From what I can tell from my research, he belonged to choir groups from a young age. I don’t know if brother Harry had the same inclinations, but I do know that after their mom died when the boys were young (Harry almost six and Joe, three), our great grandfather Henry Mattimore and the boys’ aunt Kate made sure they were involved in lots of activities and sports when growing up.

Besides sports, for my grandfather it was bohemian performances, vaudeville and Shakespeare. Who knew?! One of the earliest news clips I found is from 1909 when my grandfather would have been just 11.

He performed solos for St. Brigid’s Choir and in 1915 he was elected vice president of St. Brigid’s Dramatic Circle. He was also performed in the drama club at Canisius High School.

I am lucky enough to have both a visual and written record of one particular play, Shakespeare’s “Twelfth Night,” performed by Canisius High School in January 1915. I’m thankful that my mom inherited and passed along these photos. Can you spot Joe Mattimore? (remember you can click on images to see them larger). Answer: he’s 2nd from left with the big moustache.

In the full cast photo below, in case you can’t spot him, I’ve added a small yellow arrow pointing up at him. Hard to miss that moustache and grin, though.

Even at 25 years old, Joe was still acting — now for the Wildon Club. The performances were held at St. Brigid’s Hall and were followed by a night of dancing.

He married my grandmother Mary McMahon just two years later. I don’t know for sure, but getting married and starting a family may have put an end to his acting career.

So to any of my siblings or cousins who sing, act or entertain, just know that you are following in the footsteps of Grandpa Joe Mattimore!

— Autosomal (atDNA), the most popular, which analyzes the 22 base pairs of chromosomes inherited from both parents. This is the one used by Ancestry.com and other popular sites. While you get 50% DNA from each parent, which 50% you get is random. The atDNA test is only useful (right now) back to about five generations. Think of it as providing broad but somewhat shallow coverage.

— Y-Chromosome (Y-DNA), only for males, traces the direct paternal line, passing from father to son, generation after generation.

— Mitochondrial (mtDNA), traces the direct maternal line, for both men and women, passed down from mothers.

Providing narrow but deep tests of your family tree, both Y-DNA and mtDNA are passed down nearly unchanged, revealing ancient migratory patterns and the specific halpogroup — a genetic population group — from which your direct line originated thousands of years ago.

At some point I will likely devote another blog post to Y-DNA testing. In this post I’ll talk about the maternal line, and share with you the results of my own mtDNA testing.

Mitochondria

Mitochondria, the powerhouses of the cell, are passed down from your mother’s egg. Your father shared none of his mitochondria with you. All of a woman’s biological children inherit her mitochondria, but only her female children can pass it along to their children.

This is why none of us has mtDNA from our common Mattimore side. Our great grandparents, Henry B Mattimore and wife Mary O’Rourke only had sons Harry and Joseph. There were no females to carry forward the mtDNA from Mary O’Rourke and her maternal line. A mother who gives birth only to sons will see her mtDNA lineage lost.

Because mitochondrial DNA does not recombine — like autosomal does with DNA from both mother and father — it allows scientists to trace human ancestry way back to a common ancestor, “Mitochondrial Eve” (not to be confused with Biblical Eve).

All About Eve

Mitochondrial Eve represents the most recent common matrilineal ancestor of all living humans, estimated to have lived in Africa about 150,000–200,000 years ago. While her specific time estimate may adjust with more data, it is unlikely to “go back” much further in time to a different woman, as she represents the convergence point of all surviving maternal lineages.

 
• Why 150k–200k Years? This timeframe is based on the mutation rate of mitochondrial DNA. It is the most recent point where all maternal lines converge.
• Will it Go Further Back? The “Eve” we discuss is the most recent common ancestor. As time passes, some current, rarer maternal lines may die out, while others persist, which could eventually move the “most recent” common ancestor closer to the present, rather than further back.
• Not the Only Woman: Mitochondrial Eve was not the first woman or the only woman alive at the time. She is simply the only woman whose maternal lineage has remained unbroken to the present day. 

In other words, there were many women who came before this genetic Eve and many women who came after, but her genetic code is the point from which all modern branches on humanity’s family tree grew.

This is a really complex topic, and I don’t want to go any deeper into the weeds, so I shall leave it there. If you’d like to read more, here are a few links: here, here or here.

My Motherline
My own results, while not super helpful for my immediate genealogy research, are fascinating nonetheless. And just to reiterate, because mtDNA does not recombine, all of my siblings will have gotten the exact same mitochondrial DNA from my mom that I did. But aside from my siblings, each of you will have your own motherline. For say, Beth Mattimore, it will be her mother Verna and Verna’s mother and so on. For Fr. Jack, it will be his mother Joan and Joan’s mother, and so on.

Because mtDNA tests are less common and only look at one ancestral line instead of all lines, I only have 2,162 DNA matches instead of the 38,000+ I have on Ancestry with my autosomal test. Each of the mtDNA matches are given a genetic distance (GD) to me that measures the number of mutations (differences) between us, and indicates how closely we share a maternal ancestor. A GD of 0 means an exact match, while higher numbers (1, 2, 3+) indicate more distant relationships. I have only four exact matches. But that means they have identical mitochondrial DNA, suggesting a shared common female ancestor in a relatively recent timeframe. Relative is the operative word here. I did not recognize any of the four matches. Their reported maternal countries of origin are Canada, England and UK. They look like pretty distant matches to me, but more research is needed.

Migration Map

Here we see the estimated migration route from Mitochondrial Eve to my haplogroup and the closest connections found in ancient DNA from archaeological remains.

My haplogroup, U5b1d1c4, is a specific, rare subclade of mitochondrial DNA haplogroup U5, which traces a direct unbroken maternal line back to early European hunter-gatherers. It represents a lineage with a highly specific, relatively recent ancestor estimated to have lived around 900 BCE. It is associated with Northern and Western European ancestry, with identified descendant lineages most commonly found in England, Ireland, and the United States.

Ancient and Notable Connections

Some of my connections are considered rare while others are common connections that all modern humans share, like to Neanderthal Man and Denisova 8. Here are a few of my notable connections (click an image to see it larger):

From Cheddar Man to Paris Hilton, oh my!

There is much I don’t yet understand about my mtDNA results and how they may benefit my genealogy research. But I thought it would be fun to share what I’ve learned so far. If you are interested in taking a mitochondrial DNA (or Y-DNA) test, the industry leader for this is FamilyTree DNA based in Houston, TX.

If you’ve read this far, thanks for indulging me in another DNA topic.

In this post I will attempt to pull together what is known about Jane Long and her family. My hope is that there is something here in the research that is new or interesting to my cousins.

Born Jane C. Long on 7 Apr 1894 in Buffalo to Bartholomew Long and Catherine Dowling, she was the second of 11 children (nine girls and two boys). Her family called her Jennie.

She brought 100% Irish ancestry to her union with Harry Lawrence Mattimore and their descendants. Her parents and all four of her grandparents have well-documented origins in County Kerry, Ireland.

Jane’s father Bartholomew was born in 1863 in Moan (or Moin), Ardfert, Tralee, Co. Kerry. He was the son of Bartholomew “Batt” Long and Catherine “Kate” O’Connell. A Catholic Church parish register confirms he was baptized at St. Brendan Catholic Church on 13 Jul 1863 in the village of Ardfert. 

St. Brendan's Catholic Church where Jane's father was baptized.

This small rural village was the site of a monastery that was founded in the 6th century by Saint Brendan “The Navigator” (c. AD 484 – c. 577). It also boasts the presence of three medieval church ruins, the main and earliest building being the Ardfert Cathedral dating to the 12th century. 

Jane’s grandfather Batt was a national school teacher in Ireland, and at least three of Jane’s aunts (Batt’s daughters) were teachers in Ireland as well.

Great grandfather Bartholomew Long

Jane’s father Bartholomew immigrated to America and settled in Buffalo, New York, On 6 Apr 1888. Two years after his arrival, he filed his intention in court to become a U.S. citizen. After having lived in the U.S. for five years he was granted naturalization and became a U.S. citizen on 3 Oct 1892. That was an important year for another reason. It was 1892 when he was married to Catherine Dowling. At the time of their marriage, Bartholomew was 29 and Catherine was about 22 years of age. 

Great grandmother Catherine Dowling

Jane’s mother Catherine Dowling was born about 1873 in Lahern, Tralee, Co. Kerry, the daughter of Nicholas Dowling (a farmer) and Jane “Jennie” Talbot. The family had eight children that I’ve discovered. It seems very likely that Jane was named for her grandmother Jane “Jennie” Talbot.

After their marriage Bartholomew and Catherine Dowling Long settled in the 2nd Ward of Buffalo. A year after the marriage in 1893 he is listed as being employed as a clerk and they are residing in a rental at 47 Hayward Street. In just another year in 1894 Bartholomew made a career decision that had been made by many of his Irish compatriots: he joined the Buffalo Police Department and began working as a patrolman.

Patrolman Bartholomew Long 

Much of the information on the Long family presented here was well researched by Joseph G. Vergo, the ex-husband of a granddaughter of Jane’s sister Anne Long. Joe Vergo’s wife was Karen (nee Schmitt) Czajka, a first cousin to my Harry Mattimore cousins. Joe prepared the information for his children in 2019. I have excerpted from his research. Here is information on the 11 Long children:

1. CATHERINE F. LONG was born on 29 Oct 1892 in Buffalo. Her first name was her mother’s and paternal grandmother’s given name. Catherine was also known as Kittie by family and friends. She began working as a stenographer in 1910 at the age of 17. She lived with her parents at 429 Perry Street in Buffalo into her late twenties. It was commonplace for extended families to live under one roof in those days, especially for immigrant Irish. At the age of 29, Catherine married William J. Smith in 1922. William was 30 and working for the railroad. Catherine and William settled in South Buffalo. They had a family of three daughters and three sons. Kittie died in Buffalo on 13 Apr 1949 at the age of 58. Her husband died in Apr 1969.

2. JANE C. LONG was born 7 Apr 1893 in Buffalo. She died young at the age of 44 on 21 Jun 1938 in Buffalo. After her education she found employment as a Stenographer. She lived with her parents until the age of 27 when she married Harry Mattimore who was 24 at the time. He had served briefly in the US Navy during World War I. When they exchanged vows, Harry was a clerk but would become the registrar of the city of Buffalo later in his career. Jennie and Harry bought a home in South Buffalo at 164 Whitfield Avenue and raised a family of four daughters and two sons. 

3. LENORE C. LONG was born in Feb 1896 in Buffalo. She died on 8 Jul 1958 in Buffalo. Lenore worked as an office worker until she married John Matthew Danahy in 1920. John was a veteran of World War I, having served overseas as a US Army ambulance driver. He became a clerk with the railroad and then Bethlehem Steel in Lackawanna. Lenore and John raised four sons in South Buffalo. The first, John J. Danahy (1919 – 1986), became a firefighter before serving in the US Navy during World War II and would retire as a Hamburg fire hall captain. Bartholomew J. Danahy (1920 – 1989), earned his BS Degree from Canisius College and was appointed a police officer in 1942. In 1943 he enlisted in the U.S. Marine Corps and saw duty in Panama until his honorable discharge in 1945. Bart returned to BPD as a Lieutenant, advanced to Assistant Director of the Police Academy and ended his career as an Investigator for the state liquor authority. William J. Danahy (1926 – 1988), served as a Sergeant in the US Army during WW II and became a firefighter in Buffalo. The fourth son, Joseph J. Danahy Sr. (1934 – 1995) served 2 years in US Army until discharge in 1958 and would become an M&T Bank Branch Manager in South Buffalo.

4. MARY A. LONG was born in Dec 1897 in Buffalo. She died on 21 Feb 1949 in Buffalo. She married Myron E Goss on 7 May 1919. He was born about 1898 in New York. Myron, who served briefly in the US Army for WWI, worked for the Buffalo Water Department. The couple settled in a home at 165 Easton Avenue in Buffalo and raised a family including three daughters and one son.

5. ANNE M. LONG was born on 23 Nov 1899 in Buffalo. She married Nicholas Schmitt on 29 June 1926. Four years after their marriage, the couple was living in South Buffalo with their 2 month old son James. It is likely they settled there to be close to Anne’s childhood home, where her father and five of her siblings continued to live at 489 Perry Street. Nicholas was then working as an Assistant Engineer at the telephone company. By 1940 the couple had moved to the town of Tonawanda and were living with their two sons and Anne’s sister Marie at 72 Lincoln Blvd. Nicholas and Anne would eventually move to Kenmore, and Nicholas became district manager of the telephone company. He died in 1991. Anne Long Schmitt died on 28 Dec 1994 at the advanced age of 95. 

