Month: November 2009

Nana’s House

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My mother’s parents lived two doors away. Granddad and Nana O’Neill lived at 185 Pickering Street (pictured as it is today on the right with my home at 189 Pickering Street partially seen on the far left of the photo). Their house wasn’t really larger than any others but it stood out as one of the few detached homes on a street of semi-detached houses.

As the first and eldest of her grandchildren, the sun rose and set on me – or so I’ve been told was Nana’s way of seeing the world. Gertrude Ellen O’Neill (nee Foley) was almost 57 years of age when she became a grandmother for the first time. By the time she was in her early 60’s, she was experiencing health problems caused by diabetes and a poor heart. She was unable to climb the stairs to the bedrooms and bathroom, necessitating the installation of a bed in what otherwise would have been the dining room. A heavy wooden commode stood nearby should she need it.
The living room, located immediately to the right as you entered the house, was decorated in vintage 1940’s – a heavy, green and as I recall scratchy fabric ‘chesterfield’ or sofa lined the area beneath the front window, its matching chair version – Granddad’s chair – not far away. The latest technology, a large black and white television completed the furnishings.
Due to her inability to go upstairs, I was often sent to retrieve articles that my grandmother needed. But I was a reluctant errand boy for the stairs were dark, creaky and, at the top of the staircase perched on the wall as if looking down on those who dared the journey, was the largest, ugliest, most grotesque crucifix ever to adorn an Irish Catholic home. My mother’s younger brother, William ‘Bill’ O’Neill to this day loves to recount the time when he was still living at home and I had been sent on one of Nana’s errands to fetch something upstairs. My strategy as a child was to befriend the crucifix by making small talk, apparently hoping through this that no harm would befall me. Uncle Bill was having a bath, the bathtub being located on the other side of the wall holding the crucifix.
As I ascended the stairs that fateful day, I began my befriending conversation with “Hi God. How are you?” Uncle Bill, on hearing this and apparently unable to control himself, took on the role of ‘God.’ “I’m fine. How are you?” he boomed from the bathtub. I don’t recall my feet actually touching any of the stairs on my way down and I’m told that Nana gave proper what for to Uncle Bill for scaring her grandson. But never again did I go up those stairs!
Contact me with your stories, questions and comments at ian.hadden@rogers.com

I Remember Stephen

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Stephen Gerard Hadden was born on December 2, 1957 at St. Michael’s Hospital in Toronto, Ontario, Canada. Stephen was born just ten months after an older brother, Brian Joseph Hadden passed away at the too tender age of 10 weeks. Stephen shared with Brian however the then fatal, now predominantly treatable, affliction of hydrocephalus also known as ‘water on the brain.’ Unlike older brother Brian though, Stephen got to go home from the hospital.

I remember Stephen, pictured left in our mother’s arms with me smiling back at the camera in the only known photograph of him. He and I shared the small upstairs bedroom located at the back of 189 Pickering Street in Toronto. I had the bed all to myself, not because I wouldn’t share but because Stephen preferred his bassinet – all attempts at moving him into the crib failed due to his loud protests. Stephen loved that bassinet, or at least seemed to from my perspective. It fit well in our little room, nestled between the bedroom door and our window that looked out onto the backyard of the house.
My mornings always started the same – wake up, jump out of bed, run over to the bassinet and see what Stephen was doing. Usually he wasn’t doing much but I associated that to his being a baby – I didn’t understand hydrocephalus, let alone know of its impacts. Oh sure, there were the times when I would sit on the living couch beside my father when Dr. Hoare, the pediatrician, visited Stephen upstairs with Mom. During those visits, my Dad would look worried and sad but I just thought he didn’t like needles any more than I did, and that’s what doctors would give you every time you saw them.
My morning routine changed abruptly on Valentine’s Day in 1959 when I ran to the bassinet to find it empty. Racing downstairs, I found my mother in the kitchen tending to my new sister, Lou-Anne. I asked my Mom where Stephen had gone? Her reply is as clear to me today as it was over 50 years ago, “He’s gone to play with the angels.”
I remember walking about half way down the stairs to our home’s basement and sitting down. I sat there for what felt like a long time, at least to a three year old, wondering why Stephen would want to play with angels when I was willing to play with him anytime he wanted. Of course, I understand now the gentle attempt that my mother was using in telling me that my brother had passed away but, from time to time I can still see myself sitting on those stairs and I remember Stephen.
My sister often complains about how hard life was growing up the only girl with two tormenting brothers. But I wonder what life in our family would have been like if Brian and Stephen had lived. Oh, what chaos we might have caused!
Contact me with your stories, questions and comments at ian.hadden@rogers.com

Genealogical Serendipity

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Wikipedia, the online collaborative encyclopedia, defines serendipity as the “effect by which one accidentally discovers something fortunate, especially while looking for something entirely unrelated.” Such was my experience this past week.

