The Susie Situation - Episode 2 - A Name on A Page

Last week we talked about Fires and Farts. This week? Seventh Grade and Scams. We're investigating a 100-year-old mystery that we're calling "The Susie Situation." This is episode 2.

This is available as a video (below) or in written format (below that.) At the very end are some news clippings and one transcribed news article.

Imagine 7th grade. I know, you don't want to. It's such an awkward year. You're 13, maybe 12. Your complexion is staging this full blown rebellion. The other kids are all edges and elbows.

But let's say you have a teacher with a flair for the creative. "Gather round, class! Your maternal grandmother, that's your mom's mom. Do you know her first name? I want you all to seat yourselves alphabetically by that. If it was Alice, you're in the front. If it was Zelda, you're in the back. Shuffle it up! Let's go!"

There's a buzz in the room. It's almost as exciting as Harry Potter's sorting hat. The kids begin to sort themselves into rows while they keep up a steady banter.

"My grandma's cookies are better than yours."

"So what?"

And as they jostle and joke, you burst into tears, because it feels like you're the only person in this classroom without living grandparents, and you realize that not only do you not know what kind of cookies your maternal grandmother used to make, you don't even know her name.

This is how my cousin Melody first became interested in family history, there in her seventh grade classroom, thinking about her grandmother and wondering where to sit. She had a million questions she wished she could ask this unknown lady with the unknown name. So Melody went home that day and just started asking her parents questions about their parents.

Melody's mother told her that her grandmother's name was Sina Belle Carver. Her mother remembered spending a lot of time playing outside as a child — running wild, as she called it. And she didn't recall any specific cookie memories, but she did remember that sometimes she would get in trouble, and then she would have to sit on the stairs — sort of an old fashioned time out — but then Sina would feel bad about it afterwards and give her ice cream.

Sina was my father's sister, and Dad said that she was named after his father's former girlfriend. Now, why did Grandma go for that? I mean, it's a pretty name, but his former girlfriend? Sina Belle's brothers used to kid her about her name.

"When Congress sends a bill to the president, what do they want him to do? Sign a bill! Ha ha ha!"

Future tellers of dad jokes, right there. But Dad claimed they were very loving about this, because you couldn't help but love sister Sina. She was little and sweet and gentle and kind.

Sina and her siblings were all born in Nebraska, where her ancestors moved in hopes of rich farmland and a fresh start. Back in 1877, her father's Carver family came from Wisconsin with a group of other settlers to form a small town called Mars. Her mother's Hubbard family came from Vermont to settle in a nearby village called Venus.

These towns are kind of hard to find now. If you pull up Google Maps, you can see Venus. It's part of Walnut Grove. And then, Mars Campground is a few miles southeast of that, and that's most of Mars, right there. Our shirttail relative, Dick Haskin, lives there, on the old Haskin Homestead. This is right near where the old Carver Homestead used to be. Dick hosts family reunions there, and many Carver and Hubbard family members have been back to visit.

 I haven't been to one of these reunions yet, because I'm just not a very good traveler, but the last few years I've gotten better at traveling. At the Mars campground, Dick gives tours, and I'm kind of excited about this, because there are these dugouts that my great uncle stayed in while they built the house for the family to live in, and it seems like everybody's seen these except me.

So, to speed things up, a few months ago, I sign up for this special airline credit card from Bank of America. It claims to get me extra airline points so I can fly places for free. The card comes in the mail. And then, two days later, I get a letter from Bank of America. It says, "We're shutting down your account due to suspicious activity", and I'm like, What?

The letter says I have 25 days to sort this out or else, poof! And I'm thinking, goodbye airline points, no free trips to Nebraska, no tours with Dick to see the dugouts, unless I make this call.

I call the number on the letter and get a recording that says, if you're over 50 press 1, if you're under 50 press 2. That seems really weird, but I press 1. A woman answers. She doesn't say anything about suspicious activity or credit cards. Instead, she tries to sell me a Medic Alert Bracelet.

Help! I've fallen for a scam, and I just need to hang up. But I guess I shouldn't be surprised because my family's been falling for scams since at least 1877, when those Carver great grandparents migrated to Mars.

Here's an article from the Neligh Independent from January, 1878. (See below.) The editor recounts a trip to the area to visit a homestead. He says the grass rivals Kentucky bluegrass, perfect for fattening cattle, splendid groves of trees, fine meadowlands, four tons of hay per acre, "many others to be had in this immediate neighborhood."

I wonder what kind of commission this guy got for each homestead that was settled. I showed this to Dick Haskin. He laughed and said, "This soil is sand, gravel, and volcanic ash. Nothing grows well here. Nothing."

So, back in Wisconsin, some excitable farmer reads a glowing article like this, and then he goes around to his relatives and neighbors and gets them all worked up about Nebraska. Free land. Tons of hay per acre. Fat cattle. And they all get scammed into moving to Mars.

The article goes on to mention several homesteaders, including Wallace Haskin and Mr. Carver. The Mr. Carver in this article was Sina's grandpa. That's Melody's two times great grandpa. And despite the bad soil, he did figure out how to scrape a living out of his homestead. But, it appears that it was a constant scrape.

We know a few things about Cyrus Carver and his wife Mary from old newspapers. We know that in Mars they were called Grandma and Grandpa Carver, that sometimes they were called out in the middle of the night to help care for the sick, and that he donated part of his land to be the first cemetery.

These old newspapers weren't available for Melody to search back in 7th grade. They've been scanned in recent years and put online, some of them just in the last couple of years. And when Melody was in seventh grade, we also didn't know each other. I was aware of her mom, but really only as a name on a piece of paper.

