A Muddled Ancestry
My mom recently burrowed into a cedar chest she obtained from my grandmother to find loads of random ephemera: Queries into our family tree, various letters, wills, coats of arms, and newspaper clippings.
Some of it confirmed stories vaguely hinted at some time ago, like the time one of our great great etc. grandfathers saved the life of Theodore Roosevelt from a rogue and crazy horse. It was during a parade in which the president was sitting idly in his carriage, when a runaway horse came bolting straight at him through the crowded street. Our hero valiantly jumped the line and grabbed the horse’s bridle, wrestling him to a stop and getting half trampled for his efforts. He received a bad-ass thanks from the president for saving his life.
My dear Mr. Bird:
I am glad to know that you received no permanent injury in the performance of your gallant feat of stopping the runaway.
Trusting you will soon be entirely well, believe me,
One branch of our tree was traced back to 1569, when the Trotti family in Prussia and a member of the Teutonic Knights. They were on the losing side of some war  and the tree ended up bouncing around Europe, hanging around Italy for a while, then settling in the American south.
That’s where things get a little less-then-admirable for me. In this set of documents, we came across several wills from ancestors who owned plantations and a number of slaves. Within the wills, they identify slaves, their “Negroes,” by name as they divvy them up between their children.
In this section, he divides up several people that he owns and gives them to his children. *shudder*
I just want to reach out through time and smack this son of a bitch and all the other asshole slave owners, being the internet tough guy that I am. He’s dealing out people in this letter like he’s dealing out cards in a game of poker. He names them each, as they fall in the document between cattle and pots and pans. James, Ross, Pleasant, Pollepas, Grace, Hannaca, Pryas, Rose, and Hiziah, I have no idea what happened to your branches, but I’d love to know.
And that’s only one confirmed will. We’ve got another questionable branch of ancestry which includes a hard copy of a will that divvies up more slaves than that. However, records on that side are virtually non-existent; the reason seems to be that this particular branch comes from a mixed black and white relationship, possibly slave and slave owner. In some ways, it’s a little reassuring that I, your average all-white cracker, could have the blood of former slaves running through my veins, and not just a bunch of douchebag plantation owners, but if I dwell on that topic too long, I realize that any such relationship probably wasn’t altogether consenting.
Bottom line is this: I’ve got some assholes in a few branches of my family tree. Perhaps they seem over-represented because they were rich enough to afford legal wills that were retained in the county courthouse. Maybe the lot of them weren’t that bad. One of the other things I found out was that my grandparents on that side eventually left the south largely because of the blatant racism and backwoods thinking. They seemed to have gone as far north as possible, to the extreme north of the Upper Peninsula, where they were both professors; my grandmother being the first woman to get tenured, playing a large part of breaking the glass ceiling.
All in all, it’s fascinating to find all these old documents and see what kind of blood is running through my veins. It’s not all pretty, but I’m glad we have these records.