6. BARTHOLOMEW C. LONG JR. was born about 1899 in Buffalo. He went by the nickname Bart. He followed his father’s footsteps in the field of law enforcement and was appointed patrolman with the Buffalo police at the age of 24. He had a long and storied 31 year career as illustrated by his police actions described in over 100 newspaper stories in the Buffalo news. His most celebrated case occurred in 1929 when he was 30. Bart was sent to investigate a disturbance and was ambushed by a man with a pistol. Three of four shots aimed at him by the assailant went wide, but one struck in his side. Fortunately, the bullet struck his thick police belt, preventing him from being seriously wounded. Bart got off two shots of his own, both striking the perpetrator, who died later that day at the hospital. Two days after this incident, Bart’s deceased assailant was identified as murderer, notably the man who had shot and killed a local junk dealer a month earlier. Bart’s notoriety increased significantly due to this takedown. At 33, he married Laurette M. Clark (1897 – 1953), a native of Buffalo and clerical worker at Trico Products. In 1940 Bart was assigned to “plainclothes” duties with the Detective Bureau of Buffalo Police Department as an acting, then a full detective. He and his wife were childless when she passed, suffering a heart attack in their home in Dec 1953. About eight months later, after working the day tour, Bart was taken ill in his home and died shortly afterward at St. Francis Hospital. He died on 9 Sep 1954.

7. SARA A. LONG was born about 1904 in Buffalo. She married John J. Fisher (1900 – 1970) in 1922. John was a yard clerk for the New York Central Railroad and would advance to the position of yard master later in his career. The couple settled in South Buffalo not far from Cazenovia Park. Sara and John would raise four sons and one daughter. Son Paul Joseph Fisher (1930 – 1989) served as a Lt. JG in the US Navy during the Korean Conflict. A grandson, James J. Fisher (1964 – Present), who is the son their son Richard J. Fisher (1939 – Present), graduated from the US Naval Academy in 1987. Sara died at the youthful age of 46 on 10 Apr 1950 when her youngest son was just 11. Her John husband died in 1970.

8. EILEEN LONG was born about 1906 in Buffalo. After finishing school she found employment as a stenographer at New York Central Rail Road. She lived with her parents and siblings until her early thirties when she married Joseph W. Hock (1895 – 1959) probably in 1939. Joseph had served in the US Army infantry at Camp Gordon, Georgia during WWI and was working as a guard when they were married. They lived in the Blackrock section of Buffalo and had one daughter. Eileen died 1 Nov 1954 at the age of 48 when her daughter was just eight years old. Joseph would pass in 1959 and both husband and wife were interred at the Mt. Olivet Cemetery in Tonawanda. 

9. MARGARET LONG was born on 10 Mar 1908 in Buffalo. She never married and lived part of her adulthood in the home of her parents, and then with her brother John (Joe) and his family. She died at the age of 68 in Sep 1976 in Buffalo.

10. JOHN JOSEPH [Joseph J.] LONG SR. was born on 14 Jun 1909 in Buffalo. He died on 3 Feb 1975. He used the name Joseph J. Long and answered to the nickname of Joe. After working as a clerk for a time he became a firefighter with the Buffalo Fire Department. He married Marie Nenno in Oct 1941. She died in 1960 in Cheektowaga. The couple had two children, a son and a daughter. Their son, John Joseph [Joseph J.] Long Jr. was born in Buffalo on 2 Sep 1942. Like his father, he called himself Joseph J. Long. Joe attended Niagara University before transferring to Canisius College. While studying there he met Mary Louise Nienhaus. The couple were married 16 Apr 1966 in Cheektowaga, and raised two sons. Patrick J. Long was born in 1967 and attended and graduated from the US Naval Academy in 1992. He served with the fleet and attained the rank of Lieutenant. He also obtained an MBA from Chicago University Booth School of Business in 1999. Their second son, John Michael [J. Michael] Long, was born 18 May 1968 in Buffalo. Mike completed his education at Canisius College and Marquette University Law School. He is married and has at least two sons.

11. ALMA LONG was born on 24 Jan 1912 in Buffalo. Alma never married. She died in Aug 1982 in Buffalo. 

Jane’s father Bartholomew Long retired from the Buffalo Police Department in November of 1907 at the age of 44 after serving for 13 years, 6 months. Although the reason for his early retirement was not found, it is surmised he developed a physical disability preventing him from performing a police duties. He continued working as a clerk, first with a dry dock and then a railroad company. Bartholomew and Catherine’s home at 489 Perry Street in Buffalo’s Ward 1 served as a residence for the large Long family through the years of the Great Depression. Catherine Dowling Long died on 30 May 1926 in Buffalo at the age of 56. Bartholomew died six years later at the age of 68 on 27 Mar 1932. Funeral services for both were held at the family residence before they were interred next to each other at Holy Cross Cemetery in Lackawanna. At the time, they were survived by all eleven of their children and numerous grandchildren.

A few other tidbits

The family often took in boarders. One of them even appears in a family photograph shown here. This is the only photo of the family I've been able to find. The lovely Jane (Jennie) is on far left, back row.

The Long Family with mother Catherine in the center and her husband Bartholomew behind her.

A serendipitous moment as told to me by Karen Czajka (nee Schmitt):

“Lori [Deacon Steinwald] appeared at my door one afternoon probably in the mid 1990s with her son who was coming over to play with my son, Timmy. I asked her where she was from (she and Dale bought the house of our childhood paperboy Paul Schneeburgher whom we were all in love with — we would wait eagerly for the paper to be delivered in the afternoons; I bought a house and raised my kids 14 houses from my parents), and when she replied South Buffalo, I said 'Oh well, we're probably cousins then.' I named some of the names I could remember and lo and behold — it was true! That's how we met. We did get her Mom and my parents together for dinner at my house. They hadn't seen each other for years!”

Karen’s grandmother Anne Long, said the family used to sing (like the Von Traps)! Karen also heard that the family had some type of mnemonic that they used to remember the names of the 11 kids in order. How cool would that be to know? Alas, no one knows what it was. Let’s see: letters starting with C, J, L, M, A, B, S, E, M, J, A. I bet ChatGPT could come up with some interesting suggestions.

Jane and her older sister Catherine were stenographers before their marriages. In looking at the 1920 census records, they are listed as working as stenographers for a soap company. Well, the big soap company in Buffalo at that time was the Larkin Soap Company. I would bet dollars to donuts that they worked for the Larkin Company, which is historically significant for its innovative mail-order business model, which relied on a national network of "Larkin Clubs,” and its association with architect Frank Lloyd Wright, who designed its famous administration building in Buffalo.

At only 44 years old, Jane was the first of of the 11 siblings to pass away. According to her death certificate, she died of chronic tubular nephritis (progressive kidney disease) with some underlying causes. She and Harry had six living children at the time. When their mother died the oldest child, Mary, was 15 and youngest, Kay, was 5.

(Remember, you can always click images to see them larger)

My mother always told the story that when Jane died, the Long family wanted to take and raise Harry & Jane’s children. It would had to have been Jane’s siblings since both of her parents had passed away by then. I asked Fr. Jack what he knew of the story. Apparently Jane’s sisters went to the home on Whitfield Ave to tell Harry that they had discussed it and had decided which sister would take which of the children. Harry threw them off the porch and never spoke to them again. While I’m sure there’s more to the story, it basically confirmed the outlines of the tale my mom had heard.

A treasured photo of Grandma Jennie Mattimore with children Mary, Jane and Harry Jr.

Jack also had this to say:

“When my cousin Joe Long was receiving chemo at Roswell Park Cancer Institute, I was the Catholic chaplain there, so he would tell them he wanted to see the Catholic chaplain (Chris Sheehan, Rob’s wife, was often his nurse, so it was quite the family gathering). I would be paged and would go down to chemo and sit with Joe for as long as I could while he was there. I got so much Long family history from him that it was amazing. We had great times together as he filled me in on all the Long backstories, which my father had never heard.”

So next time you speak with Jack, perhaps he can fill you in on some other Long stories.

Well, if you are still reading this, I hope you learned something new about Jane or her family. If anyone ever does come across old photos of Jane, please share!

Hopefully Harry’s grandkids had more of a sense of their grandfather’s life since Harry was 86 years old when he passed away in 1981. By then my cousins were older, too, and may have heard stories of Harry’s sporting days.

When researching the blog post about my grandmother Mary Mattimore a couple of years ago, I learned that my grandfather Joe played professional baseball for a minor league team while living in Hibbing, Minnesota. I had never heard that before, and so I decided to see if I could find old newspaper clips to piece together some sort of story about our athlete grandfathers.

Both brothers enjoyed golf and bowling into their later years. But back in school and in their 20s? Harry played basketball, baseball, golf and was an officer for the Canisius College Athletic Association. Joe Mattimore ran track, played golf, baseball and helped organize Knights of Columbus marathons. That’s only what I could find, too.

But without a doubt, the starring roles for Harry and Joe were basketball and baseball respectively. Harry played both forward and guard while Joe was a pitcher.

[Note: This post includes just a sampling of the clips I found.]

I am also reminded of seeing an old note of Harry’s where he wrote that on December 10, 1916, he had dislocated his kneecap for the fourth time. My reaction years ago at seeing this note was “What?!” I couldn’t imagine how someone only 21 years old had dislocated a kneecap, let alone done it four times by that young age. Well, learning more about him and knowing he was an athlete, it makes much more sense as athletes are often prone to injuries. Seems like that mystery is solved.

I can also now picture in my head Aunt Kate watching and cheering on “her boys,” at their games — and feeling very proud.

Post Note: If you know any more info about Harry and Joe and their athletic days, add it in the comments!

It probably started sometime around 1960 or early 60s… or thereabouts. Incredibly, that means it’s been going on for in the neighborhood of 65 years. Has it happened every single year since then? No, but likely almost all. Covid interrupted the gathering, and it’s feasible that here may have been a few other years when something prevented it from happening. But on the whole, it has been a tradition on the 2nd weekend in August for decades. And now, generations.

Here’s my theory: around 1960/early 60s, all of grandfather Harry’s children were living in the Buffalo area except for Harry Jr. and Kathleen’s family, who were living in Vestal, New York. Having an annual gathering would provide an occasion to get everyone together, including out of town family. At that point, all of grandfather Joe’s children were also still in Buffalo, except for son Henry, who was in the seminary in Washington DC (and ordained in 1961). Early August probably felt right as it was the height of summer and before kids went back to school. And so, the tradition was born.

The Elwell clan of 10 at the Mattimore Picnic, circa 1968

The earliest memories of the picnic for Fr. Jack date back to second or third grade. That sounds about the same for me (and Jack and I are the same age). Harry Jr. and family made the trip from Vestal every year to be there, of course. Their daughter Jane (Hashey) says she can’t ever remember NOT going, she was so young when it started.

As it settled into a tradition, the main organizers of the gathering early on seemed to be Hirschs — Kathleen and Bob. They organized the volleyball game and brought all the fun stuff: horseshoes, wiffle balls, baseball bats, etc. Organizing the food started early too: bring beverages and meats for your own family, but also bring a dish to share with all.

Others have taken their turn in organizing the event in the years since, with a special shoutout to Colleen and Fr. Jack. There's also Jane Hashey and Kathy Shaw and Sue Hirsch, Lorie Deacon and Trish Lewis and, well, I don’t really know everyone who has helped to organize, so I’ll just say a big THANK YOU to everyone who has had a hand in keeping the picnic going over the years.

Some of the flyers from over the years are below (you can click on an image to see it larger).

Bob Hirsch, a professional photographer, began the tradition of taking a group picture each year. I’m told you had to be in the vicinity when he made the photo call, lest your presence was not documented. After his passing in 2013, someone has always managed to get a group photo. (NOTE: There's a video slideshow from over the years, including the group photos from several years at the end of this post.) 

I’m guessing that it was sometime in the early 90s that Fr. Jack started saying mass at the picnics. At that time, I never thought about the fact that the mass was always said at 4:00 pm or later, and not before. D’oh! Of course, then it would count for the Sunday obligation for mass!

One special mass stands out to me. That was the one in 2015 that included the baptism of little Luke Mattimore from Chicago.

Of course, there have been many special moments and memories. Our parents’ generation enjoyed singalongs with songs taught to them by their parents — When Irish Eyes are Smiling, Blackbird in a Thorn and Danny Boy to name a few. With later generations came Wild Rover, Mari’s Wedding and The Parting Glass.

In 2016 when Fr. Jack couldn’t make it to the picnic, we had an impromptu talent show instead of a mass. How’s that for creativity? We enjoyed songs by Jen and Joey Mattimore (on guitar), group singalongs, and even a dramatic reading. We were also fortunate to watch a comedy routine by Maryanne Donnelly, who only about four months later sadly passed away.

We’ve played every conceivable outdoor/picnic game imaginable and held many competitions (the donut eating contest was particularly inspired). One year, I gave an ancestry talk about our family history. And in 2018 we listened to a new song by Joe Mattimore, Change the World With Kindness, written to honor the life of Natalie Lewis.

2022 was especially bittersweet with the memories of Mike Hirsch, who passed away just 10 days prior to the reunion. Fresh off his memorial, the Hirsh family still came out in force. 

We've remembered others who have passed (RIP Tom Mattimore) and celibrated births and birthdays along the way. Always through the years, there's been music, camaraderie and laughter.

Looking back, at that young age when I just wanted to hang out with my friends, I remember saying to my mom something to the effect of: “Do we really have to go this? Who are these people (other than my 1st cousins) that will be there again?” Ah, familiar sentiments from a kid. But as I aged and began to appreciate family, I began to see the gatherings differently. With my love of genealogy (inherited from my mom), the reunions were my opportunity to connect with not just my cousins and aunts and uncles, but with 2nd cousins, with whom we share great grandparents and all of their associated history. It is rare that extended families have a tradition such as this one that we have — and have had for some six decades now.

