One of my favorite moments in Gone With the Wind happens when Ashley gets leave at Christmas and comes to Atlanta, where Melanie and Scarlett are staying at Aunt Pittypat's home. They are sitting at Christmas dinner and Scarlett asks if there's any wine. Anut Pittypat says, "Why did you say there wasn't enough, Uncle Peter? There's plenty. It's the very last of my father's fine Madeira. He got it from his uncle, Admiral Will Hamilton of Savannah who married his cousin, Jessica Carroll of Carrollton who was his second cousin once removed and a kin to the Wilkeses, too. I saved it to wish Ashley a Merry Christmas. But you mustn't drink it all at once because it is the last."
Aunt Pittypat was the repository of the Wilkes family history. She knew everyone's lineage and she knew all the stories. She couldn't be restrained from spilling all this information whenever the conversation turned to a family member. Her brain was a template for Ancestry.com.
So how do you find your family stories if you don't have an Aunt Pittypat? My father was not a storyteller. He rarely talked about his family and I have no idea if he was even aware of the depth of his roots in the history of America. I can put together the outlines from vital records and census data. But I don't have much in the way of stories - just a few hints here and there from other family members. It turns out that sometimes you can put together a story by applying a little imagination to a set of data points.
Ira Damon Hunt was my great grandfather. He was born in Michigan in 1846. In 1876 he married Miranda Butterfield (the prettiest name in my whole family tree). They had four children - a daughter who died before she was two, and three sons, Ermond, Cecil (my grandfather) and Leon. Miranda died of pneumonia in 1911. In 1912, almost exactly a year after Miranda's death, Ira married Liddie Broat, who was also recently widowed. Liddie died in 1924. Ira died in 1925. Those are the vital statistics. What's the story?
The first hint that there's more to the story than meets the eye came when I tracked down the graves of these family members. Ira's death certificate listed Stanley Cemetery in Genesee Township as his burial site. This is an old cemetery that contains the graves of Ira's parents and three sisters. It also contains a large Butterfield family plot, with expensive-looking stones for many family members. Next to that is another large family plot marked out with a stone edging, containing a central stone labeled Hunt, a matching stone for Miranda, and a small white pyramid for Verna, the daughter who died in childhood. This is presumably where Ira is buried but there is no stone for him. It looks like the Butterfield family sprung for the family plot and the stone for Miranda, but no one was willing or able to buy a stone for Ira.
Henry Dearborn Hunt's grave
Hunt Family Plot
The next question is - Where's Liddie? It turns out she is buried in a cemetery in Calhoun County, across the state from here. The stone on her grave says Lydia Broat, which is her first husband's surname. A daughter's name is also on the same stone. So apparently at the time of her death she was living with her daughter and no longer using Ira's name. I haven't found any record of a divorce.
Another hint comes from the marriage license issued to Ira and Liddie. She listed her age as 68, but in fact she was 74 at the time. Ira was 67. She was comfortable admitting she was a bit older than the bridegroom, but admitting to a seven-year gap must have seemed like too big a risk.
The film of my Aunt Margaret talking about the family provides a little filler for this story. She tells a haunting tale. In the last years of his life Ira lived with his sons, alternating between Cecil's home in Gaines and Leon's home in Flint. Margaret remembers him as a grumpy old man. She remembers Liddie, also with no fondness, Liddie was Ira's housekeeper before they married. Margaret's only specific complaint about her was that she called her husband Hunt instead of using his given name. But she said the family "just didn't take to her."
In June of 1925, Ira went out to Stanley cemetery to visit Miranda's grave. He spent the whole night there and came home with a chill that developed into pneumonia. He died a few days later.
We'll probably never know the real story of why these two lonely people failed to find comfort with each other. Maybe their marriage was doomed by the hostility of their families, or maybe by the little white lie she told at the outset. Or maybe Ira was just a grumpy old man no one could put up with.