Mystery Monday: Forgotten Age???

The grandpa that my grandpa remembers best and talks about most is his Grampa Tony.  I was told it was short for Anthony William Konst, but in reality he was born Anton Wilhelm Kunst.  In agreement is that he was born to Henry Kunst and Anna Kramer in Burlington, Racine County, Wisconsin on March 3. I have the family history my great grandmother, Tony’s daughter, wrote down in her own handwriting while she was sitting with her parents.  I have a photo of Tony’s grave stone.  Everything lists his year of birth as 1867. 

However, the baptism records clearly show his year of birth as 1868.  Clearly.  And this is the record made closest to the time, so one that I must believe the most.  So WHY?  I don’t see how it could be a mistake.  His parents were married in January 1867 and he was actually born a year and two months later, but they tell everyone he was born two months after they were married?  That seems backward.  And that there is a story that is missing.  

Mystery Monday: Duke of Mixager

Grampa’s Uncle Henry Konst used to tease him for being so many ethnicities and called him, “The Duke of Mixager.”

You see, Grampa’s father was half Scottish and the other half was a little bit of a lot.  Grampa’s mom’s family (Uncle Henry's, too) was German.  All German but with a possible hint of illicit Native American.

While I grew up thinking I was Indian because my dad was born in Indiana, I really didn’t know about the whole possible Native American connection.  But apparently on Great Grama’s death bed, she whispered, “There is some Indian in us.”  Coming from California in the 21^st Century, it’s difficult to imagine that being anything but awesome, but times were different in the homestead years and some things were apparently not something the family was proud of.

But all I have to go on for this illicit Native American is a death bed statement, a tease from Uncle Henry about Grampa being named Pierre for a French Indian, and a story from Grampa’s childhood.

When he was a boy, his grampa, Tony Konst, took him to the Indian Reservation.  They went into a tee pee and all sat in a circle and the men smoked a peace pipe.  Grampa doesn’t remember where this was, but he remembers thinking that it was important that they were there and that his grampa was important to these Native Americans.

So was Tony’s mom or dad not who we think but actually a Native American?  Or were Tony’s children those to first house the possible Native American DNA?

We may never know.


But it's cool.

Mystery Monday: King of the Road

My grandfather’s sister, Fern, married a guy named, Johnny.  I called him Uncle Johnny and although he was a bit gruff, he was the kind of man that looked you in the eyes (even when you were six) and told it how it was.  You believed him and when he smiled at you, you know it was because you were awesome.  Or at least he thought you were.

My Grampa told me a story about Uncle Johnny’s Uncle Pierre (Jean Pierre Origer).  Uncle Johnny (and Uncle Pierre) were from Illinois.  Uncle Pierre was a sort of a hobo in those days, living wherever, doing whatever.  He would disappear for months, even years, and then just pop up again. 

During this time, Uncle Johnny and Aunt Fern had an orchard in Cupertino, California and one day while my grandfather was visiting, Uncle Pierre just popped in on them in California after months of being gone from Wisconsin.  He said he was in San Jose and heard the name “Origer” in “Origer Orchards” and so decided to see if he was related.  He stayed awhile and told some tales.

The kid in me finds this tremendously exciting.   I think it did to Grampa, too, as he mentioned him a couple of times and then got as excited as I did when we found a picture of Uncle Pierre.

The Monday Mystery is what were some of those awesome tales.  I sure hope someone knows.