So this year, the picnic at Chestnut Ridge will be Saturday, August 9th. Whether traveling by plane, train or automobile, hope to see you there!

BONUS: For those around in the days before and after Saturday, here are two events of note by family members:

1. Thursday AUG 7, Jeff Shaw and his Celtic rock band The Muckers are playing at Nietzsche's in Allentown, 6:00pm

2. Sunday AUG 10, my sister Jennifer Comeau has an author talk about her new novel A Moon in All Things at Dog Ears Bookstore, 11:00am

Now, here is the promised video slideshow. I pulled photos from Facebook and other sources, and added the group photos that I had from over the years at the end. You can pause the video at any point to see everyone's faces. You will need to click the URL below (enjoy!):

https://www.canva.com/design/DAGsnkYUFzE/-s0O8ujqdIGxkofBfma2NA/watch

Also in the collection were postcards from his father, Henry Mattimore, who often worked out west or in Panama where he was a boilermaker on the project to build the Panama Canal.

A postcard from Nicaragua from Henry Mattimore to his son Harry, 1905

Harry and brother Joe's aunt and grandma remained close with their family back in Oswego, where they were originally from. Before modern-day inventions such as cell phones and email, postcards were an easy way to stay in touch. Some of the postcards indicated when someone would be arriving in Buffalo or Oswego, and on which train. Most were greetings for Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, St. Patrick’s Day and other holidays. There were messages about gifts or packages sent, babies born and family updates about Kate’s cousins.

Various postcards from Harry's collection

"You are the best Irish critter going" -- St. Patrick's Day postcard to Harry, 1909 (sender unknown)

Lorie Deacon Steinwald told me about her grandfather’s collection of postcards at one of the annual Mattimore family picnics, and I knew I wanted to see these postcards from a lifetime ago. Lorie graciously dropped the binders by my mom’s house at some point, and I was able to see them when home for Christmas that year. Lots of the cards date to the early 1900s. The earliest I saw was 1905, when Harry would have been 10. But there were too many to get the details on them all.

Top: Aunt Kate to her mother. Middle: Harry to Nellie King, his grandma's cousin. Bottom: Henry Mattimore to Aunt Kate.

I photographed several of the postcards, front and back, so that I could examine them further when I had time, and to figure out who some of unknown writers and/or recipients of the cards were. A few of the cards were scanned and posted to my Ancestry account for the appropriate ancestor.

What I didn’t expect was to hear from a stranger who stumbled across one of these randomly chosen — but very pertinent — postcards while researching on Ancestry.com at a public library. He then googled my name and found me through my photography website, and sent me the following message:

“Your exquisite images have delivered me from this brisk wintry day in NYC: thank you! It was another image, however, that led me to contact you: that of a postcard you attached to Ellen King (daughter of Thomas Parker King) of Oswego, NY, on your Ancestry tree. The 23 Dec 1909 correspondence from Ellen to her cousin Catherine O'Rourke mentions that "Tom Parker was buried this afternoon… he died as he lived." Indeed, my great-great-grandfather's brother Thomas F. Parker, a shipbuilder in Oswego, did die there on 22 Dec 1909. Your thoughtfulness in posting this has resolved a 40-year search for my Parker ancestral home (on Tralee Bay!): the Kings were sponsors for our Parkers' baptisms in Kingston, Ontario, and vice versa, and I am indebted to you for solving this mystery.… cousins!
With deep gratitude and warm wishes,
Art Parker (Manhattan, NY)”

Thus began a journey of discovery with Art Parker: The 2,000 miles between us did not diminish our teamwork capabilities! What I knew at that time was that our 3rd great uncle Thomas King had Parker as a middle name. And his father, our 4th great grandfather Morgan King, a shipbuilder in Tralee, married a woman named Ellen Parker.

The clues were right in front of us with the baptismal sponsors. A King girl and a Parker boy were both baptized at St. Mary's Cathedral in Kingston on the same day in 1855… and Timothy King (our 3X great grandfather) was a sponsor for Robert George Parker… Art’s great great grandfather's youngest brother. The King girl was Mary Anne, a daughter of our 3rd great grandparents Timothy and Catherine (Moriarty) King (parish record below). Was this serendipity? Divine providence? After decades of research, neither of us much believed in genealogical coincidences anymore, so we pursued the lead.…

The pieces to the puzzle were now falling together: Catharine King had been the sole sponsor at the baptism of Art’s 2x great grandfather in 1848, at Kingston. Four years later, his 3rd great grandmother Mrs. Catharine Parker had been the sponsor at the 1852 baptism of John King, Timothy and Catharine's son. According to the Kingston city directories (1850s), the families of Timothy King and James Parker, both shipbuilders, resided in the Marine Railway Cottages.

More unraveled: marriage and other records led us to additional connections between the families, and to the ultimate moment: the discovery of a common place in Ireland: Co. Kerry, civil parish of Ballynahaglish, Roman Catholic parish of Ardfert, townland of Tawlaght (or Talaught) on the shores of Tralee Bay. This was huge! I had not known precisely where our King ancestors were from prior to this and Art had been searching for 40 years.

Tawlaght is located on north side of Tralee Bay less than 10 km west of Tralee town, just south of the Shannon Estuary

I’m absolutely amazed that our ancestors immigrated to Kingston about 180 years ago, and the family is now in touch once again.

All of this courtesy of Ellen King’s postcard in 1909 to her cousin — our great great grandmother — with the words ”Tom Parker was buried this afternoon… he died as he lived." If Harry had not kept this postcard, and granddaughter Lorie had not happened to mention the postcard collection to me, and I had not added this particular postcard to my Ancestry tree, this mystery may never have been solved.

Post notes:
1) The Kings and Parkers may have first arrived in Kinston, Ontario, but they eventually relocated across Lake Ontario to Oswego, New York.
2) We believe that our 4th great grandmother Ellen Parker King was a likely sibling or perhaps 1st cousin to Art’s 3rd great grandfather, James Parker. But proving this with DNA is really pushing the limits of what autosomal DNA testing can tell us today. That may change one day, but for now, the precise connection is a likely theory as records are spotty at best for that specific time and parish in Ireland.

The plight of the Irish would resonate with the Choctaw at a very deep level. The parallels of the Irish sufferings with their own were obvious. Both peoples had lost ownership of their ancestral lands. Both had lost relatives and friends to starvation and harsh weather conditions. Many from both nations would be forced to leave their native place, for them their sacred place, forever.

The unexpected generosity of the Choctaw Nation began a bond between the two people that continues to this day.

In 1990, Choctaw leaders visited County Mayo to participate in the first annual “Famine Walk,” a reenactment of a walk by desperate Irish to their landlord in 1848.

In 1992, Irish leaders visited the Choctaw Nation and walked 600 miles along the reverse route of the Choctaw Trail of Tears, and in so doing raised $1,000 for world hunger for every $1 donated by the Choctaw in 1847.

In 1995, Irish president Mary Robinson visited the Choctaw Nation headquarters to rekindle the friendship and thank the Choctaws for their generosity towards the Irish. She was named an honorary Choctaw Chief.

In 2007, members of the Choctaw donated $8,000 to the Shell to Sea campaign focused on the native Irish-speaking Gaeltacht area of County Mayo.

In 2017, a sculpture called “Kindred Spirits” was dedicated in Midleton, Cork commemorating Choctaw aid and continuing friendship. This date was specific as it reflected exactly 170 years after the $170 donation was made by the Choctaw Nation to the Irish Nation in 1847. The sculpture represents eagle wings standing together in a protective circle to remind the Irish how the Choctaw stood with the Irish and offered them much needed support in their time of greatest need.

Photo courtesy John Hurley

In 2018, Ireland’s prime minister Leo Varadkar visited the Choctaw Nation and said "A few years ago, on a visit to Ireland, a representative of the Choctaw Nation called your support for us ‘a sacred memory’. It is that and more. It is a sacred bond, which has joined our peoples together for all time.”

In 2019, the first Choctaw student recipient of the Choctaw Ireland Scholarship began her studies in Ireland, a program that will continue in perpetuity.

In the Spring of 2020, when the coronavirus was disproportionately impacting native peoples, it was Irish donors who were at the forefront of helping to support the Navajo and Hopi nations to deal with the ravages of Covid-19. More than $8 million was raised in the Go Fund Me campaign with donors leaving many messages summed up by this one, ‘From Ireland with Love’.

In 2024, the "Eternal Heart" sculpture was unveiled to honor the relationship between the Choctaw and Ireland nations on the Choctaw Capitol grounds in Tuskahoma, OK. The project is funded jointly by the Chahta Foundation and the Government of Ireland. The 8-foot-tall sculpture combines a Celtic trinity shape intertwined with a heart and is specifically placed facing toward Ireland. Sculptor Sam Stitt said, “There is no beginning or end to the overall piece – thus, it is eternal."

Choctaw Nation Photo

There are definitely those alive today who would not be alive without the Choctaw donation allowing their ancestors to survive the Great Hunger in Ireland. The difference between survival and death in those hungry years in Ireland often came down to the kindness of strangers. 

The monuments in County Cork and Oklahoma commemorate physically the hugely symbolic gift of kindred strangers who became kindred spirits. This was an act of solidarity by far off people who knew themselves what it meant to suffer. 

Most importantly, both Choctaw and Irish people now work together to provide assistance for people suffering from famine worldwide.

Photo courtesy John Hurley

Top photo courtesy of Anthony O'Connor/EastLight Photography

Brothers Harry and Joe raised 11 children in all. There was Mary born in 1923 who married Joe Sheehan. Then came Harry, Jr in 1924. In 1927 came Jane and then the first of Joe Mattimore’s gang, Joseph Jr (Doc-y Joe, we called him). Others followed — Mary (my mom), Jack, Richard, Sally, Daniel, Kay. Lastly was Hank born in 1934. First cousins to each other, they just missed being from the Greatest Generation, landing in the beginning of the Silent Generation. I guess that only means they were too young to remember much of the Great Depression. But live through it they did. 

Mary Sheehan was the first to pass away, in 1995 at the young age of 72. Richard was the last, in January 2021 at age 86. 

Perhaps it’s because I just turned 65 a couple of weeks ago (hello, Medicare), but I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means when a generation dies.

My sisters and brothers and cousins and I have no more blood aunts or uncles. We are it, the grown-ups now. We are the oldest. Of course, I can’t help thinking about going to weddings or family gatherings when I was just a kid and thinking how old the aunts and uncles were. We are those old relatives now.

Only cousins Laura and Sean in California have their mother (uncle Hank’s first wife) still with them. Every other Mattimore cousin of my generation has lost both parents. At first, there is definitely a feeling of being a bit untethered, orphaned — despite being the adults we are. That’s natural, I suppose. But a sobering realization familiar to us all.

I don’t think my recent pondering comes from knowing that I’m moving up to a higher rung on the death ladder. Well, partly, it is. But it’s also mourning the loss of my guiding spirits: the people who shaped me. As an old African proverb goes, when an old person dies, it’s like a library of stories burning down.

We have lost the firsthand memories of the Great Depression, WWII, the Holocaust, Cold War, the first color televisions and so much more. We have lost, firsthand, the things they used to say — funny stories, inspirations, truths and tough wisdom. I hope these things are being passed down to the next generations. It is so important. Memory is a fragile thing, especially when not written down (one of the reasons I started this blog). 

So what do we do now? All of us left without a generation above us? In pondering the loss of our Mattimore parents’ generation, I’m left with the realization — no, the dead certainty — that despite the special nature of a parent-child relationship, the most enduring relationships of our lives are with our siblings.

From earliest childhood, our siblings are our co-conspirators, accomplices, role models, cautionary tales. They are our defenders, intimidators, sources of envy and wellsprings of pride.

“To the outside world we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters. We know each other as we always were. We know each other’s hearts. We share private family jokes. We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys. We live outside the touch of time.”   —Clara Ortega

Our parents knew this. They felt the same about their siblings. As did the generations before them. And as we take the wheel, now, as the oldest generation, I know I can rely on my siblings for anything. For everything. And together, we can remember and share in the love and guidance from our parents that is so ingrained in us, and to know that they are indeed still within us.

(Apologies to those whose FaceBook pages I pilfered to find photos.)

To his widow Angel, and siblings Joe, Jane, John, Nancy, Eileen and Teresa, please know that the entire Mattimore clan is praying for you and your families and sending love and hugs from afar. To die so young and tragically reminds us all of the fragility of life.

Since many are not on FaceBook, below is Tom’s obituary. 

To his family, we say that those we have held in our arms for a little while, we hold in our hearts forever. Rest in peace, Tom.

Thomas Mattimore

Thomas “Tom” Mattimore, age 60 of Marion, passed away in a car accident on January 3, 2023 and now rests in the hands of the Lord. He was predeceased by his sister, Maryanne Donnelly, and his parents, Harry and Kathleen Mattimore. He was survived by his beloved wife of 30 years, Angel Mattimore; his siblings, Joseph Mattimore (Rhonda), Jane Hashey, John Mattimore (Maureen), Nancy Fuller, Eileen Mushalla (Mark), and Teresa Snedaker (Carl); his parents-in-law, Horace and Deborah Martin; his sister- in-law, Cricket Kennedy; his brother-in-law Otis Carney (Bridget). He was like a father to nieces and nephews Mavrick and Madison Kennedy, Buddy Busby, and Kayla Carney and had many other nieces and nephews.

