Important Houses in LeRoy's Life

Reed Home, 12932 Hencher Rd. De Soto, Missouri

 

Several years ago, Dave and I drove to DeSoto, Missouri with a list of addresses of where my ancestor's lived.  I had addresses for both sides of Dad's family for my great grandparents and my great great grandparents.  First, I found the beautiful stone house of my great-great grandparents Reed a little outside of town.  Then we located their home in De Soto as well as the home of my great grandparents Maupin.  Click here for more photos in De Soto. (The Long side of the family were mostly farmers and didn't live in town)

When I went to the address for my grandparents and my dad in 1920, I couldn't find the house anywhere.  It was now the parking lot for the De Soto Public Library. 710 South Main.  Dad wasn't much of a reader, so this is a form of "poetic justice" that his home when he was a year old is the parking lot of a library.

One of the stories my father often talked about was surviving the 1927 tornado in St. Louis while he was in elementary school.  He would tell about walking home from Stix School (9 years old) in the utter destruction.  My aunt said their home was totally destroyed and they never owned another house but only rented. For more, click here.

Several years ago Dave had to go for some cognitive testing through Barnes at 4444 Forest Park Avenue.  There wasn't much of a waiting room, so I walked around the neighborhood. There were several beautiful old homes across Forest Park Avenue from where we were but our side of the street there were none---just new buildings, Barnes hospital and parking lots/garages.  Then, I realized where I was standing---in the path of the 1927 tornado---it was as clear as day when I knew what I was looking at.  There were old homes (dating before 1927) on either side of the path.  I walked several blocks in either direction and my hypothesis was correct.

So, I knew Dad had lived near there.  I called Mom and she said he lived on the corner of Forest Park and Newstead and thought a bus shelter was there.  There was no bus shelter, but another parking lot.

My brother and sister recently asked me some questions about Dad's railroad work experience which sent me to Ancestry.com to find some documents.  As usual, when I started out looking for one thing, I found another--Dad's World War II draft registration in 1940.  He and Mom were married September 1940, so I was surprised to see her name on it---they were newlyweds and living at 3626 Botanical Ave. near the Botanical Gardens.

So, I googled it and was so surprised at what a cute house it was even though they probably lived upstairs.

When I clicked through, that was 3634 Botanical, Mom and Dad's first home was. ... you guessed it, another parking lot. My sister Jane wrote me,"Empty space, filled with living spirit."  She nailed it!

G. W. Watson, Part 2

We know very little about my grandmother, Vennie’s father G. W. Watson.  We think his name was George. Knowing that he died from a horse accident, led me to search on Newspaper.com to see if I could find anything. I did find a G. W. Watson who was a harness racer up and down the Mississippi River.  Another clue is that he weighed about 106 lbs.  Although Vennie was normal sized, I am not.  I am smaller than all of my grandparents and parents. I know that my grandfather,Wes, Vennie’s husband also was a jockey at one time.  I know that Vennie and Wes were often “across the river” at the horse races.  I think it was in their blood.

I know that G.W. died before 1910.  The last entry for the harness racer G. W. was August 1909.  Sadly I still haven’t found a death notice for him.  Mother never knew either of her grandfathers.  They both died from horses.  She always told the story like they were just kids out racing horses.  But, G. W. was about 50 years old which sounds more like a work related accident not kids out joy riding. If the harness racer is my great grandfather, he appears to have been successful at winning races with Kitty and

G. W. is a hard man to trace for several reasons.  He was too young for a Civil War record, too poor to own land, not found in the census (1890 census  was destroyed), and he lived in small towns whose newspapers aren’t on Newspapers.com. I found him in the 1860 census living in White Co. Illinois and he is 3 years old. The only other official record I have is his marriage license from Dunklin County, Missouri.  He married Mattie Silas (sic) September 2, 1894.  They had 2 children:  John, who died as a baby and Vennie, my grandmother who was born January 1903.