And sometimes with family history, that's really all you have to start out with, a name on a page. And for some people, it seems like that's the whole goal, a collection of as many connected names as possible, going back as far as possible, and maybe highlighting as many connections to famous people as possible.

But we're still trying to understand just a few people a couple of generations back. And honestly, we want to know a lot more than just a name on a page.

Additional Information

• More information about Mars, Carver reunions, and the dugout: Cousin Sally's Blog.
• The first article below is from the Neligh Independent, Jan 15, 1878. "Mr. Carver" is Cyrus Hoyt Carver. 
• The 2nd article is from the Niobrara Pioneer, July 11, 1879. It mentions that Carver has commenced cutting his rye and barley. In later years, Great Grandpa Carver was known more for growing tobacco, if I understand correctly.
• The 3rd article is from a letter written to The Orchard News in 1937 by Anna Haskin Buchanan (Note the Haskin name). I do not have the original article, only a transcript of the letter that was sent, so don't know the exact issue it was printed in.

Neligh Independent 15 Jan 1878

Niobrara Pioneer 11 Jul 1879

1937 Letter to Orchard News by Anna Haskin Buchanan

Orchard News Article 1937

FROM ANOTHER NEBRASKA PIONEER
After reading the letter written by Mrs. Belle Sherman Passer in the January 22, 1937 issue of the Orchard News, puts another old-timer in a reminiscent mood. For I too was a native of Antelope County, also a pioneer. It was April, 1878, Edwin Haskin loaded his family into a covered wagon heavily loaded and drawn by two old horses, left the woodland hills of Wisconsin and started on his long journey to Nebraska. Grandfather and Uncle had proceeded him two years before. There were five of us children, baby Cora Haskin Buxton but two months old. It was a wet, cold spring. Many perhaps will remember the snow and wind in those days. I remember it was out of one mud hole into another.
In Iowa, father bought another horse, then we got on better. It was fun for us children, only when we camped at night, I being the oldest girl had to hold the baby while mother cooked supper on a camp fire, often in the rain and prepare beds for the night. We arrived at our destination May 21. Father took a homestead 12 miles west of Creighton. Then began the heart breaking task of building up a new home. The lumber for the house was hauled from the saw mills on the Niobrara river for father insisted on building a frame house, the first in the precinct. The goods he had shipped from Wisconsin had to be hauled from Yankton, South Dakota, it taking 4 days to make that trip. Then there had to be a school house built and logs had to hauled from the Niobrara river. Our house was but a wall shanty that first summer. And how I remember those awful rains and wind storms. Father was gone from home so much. The roof was almost no shelter and frail little mother would gather her brood around her and wonder if we would be blown away. Our first term of school was taught by a Miss Viola Burton, Later Mrs. Will Sherman. We had but three month terms. Brother Spencer and I walked about two and a half miles and were often caught In blizzards. I being the only girl in the bunch of boys that came our way, was put between two large boys and they broke trail. And how well I remember those first few years with father breaking prairie. Brother and I following up with our hatchets, chopping in corn every fourth furrow, stopping occasionally to dig out an Indian biscuit to eat. They were very good. Our first Sunday School was organized in our school house by a Mr. Frady a missionary. There was not a person in the neighborhood to be superintendent who had ever prayed in public so they put mother in and we learned to repeat the Lord's prayer. There were no doctors closer than Millerboro and when mother became so ill, grandma and grandpa Carver doctored her. We children, white faced and scared, huddled at the foot of the stairs, expecting to hear she was no more. Many and many nights mother and grandma Carver were called out, often in storm to help some other sick woman, and not always successful. The first funeral was that of a stranger by the name of Johnny Moore, who was staying at Ben Jones. They laid out a little cemetery on Mr. Carver's land and Mr. Carver was called on to make many pine boxes that were buried on that lonely hill. But neighbors were really neighbors then. We used to have dances, singing in schools and literaries. Father would load us all in the bob sled, take an axe along to cut the ice out of the fords, and what fun we had. Everyone had to make a crowd. We were lucky if we could get Mr. Chet Fields and Ed. to play for our dances, or Nell Sparks.
We often had some one who only played about three times. At other times father would load us all up and drive to some neighbors to spend the night. The older folks playing cards, singing songs and visiting. We children kept fire and maybe popcorn. For midnight lunch we would probably have mush and milk.
In referring to the Indian scare, father was away that year. Spencer our only man of the house at the time was about 14 years old. A mail man had ridden throughout with the report that Indians were on the war path and coming our way. Some of the families went to Creighton, but uncle and other neighbors said they would see no harm come to us. Mother's eyes were almost glued to the west hills, expecting to see them come swarming down on us.
The only Christmas of my childhood, when Santa could not brave the storms and come to our house, mother was equal to even that. We had popcorn balls and taffy candy. The little girls had rag dolls and we older ones red mittens that she had knit. Mother has been resting now for nearly fifty years in the Millerboro cemetery. One of her boys, Clarence, sleeps by her side and at her feet rests her brother Watts Sherman for he and Deliah Haskins were brother and sister. All around her are other relatives and old neighbors. Many of them she had spent her frail strength ministering to .
Just one thing more. Mrs. Passer tells of her experience with the cow. I want to give mine, but this is a story of our pioneering in Brown County, 32 years ago. Brown County was in its pioneering stage. We lived in a little sod house of one room and were caught in a real blizzard. We had one old mother pig with eight little one. We were very proud of them and were afraid they would freeze, so we moved the family organ out and made her a pen behind it and kept her there for 2 days, until the storm was over.

Written by Mrs. Anna Haskin Buchanan, Ainsworth, NE