Tom was an athlete in high school, as a member of both the wrestling and football teams and bench-pressed an impressive 415 lbs. After graduation, he served in the Marine Corp and graduated from Binghamton University in Accounting. Tom was known to be a hard-working man with a strong work ethic and was a dedicated transportation coordinator at Georgia Pacific. As an avid runner, he ran 13 marathons. He enjoyed spending time with his wife and family. He had a great sense of humor and was a terrific story-teller. He loved watching sports, collecting baseball cards, and was a devout Notre Dame fan. He was loved by his cats, Bob and Maddy, Sam, Willow and Paisley.

A memorial service will be held at a later date. Robert Barham Family Funeral Home is honored to be trusted with the arrangements.

She was born in 1894 in Ellicottville, New York, to Daniel P. McMahon and his wife Rose (neé Hanley) McMahon. She was the third of seven children: Kathleen, Jane, Mary and Gertrude were born in Ellicottville; John was born in Hamburg; Julia and Daniel Jr. were born in Buffalo (her father’s business in Ellicottville was liquidated in 1897, when the family then moved to Hamburg, and then to Buffalo three years later).

Baby Mary McMahon, center, with sisters Kathleen (left) and Jane (right)

Back: father Daniel McMahon, Kathleen, mother Rose McMahon; Front: Jane, Mary, John

There was another important person in the household when young Mary was growing up. Miss Mary Donovan had come from Co. Cork, Ireland, at the age of 16 or 17 to be employed as housekeeper in the home of her McMahon grandparents. Miss Donovan, who would have been in her early 30s when Mary was born, remained with Mary’s family through the moves to Hamburg and Buffalo, retiring sometime around 1930. She was considered one of the family, and after spending nearly 70 years of her life with the McMahons, she considered them her family as well. Miss Donovan died in 1944 and is buried in Ellicottville alongside the McMahon family there.

Mary’s father was employed by Buffalo Natural Gas Fuel Co. (later Iroquois Gas Corp, then National Fuel Gas Co.) from 1897 until retirement 1929. In Hamburg, the family lived on Hawkins Avenue; in Buffalo, first on Triangle Street (now South Park Avenue), then at 94 Spaulding Street, then 37 Kenefick Avenue, then 28 Redjacket Parkway and lastly at 64 Kenefick.

Julia on Rose McMahon’s lap; others left to right: Mary, Kathleen, Jane, Gertrude and John (Daniel not born yet)

The McMahon family was one of the original few families that formed Holy Family Parish — the second parish established in South Buffalo to serve the growing Irish Catholic population. Mother Rose McMahon was the organist there for several years (it was said she had a beautiful soprano singing voice as well).

Holy Family Catholic Church

Mary attended public School No. 28 on Abbott Road in Buffalo through 8th grade, when she was the honored recipient of the prestigious Jesse Ketchum Award. For 150 years now, Jesse Ketchum medals have been awarded to eighth grade students with the highest grade point average in the Buffalo City School District. This award honors the legacy of Jesse Ketchum, a notable figure in Buffalo history, who is credited with donating land and buildings to establish the first teacher training center in Buffalo. It was quite an achievement for Mary, and the entire McMahon family was extremely proud of her for it. I believe this would have been around 1907. Below is a class graduation photo from School No. 28. Mary is the first one on the left, 3rd row up from bottom. The one with the huge dark bow in her hair! I recently found a family history sheet that my mom filled out where she made sure to indicate that her mother had won the Jesse Ketchum Award.

Our grandmother then went on to Hutchinson Central High School and then to Buffalo State Normal School (now Buffalo State College). At some point, she was a teacher, but I don’t know when or for how long. This information comes from one of my Uncle Richard’s essay’s about the family. I do know that she was a trained stenographer, and was the secretary for Mr. Donner at a small mill called Donner Steel. It was through that job that she met Joseph Mattimore.

No. 28 School (left), Hutchinson Central High School (right)

Joe Mattimore graduated from Canisius High School about 1916, which was just a few years after his dad Henry Mattimore died in Panama. So Joe was forced to go to work following graduation. He worked at Lackawanna Steel as a furnace helper. He was quickly promoted to a recorder’s job (someone who kept track of alloy additions to the steel, the tonnages produced, etc.). A friend of his went to work for a smaller mill, Donner Steel, and asked Joe to join him as a clerk in the office. While there, he took correspondence classes in accounting and began to move up the ladder in the accounting department. Soon Mr. Donner heard of this ambitious young clerk and offered him the job of chief accountant for his ore mine in Hibbing, Minnesota. By this time, Joe had become romantically interested in Mr. Donner’s secretary, Mary McMahon.

Donner Steel Mill

Mr. Donner agreed to have Joe work for 1-1/2 to 2 years in Minnesota, after which time he would return to Buffalo. In reading Uncle Richard’s essays, I learned that Joe played professional baseball for the minor league farm team for the Brooklyn Dodgers while in Hibbing. Something I never knew! Joe saved his money in Hibbing, and upon his return, was able to marry his sweetheart, Mary. (Ultimately Joe became chief accountant for Donner Steel, and when Mr. Donner sold his company to the newly formed Republic Steel in 1930 he became the district accountant for the Republic Steel plant in Buffalo.)

After their marriage in 1925, Joe and Mary Mattimore settled into their home on 17 Mesmer Avenue before moving to 53 Macamley Street and later 65 Macamley. Joe’s Aunt Kate lived with them from the very beginning. It couldn’t have been easy to start off their married life with Aunt Kate along with them. But as the young couple started their own family, I’m sure it was a blessing to have the extra help in the household. First came Joe, Jr., followed by my mom, Mary, then Richard, Daniel and Henry.

Our grandmother’s domain was the clothing, food, furniture and day-to-day business of running the household; she made all decisions regarding what they ate, wore and she got the kids off to school, lessons, and all activities. As a former school teacher, nothing was as important to Mary as how her children did in school. She reviewed homework with them every night, and she always helped them prepare for exams.

Mary Mattimore with son Henry, circa 1939

The expanding family in a small house meant sacrifices. Aunt Kate had one of the coveted bedrooms, of course. When the children were older, it was Joe and his boys sleeping in the attic room, and Mary with daughter Mary (“Sis”) sharing the other bedroom. They had a single telephone, in the dining room, so conversations were often overheard (the boys were known to sneak down to the corner pay phone to avoid being overheard). Our grandmother always longed for a better house. They lived in a somewhat run-down neighborhood close to the steel plant where Joe worked. Mary talked of moving to St. Thomas’ Parish where one of her sisters lived and which was one or two steps up the Irish Catholic social ladder from their own parish. But Joe didn’t see the need to move just for a better house, so it was never meant to be.

The religious significance was always the center of Christmas, Easter and other holiday traditions. Both parents were involved in numerous organizations at Holy Family, and were actively engaged in the parish community. If Mary had had her way, probably all of her sons would have become priests.

When it came to politics, well, there wasn’t much talk of it. My mother used to tell us that every election cycle, her Pa would say “Come on Ma, let’s go cancel each other’s votes.” One voted Republican and the other Democratic. And that was that. If they had disagreements, it was never in front of the kids. They presented a united front; there was no way to attempt to play one off of the other. Their word was law.

I remember my mom telling us that her mother fibbed about her age. That was surprising to me. My mom wasn’t sure why, and just shrugged when I asked about it. Our grandmother’s obituary indicated she was 61 when she died. Her death certificate lists her date of birth as May 5, 1896, which would make her 61. But the birth records for New York State indicate she was born in Ellicottville on May 5, 1894. So there it is. She was 63.

Mary Mattimore was taken ill fairly suddenly. She was sent to Mercy Hospital where she underwent exploratory surgery on March 12, 1957. As my mom told the story, the doctors opened her up and saw that she was riddled with cancer. They closed her up quickly without being able to do much for her. My mom didn’t think doctors were even sure where the cancer had originated because it had spread so much. The death certificate (below) lists cause of death as carcinoma of the sigmoid colon, with duration of 2 years (probably a guess). She never left the hospital. She died on May 27, 1957. Back then, I guess it wasn’t unusual to have a hospital stay that lengthy. My sister Marie, who was only a few months old at the time, remembers hearing that my mom would take her with her every day to visit her mom in the hospital.

When you think of all that Mary lived through in her 63 years, it is pretty remarkable. When she was eight years old, the Wright brothers made their first powered flight. At age 22, the U.S. entered World War I. Two years later came the 1918 Spanish Flu pandemic. During the prime of her life from ages 35 to 45, while raising five children, the family lived through the Great Depression. That was followed by World War II.

At the time of her death, my cousins Anne and Beth were just 3 and 2, the oldest of the grand kids at that point. So, unfortunately, no one was old enough to really know our grandmother. If there is any consolation, we all knew Mary’s younger sister well — our beloved great Aunt Julia — as she filled in as surrogate grandmother to us after our grandmother died. But we are blessed to have had Joe and Mary Mattimore as the ones raising our own parents. The values, beliefs and attitude of hard work that they cherished were instilled into our parents, passed down to all of us in the next generation, and are hopefully continuing to trickle down to the later generations.

Thanks to cousin Beth for expressing interest in learning more about our grandmother, which prodded me to dig up old family notes and photos so I could post this blog. I would love to know if others have additional stories to share.

To my Harry Mattimore cousins — I would be happy to write about your grandmother Jane “Jennie” Long at some point, but would need some help with family stories and photos. I have access to some information from your 2nd cousin Karen (neé Schmidt) Czajka, who has a pretty good history of your grandmother’s family. But if you know of passed along stories and/or have photos, please let me know (rozanne.hakala@gmail.com).

A blessed Thanksgiving to all of our Mattimore families!

From Kathy:

I’m heartbroken to let you know that my beloved brother, Mike Hirsch, lost his battle with ALS last night. He died peacefully in the place he loved the most, Birdsong, his camp in the Adirondacks, surrounded by his incredible wife Mel, his daughters and their significant others. He handled his ALS diagnosis with grace, humor and the most positive attitude imaginable. He died on his own terms, with no extraordinary measures. Mike made it to his 62nd birthday on Friday and was enjoying some of his favorite things – his family, the beautiful nature of the Adirondacks and ice cream at Donnelly’s – up to the very end. Lynn, Rob and I will miss him every day. He’s our hero and our angel up in heaven now.

Like many of you, I hung on every word of Mike’s articles detailing his ALS journey. What an incredibly inspiring person Mike was. In an opinion piece he wrote for the Morning Call last October, he said:

“I pray that I will live on in the memories of family and friends. I pray our two daughters will enjoy lives as blessed as mine. I pray that I have done more good than harm. I pray to be reunited with my wife someday.”

There is no doubt that all of those prayers will be answered. And I know the extended Mattimore clan is sending a warm blanket of love and hugs to Mel and all his family.

Rest in peace, Mike.

———

I Have Journeyed to the Mountains to Die

By Mike Hirsch (The Morning Call, Oct 22, 2021)

I Have Journeyed to the Mountains to Die

At twilight, we drive up the steep dirt road leading to our Adirondack cabin, Birdsong. It rests peacefully at the foot of Marble Mountain.

I lie back in my power wheelchair close to the fire pit. The blaze fends off the cold and dark.

I watch the sky behind our 90-foot-high white pines drain to a deep shade of denim before fading to black.

The fire crackles.. A tree creaks. And then: Hoot-hoot-hoot, hoot-hoot, who-whoooo.

The first barred owl of summer. 

I am at peace.

Like a spawning salmon, I have returned home to die.

———

ALS has progressed at the speed of a mountain river in the last two months.

My abdominal muscles packed their rucksacks, threw them in the back of a Subaru Outback and settled in Colorado, where they are enjoying outdoor adventures.

I, however, am fairly helpless without my core muscles. I lean farther left than Bernie Sanders. My voice has softened to the sound of a gentle breeze through oak leaves.

Worse, my breathing has weakened to the point I can no longer blow a stinging horsefly off my nose. (Swatting is not an option because my arms move no more than an inch.)

A measure of my lung capacity plummeted 40% in three months.

My doctors say it is time to turn my life over to hospice care. I agree. 

But the question loomed: hospice in the Pennsylvania valley we have called home for 21 years, or in the New York mountains where I feel most at home?

In Pennsylvania, I would be surrounded by the love and camaraderie of neighbors, friends and coworkers, who supported us with a thousand acts of kindness.

In New York, I would feel embraced by my family and the power of nature.

Mel and I hashed it out with daughter Emily, son-in-law Erick, daughter Mathilde and her partner Grayson. We all agreed to spend my last days up north.

———

I was born in Buffalo, but in a way I started my life in the Adirondacks.

I caught sight of Mel for the first time as I stepped into our college newspaper office. This beauty waved her arms as she regaled several staffers with a riotous story. I did not know what the story was about, but I knew this: This was the woman I had been searching for all my 20 years.

