Dydd Gwyl Dewi hapus!
Today is St. David's Day in Wales, and the Welsh traditionally wear either a leek or a daffodil. The latter seems appropriate, as March always seems to bring with it a hint of spring. Here in L.A., it was definitely springlike. When I went out for my walk this morning, the flowers seemed so fresh, alive and *blooming*. Even though we're supposed to get more rain this weekend, I know spring is definitely on the way!
The day has a special meaning for me-- not only because my name is David, but because I have Welsh ancestry. I'm a typical northern European mutt; there's a bit of Irish, Welsh, English, Scotch, Norwegian, German, and Russian all mixed together in me. I've traced back to Dutch roots as well, and I suspect there's Native American blood in the woodpile too, but I have yet to definitively prove this. I identify most strongly with my Irish and Welsh roots, partly because the Irish is the most of all the different nationalities, and the Welsh because of my name. But all in all I'm proud of my background, warts and all.
I have been fascinated by history since I was a little boy. Since genealogy is "personal history," it didn't take too long for me to make the jump from global events to familial ones. I've been an amateur genealogist for nearly twenty years now. Despite the passage of time, I've never felt like an "expert"; on the contrary, I learn something new a lot of times: a new fact, a new way of doing things, a new historical background, a new genealogical technique. I'm advanced enough I could probably give basic lessons on how to begin doing genealogy, but I'm still green enough to resort to consulting how-to books, online newsletters, and the like. I've been fortunate enough the past fifteen or so years to live within two hours' drive from a National Archives repository, which has allowed me to mine the censuses.
The census itself is a fascinating document. It's also tricky to use at times. Until 1850, only the head of household was named; everyone else was merely a sex and an age. After 1860 it gets easier, but you still have to know exactly where your ancestors were at that time. From 1880 to 1920 is the best possible period, thanks to the Soundex. This is an index of the census, created during the New Deal when Social Security was about to begin. As my grandmother (who was the one who introduced me to genealogy) always said, "You don't need a birth certificate to be born; you don't need a death certificate to die. But you do need a marriage license to get married." Back then people didn't need to have proof of their birth, so aside from baptismal records, marriage licenses, and such documents, people didn't have any evidence of their age. Since not everyone got baptized, and since people didn't always get married (or tell the truth about their age when they got hitched!), a different way had to be developed to show proof of age. The gummint, in its eternal wisdom, decided the census would do, since theoretically everyone was recorded every ten years. There needed to be an easy way to look up information fairly quickly, which is where the Soundex came in. I doubt the gummint realized it would be a boon hereafter to genealogists everywhere, but it is.
The 1930 census reverts to the previous status quo: there's no Soundex for that year. Yet it's also an interesting year. I recently started using the 1930 census in my work, and it's the first census to ask whether or not a radio was present in the home. It's not just a genealogical document, it's also a sociological piece of work as well. It's essentially the history of the country: ten years compressed and capsulized in one.
Although I never got around to using the material or analyzing it, a number of censuses in the mid-19th century inquire as to disabilities, including deafness. The last census to do so was 1910; since then, the actual number of deaf people in this country has been a guessing game. The last "census" or survey of any note was done in the early 1970s, I believe. This is where the oft-quoted "approximately 28 million people with a hearing loss" statistic first took shape. I often use this fact when I write letters regarding deaf-related issues, but at the same time I cringe. It's not possible for that number to be true now, over thirty years later. The incidences of rubella, scarlet fever, and a host of other diseases that usually incited deafness has declined. Yet I have no other means of ascertaining what the approximate population of deaf and hard-of-hearing is either. I've often wished the gummint would reinstate this in the census. Not only would it provide more accuracy, it would also help social services agencies assess better where the need is, what programs to offer, and what priorities to focus on. It'd also just be cool in itself: a snapshot of what our country really looks like, beyond the usual questions about housing, number of toilets, number of TVs, etc.
I have noticed that in some online surveys or quizzes, when I'm asked which language is the primary one used in the home, that sometimes ASL is an option. Of course, I proudly check it off. It's not too often that ASL is recognized in such a fashion!
One drawback I do encounter in genealogical research is the creeping monster known as identity theft. Too many banks, credit card companies, lenders, and similar financial institutions allow access to all kinds of information with just the basics: a birthdate, mother's maiden name, and similar facts. This means that the last few years has seen a retreat in available materials for genealogists. Too often legislators react to a legitimate problem (identity theft) and overreact by pulling the plug on public records completely, without creating some safeguards instead so that those who legimitately want or need access can do so. Here in California, it used to be you could look up birth and death indexes and information fairly easily. Now on the state level, only birth information prior to the early 1900s is open to the public, and I believe the same for death and marriage. Each county has a different policy. In Orange County, for example, I have to order the certificate and provide as much exact information as I can before they'll hand over anything. Santa Clara County is far different: there, they've computerized their records, and you may look at it online (but not print or get a certified copy without paying!), and if you know the exact information to plug in, you can view the actual certificate on-screen. Most other counties are somewhere in between.
It varies from state to state, and as well from country to country. Canada is starting to really tighten access to information, which worries me as I have some Canadian roots and a lot of unknown names and dates to work with in the Great White North. Still, it's a great hobby; one of my close friends is also a genealogist, and he and I swap information or chat about it occasionally. I'll never complete my family tree (and neither will you-- there's always another person's name to turn up, another line to discover, another fact to verify), but it'll keep me busy for the rest of my days.
