Molly, Jack, & Larry – A DNA Success Story.

[This week guest blogger, Carol Katzenmeyer, is sharing one of her DNA successes. Carol and I are both researching Darling ancestors in Michigan and New York.]
In the early 1950’s a man named Fritz and a woman named Margie had an affair. When it was over, Fritz moved to Alaska. Margie lingered awhile, then moved to southern California…..
* * *
After my husband, Larry, passed away I became serious about my long-time interest in genealogy. I subscribed to Ancestry.comand spent long hours “entering and searching.” Soon, I had my DNA tested. In early 2013 I decided to have my children’s DNA done so I could derive my husband’s DNA also.


My daughter’s results arrived first and there was an immediate close match, a first cousin. Now, I have been in this family for over 55 years and I know all the cousins! This was not one that I knew of.
I looked at her tree and saw that she had been born in Roseburg, Oregon, in 1954. Her parents had been married in Roseburg and her father died there also.
Larry and I were attending Roseburg High School during 1954 and Larry’s brother, Jack, was in his first year at the University of Oregon.
I pondered…….
I remembered when we were first married, I overheard my mother-in-law tell Larry that her estranged husband, Larry and Jack’s father, “had a woman friend uptown.” The rumor was that Larry had a little sister. We shrugged it off at the time and I don’t remember that we ever talked about it again.
Now, all these years later – could it be?
Her name is Molly. I was surprised because my father-in-law’s mother is named Molly and two of her grandchildren are named Molly.
I contacted new cousin Molly via email, I mentioned many of the family names and places. She responded right away and indicated she did not recognize any of the names. We emailed back and forth a few times, exchanging information. Nothing clicked.
Soooo…… I said that I did not want to offend her, but I told her the story of Larry’s father’s woman-friend. She answered immediately. She was not offended, rather she was very much interested. Her father was Italian, but her DNA showed no Italian. She had wondered….
We continued to exchange information over the next few days .
I decided to talk to Larry’s brother, Jack. I asked him if he had heard the story about the woman friend and the little sister. He exclaimed, “that’s a new one on me!”. We discussed it for a few minutes and he said that he guessed it was time for him to have his DNA tested.
I ordered an autosomal DNA kit from Ancestry and we impatiently waited for the results.
The results show a close family match with Molly! Jack, Larry and Molly are siblings. Molly is a half sister. We shared all of this back and forth and spent some time getting used to the idea.
Finally, in June 2015, Molly and her husband Randy came to Roseburg to meet us! Eight months later, Jack and his wife Pat went to southern California to visit Molly and Randy.
What wonderful people! I am so happy Molly submitted her DNA so we could connect! Welcoming our new sister into the family has filled both our families with love and joy.
– Carol Katzenmeyer
27 March 2016
———- DISCLAIMER ———-
 

A poem by a friend regarding her mother’s line

[Each of us who love genealogy have our own reasons for researching. I have been working with a young woman whose reasons for becoming involved with genealogy include really getting to know her ancestors and their stories. In knowing where she comes from, she can better know herself.  But also, by knowing her ancestors, they become the inspiration, the imbus, for creative work. Jenne is also an excellent poet. Her genealogical research inspired this poem of family tragedy. Next week I’ll post her background story, the story that inspired this work. I look forward to more of Jenne’s amazing work.  – Don Taylor]

My Mother’s Line

by Jenne M. (guest blogger)

Hell
is a pale house
on
Iron Ore Road.
The
fan belt hung on
the
hook, awaiting
him.
Can you hear it?
Rumbling,
sputtering
up
the pitted drive.
His
hard hand waiting
and
Ree’s run off again.
On
Iron Ore Road
chickens
wait in their
mansion.
And see Ree
with
her kerchief, her
shovel,
hip-deep in
their
shit. Her baby
day-old
and still she
shovels.
Can you hear?
Hell
is a pale house –
and
he tells the nun
At
night, I can smell
my
flesh, burnt, charring.”
He
tells his sister
I’ll
make them beat
each
other!” The words
a
wonder in him.
On
Iron Ore road
a
wonder in him –
to
see them, one pressed
against
the pale wall –
the
other, beating with
the
belt. Like this, see?
Harder.
Can you hear
the
wet sound of flesh?
The
smack of the word
on
Iron Ore Road.
Silent,
they shadow –
stevedores,
small hands
carry
his candy,
forbidden
a piece.
Carry
his majesty’s
burdens
from the car.
Chickens
and cars call
from
Iron Ore Road.
Deaf
children grunting
but
never a laugh
and
never a doll
but
the scrape of the
shovel,
the hiss of
the
belt through the air.
Hell
is a pale house
and
Ree has run off.
A
boy lies waiting –
a
thin girl, watching.
Can
you hear, can you?
Rumbling,
sputtering
up
the pitted drive.
His
boots on the ground.
He
draws to his height
on
Iron Ore Road.
Backlit
shotgun blast –
the
blood from his mouth –
the
waiting boy runs.
The
monolith falls.
Ree,
suddenly there,
screams
but not with fear.
Freedom
is new paint
on
Iron Ore Road,
and
Ree is back now,
the
waiting boy chained.
Laughter
echoes in
the
parlor. “I don’t
have
time to tell it”
she
chirps to the cop, then

turns
back to her brush

[Jenne M. is a Guest Blogger.  If you wish to contact her, please use the comments form below and I will forward your request to her. – Don Taylor]