We stole glances and shared stories while working together on the newspaper and sitting next to each other during Creative Writing.

She told me about her family’s cabin in the woods near Lake Placid, New York. I told her about my adventures hiking in the Adirondacks with my brother when we were teens.

One day, in a stairwell of Old Main, she invited me to join her on a seven-hour trip to the cabin on a school break. My heart missed two or three beats.

On that trip, I learned to drive her stick shift 1980 Renault Le Car. My spirit and soul opened to the charm of this woman and of the stark forests in March, with boulders coated in ice and the skeletons of birch trees lining lake shores.

We hiked the trails around the cabin. We walked along the Ausable, one of the country’s best trout-fishing rivers. I put my arm around her as we lay under a tire swing, gazing at the fast-moving clouds.

Forevermore, Mel, I and this cabin in the woods have been linked by unbreakable chains.

On a lark, right after we graduated from college in 1982, we drove to the cabin to relax and search for jobs. Miraculously, we landed the only two reporting jobs at the weekly Lake Placid News. We married that October.

Every summer, without fail, we vacationed at Birdsong. The morning trill of the hermit thrush, the lazy movement of the sun across the side yard and the graveyard quiet of the night soothed our frayed nerves. Time and heart rates slowed.

Mel and I would spend whole blue sky days sitting outside and reading newspapers and novels. Every year, I would reread Hemingway’s trout fishing masterpiece, “Big Two-Hearted River.”

The girls grew to love this place, too. They fought for time to read books in the hammock. We bonded during 12-hour excursions to climb mountains. Over a decade and a half, we reached the summit of 23 of the 46 highest peaks in the Adirondacks, always eating our lunch with a magnificent view.

I first met Erick when he drove Emily from Manhattan to Birdsong. He planned to return home that night, but Mel and I insisted he stay until the morning. He ended up staying for nearly a week. He fell right into our family’s rhythm of reading, hiking and exploring the trails around Birdsong. 

Over the years, he and I would slip out for early morning 25 mile bicycle rides on steep roads, returning to Birdsong when everyone else was drinking their first cup of coffee.

Emily and Erick named their Brooklyn photo studio, Heidi’s Bridge, after a rustic wooden span over a stream near Birdsong. Erick proposed on that bridge.

Our youngest daughter, Mathilde, followed her fascination with the natural world to an environmental studies degree from the University of Vermont. 

So the answer to where we should spend our last days as a family was as clear as the water of a mountain lake. I’ll be working as opinion editor for the Morning Call as often as I am able, will soak up the sunrises and delight in the rata-tat-tat-tat-tat and the monkey-like call of the pileated woodpecker.

Birdsong is where my life started with my precious Mel. It’s also where our earthly bonds will finally be torn asunder. My ashes will be scattered here. 

But Mel and I believe that our love will endure and that we will one day be reunited in a place as glorious as our Birdsong. 

———

Top image Kris Parker/CONTRIBUTED PHOTO. Other images from the Hirsch family.

But first, I would be remiss if I didn’t offer condolences to our Mattimore cousins in Chicago who recently lost their mom — Ann Mattimore (née Lucey) — on November 20, 2021. She was the beloved wife of my Uncle Richard Mattimore. Our hearts go out to our cousins, who lost both parents in less than a year.

My cousin Kristin Mattimore Burns posted on FaceBook at the time: “This morning Mom joined the love of her life in heaven. Passing away less than a year after our father, she wanted to make sure they celebrated their 67th wedding anniversary together next month. At 89, she definitely left her mark on this world: 7 children, 15 grandchildren, one great-grandchild and another on the way! We have no doubt that she will enjoy eternal peace.”

It is a comfort to know that Rich and Ann are together again, and joined by the rest of the Mattimore clan that have gone before us (I had hoped to be more timely in honoring Aunt Ann, but I was dealing with the loss of my mother-in-law at the time — my husband also lost both parents in less than a year).

Ancestry Updates

Earlier this year, I told the story of our great, great grandfather Cornelius O’Rourke (here) and his early life in Oswego. At the time, I had absolutely no idea where in Ireland Connie’s parents came from. While I’m still not sure about his mother Bridget, I am happy to say that I’ve tracked down our 3rd great grandfather Philip O’Rourke’s family. We can all add County Meath to our list of places in Ireland from where our ancestors hailed. I found Co. Meath to be a hotbed of O’Rourke’s back in that era. It is very likely that our ancestor Philip O’Rourke came from Beauparc Parish near or in Painestown, just east of Navan, Co. Meath.

How did I come to this conclusion? The answer is by researching genetic networks using DNA. We have family members who have identical segments of DNA with several individuals all with O’Rourke lines from Co. Meath, who triangulate with other DNA matches with Oswego ties to O’Rourke families.

For example, I discovered that my mom, Uncle Hank, Uncle Dick, Fr. Jack, Jane Hashey and two of my sisters (Marie and Julie) all have DNA matches with a Dennis O’Rourke currently living in Dublin. I’ve corresponded with him and coordinated on our trees. This Dennis was born in 1943, and is the the son of a Denis (b. 1897), from another Denis (b. 1869) and from his father Denis (b. 1820). So Denis really runs in his line. Other common names in the related O’Rourke lines that I found? Cornelius and Alice. Those names appeared often, and of course are the names of our 2x great grandfather and his sister! I believe that Philip had a sister named Rose and a brother named Denis (the one listed above born about 1820). We also have DNA matches with descendants of the Rose O’Rourke I mention. Unfortunately, I haven’t found Philip’s birth or marriage records. They either don’t exist or aren’t yet digitized. I’m hoping it’s the later. But I feel very confident that I’ve found Philip’s origins in Co. Meath.

For anyone keeping track of where in Ireland our ancestors came from, here’s the list so far, including the families of Jane Long and “Tiny” McMahon, wives of our Mattimore grandfathers:

MATTIMORE SIDE
Mattimore — Mount Allen area, Co. Roscommon
Madden — Dublin City, Co. Dublin
Clark — Dublin City, Co. Dublin

O’ROURKE SIDE
O’Rourke — Beauparc Parish, Co. Meath
King — Ardfert Parish, Tralee, Co. Kerry
Parker — Taulaght, Co. Kerry
Moriarty — Tralee Parish, Co. Kerry
Moore — Tralee Parish, Co. Kerry

JANE LONG SIDE
Long — Moan, Tralee, Co. Kerry
O’Connell — likely North Commons, Tralee, Co. Kerry
Dowling — Lahern, Tralee, Co. Kerry
Talbot — Lahern, Tralee, Co. Kerry

MARY “TINY” McMAHON SIDE
McMahon — Scariff, Co. Clare
Donahoe — Scariff, Co. Clare
Walsh — Ennistymon, Co. Clare
White — Miltown Malbay, Co. Clare
Hanley — Banteer, Kanturk, Co. Cork
Connell — Mallow or Kanturk, Co. Cork
Lane — Dunmanway, Co. Cork
O’Mahoney — Co. Cork

Digitizing Documents

Remember the story of our great grandmother Mary Mattimore (Harry & Joseph’s mother) who died of tuberculosis in a sanatorium in Tucson? I told of her story in posts here and here. Everything I had heard about where she died (Oracle, near Tucson) and Henry working for the railroad, was handed down from my mother, who presumably heard it from her father. We didn’t have any records to prove the details of her death. I don’t think anyone did. But recently, the newspaper editions for both the Arizona Daily Citizen and the Arizona Daily Star from back in 1901 were digitized. And voilà! We now have the printed documentation from that time.

So we’ve learned that while Henry Mattimore had once worked in Tucson for the Southern Pacific Railroad, at the time of Mary’s death he was working for the Arizona and Southeastern Railroad in Lewis Springs, southeast of Bisbee, Arizona — probably 100 miles or more away. So, sadly Henry was not with Mary when she passed away. He likely heard of her death by telegram, after which he took the first available train back to Tucson.

Now that I know exactly where our great grandmother died, I can report that I saw the very place — or what remains of it. The Mountain View Hotel has quite a storied history. It opened in 1895, and was a luxury resort for many, including people with tuberculosis, and a respite for Tucsonans looking to escape the summer heat. Guests included celebrities, prominent business owners, and foreign dignitaries. One of the most famous patrons was “Buffalo Bill” Cody.

The remains of the hotel are now a Baptist Church, which I saw when I drove around Oracle looking for clues about Mary Mattimore back in 2014. Of course at the time I had no idea of its significance. Next time I’m in Tucson, I’ll take some time and walk the area of the old hotel knowing our great grandmother spent her last days there.

Reminders

• If you ever need help with anything genealogy related, let me know. I’m happy to help you with trees or understanding DNA.

• If you are interested in contributing a post, story or photos for this blog, I’d love to hear from you. I know many of you have your own family stories and photo albums. You are welcome to share in this space!

Merry Christmas!

Lastly, wishing Merry Christmas, beautiful holidays and a wonderful New Year to all the Mattimore clan. These cards below from the early 1900s come from a large collection of postcards that belonged to Harry Mattimore, Sr.

He was born in North Bend, Pennsylvania, just a few miles from Renovo where the family moved in 1866. About four years older than Henry, Mike would have had a similar childhood growing up (see post about Henry HERE). But while his brothers all ended up working in or for the railroad industry, Mike gravitated towards baseball (initially, at least).

As pitcher and sometimes outfielder, Mike played for the New York Giants (1887), Philadelphia Athletics (1888-1889), Kansas City Cowboys (1889) and Brooklyn Gladiators (1890). Growing up, Mike often pitched to his first cousin, Mike Cody, who was a catcher. Mike Cody (our 1st cousin 3x removed to those in my generation), also went pro, catching for the Cleveland team.

Mike Mattimore batted and threw left. His MLB statistics included a win-loss record of 26-27, earned run average of 3.83 and 132 strikeouts (additional stats can be seen HERE).

In 1926, long after Mike had hung up his cleats, The Pittsburgh Sunday Post featured our ancestor in the following article, which is worth a read. If you can’t enlarge this on a tablet to read it, let me know and I’ll send you a PDF.

There’s also an interesting article about the Library of Congress’s collection of early baseball cards that talks about Mike and how it is we have all of these great old baseball cards of him and for those in his generation. Check it out HERE.

For additional details of his career and some color surrounding Mike, I leave you to read this post (link) from Baseball History Daily:

“Hilariously and Shockingly Drunk” about the Philadelphia Athletics players who were notorious for their drinking. Mike was named a part of that rowdy bunch but certainly wasn’t the worst of them.

Mike’s last MLB game appearance was on July 21, 1890, for the Brooklyn Gladiators. He then went to Seattle of the Pacific Northwest league in 1891. In time he was with the Walla Walla team in Washington, but ended his baseball career when that engagement was up.

He never married, and eventually moved to Butte, Montana, to be near his brother Joseph (who also never married). Both brothers worked for the Anaconda Copper Mining Company as boilermakers. Yes, he too, ended up a boilermaker! [Note: his brother Joseph is the same brother who worked with Henry in Panama building the canal, and who brought Henry’s body home after his death there.]

Mike was 72 when he died, after having lived for 35 years in Butte.

As one article says, Mike Mattimore will be forever young as a result of having all these old baseball card images of him. How nice for his ancestors.

NOTE ABOUT PREVIOUS POST: The lucky recipients of the Ancestry DNA kits were Emily Hirsch and Johanna Cronin. Yay! I love to see the next generation get involved with ancestry!

Always wanted to do one of these DNA tests but never got around to it? Didn’t have the money? Now’s your chance to possibly win one with a small pool of just those in our Mattimore extended family (so, good odds). All you have to do is add a comment below saying that you’re interested, OR comment in the Mattimore FaceBook group on my post there. You can also send me an email if that is easier (rozanne.hakala@gmail.com).

Click HERE if you want to learn more about Ancestry’s DNA test and what’s involved.

Deadline to let me know is September 30, 2021. Don’t wait!

Known as Connie or Con, he was the father of Mary O’Rourke who married Henry B. Mattimore. My mother and uncles referred to Connie as a blaggard, presumably because their great Aunt Kate did — and she would know since Cornelius was her father. Kate never had anything good to say about him. He was bad news, so she said.

So what exactly do we know about our 2x great grandfather? Cornelius was born to Philip O’Rourke and his wife Bridget about 1844 in Oswego, New York. His parents were both from Ireland, but I have no idea where in Ireland they came from (Bridget’s maiden name is also unknown). At the time of the 1850 U.S. census for Oswego, we find 5-year-old Cornelius with his parents and two younger siblings, Michael and Mary.

Just five years later, when Cornelius is 10 or 11, he and his siblings are living with an aunt named Ann Ratcliff according to the 1855 New York State Census. What happened to the O’Rourke parents? Did they die? Or move elsewhere? Go back to Ireland? Unfortunately, I can’t find a trace of them anywhere in any records. So for Cornelius, sometime between ages 5 and 11, something major, and probably traumatic, happens to cause him and his younger siblings to have to move in with an aunt.

At age 16, Cornelius is already working as an apprentice tin smith, likely to help support his siblings. But still no sign of the O’Rourke parents. My gut tells me that they died as it would be unusual for both parents to just leave their children. But I just don’t know.