DNA has finally solved the riddle of who his parents are: Arthur Watson (1830-1917) and Minerva Serilla Elizabeth Prince of Dyersburg, TN.  Through the descendant of one of G. W.’s siblings, I learned he had a sister named Vinnie Watson (almost the same name as my grandmother).  My Aunt Billie once told me Grandma’s name was originally Minerva LouveniaAnd, I was then able to find more about his genealogy—Arthur was a descendant of melungeons, a mixed race people living in TN, NC, VA.  DNA had told me I had African and Native American heritage dating back to the 1700’s and earlier.  Arthur’s great grandparents were David Solomon Collins and Thompsie Posey who were known to be melungeons.

David and Thompsie Collins who lived in Tennessee had 10 children including Arthur’s grandmother Margaret Peggy Collins Dodson.  One son was Aaron Collins who died in Douglas County, MO. (1855), Nellie Collins TurnBull died in Taney or Douglas Co. Missouri, Levi Collins died in Oregon Co, MO, Isaiah Cuppy Collins died in Ozark County Missouri, Solomon “Old Sol” Collins died in Douglas Co, MO  Although Arthur’s grandmother died in Tennessee, 5 of her siblings had gone to southern Missouri.

The only clues about G W Watson handed down were that he died from a horse accident and my grandmother remembered going to his funeral in Alton.  For all of these years, we thought he died near Alton IL which is across from St. Louis, but I think his funeral was in Alton, MO.  G. W.’s great uncle Levi died in Falling Springs, Oregon Co Missouri.  The county seat of Oregon county is Alton Mo.  G W’s father was still living and probably knew his grandmother’s family were all in southern Missouri also.

I have still not found where G W is buried but I believe it is with family.

G. W. Watson

Wes Wicker, Vennie Watson Wicker
Louise Wicker Long 1922

My mother never met her grandfathers:  one died before her father was born and one died when her mother was very young.  John Wicker left behind nieces and nephews who  told us a few stories, but with G.W. Watson we had nothing---no relatives that we knew of.  We only knew that he died from a horse accident (as did John Wicker), he was of Scottish descent, he was buried near Alton (Grandma remembered going to his funeral) and he had only one child who lived to maturity---my grandmother Vennie. We didn't even know when he died but it had to be between 1906-1910.  Oh, we also knew Grandma had Native American, but we didn't know if it was through her mother or her father.

From 1976 until 2018, all of my research only turned up a marriage certificate in Dunklin County, Missouri. September 2, 1894 G. W. Watson married Mattie Silas (sic) in Malden.  Mother thought his name was George. I had my DNA done but the task was complicated because my grandfather's great grandmother was also a Watson.  So, I had to weed out all of the Watson DNA matches in Kentucky and Tennessee.  I finally found a woman whose grandmother had also lived in Southeast Missouri and her name had been Malvina (Vinnie) Watson.  What really caught my eye was her mother's name was Manurva Prince.  My Aunt Billie had once told me that Grandma's name was originally "Minerva Lou".  I had found Grandma in the 1910 census (with a widowed mother) and her name was listed as "Louvinia".  So I had high hopes that I had found G. W.'s parents:  Arthur Watson and Manurva Prince in Dyersberg, Tennessee.

With that information, I was able to find the family in 1860 census in White County Illinois.  His name was George Watson and he was born in 1857.  So far, that is the only census I have been able to find him in.  I haven't found the family in the 1870 census, George would have been 23 in 1880 census and probably living in a boarding house.  The 1890 census was destroyed and I haven't found him in the 1900 census yet.  This was obviously a family that didn't have roots.  Arthur was born in North Carolina, lived in Indiana, Illinois, Tennessee and Missouri.

No Civil War records, and census records were not found.  The only story we had was he died riding a horse.  Mother told the story often that both of her grandfathers died riding horses "those were the automobile accidents of the day."  She implied that they were probably racing as young men like to do.  I decided to try to find G. W. / George in the newspaper---maybe there was a record of his death somewhere.  So I went to newspaper.com, entered "G.W. Watson" and "horse".  After some research I found a G. W. Watson who was a harness racer between New Orleans and St. Louis.  He raced in Kinloch and Delmar Tracks (both in St. Louis area) in 1903 and in New Orleans in 1909 with a horse named "Kitty".