I have commented previously on the great benefits that can be achieved using Google searches for family names. It struck me that a similar benefit might likely be achieved in searching for information about the streets and neighbourhoods that our ‘ancestors’ lived in. While conducting a search for historical information about the street on which my parents were raised, and for that matter, the street on which I spent my early years, I came across an article that confirmed part of the family story about an embarrassing moment for my father taking his little sister to get the autographs of his boyhood friends, John and Ray Perkins, two members of The Crew Cuts (pictured right and see Embarrassing Moments, September 24th). Through a series of events I will not detail to protect his privacy, I came upon John Perkins’ phone number.
For some context, John Perkins and his younger brother, Ray, lived about half way between my parents’ childhood homes on Pickering Street in Toronto’s east end. Both brothers attended Toronto’s St. Michael’s Choir School following which they eventually formed a vocal quartet with choir school alumnae, Pat Barrett and Rudi Maugeri. In 1954, they recorded Sh-Boom which charted at #1. Other hits followed including Earth Angel which hit #2 in the charts. In 1984, the group was inducted into the Canadian Music Hall of Fame.
As genealogists starting out, we learn that speaking with older family members is one key to effectively beginning the search into our ancestral roots. Finding a contact point that was a childhood friend of my parents with whom to talk about my parents and their neighbourhood and environment, it seemed to me would add a whole new enriching element to the image I have of my parents as they grew up. While I must frankly admit to being extremely reluctant about ‘cold’ calling a complete stranger, I finally mustered up the courage and called John Perkins.
John Perkins was gracious enough to speak with me about the ‘old’ neighbourhood and the Pickering Street environment of the 1930’s and 40’s, providing me with a more complete picture of the lifestyle and activities that my parents as children and teens experienced. Thanks to John Perkins, I have found a whole new collateral approach to discovering the experiences of my family.
Contact me with your stories, questions and comments at ian.hadden@rogers.com

Are You Ready For A DNA Test?

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I can recall having to read The Double Helix, James D. Watson’s account of the discovery of the double helix structure of DNA. For a 13 year-old more interested in sports, it didn’t seem at the time to be very exciting or important – but it was required high school reading. Today, DNA is at the core of real and fictional crime drama – a simple cheek swab exonerates the wrongfully accused or alternatively, is the single most compelling evidence of guilt.

But DNA has really come to the forefront of genealogical research as well.
I am not a DNA expert but know from research that all of our family members share some common biology. All of our cells have a copy of our DNA. Females have XX chromosomes and males have XY chromosomes. There are therefore two possible DNA tests available – the Y chromosome test for the paternal line and the Mitochondrial (mtDNA) test for the maternal line.
The Y chromosome is passed on generation after generation between fathers and sons. Using the results of Y chromosome tests, a series of numerical markers, shows common paternal ancestors, with some changes over time due to mutations, and can show us our ‘deep’ ancestry including the migration patterns that occurred in our family lines. The results of testing won’t tell us how we are related thus the continued need to research paper records. But most importantly, as more people explore their ancestry using DNA testing, our opportunities for collaboration continue to expand. By including the numeric marker results from DNA tests into databases, matches can be made and further family connections achieved. Because the Y chromosome is only carried by males, only males can take this test but women can ask their father, brothers, paternal uncles or nephews to take the test.
The mtDNA test is too broad to determine family connections but it can be used to weed out some of the Y chromosome test result matches and narrow down family connections.
I must admit that I have not yet tested my DNA although I am certain that such a test is in my future. It just makes good sense to take advantage of yet another tool in further exploring my ancestry. And, remembering the significance of my Scottish roots, the costs associated with these tests has dropped considerably with a good 33 marker Y chromosome test now available for less than $100. The more people who are tested, obviously the more expanded the databases become and the greater the opportunity for connections. So, is a DNA test in your future?
Contact me with your stories, questions and comments at ian.hadden@rogers.com