A pair of IRS Tax Assessment Lists show Cornelius at age 21 being taxed as a retail liquor dealer and for hotel space, so he is likely running a hotel bar in Oswego. A young entrepreneur? Very likely, but in an industry that brings him trouble, in the end.

In the next major census, we find that Cornelius is now married to Catherine (King) with a young son, Frederick, eight months old. This 1870 U.S. Census lists Cornelius as a hotel keeper. And over the next few years, various city directories list him as hotel keeper and in business as a small beer manufacturer. Even before showing these records to my mom, she always knew Connie was in some sort of bar business. Aunt Kate often eluded to his heavy drinking and would proclaim that her father “was his own best customer.”

By the summer of 1875, Cornelius and Catherine now had three children. Our great grandmother Mary O’Rourke appears for the first time in a census at age one year, four months.

By year’s end, however, change comes to the young O’Rourke family. Catherine is expecting a fourth child, and Connie’s drinking catches up with him.

On Christmas night 1875, Connie assaults a patron at his saloon, causing the man to almost loose an eye. An arrest warrant is issued, but because it was a weekend and the warrant wasn’t acted upon right away, Connie fled rather than face arrest. The “non-arrest” at the time of the incident caused a stink within the local police department. Con’s “escape” made the headlines and was front page news as was the major police investigation that followed.

None of this was good news for our great, great grandmother Catherine. She was pregnant, and with three children under the age six at the time. Close to five years later, we find her living with her parents in Oswego, now with four children. No sign of Cornelius. I speculate that he fled to Canada, which would have been fairly easy from Oswego. But that’s just my theory.

I’m not able to pick up his trail again until 1886 when he is living and working in a Buffalo saloon and boarding house at 68 Ohio Street. The following year, 1887, he resides at 2 Elk Street. Whether or not he was back living with his wife and children who also ended up in Buffalo is unknown.

At the end of that year, on December 21, 1887, our 2x great grandfather Cornelius O’Rourke died of consumption in Buffalo at the young age of just 43. His death certificate lists Phthisis, the archaic name for TB or consumption, the very same cause of death and devastating disease his daughter Mary would die of just 14 years later.

From the Buffalo Evening News, Thursday, December 22, 1887: DIED. Rourke — In this city, on the _ ?_, Cornelius O’Rourke, aged 43 years. Funeral from the family residence, 2 Elk street, Friday at 3 PM. Friends and acquaintances are respectfully invited to attend.

Until I discovered the Oswego news clippings in October of 2016, my mom never knew Cornelius’ story. When I found his death notice from an 1887 Buffalo paper, this was a huge surprise to her, along with the fact that he was buried right in Holy Cross Cemetery, not far from the Mattimore plots. She never remembered Aunt Kate saying anything about when, where or how he died or ever visiting her father’s grave.

The ad placed in the Boston Pilot, America’s oldest Catholic newspaper, was from June 30, 1855 in its “Missing Friends” column. Someone was searching for a Michael Mattimoe. Seeing the actual ad as it appeared back then really makes the name into a real, live person for me. Generations slip away and I feel the urgency in the words. A sister Bridget lying dangerously ill. Oh! What happened to her? Did Michael ever find her? I needed to know if this was our Michael Mattimoe. But how? All I had to go on was this small ad. The same ad appeared in the paper for three days in 1855.

Many who do genealogy are too quick to accept facts or documents as pertaining to their ancestors. I fall more on the other end of the spectrum and look for proof beyond a shadow of a doubt before “claiming” something. For a couple of years, I kept coming back to the ad, doing more research. I really wanted it to be our Michael. If it were, there were important clues here. We would know:

— He was from the townland of Mountallen in the Catholic Parish of Kilronan, in Co. Roscommon; a huge piece of information!

— He landed in New York sometime around 1852, which would have been “about 3 years ago” from the publication date of June 1855

— He worked in Medway (Boston area) for a man named Mr. Mulloy, with whom he left for Pennsylvania

— He had a sister named Bridget who was dangerously ill, perhaps married to, or at least in the care of, Thomas Toben in Milford, Massachusetts

First of all, I can tell you from research that there were not that many immigrants with the surname of Mattimoe, Mattimore, Milmoe or other variants with the first name of Michael who came to America. So the universe is small-ish to begin with. We know our Michael lived in Dedham as a laborer and was married to Theresa Madden in Roxbury — both locations are in the Boston area. But the most important clue is that our Michael did, indeed, move to Pennsylvania. According to church records, Michael and Theresa had a son named James in January of 1856 in Lock Haven, PA, before they settled in Renovo. Chances are they were already in Pennsylvania when this ad appeared in the Boston Pilot in June of 1855.

I had no luck tracking down a Mr. Mulloy in Boston or Pennsylvania; just too little information to go on. There seemed to be too many leads to follow on Toben or Tobin families in that area. But I kept ruling out other Mattimoes I came across. There were just too many coincidences here. This had to be about our Michael Mattimoe. My gut was telling me so. Years of doing genealogy led me to feel certain I could claim this source as our own.

Being home bound for most of 2020 due to Covid allowed me to spend lots of time on genealogy research. I also started this blog (and another about our travels!). Two revelations from this more recent research:

1. I found a Bridget Tobin who died in 1886 in Lowell, Massachusetts at the age of 62 from cancer. She was from Ireland, widowed at the time, and was married to a Thomas Tobin. I can’t say for certain this is the right Bridget, but if so, she didn’t die back in 1855 after all. A key clue is that the parents listed for this Bridget on her death records are Michael and Mary. If you read my post As Éirinn — Out of Ireland, you’ll recall that Michael Mattimoe’s marriage record to Theresa Madden lists his parents as Michael and Mary. Bingo.

2. The townland of Mountallen sits next to Lough Allen near the borders of Co. Leitrim and Co. Sligo. Digging deeper into my mother’s DNA matches (and those of her brothers Hank and Dick), I discovered a few matches with people who share DNA with other known Mattimore lines. Their ancestors were from Co. Roscommon, and two places kept coming up: Mullaun and Cartronavally. Guess what? These are both townlands in Kilronan Parish only a handful of miles from Mountallen. Bingo. Our DNA connects us to families in Roscommon with the surnames of Early and Redican. I haven’t figured out (yet) where a Mattimoe married into these families, but we share identical segments of DNA with descendants of these people who were near Mattimoes in Mountallen.

With this added information and the knowledge of DNA matches with people from the Lough Allen area, I am certain that this newspaper ad from 166 years ago was a search for our great great grandfather, Michael.

I don’t know if this kind of case study is something you find interesting (thanks for indulging me), but for those doing family ancestry, making a connection like this is a great eureka moment. I guess I could have relied on the old adage from the beginning: if it walks like a duck, swims like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it probably is a duck. But then I would have missed all the fun doing research.

One such photograph was taken on the occasion of the marriage of John “Jack” Mattimore and Joan Collins in August of 1957. By this point, Harry’s brood was growing ever larger. Jack and Joan, of course, went on to have Fr. Jack, Colleen, Joanne and Michael (RIP).

It seems weddings (and funerals) are the main occasions when these large family photos are usually taken. I hope you can view this on a tablet or phone that lets you enlarge the image so you can see the happy, smiling faces of Harry’s clan. OK, maybe not all of his grandchildren look so happy, but hey, that’s to be expected of kids. But you can tell from looking at this what a special family Harry had. The best thing about it to me is how at ease and natural everyone looks in this photo; this is anything but a stiff wedding portrait. I’m sure all of the Harry Mattimore families have a copy. My mother had one, which is how I came to have it.

I’m glad to say that I recognized most in the photo with the exception of some of Harry’s grand kids — who are my generation of Mattimores. Thanks to Jane Hashey for helping me out on some of the identifications, and for telling me the occasion of the photograph. Based on the corsages, clothes and happy faces, I had guessed either Easter or a wedding. How many people can you identify? Below is the same photograph but with names added by me. And hopefully I didn’t mix up any of the Sheehan boys! If you see anyone misidentified, please let me know.

Do you have a favorite family photograph? Or any photos you’d like shared in this blog? Feel free to email copies to me at rozanne.hakala@gmail.com and I will share them in a future post.

The odds of our Irish immigrants meeting seem pretty astronomical. Yet here we are, grateful that they did. While we will never know the details about how Michael Mattimoe and Theresa Madden met, we can certainly learn about, and try to imagine, what what life was like for them at that time.

The defining and shared tragedy that brought them both to America was An Gorta Mór — The Great Hunger. The Irish Famine of 1845-1852 occurred when Ireland’s potato crop failed in successive years, devastating the country and leaving millions without food. The Potato Famine killed more than 1 million people in five years and generated great bitterness and anger at the British for providing too little help to their Irish subjects. Between 1845 and 1855 more than 1.5 million adults and children left Ireland to seek refuge in America. Most were desperately poor, and many were suffering from starvation and disease. The immigrants who reached America settled in Boston, New York, and other cities where they lived in difficult conditions.

Theresa Madden left her family and sailed from the docks of Dublin, her hometown, on a ship called the Odessa in late August or early September of 1850. The Odessa arrived in New York on October 8, 1850 after what was likely about 40 days at sea. Theresa was listed as 20 years old, although I suspect she was actually younger than that based on later marriage records.

Considered one of the so-called Famine Ships, the Odessa was portrayed by artist Rodney Charman in the photos below. It was a decent size for the crossing — triple masted and 99 feet long at the water-line, weighing 323 tons. It was built in 1839 in New Brunswick, Canada, and owned by one of Dublin’s foremost shipping merchants.

Less is known about Michael Mattimoe’s journey. But unlike Theresa who came from Dublin — a more urban area less directly dependent on the potato crop — Michael came from rural County Roscommon, an area known for farming. His family would feel more of the famine’s devastating impact. He was a laborer, and his journey to America was likely not just one of opportunity, but one of survival. Records vary on the exact timing of his arrival in America, but I believe it was about 1852 after having lived through the very worst of the famine that ravished his homeland.

The New World was often hostile to the flood of impoverished Irish immigrants. In America’s cities they arrived to face the new Know-Nothing movement, which defined “American” in terms that excluded the newly arriving Irish as “papists,” “foreign paupers,” “a motley multitude.” Most came from rural, agricultural backgrounds, but they landed in an urban, industrial world. Many had never been more than twenty miles from home before undertaking the hazardous transatlantic journey. Apprehensive, but eager to start a new life in freedom, they were often greeted with the message “No Irish Need Apply” when seeking employment. But against great odds, they endured. They sought whatever work could be found, becoming newly industrial America’s cheap laboring force. They built railroads and bridges, dug canals and tunnels, went into mines, tended furnaces, worked as servants and seamstresses, and fought and died to preserve their new found home.

Michael and Theresa both arrived in New York Harbor, but we don’t know if they met in New York or at some later point in the Boston area. We do know that they were both living in Dedham, Massachusetts when they married on October 12, 1854 in neighboring Roxbury, MA. The records indicate Michael was 23 and Theresa 20 (hence my belief that Theresa was younger than the stated 20 when she arrived four years earlier). One thing I have discovered in doing genealogy is that keeping track of birth dates and ages was not something the Irish did back in those days. They didn’t celebrate birthdays like we do today, and tracking dates was simply not a priority. Many immigrants guessed at their ages.

What is clear in the marriage records is that Michael’s parents were named Michael and Mary, and Theresa’s parents were Henry and Ann — our 3x great grandparents! These remain the only documents I’ve uncovered so far that give us their parents’ names. But this points to the fact that our great grandfather Henry was likely named for his grandfather Madden.

Shortly after their marriage, the young Mattimores moved to Lock Haven, Pennsylvania, near Renovo, where Theresa gave birth to a son named James in 1855. Unfortunately James did not live to make the 1860 census. In fact, the 1900 census shows that Teresa gave birth to 11 children, 8 of whom were living at the time. So in addition to James, the family lost two additional children. [In the census photo below, Theresa, by then a widow, is living with her son Joseph, her sister Catherine Cody and adjacent to two of her daughters and their families: Kate Ryan and Theresa Higgins. You can see that for Theresa Mattimore it shows 11 children born but only 8 living.]

It was Michael’s work as a laborer that brought the family to Renovo, where they lived for the rest of their lives. The surviving eight children were Mary, Michael, Henry, Catherine, Lawrence, William, Theresa and Joseph. I touched on what life might have been like in Renovo for Henry in a previous post (and I’ll give some additional information on his brothers and sisters in a future one).

I know at times I’ve listed Michael’s surname as Mattimoe and at other times as Mattimore. This is because he is the immigrant ancestor who was born a Mattimoe but became a Mattimore.

Michael Mattimore died on December 8, 1899 after a five-week illness according one of the two obituaries in the local newspapers. His death certificate says he died of a tumor. He was 68. At the time, our great grandfather Henry was living in Tucson, where his wife Mary was struggling with tuberculosis. I don’t know if Henry made it home to Pennsylvania for his father’s funeral.

A few years ago I requested Michael’s death certificate, and this is what I received.

Theresa died six years later on November 27, 1905 at about 74 years old. I am still searching for additional details of her death. There is not yet a 1905 digitized newspaper account for Renovo or Lock Haven. Son Henry was in Panama when his mother died, having been at the new job building the Panama Canal for only about 7 months. Looking at his service record, it is clear that he was not able to go home for his mother’s funeral.

