist in the United States Geological Survey specializing in volcanology. I went to the University of Utah and specialized in Mining Geology with an emphasis in mining.
     
      The summer between our Junior and Senior years at Kent State we participated, along with seven other geology students,  in a required class mapping geology on Mt. Desert Island, Maine. The course was taught by our leading professor at Kent, Carleton Savage, a Maine native.  To say we enjoyed ourselves would be the understatement of the year---we enjoyed every second of it.

      Without a doubt the highlight of the fun part of the summer was a nasty hurricane that slammed into the Maine coast. The winds blew everything that wasn't tied down ashore or out to sea. Many of those "things" were Lobster Pots. The shore line was mostly irregular and smoothed granitic rock outcrop. After the storm all along that rocky shore were storm-tossed lobster pots. And in most of those tossed-up pots were wiggly, big-clawed lobsters and still alive---feast makers if there ever was such a thing. And, according to Professor Savage, they would be considered salvage---anyone could harvest them. And boy we did.

      The motel we stayed in had a special lobster holding well which we filled to the brim with reaching, clawing lobsters. The pots we  gave back to the lobster men who were happy to just retrieve their pots. We then proceeded to have a lobster boil to end all lobster boils and gorged ourselves on those delicious but rich, rich, super-rich wonders of seafood.  And, everyone of us got sick, sick and sicker. But, you guessed it, a happy sick. Not once, not twice, but three times, and still had lobsters left over. Ed and I reminisced about that lobster feast as often as we contacted each other. He will be missed not only by me but everyone who knew him. I've lost a wonderful friend.

      Most geologists have a hard time with the concept of God and life after death. But, if there is such a being as God and a place such as Heaven,  I know he took Ed home. And if I luck out and make it, I'll look forward to reminiscing again with Ed. My Friend.

    

Ancestors of William Thornhill, b 1735

     I have searched many years for the ancestors of  Revolutionary War Veteran William Thornhill, who fought at the Battle of Cowpens and who resided in Bedford County, Virginia. His wife was Sarah, maiden name unknown. They had eight children: William, Ezekial, Rachael, Briant, Edna, Sally, Leonard and James. Virtually all of the researchers I have communicated with over at least thirty years have maintained that William was born in Maryland. In fact, it was stated that William had actually made such a statement. How that could be known I have no idea. No one that I am aware of  though ever found his parents there or, as a matter of fact, any where else-- up until now.
     Just within the last month I received information stating that William was not born in Maryland but in Rappahannock County Virginia to Bryant Thornhill b1705 also in Rappahannock Coutny, Virginia and _______ Thompson. Bryant was the son of Bryan Thornhill, the immigrant, who was  born abt 1670 in Yorkshire, England and Elizabeth Phillips.
     It is interesting to note that William named his third son Briant . The second son was named Ezekial. Could  that have been his wife Sarah's father's name?  As an interesting aside, I've seen three spellings, Bryant and Briant and  Bryan for the family name. I haven't the vaguest notion which is correct. Maybe all three were used to help determine which was which. I do suspect, however, that all will be found to have the same name, Bryant or Briant or Bryan. As the old saying goes, "you pays your money and you takes your pick."
     I would really appreciate some input on this family lineage.
      
    
     