New Orleans 1909

This was very interesting since I'd known my grandfather had been a jockey, but my grandmother's father has been a jockey, too?  I don't have any real proof that the jockey G. W. Watson was my great grandfather but I do know that I'm 5'1" and my grandparents often went to "the races" in Illinois.  Recently I did the math on G. W.  If he was born in 1857 and died in 1909,  he was 52 years old. If he died racing horses, he was a little old to be drag racing with his friends as mother implied.  But, a man earning a living by racing horses makes more sense.

My DNA and genealogy held more clues to G. W. Watson.  I've known since a child that I had Native American (doesn't everyone) and we naturally assumed it was Cherokee (doesn't everyone).  The first time we had DNA done we had mitochondrial, the maternal line, examined.  We wanted to know what Vennie's mother's line was.  My siblings and I placed bets on what we would find.  My sister thought Romany (gypsy) since Grandma Vennie read tea leaves.  My brother was rooting for Native American because he wanted to claim some casino money (just jokingly).  I, on the other hand, believed there was African.  The DNA results came back. . ..Irish.  We were all a little disappointed since we believed Grandma (who grew up in foster care) had more exotic roots.

The refinements in DNA over the years have given us more information. My brother and I have both had our DNA analyzed---they are a little different but we both have about 98% European.  We are a little different in what the 2% is.  His is more Native American and mine is more African.  The amount of African DNA puts it in Colonial America and Sub-Saharan----slave.

Working on G.W.Watson's genealogy, I came across the name David Solomon Collins, Arthur's great grandfather and G. W.'s great-great grandfather.  My 5th great grandfather was born in 1750.  For some reason, I decided to google him, not really expecting to find anything.  I was wrong.  I should not have been surprised, but he was Melungeon which explains a lot.

My Grandmothers

My Two Grandmothers

My father’s mother was Vivian Maupin who grew up in an upper middle class, large family in De Soto , Missouri.  Her father was the Superintendent of the Round House there for Missouri Pacific Railroad and he descended from French Huegenots.  Her mother Anna Reed was the daughter of two English immigrants.  She grew up in the Methodist-Episcopal church where her family were leaders. Even her hobbies were more English—tatting and crochet. She gave me beautiful store-bought dresses that I probably only wore to church. I was 6 years old when she died but I still remember.  

 I remember her twinkling brown eyes and how she would bend down to talk to me at my level, holding me warmly—always so loving and caring.  After family dinners with 20 of us gathered in the dining room and hallway, the women would all go to the kitchen to wash the dishes.  I loved being a part of that—my job was drying the silverware and putting it away but I cherished being a part of the laughter, sloshing water, damp cotton towels and love with my grandmother, aunts and mother. It was the perfect job for an active pre-schooler:  sending me to the butler’s pantry with silverware to be polished, sorted and  stored.  Years later, my aunt said, there were never photos of my grandmother smiling because her teeth were bad and yet I remember her smiles and eyes with warmth and love.  I am sorry my cousins and siblings never really knew her.

My mother’s mother was Vennie Watson who was a foster child in Southeast Missouri. She was an only child—her brother died as a baby.  Her father was possibly a harness racer who died when she was a baby from a horse accident.  Her mother was a housekeeper for another family until she was committed to the insane asylum in Farmington, MO.   Vennie was fostered by members of the Methodist church they belonged to.  She descended from Melungeons—a mixed race people in Tennessee and North Carolina.  

Vennie was a seamstress who made most of my clothes. There were no large family dinners but we ate with my grandparents every Friday night.  Grandpa was a fisherman who provided delicious fried catfish or perch every Friday with pan-fried potatoes, sliced sweet onions, and tomatoes in season.  Vennie lived next door to us so I spent a lot of time  with her—especially in the afternoons watching Art Linkletter on the television, playing solitaire, sorting buttons and hearing the whirr of Grandma’s sewing machine. Vennie was not well-educated having married at 14 and yet she encouraged me to learn to read at a young age.  She was barely literate herself, stumbling on the words in my Golden Books.  I became so frustrated hearing her read that I had her teach me to read when I was 4 years old so I could read to myself.

Their backgrounds could not have been much different and yet they both left me with wonderful, loving memories and the feeling that I was treasured as the oldest granddaughter.   They both encouraged my independence—one by helping me read and the other letting me step forward and be a part of a working group. They both died in their 50’s, a loss I still feel today.  I am sorry that my cousins never knew them as well as I did.