Michael and Theresa left their families back in Ireland when they fled during the Great Hunger. Were they ever able to go back and see their families again? Or see their beloved Ireland? Probably not. We don’t know.

But gradually they became Irish Americans. For them, and all of the Irish who left their homeland, their struggles paved the way for those who would follow. In the sixty years after The Great Hunger, over six million would leave their homeland, eighty percent coming to the United States, a pattern of chain emigration that would continue well into the twentieth century. Today more than 32 million Americans claim Irish heritage, many tracing their roots back to the dark days of the Hunger Migration and its aftermath in Irish life.

So we celebrate our ancestors’ remarkable courage and honor the tremendous sacrifices they made. As the great great grandchildren of these Hunger immigrants (and speaking for the following generations, also) we have prospered and are grateful for the bountiful blessings in our lives.

And for decades now, we, the descendants of Michael and Theresa, have continued to gather annually for a family reunion to celebrate our vibrant heritage.

For many reading this blog, Harry and Joseph Mattimore were our grandfathers. Depending on your age, you might remember just a little or a lot about them. But imagine them as boys, growing up not knowing their mother. Mary died when Harry was not quite six and Joseph was three. What do you remember from when you were three? (In the photo above, that is Aunt Kate with the boys along with her mother, Catherine O’Rourke, who would be the boys’ grandmother and my great great grandmother.)

Kate O’Rourke (photo below) had the same tough childhood that her sister had — a bad news father who drank a lot and died when she was a teen, a sister who died in a swing accident at age 5, a brother who likely died young (he disappears from the census records in Oswego when only a minor). Then add to that, caring for her sister and watching her die of tuberculosis. Kate was just two years older than Mary. Having been through the same family dramas, they were likely close.

So at 29, Kate’s life was changed forever. It was now Kate who would prepare Harry and Joe for school, review their school work, teach them manners, dry their tears, bandage their skinned knees. With Henry Mattimore taking jobs out west and then the job in Panama, Kate ran the household and raised the boys. She didn’t try to become Harry and Joe’s mother; she was always just Aunt Kate. I’d like to imagine that Kate took every opportunity she could to tell they boys about their mother — what she was like, her favorite things, how much she loved them.

We don’t know if Kate ever dated or had a love interest, but we do know that she never married. She remained committed to what her life had become: loving aunt and caretaker to Harry and Joe. In later years, when the boys married, Kate was the only parental figure to attend their weddings. And when Harry and Joe had children of their own, those children probably felt like Kate’s grandchildren, although in reality they were her sister’s grandchildren.

The postcards above were sent by Harry to his Aunt Kate in 1911 from New York City and “from the boat” on his way to Panama for a visit with his Dad.

My mom used to tell us stories about Aunt Kate. Most were from late in life when Aunt Kate became a little senile. She would forget things. Or do little things like throw out her coffee “because it’s too hot.” Mom’s brothers would lovingly tease Kate. There was the time one of my uncles asked Aunt Kate (who loved ice cream) if she wanted to go down to the corner for an ice cream cone. “Oh, that would be wonderful,” said Aunt Kate, “I can’t remember the last time I had an ice cream.” Gleefully later that evening, another uncle would ask Aunt Kate if she wanted to go for an ice cream, knowing the response would be the same: “I can’t remember the last time I had an ice cream.”

In our family, one Aunt Kate story has become legendary: Sitting in the backseat of the car with the family stopped at a gas station, Aunt Kate threw some fat from her ham sandwich out the window not knowing the attendant was pumping gas right outside. The attendant appeared at her window and bellowed the now immortal phrase: “Who threw that fat in my face?” Needless to say, Aunt Kate was mortified. My uncles were desperately trying to hold in their giggles. We heard that story so often growing up that it has appeared in the “famous sayings” category in family Charade games.

Uncle Hank recently reminisced that “The fabled Aunt Kate was part of my life until her death in January 1952. She died at home surrounded by our family saying the rosary for her. I was a high school senior at the time and my brother Dick was finishing up at Canisius College.” Kate was 80 when she died. And indeed it was HER family surrounding her then.

The next time you visit any of the Mattimore graves in Holy Cross Cemetery, be sure to say a special prayer of thanks at Kate O’Rourke’s grave, too. She gave selflessly of her life to our family. She was the one person who most influenced the lives of our grandfathers, and was likely most responsible for the fine young men they became.

Culturally they may each say, for example, that they are 1/8 German. But at the DNA level, one may have no German DNA at all. While this might seem strange or even impossible, it’s actually pretty common. It’s a consequence of the complex relationship between genetics, ancestry, and ethnicity.

So how is this possible? The answer is in the process of reshuffling known as genetic recombination. Children inherit half of their DNA from each parent: 50% from Mom and 50% from Dad. The differences between siblings occurs because the inherited DNA is completely random from each parent. The random 50% of Mom’s DNA one sibling might get is different than the random 50% another sibling gets. It’s simply a matter of biology. That’s true even for fraternal twins. The only way siblings will have the exact same DNA is if they are identical twins (formed from the exact same sperm and egg).

Finding out one’s ethnicity breakdown is probably the main reason people use DNA tests like those from AncestryDNA, 23andMe, MyHeritage or other companies. How do they quantify someone’s genetic ancestry? In other words, what does it really mean to say someone has “Irish” or “German” or “Italian” genes? While every person’s DNA is unique (except identical twins), the vast majority of the human genome —over 99%— is identical in everyone. As humans have evolved, random mutations have accumulated in our DNA, causing more variation between our genomes. (We’ve all probably learned a little something about mutations in today’s coronavirus headlines.)

The most common mutations are called single-nucleotide polymorphisms or SNPs (pronounced “snips”). This means that one base of DNA has been changed at a particular location in the genome. If those mutations happen in sperm or egg cells, the altered sequence can get passed to a person’s children, grandchildren, and future generations.

Geneticists have classified millions of distinct SNPs in various locations in the genome. When a group of people becomes isolated (geographically or culturally), new types of SNPs will appear in the population. Over time, these variations will become common within that group but rarely found in others. By analyzing the genomes of many people in different groups, researchers can identify the characteristic SNPs of that group.

DNA tests analyze the SNPs in a person’s genome and compare it to the genetic sample profiles associated with different ethnic groups. Using this information, they can determine someone’s ethnic background and where their ancestors are from.

But there are some good reasons to take the ethnicity result with a grain of salt. Each testing company uses its own proprietary algorithms to calculate this, so that’s why your ethnicity results from AncestryDNA may look different from your 23andMe results. And these tests calculate ancestry by comparing results to databases of known samples. And for now, the majority of samples tend to cluster around North America and Europe. For people from other parts of the world, there aren’t as many points of reference, and results tend to be less specific.

In the graphs above, you can see how the DNA of each succeeding generation becomes more diluted, if you will. When doing genealogy research, that is why it is important to test the oldest generation you can.

For me, the second component of DNA testing is far more important: DNA matches. Many DNA tests compare samples of their users to find possible relatives — a gold mine for genealogical research and breaking down brick walls in your family tree. Connecting with other people who share DNA segments can help in trying to locate or find information about ancestors further back in your tree. Perhaps someone with whom you have a DNA match has documents, photos or info you don’t. When a whole group of people have matching DNA, it likely means they all descend from a common ancestor. That’s when the research gets fun.

And remember, because siblings have different DNA, that means they very likely will have some different DNA matches. I’ve found that my Mom, Uncle Hank and Uncle Dick, all whose DNA profiles I manage, have some DNA matches in common, but more importantly, they each have some distinctly different DNA matches. That helps me piece together all possible connections. I don’t have DNA results for my Uncle Joe or Uncle Dan, who passed away before I was really doing this kind of analysis, but I do have results from Uncle Joe’s daughter, Trish Lewis. And yes, there are people with whom Trish has DNA matches that my Mom, Uncle Hank and Uncle Dick do not. That can only mean that a snippet of the DNA that came down to Trish from her Dad, was DNA that Joe inherited but his siblings did not. So every time I am looking to see if family members match a particular person of interest, I have to remember to check to see if they match Trish.

Below is an example of a DNA match between my mother and a woman from Dallas named Delia Rea. Her Mattimores came from the Nashville area. We haven’t yet figured out our common ancestor in County Roscommon from whom both of our Mattimore lines descend, but clearly we are distantly related. She also shares DNA segments with my uncles Hank and Richard, Trish Lewis and Jane Hashey. Delia and I hope to figure out our common link one day.

So if you’ve ever wondered “Should I bother to take a DNA test if my brother or sister has already taken one?” my answer would be most definitely yes, assuming someone is interested in ethnicity differences or doing genealogy research.

One of the most common questions I get is “Which company should I use for DNA testing?” I use as many as I can as there are usually different DNA matches with each. But for those just starting out or wanting to do only one, I would recommend using the one that most of your other family members use, whatever that may be. That way, your reference points will be the same. In my family’s case, and I believe for other Mattimore cousins, it is AncestryDNA.

I’m told Uncle Dick really loved having this blog read to him, often reminiscing and adding his own commentary. He also enjoyed his vodka right up until the end (alternated with his Ensure, says cousin Mary).

When I think of my uncle, I remember him sitting at our kitchen table on Willowgrove holding court as it were, reveling in whatever story he was telling. He loved a good philosophical discussion. And he never needed to be asked twice to sing. His beautiful rendition of Danny Boy is something we heard often and will especially remember about him.

Right after our wedding in 1999, my parents stayed in our condo for a few days in the D.C. area while my husband and I were on our honeymoon. When we returned, we found our liquor cabinet was empty along with other evidence of partying. This was so not like my parents. Oddly, we also found a pair of men’s pants someone left behind. When I learned that my Uncle Dick had also stayed there, it explained everything.

To my Chicago cousins, we send all of our love and hugs, and raise our glasses to toast your Dad. We will surely miss him. 

DANNY BOY

Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side.
The summer’s gone, and all the roses falling,
It’s you, It’s you must go and I must bide.
But come ye back when summer’s in the meadow,
Or when the valley’s hushed and white with snow,
It’s I’ll be here in sunshine or in shadow —
Oh, Danny boy, O Danny boy, I love you so!

But when ye come, and all the flowers are dying,
If I am dead, as dead I well may be,
Ye’ll come and find the place where I am lying,
And kneel and say an Ave there for me.
And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me,
And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be,
For you will bend and tell me that you love me,
And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me!

I’d always heard of him as “Henry B.” There was a long-standing debate about what the “B.” stood for. Was it Bartholomew or Bernard? His grandson, my Uncle Hank, was named Henry Bartholomew, so it would make sense that the B stood for Bartholomew. But there were also stories and evidence about it being Bernard. In discovering the truth, I also found out that what we thought was Henry’s year of birth was wrong.

The record of Henry’s baptism on June 9th, 1862 with names in Latin.

According to the Catholic Vital Records of Central Pennsylvania, Henry’s baptismal record from Immaculate Conception Church in Lock Haven, Pennsylvania, lists his name as “Henricum Bernardum,” Latin for “Henry Bernard.” Case closed! Also in that same baptismal record, we see that Henry was born in 1862 to Michael Mattimoe and Teresa Madden, NOT 1864 as was thought from some later documents. And I might add, this church record lists the last name as Mattimoe not Mattimore. But hey, but what’s in a name, right? The baptism sponsors were his uncle James Cody and aunt Catherine (Madden) Cody — his mother’s sister.

We don’t have a lot that describes what life was like for Henry as a boy, but being from a large Catholic family with eight children — 5 boys and 3 girls — I think it’s safe to say it was a spirited or loud household, sometimes chaotic, and likely to include lots of baseball games as Henry’s brother Michael went on to become a pro player. And with both parents coming from Ireland, Henry would grow up hearing the sweet sound of their Irish brogues. There was also likely much talk of, and letters to, the families his parents left behind in Ireland — Michael’s in County Roscommon and Teresa’s in County Dublin.

The family homestead was at 908 Erie Avenue, a house built by Henry’s father around 1866. It was in an Irish settlement clustered between Eighth and Tenth Streets centered around the Catholic Church — St. Joseph’s — in an area known as Irish acre.

St. Joseph’s Catholic Church was just one block from the Mattimore home

Renovo, which means “I renew” in Latin, was built for and by the Philadelphia & Erie Railroad as the midpoint between Philadelphia and Erie. The town was laid out on a mostly-flat flood plain along the West Branch of the Susquehanna River in North-Central Pennsylvania, and was incorporated in 1866. (The Philadelphia and Erie Railroad, along with many other relatively smaller lines eventually became incorporated into the Pennsylvania Railroad.)

Nothing would have had more of an impact on young Henry than the railroad, which was literally in his front yard. Erie Avenue, a main thoroughfare in Renovo, ran alongside the railroad shops and tracks. Imagine the excitement growing up seeing and hearing the huge steam engines passing by every day.

Pictured here is the Pennsylvania Railroad hump yard at the corner of 9th Street and Erie Avenue during a parade on July 4th, 1908. The front of the Mattimore home was directly across the street facing this scene (just behind where the people are standing in the bottom right corner). Perhaps there is a Mattimore in the crowd watching this parade in 1908!

