Category Archives: People

My grandfather’s elusive father

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I’ve known my maternal grandfather’s lineage from his mother’s side for a very long time. It made such a huge impact on me that I vowed to be married in the church that our ancestors built near Elgin and loved to tell people that the creek that flows on the West side of Elgin is named after the Tyler branch of my family.

I knew very little about my grandfather’s father, however except that he divorced his wife and was out of the picture early in my grandfather’s life. Apparently, he knew his mother’s second husband, Frank Harris, as a father.

Yesterday, however, I discovered more than I’d ever hoped about that great grandfather’s family.

Albert Green

His name was Albert Green and was the son of Swedish immigrants. His father, Emil Green married Amanda Johnson on March 19, 1887, in Cook County, Illinois. His occupation is listed as a carpenter. He was 22 and she was 24. Emil and Amanda had two other children besides Albert. Their first child, a girl named Hildur was born on November 19, 1888, and they lived at 6005 May Street in the Englewood part of Chicago when she was born, according to her birth certificate. Albert was their second child, born on February 25, 1891. Their third child, Harold, was born April 2, 1898. Emil died of Typhoid fever on June 17, 1899, and is buried at Oakwood Cemetery. Amanda died in Elgin on August 8, 1934, and is buried at Bluff City Cemetery in Elgin.

Harold, Hildur, Amanda, Albert

Albert married Jessie May Tyler on May 5th, 1909. My grandfather, Walter Tyler Green was born January 31, 1910. And according to the census of 1910, both Albert and Jessie lived with her parents (and brother and his wife) at the house on Highland Avenue (615 West) in Elgin.

Albert died on October 19, 1921, in South Elgin, Illinois. The family story is that he was struck by a train on the railroad tracks in South Elgin, but the death record does not tell the cause of death. He was a roofer. He is buried at Bluff City Cemetery.

Jessie married Frank Harris, a German who arrived in the United States in 1900, by the 1930 census because he is listed as being the son-in-law of Jessie’s father with whom he, Jessie and my grandfather lived.

I cannot find a record of Jessie’s or Frank’s death, but according to John McCornack, Jessie died in 1949 and Frank died in 1958. According to family legend Jessie was struck by a car while crossing the street and Frank hanged himself out of grief over Jessie’s death. However, 9 years is a long time to grieve and then commit suicide. Something doesn’t seem right.

Best. Neighbors. Ever.

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Skippy John Jones G.

I look across the street tonight and see the blue Volvo and silver minivan parked where they’ve been for the past couple of years. I see Chris mowing his lawn. The other day I talked to Madeline, Anna, Molly and Carter about vacation Bible camp, Subway meals and trips to the Bay.

Nothing really, except the sad knowledge and “Under Contract” sign, indicates that tomorrow a moving truck will collect their furniture and move everything to Richmond. In two days a new family will move into the house across the street.

The current family couldn’t be any better. They are some of the sweetest people I have ever known. Chris took care of Andrew when he had his skin infection (knowing a dermatologist is handy). Madeline actively  participated in our neighborhood book group. Anna once stage whispered to a friend that Dean was really nice. Molly and Carter entertained us with their 3/4-year old antics.

And then there is Skippy John Jones G. who, although may have pooed on our lawn a few times, was the friendliest cat in the ‘hood. At least to neighbors and the mailman, who on more than one occasion sat on the stoop and gave Skippy a cuddle.

The new family has an incredible act to follow.

The G. family will be missed. Very much.

Standing Room Only

People,

There was laughter. There were show tunes. There were jokes. There were stories.  There was a bagpiper. There even was a 7th inning stretch during which the audience of over 400 was asked to sing, “Take me Out to the Ballgame.”

And there were tears.

Bill addressing the ladies Burns' Supper 2008
Bill addressing the ladies Burns’ Supper 2008

I thought I knew Bill Chin. I’d seen him many times at Alison and David’s  home. I knew him as a loving father who was active at the local elementary school when his kids were young. I’d heard stories about near mishaps and half-thought through ideas that always turned out fine, but caused a little light anxiety at first. I knew Bill as a listener and a questioner. I knew Bill as a physically strong man who could effortlessly lift his 18 year old daughter, Jessie, over his shoulder and carry her up stairs to watch videos with Laura. I knew Bill as Robin’s husband. As Lucy and Jessie’s father. As David and Alison’s friend. I more recently knew Bill as a dance instructor — his contribution to this year’s Burns’ Supper.

Last night as I stood in the aisle of the packed Imagination Stage auditorium I discovered that I didn’t know Bill Chin at all. I learned he was a St. Louis Cardinals fan. I learned that he was still active at Jessie’s school (also my son’s school). I learned that he was always helping people in need. I learned that he rarely took no for an answer. I learned that he grew up in Memphis, Tennessee. I learned that his parents owned a mom-and-pop store. I learned he was a twin. I learned he had 4 siblings. I learned that Bill packed an awful lot of living into his 52 years on Earth. I learned he was “larger than life”.

I talked to other people last night who said the same — they knew some things about Bill, but not everything. I regret that I was not more of a listener and questioner and had listened and asked Bill questions on the occasions we were together.

Last night it was obvious that Bill was loved by many — not just his family and friends, but by an entire community. A community that he was a huge part of. A community that I live in, but seclude myself from for reasons even I don’t understand.

Bill’s brother asked us, last night, to think about the words in the song from Wicked that was sung earlier in the service:

Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
Because I knew you
I have been changed for good

There is nothing at all good about Bill Chin’s death. Nothing. But maybe I can make some changes in my life to make his death meaningful in a good way. Maybe I can be changed for the better because I knew Bill.