Thomas Holt, First of the line born in America

      I am not absolutely certain as to what day in August of 1733, and where, Thomas Holt Sr. was born. I am certain that he and his parents, Henry and Dorcas, were present in the Episcopal, Christ Church, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania on  27 September, 1733 when he was christened at "one month of age". It is recorded in Christ Church baptismal records. My guess is he was born in Philadelphia.
     As an interesting aside, Benjamin Franklin was also a parishioner at that church at that time and is buried in the church graveyard. Wouldn't it be interesting to know whether he was present at the church when the christening took place.
     It's not certain how long the family remained in Philadelphia. The next recorded occurrence of the family's whereabouts was in 1735 when Dorcas, Thomas's mother, was reprimanded  in court  in newly founded Lancaster, Pennsylvania for beating up on one of her neighbors. It appears he had slapped around one of  her female friends. That Scotch-Irish fire is still alive and well in her descendants today.
     Thomas's father Henry disappeared c1735. It's not known whether he died in Pennsylvania or was lost at sea returning home to England as the inheritor of his deceased father's estate. His mother remarried in 1738 to Arthur Buchanan, another Irish immigrant. She and Arthur had five children.
      On February 3, 1756 in St James Episcopal Church, Lancaster, Pennsylvania, Thomas married eighteen year old Elizabeth Mitchell, daughter of John and Jane Ross Mitchell.  Thomas and Jane soon followed his mother and Arthur Buchanan to the vicinity of Carlisle, Pennsylvania. Arthur died there in 1759.  Dorcas and her five Buchanan children and Thomas and his little family moved into the Pennsylvania wilderness where Lewistown is now sited on lands each had purchased from William Penn's sons.
       Thomas and Elizabeth had nine children: William, November,1756; John, 1 February, 1758; Thomas Jr. April 1761; James 1762; Elizabeth 1764; Mary 1766; Jane 1769; Dorcas 13 March 1772; and, Eleanor 22 September 1774.
        Over time, Thomas became influential in the area and was elected to several posts of importance in the local governing body. By mid 1776 the causative political currents that eventually fomented the American Revolutionary War against England were nearing fever pitch and the local Militia was formed. Thomas as a matter of course joined the Militia.  Some time during the summer of 1777 the militia personnel were afield honing their shooting skills. According to George F. Stackpole, a descendant of Thomas, "Thomas was shooting mark with, among others, his half- brother, Robert Buchanan on what is now Dorcas Street, Lewistown, Pa. Thomas was marking shot locations. He was concealed behind the target tree, Robert was shooting and for some reason, possibly a hang fire, he was slow in getting his shot off. Thomas stepped from behind the tree, possibly to determine why his half brother hadn't shot, and was hit in the head and killed."
       Elizabeth lived on in what eventually became Lewistown, Mifflin County, Pennsylvania until her death in 1798. Most of those members of the Holt and Buchanan families of the time are buried in the downtown Lewistown cemetery that is dedicated to Thomas's mother, pioneer woman Dorcas (Armstrong)(Holt) Buchanan.  About fifteen years after Dorcas's death, several admirers erected a  large, homemade,  dark bluish-gray, shale headstone over her grave that is still standing today, 200 years after her death. Thomas and Elizabeth's graves were lost to posterity when the Erie Canal was built through the area during the first half of the 1800's.

Smokin' a Seegar & Chawin' Tabakee---eeeyuk--oooffff

      I don’t recall how old I was, I suppose eight or nine, when I tried smoking. We were still living at Granddad Holt's house so it was before 1936. Bob Buckley had gotten several cigars and a partial pack of Mail Pouch chewing tobacco from his father’s supply and came and got me. We went down over the hill to the spring house that covered the spring that at one time supplied the family with fresh water. We crawled up on the roof for some reason or the other for our great adventure.
      Bob had smoked before so he started on the stogie and gave me the Mail Pouch for openers. He showed me how to form a plug and put it in my mouth, which I did. The stuff had a sweet, not totally unpleasant taste and made spit real fast. I "splooshed" a few streams of juice off the roof and decided, heck what’s the big deal, and ask Bob for a puff on his cigar. He obliged by giving me one of my own. He lit it for me and I began to puff, choked, gasped for air, then swallowed smoke, tobacco, juice and all. Bob thought that was real funny. All of a sudden I felt dizzy, so dizzy in fact, I couldn’t stand up.  So I slowly collapsed down on the roof with my head hanging over the side and began heaving, and heaving and heaving some more until I was sure everything including my toenails would soon go over the side. I couldn't stop. I just wretched and wretched and wretched some more.