In the meantime, Dydd Gwyl Dewi hapus! Happy St. David's Day!
The day has a special meaning for me-- not only because my name is David, but because I have Welsh ancestry. I'm a typical northern European mutt; there's a bit of Irish, Welsh, English, Scotch, Norwegian, German, and Russian all mixed together in me. I've traced back to Dutch roots as well, and I suspect there's Native American blood in the woodpile too, but I have yet to definitively prove this. I identify most strongly with my Irish and Welsh roots, partly because the Irish is the most of all the different nationalities, and the Welsh because of my name. But all in all I'm proud of my background, warts and all.
I have been fascinated by history since I was a little boy. Since genealogy is "personal history," it didn't take too long for me to make the jump from global events to familial ones. I've been an amateur genealogist for nearly twenty years now. Despite the passage of time, I've never felt like an "expert"; on the contrary, I learn something new a lot of times: a new fact, a new way of doing things, a new historical background, a new genealogical technique. I'm advanced enough I could probably give basic lessons on how to begin doing genealogy, but I'm still green enough to resort to consulting how-to books, online newsletters, and the like. I've been fortunate enough the past fifteen or so years to live within two hours' drive from a National Archives repository, which has allowed me to mine the censuses.
The census itself is a fascinating document. It's also tricky to use at times. Until 1850, only the head of household was named; everyone else was merely a sex and an age. After 1860 it gets easier, but you still have to know exactly where your ancestors were at that time. From 1880 to 1920 is the best possible period, thanks to the Soundex. This is an index of the census, created during the New Deal when Social Security was about to begin. As my grandmother (who was the one who introduced me to genealogy) always said, "You don't need a birth certificate to be born; you don't need a death certificate to die. But you do need a marriage license to get married." Back then people didn't need to have proof of their birth, so aside from baptismal records, marriage licenses, and such documents, people didn't have any evidence of their age. Since not everyone got baptized, and since people didn't always get married (or tell the truth about their age when they got hitched!), a different way had to be developed to show proof of age. The gummint, in its eternal wisdom, decided the census would do, since theoretically everyone was recorded every ten years. There needed to be an easy way to look up information fairly quickly, which is where the Soundex came in. I doubt the gummint realized it would be a boon hereafter to genealogists everywhere, but it is.
The 1930 census reverts to the previous status quo: there's no Soundex for that year. Yet it's also an interesting year. I recently started using the 1930 census in my work, and it's the first census to ask whether or not a radio was present in the home. It's not just a genealogical document, it's also a sociological piece of work as well. It's essentially the history of the country: ten years compressed and capsulized in one.
Although I never got around to using the material or analyzing it, a number of censuses in the mid-19th century inquire as to disabilities, including deafness. The last census to do so was 1910; since then, the actual number of deaf people in this country has been a guessing game. The last "census" or survey of any note was done in the early 1970s, I believe. This is where the oft-quoted "approximately 28 million people with a hearing loss" statistic first took shape. I often use this fact when I write letters regarding deaf-related issues, but at the same time I cringe. It's not possible for that number to be true now, over thirty years later. The incidences of rubella, scarlet fever, and a host of other diseases that usually incited deafness has declined. Yet I have no other means of ascertaining what the approximate population of deaf and hard-of-hearing is either. I've often wished the gummint would reinstate this in the census. Not only would it provide more accuracy, it would also help social services agencies assess better where the need is, what programs to offer, and what priorities to focus on. It'd also just be cool in itself: a snapshot of what our country really looks like, beyond the usual questions about housing, number of toilets, number of TVs, etc.
I have noticed that in some online surveys or quizzes, when I'm asked which language is the primary one used in the home, that sometimes ASL is an option. Of course, I proudly check it off. It's not too often that ASL is recognized in such a fashion!
One drawback I do encounter in genealogical research is the creeping monster known as identity theft. Too many banks, credit card companies, lenders, and similar financial institutions allow access to all kinds of information with just the basics: a birthdate, mother's maiden name, and similar facts. This means that the last few years has seen a retreat in available materials for genealogists. Too often legislators react to a legitimate problem (identity theft) and overreact by pulling the plug on public records completely, without creating some safeguards instead so that those who legimitately want or need access can do so. Here in California, it used to be you could look up birth and death indexes and information fairly easily. Now on the state level, only birth information prior to the early 1900s is open to the public, and I believe the same for death and marriage. Each county has a different policy. In Orange County, for example, I have to order the certificate and provide as much exact information as I can before they'll hand over anything. Santa Clara County is far different: there, they've computerized their records, and you may look at it online (but not print or get a certified copy without paying!), and if you know the exact information to plug in, you can view the actual certificate on-screen. Most other counties are somewhere in between.
It varies from state to state, and as well from country to country. Canada is starting to really tighten access to information, which worries me as I have some Canadian roots and a lot of unknown names and dates to work with in the Great White North. Still, it's a great hobby; one of my close friends is also a genealogist, and he and I swap information or chat about it occasionally. I'll never complete my family tree (and neither will you-- there's always another person's name to turn up, another line to discover, another fact to verify), but it'll keep me busy for the rest of my days.
In the meantime, Dydd Gwyl Dewi hapus! Happy St. David's Day!
posted by Mr. Sandman | 7:44 PM
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