X The Unknown Quantity

It's possible to speculate on the character of someone you never met in your own family by being aware of a few facts. Those facts may come from family stories, a lead you found online, and paper ephemera such as military records and birth certificates.

At the time of Frank Bush's WWI enlistment in June, 1917, he was married to his first wife Flossie Jones, and working out of town in Springfield, Massachusetts for M.C. Myers as Contract Painter. This fact was noted on his Draft Registration Card. After the war was over, he was discharged with $600, this was noted on his Discharge papers and he went back to Amsterdam, NY. After Flossie died of cancer, Frank became partners in a photography studio in New York City, where, in the words of his second wife, my grandmother Ina Maria Carpenter, he "nearly starved to death". He also took a correspondence course in painting during this time, again, this is supported with papers. I feel that during this time, he may have been in mourning, maybe feeling a little lost and at ends, trying to keep himself busy, and to establish his life's work.

The fact that there were three mortgage notes attached to my Grandfather's house in Fort Johnson, NY in 1930 the year he died says to me that there were hard times in his field of work, or he was not very careful with his money, or a combination of both. Whatever the reason, he was determined to provide the best he could as head of the household of his family, who at the time, consisted of his mother, step-father, wife and infant son, my father. I also found a newspaper classified ad soliciting a stone mason, which tells me he was possibly having some work done to improve the house.

Frank was working for his neighbor Charles Barrow, a local businessman and sign maker on the day he fell. A younger man also fell, with only minor injuries. I want to speculate that my grandfather may have been training him.

Frank's death had a devastating effect on his family. His widow and four-year old son George had no choice but to let the house go, and they moved in with a family friend who lived in Amsterdam. So here was where my father was raised by a strong-willed single mother. Ina had lost her own mother early, years ago, and a sister in a house fire, and her only brother Myron had died on pneumonia at age 16. I have a copy of his obituary.

The history of Ina and George is told in the Amsterdam Directories and Census. From thereon, not much is a mystery. My father is still with us, and although his memory is fading, he does have many recollections of life with his mother. Here is where I come into the story, when my mother met my father in the church his mother attended, where Grandpa Finch was pastor. So he gave his baby away to my father in marriage, and the Bush line continues to the present.

Digging for Buried Treasure

A few years ago, a cousin of mine, on my Mother's side, traced the Finch family back to 1630. She even discovered the name of the ship that came over ten years after the Mayflower. Quite impossibly, my Father thinks he is the last Bush of his line. All the clues we have are some names that go back only three generations. See, Pop's Pa died [ 7/31/30 ] when he was only four years old. After his tragic and unexpected death, my Grandmother lost track of his side of the family. Grandma was 36 when Pop was born -- an old maid -- for the time, and a member of a group of "unclaimed blessings" just like her. When Pop was born [ 3/22/26 ] he was surrounded by a group of eyes that kept him in line. But he was willful and stubborn, like he is now, and gave his Mother many causes for concern.

Last year I discovered at a genealogy workshop that my local historical society offered free access to Ancestry.com along with membership. I also was made aware of several other online resources, including fultonhistory.com  This archive of old newspaper articles has yielded many important clues, the most unexpected and insightful was the discovery of three letters published in the Amsterdam Evening Recorder that were authored by my Great-Uncle Lt. Herbert J. Bush in 1917 and sent to his Mother in Amsterdam from "Somewhere in France". I cannot describe the feeling of happiness and jubilation and incredulity all rolled into one to see these in print. We had no idea these existed.

All of my life, there have been no stories to tell of my father's family, no clues and few papers to flesh out details of a personality, few achievements except for military records and his artwork. But silence is no more. History speaks. Census records tell me a story I never knew. They were just waiting for someone to find them, and to discover some of the details of lives of family we are proud of; the Civil War enlistee with babies at home who deserted and went back to his family and farm, the three Bush brothers given up to the Great War by Father Charles and Mother Mary, the silk handkerchief my great-aunt Grace asked her brother Herbert to bring her from France, the gratitude of the French people to the American soldiers at Chateau-Thierry. These things are all part of American history, and they are part of the history of my own family, the Bush family.

In these last few months of searching online, I have been to three cemeteries with family stones. This summer I may try taking some rubbings, and hope my sister will help me try to clean some delicate stones where loved ones are interred. The journey was worth it many times over. And my Father has found his family, at last.

It's Good to Belong to Stuff

If a genie suddenly appeared and promised me three wishes, one of those would be to sit and talk with my Grandfather Frank Leslie Bush, who died tragically in an accident in 1930. When someone dies, they leave behind a body of work of one kind or another. Hoarders leave behind piles of ephemera, millionaires leave property for their heirs to fight over. The longer one lives and the more things one acquires, the more stuff they leave behind.

Among my Grandfather's things were a monogrammed set of gold-filled cufflinks, his paints and brushes, pens and nibs, tie clip, papers and poems and some books. We also have some religious-themed paintings and one of a geisha girl on silk. There is also a lovely table with inlaid wood that Pop says he made, but I doubt it. He was an artist, not a carpenter.

Someday when Pop passes, it will be up to his heirs to divide these few things. How on earth will we do it? And what will become of it when we pass? Will our children see the value and the emotional connection, will they preserve and cherish our family history?

It took me a long time to get curious about my family. The 'frivolity of youth' stage finally passed. Who will be the future keeper of the Bush family treasures? Grandpa died before any of us, including his own son, could get to know him.

If a genie appeared, I would not regret using up one of my wishes on my Grandfather. There are so many things I want to tell him, about his great grandson and daughter, and things I want to ask him. I want to know what his life was like, how the old town of Amsterdam was before it was ruined by developers and engineers, how it felt to be a real artist and photographer, and to teach me calligraphy.

I love you and miss you Grandpa, I see you in my dreams sometimes, and wish I could go back in time and sit down at the table with you and have a piece of Grandma's famous apple pie that you loved so much.

XXXXOOOXXX, your grand daughter.