     Bob got scared and ran up the hill and brought Mom down. By the time she got there I had, at last, stopped heaving and recovered somewhat. Although, I guess I was whiter than the provervbial ghost and more than a bit "willowie" on my feet.  Boy did she ever give Bob a reaming. I don’t know whether she ever told his parents, but one thing I do know, he never offered me a "seegar" or a "chaw" of tobacco again. I owe him a debt of gratitude for that experience. I never tried smoking or chewing tobacco again, right up to now.

STARTING UP AGAIN----HONEST

I have no excuse for being away from my blog so long, only an explanation—It’s been brutally hot in these parts this summer, even though we live at 5200'. Hot summer heat has always enervated me. So why do I live here? Good question. Up until recently, all my immediate family lived in Arizona. Also, Genie teaches in the Wickenburg School District. But believe me, during the summer, she would rather be some place else—around Yellowstone and Grand Teton Parks National Parks.. We both like Montana and Northern Wyoming. Especially in the summer and fall. We’re devoted fly fishing fans and it’s hard to beat the areas in and around the two parks. In fact, we lived in Bozeman, Montana several years trying to get a magazine off the ground servicing the motels and hotels around the two Parks. And boy did we love the fishing. Unfortunately, we decided after 18 months that part of the franchise conditions were just not to our liking so we dropped the franchise.

Enough crying—on with the blog. With a little luck and the “Lord willin and the creek don’t run dry,” I’m going to try and meet a twice-a-week publishing schedule. Until I get rolling that schedule is going to work me “ah” mite hard. So please bear with me.

I’d like to toss the ball into your court a little. I had plenty of visitors to the blog but very few comments pro or con. I was hoping for a bit of participation from the blog readers; Could you do this family or that family or, did you know gr gr granny had this funny thing happen to her, or, flesh it out more, or, I did or didn’t like it because----I’d really appreciate reader participation. I know, it’s my blog and it’s up to me to carry the ball. I will but I sure would like to hear from you,

That old Pennsylvania Bugger livin’ in Arizona, Bob

Eakin School, A Little Red Brick School House

Eakin School, 1932-33

Names read from left to right beginning in the front row

with Bob Holt (me), then beginning at the left for the next

 row back. Read the list vertically beginning on the left..

My first seven years in school were attended in a  one-room, red-brick school house. One lonely teacher taught all eight grades, maintained discipline over as many as 32 students,  keep the school clean, the fire going in the winter--with some help from the older boys--and somehow, with the help of the good Lord, I'm sure, maintained his/her sanity. First, always, came the Lord's Prayer followed immediately with the pledge of allegiance to the Flag and Country.   Once the day got underway, each grade, in turn, would be called up to stand by the teacher's desk for their lesson in a particular subject. Recitation and questions would be given out loud. For some reason or the other, it didn’t seem to interfere with the studying of those other students in the room. The subjects were standard, reading, spelling, writing, arithmetic, geography, history and some form of art.

The spelling, writing and arithmetic would frequently require the student to work at the blackboard.

I remember one time when my class was up at the teacher’s desk doing our thing when my close friend, Bill Bailey, put a tack on the teacher’s chair while the teacher, Harold Ivell, was working at the blackboard with another student. To say that, after he sat down, the teacher rose to his subject would be the understatement of the year. Those of us who were aware of the reason for the bellowing outburst when he sat down, were petrified. It had to be one of us because we were the only ones standing close enough to his chair to accomplish the deed. When it began to look like we were all going to be hung out to dry, Bill manfully confessed, much to all our relief, for none of us would have exposed Bill.  We all would have accepted our punishment without a word.

Bill Bailey became a lifelong friend. We attended Kent State University together 1948/49. As kids, we used to sleep over at each other’s home. I remember one cold winter day while still in grade school, when I was staying with Bill, his father, Jess, who was part Menominee Indian from Wisconsin, made each of us a Bow and Arrow using limbs from a hickory tree. He first fashioned them with a hand ax, then shaved them to their final shape with a piece of broken glass. Talk about two proud boys.  You can’t imagine how we felt about those bows. That was at least seventy-five years ago, and it is still strong in my memory. Bill died in Tucson in 1991 and is buried in the cemetery on East Grant Road. Bill’s mother, Dicey, became like a second mother to me. She lived to be 97 years old.

