Uncovering the Past

My grandparents on their wedding day

Several years ago, I began to wonder about my heritage.  My father’s mother had already traced his family’s lineage back to the time of the Pilgrims, so that she could attain membership to the Daughters of the American Revolution organization.  I have bound copies of her findings, which I scanned through at that time, and found to be quite interesting. 

My mother’s family lineage is another story.  We know that her grandparents, my great-grandparents, immigrated to the United States from Poland.  Her parents, both of Polish descent, were born and married here.  As a result, she is a full-blooded Pole, and I am half-Polish.  Yet, in spite of this strong blood connection to the culture, we know little about it or, even our more recent ancestors, their lives and circumstances. To further complicate things, of my grandparents’ generation, there is only one survivor left, whose memory
                                                                  continues to fade with age. 

My great-grandparents (grandfather's parents) on their wedding day (left)

Still, I had this urge to know, to learn, from where I came.  I started my initial search by utilizing the free two week trial from Ancestry.com.  I found the sheer number of available documents and routes to take overwhelming, and this feeling was compounded by the fact that, with all of the similar names of Polish immigrants in Massachusetts and the likelihood of significant name changes, I could not be sure who was actually an ancestor of mine.  It also did not help in trying to differentiate among individuals, when neither I nor my mother knew the first name of her mother’s father or the maiden name of her father’s mother.  Birth dates and death dates were obscure, and much of this common, critical data, which we take for granted may have been incorrectly recorded, due to the language barrier, since, I believe, none of my great-grandparents spoke English, fibbing about their ages, or, perhaps, simply not knowing.  Thus, the two week trial period concluded my first attempt at genealogy research with little to show for my efforts.

Recently, I have returned to this question with renewed determination to uncover some answers into the past.  My thought the other day was to go back to the basics, mapping out all of the known individuals of my Polish family tree and noting any bits of information that might help me to discover links to more distant relatives.  I’ve figured that if information regarding my great-grandparents is too sparse or inconclusive to locate key documents or relations, then, perhaps, I may accomplish this in a more round-about way through my grandparents and their siblings, especially since my mother has a greater knowledge pertaining to them. 

I’ve also found other useful resources this time around, including the Bible, in which my mother, and presumably her mother, retained obituaries and memorial prayer cards of family and close friends.  It was in the pages of this book that I spotted the obituary my grandfather’s mother, containing her lost maiden name.  From these clippings, I recorded all the names, dates, ages, places of residence and birth, and children’s names of my grandparents’ and great-grandparents’ generation that I could, even if I already had the information stashed in my binder.  I didn’t want to miss anything. 

In addition, through Family Search and Census Finder, I have found links, to U.S. Census records; however, these censuses are not free for public access online from 1930 and upwards.  I’m hoping that I may have better luck with accessing key documents at the Springfield Massachusetts Family History Center that I stumbled upon in Ludlow, of all places, about a twenty minute drive from home.  The hours are limited, as it is only open on Tuesdays and Wednesdays.  Unfortunately, since I am working both of those days this week, I will have to wait until next week to explore the documents and services offered there.

For more specific information regarding Polish genealogy, the Polish Consulate in the U.S. doesn’t offer any kind of services or assistance with such research, but its website does provide links to other resources.  It is recommended to contact local historical societies, the U.S.National Archives and Records Service, and the genealogical division of the Library of Congress, the latter two being located in Washington, D.C.  The Polish Consulate also suggests sending a request for information directly to the Polish National Archives, but one must first determine, in which country their town of origin now resides, since the country has undergone so many divisions over the course of its troubled history.  Through the Consulate’s website, I also linked to a Polish digital Archival Internet Forum, which may be promising, but I have yet to explore it.

New York City Musings

Yesterday, I caught the first bus to New York City to pay a visit to the Polish Consulate.  I will explain more on why I was there at a later date.  While I was waiting, I felt slightly overwhelmed by the constant chatter from the line of people that extended onto the sidewalk because I had not a clue as to what they were saying to each other.  I didn’t even have a general idea regarding the topics of conversation, like I sometimes can with Spanish, as I will recognize a handful of words, which help to piece the puzzle together.  Yet, I have learned relatively few words and phrases through my Polish audio lessons, thus far, and, as a result, I was only able to pick out about three or four words, never mind guessing at content.

I feared attempting to make use of my few phrases, as I worried that they might not get the hint that I only fully grasp the English language and would continue trying to speak to me in Polish, or that I would face ridicule for my ignorance.  In hindsight, these were rather irrational fears, but they were fears, nonetheless, which caused me to keep to myself and speak only in my native tongue, when I absolutely had to. 

And that was just an isolated location in a city dominated by English-speakers!  I worry what my response might be to a situation, in which I am the minority, socially isolated by the barrier of language.  I wouldn’t be able to just walk a few blocks in any direction, so that I might be comforted by the sound of familiar words.  Perhaps, this is just another one of my comfort zones that I need to break through, and further learn to cope with the element of uncertainty and the fact that I cannot know everything.

After this, I discovered Bryant Park, which is more like a rectangular area of concrete with some small trees and shrubbery planted in mulched soil, and scattered about the grounds.  Yet, it was still a lovely reprieve from hurriedness and traffic of the nearby streets.  Several box shaped stores were open on the property, selling a variety of products from coffee to pickles to winter clothing accessories.  I weaved among these little shops and the many iron patio sets, and on to the center of the park, which was void of tree cover and featured an ice-skating rink.  There seemed to be a set capacity for the rink and time allotments, as there was a long line of patrons waiting to enter the facility to get suited up.  I found a cozy table in the warm sunlight and read a book for awhile, all bundled in my winter gear, as there was still a chill in the air. 

Later, as I was wandering back to the Port Authority Bus Station, I stumbled upon Times Square with all of its flashy advertisements and television screens.  I meandered along the blue road, designated for pedestrian traffic, amazed at how I never realized for how many blocks Times Square extended.  As I waited at a corner for traffic to go by, I heard the distant sound of some sort of folk music.  I identified the source to be a live band, diagonally across from where I stood.  Their music had a Hispanic/Latin beat, but I could not place it into a specific genre with my limited knowledge of cultural music.  The band’s wind instrumentalist had a case full of wooden pipes, which he swapped in between and during songs for varying effects.

As I wandered, I also thought of what it might be like to live in such a large metropolitan area.  It would be an interesting experience for a time, but I believe that I would generally be unhappy, being so isolated from nature with massive man-made structures looming overhead and enveloped by a sense of loneliness in such inescapable anonymity. 

My thoughts then turned on the bus ride home to how it feels that I have led two vastly different lives, the crossover of which is rather unidentifiable.  In childhood, I was so socially isolated.  I vacationed with my family to big cities, stayed in hotels, and went shopping. I often dined in restaurants on the weekends and indulged in fast food at least once a week.  I regularly attended rock concerts and theater performances.  Yet, now, I prefer the country.  I have a more nature-oriented, holistic approach to life, and try my best to maintain a healthy lifestyle.  I take risks, pushing my comfort zone, yet keep a close eye on where my money goes.  It’s fascinating how drastically my personality, my goals, my values seem to have changed over the years; however, I suppose I am really the same person underneath it all, just coming into my own.