Within the first ten days of class at Eakin School I fell hopelessly in love with a sweet, little, blue-eyed blond named Betty Merriman. She remained my special girlfriend from first through the fifth grade. She lived with her family on a small farm in Mudlick Hollow. We would sometimes eat together at lunch and if she was on my side when we played prisoner’s base and she got caught, I’d work especially hard to get her free. The love affair died on the vine when I was transferred to Stokes School where they had a teacher they were sure could keep me in line. 

At Eakin,the entire school would go on a picnic at the end of each school year. We would walk from the school across a meadow west of the school and down through the woods to Four Mile Run where we would eat our lunch and spend the day. That was always a special time.

Did we enjoy school? You know we did. Did we learn anything? That’s the more important question. I can speak only for myself. I came away from my seventh grade in school with an outstanding ability to read and comprehend, do arithmetic easily in my head, was well versed in history and geography, and was as wild as a march hare. As an attendee in such an environment though, I became a prankster supreme.  I ran Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer a good race in grade school.

 I attended two one-room schools, Eakin and Stokes, and was sufficiently incorrigible that the school board, with the concurrence of my parents, sent me to the much larger Beaver School System for my eighth year to try and get me under control. I never had a bit of trouble there, possibly because they had a big, big library with all kinds of wonderful books to keep me busy.

I recently learned that the Beaver grade school I attended, Fort MacIntosh, was built from bricks made in a brickyard owned or leased by my Gr Gr Grandfather, William Taylor. And, some of those same bricks were hauled from the brick yard to the school site by my Gr.Grand Father, Samuel Jacob Holt.

Thornhill Relatives at the Alamo

My lovely wife, Genie, was helping me this week research the early Thornhill folks—in all honesty, she was doing it all—when she discovered a clue that a descendant of an early Thornhill, and the husband of that descendant’s sister, had perished at the battle of the Alamo and her research talents tingled. She hit the research trail in earnest. Genie is a died-in-the-wool Texan and when she got a hint of such a thing her excellent genealogical instincts soared. If it were true, she would no longer have to apologize to her Rebel kin for her Yankee husband. And wonder of wonders, it was true. She found that the daughter (Edna) of one of my fourth Great Grandparents, William Thornhill, had a son and son-in-law killed in that great Texas battle. I must admit that I was absolutely thrilled at the discovery. And—well, here is the background and story of those two brave individuals, relatives of ours, along with 30 of their companions who selflessly went to the aid of their countrymen, in the Battle of the Alamo in early March 1836.

Edna (Edney?) Thornhill, born in Virginia circa 1769, the middle daughter of three girls of William (1735–1788) and Sarah Thornhill (1740–Sept 1802), married widower Henry Dearduff (Deardorf) in September of 1802. It was Henry’s and Edna’s son William, born c1811, who was killed at the Alamo along with his brother-in-law, James George, husband to Elizabeth Dearduff. William was probably named after his grandfather William Thornhill, and had followed his sister and her husband to south Texas.  There the two men joined DeWitt's Rangers to go to the aid of the men at the Alamo.  To me, the fact that their small unit of 32 men under the command of a Major Williamson chose almost certain death as they marched past the Mexican army of possibly 7,000 men to join about 150 Texians already inside the Alamo. That’s courage way beyond the call of duty.

You can get a more detailed account of the Dearduff and George families before and after the battle at these links:

DeWitt’s Colony, DeWitt's Rangers:  http://www.tamu.edu/ccbn/dewitt/gonreliefframe.htm

William Dearduff:   http://www.tamu.edu/ccbn/dewitt/gonzalesrangersa-e.htm

Elizabeth and James George: http://www.tamu.edu/ccbn/dewitt/gonzalesrangersf-k.htm