Henry left his family home sometime around 17 as he is listed as a single boarder in Renovo’s 2nd Ward while working as a “clerk in store” according to the 1880 U.S. Census. At that age, it was likely his first job. But as soon as he was able, he went to work in the Pennsylvania Railroad Shops and learned his trade as a boilermaker.

Many of the buildings of what became the sprawling Railroad Shops complex (seen in red above) were built before, during, and after the Civil War.

Three of his brothers also worked in the railroad industry, and his sister Kate married the superintendent of the railroad shops in Renovo. Before long, Henry moved to Buffalo where the railroad shops were larger. In 1886, we find him at age 24 in a U.S. City Directory for Buffalo living on 315 Michigan Avenue. The following year he is residing at 267 Seneca Street. Both addresses are near the Farrar & Trefts Boiler Works where Henry worked as a boilermaker. And we know from the 1892 New York Census that he appears just two people away from Mary O’Rourke: a likely nexus for their meeting.

Henry and Mary were married in Buffalo in 1894. They belonged to St. Brigid’s Church on the corner of Fulton and Louisiana Streets, and were most likely married there. The first Catholic parish to be erected in the city’s First Ward, St. Brigid’s Roman Catholic Church was the center of the Irish community in the neighborhood for more than a century. More than just the home of spiritual life, St. Brigid’s — and specifically St. Brigid’s Hall — was a center for union meetings, political rallies, parties, sporting events and theatrical performances. Unfortunately we can’t find it today as the church was badly damaged in a fire in 1968 and razed the following year.

Part of St. Brigid’s Church, corner of Fulton and Louisiana Streets, 1938

The young Mattimores had three sons: Harry, born in August of 1895, Joseph born in May 1898, and a third son who died in infancy. I haven’t been able to find any information about the third boy. I wish we knew his name and when he was born. I suspect that he followed closely behind Joseph, and that was likely around the same time that Mary became ill. Perhaps that was a contributing factor in the baby’s death? If anyone has an other information about the third son, I’d love to hear it.

We know the story of the family’s journey west in 1899 and of Mary’s death from tuberculosis in 1901. It was the following year, in 1902, that Henry brought his two boys home to Buffalo along with his sister-in-law Kate and mother-in-law Catherine O’Rourke. How sad that must have been for everyone to travel across the country back home to Buffalo facing their futures without their beloved Mary. Upon their return, the family lived at 482 Perry Street on the Southwest corner of Fulton and Alabama.

During those times, my mom surmised, Henry might have felt awkward, or thought it improper, living in the house with an unmarried woman — Mary’s sister Kate. That may have been the reason Henry took out of town jobs and was never home for long periods of time. He left the boys in the care of their Aunt Kate and Grandma O’Rourke. We know from his written family history that Harry Mattimore said this of the time after their move back to Buffalo:

“Henry and his cousin, Harry Cody, worked together in various cities of the West and Southwest. He always sent money home to keep Aunt Kate, Grandma, Joe and I living together in comfort. He and Harry Cody went prospecting in Montana and found a small gold mine which they sold. My father invested the proceeds of the sale in other mining and coal stocks, but unfortunately, they all proved to be poor investments. When a part of Texas was thrown open for homesteading, he and Harry Cody marked out a claim and gave Bert Higgins [Henry’s brother-in-law] money to live on the site until the claim became valid. However, Higgins did not live there long enough, and they lost their claim. That site later became part of the business center of Houston, Texas.”

An excerpt of Harry’s written family history

On April 3, 1905, Henry went to work for the U.S. Government to help build the Panama Canal. Working in the office of the mechanical engineer, he was appointed a foreman of the Boiler Shops in the Canal Zone.

His service record indicates his pay in June 1905 was $175 a month. A little less than a year later, he was earning $200 a month, and in July of 1907, he was making $225 a month. The records also detail his leave each year when he took trips home to see his boys. On one of those vacations, Henry brought a parrot home with him to Buffalo, which became quite a celebrated addition to the family according to son Harry.

Henry Mattimore, left, in the Panama Canal Zone

A ship manifest from one of the many trips Henry made to and from Panama. Here we see him along with his younger brother Joseph A. Mattimore, who also worked in Panama.

Harry’s family history goes on to say that his father Henry “died as a result of a ruptured diaphragm, suffered when he tripped and fell against the railing of the ship on which he was returning to Panama after spending his annual vacation with us.” The last entry on Henry’s service record reads that on March 8th of 1913 he died at Colon Hospital in Cristobal, Panama, and a cable was sent to the family back in Buffalo that same day. Henry was only 51 years old (or 49 so the family thought; but the baptismal record I located proved he would have actually been 51). Sons Harry and Joe, who lost their mother when they were young boys, now at 17 and 14, had lost their father.

The sad task of bringing the body home from Panama fell to Henry’s youngest brother, Joseph Aloysius Mattimore, who also worked with Henry in the Boiler Shops in Panama. Our great grandfather Henry B. Mattimore was buried March 22, 1913 in Holy Cross Cemetery in Lackawanna, New York.

The card above was from Kate’s cousin Nellie King in 1909: “Hope you will like my little gift — I sent it with love, & many good wishes for a very happy Christmas — Nellie”

This one above to Harry, also in 1909, was from who I believe was Marguerite O’Connor, who would have been a second cousin to Harry and Joe, on the King side of the family. Harry was about 14 at the time.

This last one was sent to Joe in 1910 from Kate’s cousin Nellie King: “Hope you will be very happy this Christmas. Nellie” Joe would have been about 12 when he received this.

These cards are from a collection that Harry kept. He was an avid collector of postcards and saved hundreds of them over the years. These were shared with my mom and me by Lorie Deacon Steinwald, who is the keeper of the cards. I’ll post more about this collection in a future post. For now, here’s wishing peace, love and joy to all of our Mattimore family. Merry Christmas!

They played Irish music for him. It was quiet, peaceful. And then we imagine the warm and possibly wild heavenly welcome he received from his wife Kathleen, parents Joe and Tiny, siblings Joe, Mary and Dan, and all the Mattimore cousins — Mary, Harry, Jane, Jack, Sally and Kay. Indeed the big family reunion up there will probably go on for days!

To his family we say that what we have all shared and loved about Uncle Hank we can never lose. Because all that we love deeply becomes part of us.

To Uncle Hank, we say…

May the road rise to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face.
And rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of his hand.

I was surprised that my mom didn’t know where, exactly, her grandmother was buried. Didn’t anyone have the name of the cemetery in Tucson? Apparently not. It was my Uncle Dick who told me that Harry had gone in search of his mother’s burial grounds. He thinks it might have been sometime during the 1950s. Does anyone from Harry’s side of the family know more about their grandfather’s search? If so, I’d love to hear it. Sadly, I know that Harry never found his mother’s grave.

When my husband and I moved to New Mexico in 2013, I knew. I knew at some point I would go to neighboring Arizona to find Mary’s grave. I figured I could get a photo of it to show my mom. So in late 2014 we took a trip to Tucson, partly to photograph the area and partly to look for the trail left by the Mattimores.

We couldn’t find Mary in any of the cemeteries in Tucson. We drove to Mount Oracle to see if there was a cemetery there, where we had heard she died in one of the hotel-style sanatoriums for those sick with tuberculosis. Still no luck.

What we did locate on this trip was the very house where Henry and his family lived for about two years. According to the 1900 census (detail below), they lived at 219 S. 9th Avenue in Tucson. Henry is listed as the head of the household, and along with his family (including mother-in-law and sister-in-law), there were 13 lodgers. Henry and Mary rented out a boarding house! It’s fascinating to see where all the lodgers were from. Most worked in some capacity for the railroad, but there was one school teacher in the group.

The outside of the house may have been renovated over the years, but peeking through the front door was like looking back in time. It was definitely old and creaky. Many of the neighboring houses also looked like they were built in the late 1800s. Learning about ancestors becomes more real when you walk where they walked and see where they lived. I felt closer to them here.

But where was Mary laid to rest? Fortunately I had the benefit of something Harry Mattimore never had: The Internet. After getting a copy of Mary’s death certificate (seen in the previous post), which simply listed “Catholic cemetery” as place of interment, I ruled out all the cemeteries I could find — most were too new. By April of 2015, and in need of more help, I called the Roman Catholic Diocese of Tucson. It was then that I learned Mary’s likely fate….

The city’s only cemetery in 1901 would have been the historic Court Street Cemetery, which was in use between 1875 and 1909. The east half of the cemetery became the Catholic plot, while west half included the city and county cemeteries. Further to the west were individual plots for the Grand Army of the Republic (Union Civil War veterans), the Independent Order of Odd Fellows (temperance society), and the Ancient Free Masons among others.

Perhaps 7,000 to 9,000 burials were interred in the cemetery during its 34 years of operation, the exact number unknown because record keeping was so poor. It closed in 1909, after businessmen decided the land was better suited for other purposes. The same men laid out the new Evergreen Cemetery, while the Catholic Church opened the Holy Hope Cemetery, both on North Oracle Road in Tucson.

The city’s minimal attempt at relocating the thousands buried at the “old” cemetery consisted of a small notice published in the Tucson Citizen, the main newspaper for the area at the time. Unfortunately, having left Tucson in 1902 soon after Mary’s death, Henry would not have seen the newspaper notices or known about the plans to move bodies from the old cemetery.

“People were given 30 to 40 days to remove their dead,” says Jonathan Mabry, city of Tucson historic preservation officer. “Notices were posted in the newspaper. They could dig them up themselves or pay for an undertaker to do it, but most of the bodies were left in place, as no one wanted to dig up a coffin, nor could they afford to pay someone.” Talk about the wild west! Can you imagine being told today that you could dig up a coffin?

It is estimated that somewhere between 40 to 50 percent of the bodies were left in place. All those people, and their stories with them, were left to be built over by a rapidly expanding and demanding city. According to a 2013 article in the Arizona Daily Star, local archaeologist Homer Thiel estimated that “at least half of the burials were left in place and are present beneath the streets, sidewalks, buildings and backyards of the neighborhood.”

What was once the Court Street Cemetery currently includes the land north to south between Speedway Boulevard and 2nd Street, and east to west between Stone Avenue and Main Street, spanning eight city blocks total. The location consists of neighborhoods like Dunbar Spring, hotels and apartment buildings. What is unknown to some in the area is that there are still approximately 80 to 100 graves buried underneath each property.

The secrets that the old cemetery left behind were thought to lie buried forever, but over the years, those who remain are gradually found, whether it be on purpose through excavations or accidental occurrences that make their discovery possible. In my research I came across several articles about some of these accidental discoveries where skeletons were unearthed in people’s yards. It’s horrific to know this is happening. Two of the articles I found are here and here.

No detailed map of the Catholic plot is known, and no historical records have been located to indicate one was ever made. All the grave markers once present were either moved to Holy Hope Cemetery, or, in the case of the wooden crosses known to have been present, destroyed. To date, none of the excavated burials (or the accidental discoveries) have included an inscribed label or marker commonly used in modern burials. Attempts to identify an individual are therefore difficult, if not impossible.

We may never have the answer to the mystery of exactly where Mary Mattimore was buried within the Court Street Cemetery, but the Superior Court of Arizona for Pima County has issued protocols outlining how future burials (from excavations or accidental discovery) are to be treated within the cemetery, and an eventual database will be published of the data collected on the people buried there.

For now, the only marker that would give an indication of the land’s history is the sign located in the middle of two intersecting streets in the neighborhood of Dunbar Spring. The sign has a skull on it and says “Court Street Cemetery.” This stands as the only attempt at a memorial for the thousands whose bodies are still there.

While the stories for so many may be lost forever, our own Mary Mattimore, young mother to Harry and Joseph, will forever remain in our hearts. Because of her, we are all here.

When I say “our” great grandmother, I’m speaking for all those in my generation. Obviously for children in the next generation, she was their great-great grandmother. And sadly, for our elder statesmen Richard and Hank Mattimore and all those of their generation, she was the grandma they never knew.

Before getting to Mary’s death, let me tell you a little about her life, gleaned mostly from passed-down stories from her sister Kate — the famous Aunt Kate — who helped raise the two boys when Mary died, and from archival documents and records.

Mary was born in February 1874 to Cornelius “Connie” O’Rourke and Catherine (King) O’Rourke in Oswego, New York. Mary’s life could not have been an easy one. Her father was a saloon keeper in Oswego, and on Christmas night, December 25, 1875, under the influence of drink, he threw a beer pitcher at a patron who ended up badly cut, nearly losing an eye. Cornelius fled rather than face arrest. Mary was not yet two. The next time we see her, she is six years old living with her grandparents along with her mother and two sisters in Oswego per the 1880 census. Her father is nowhere to be found. Nor is her older brother Frederick, who would have been about 10. Unfortunately I cannot find any information about what happened to her brother.

1880 United States Census, Oswego, New York (note: her mother and sister are both listed as “Kittie,” a nickname for Catherine).

Sometime after the 1880 census, Mary, her sisters and mother, moved to Buffalo. Less than a year later, Mary’s 5-year-old sister Alice died shockingly on a swing accident. At the time, Mary was just seven and Kate was nine. My mom said that Aunt Kate was always fearful of kids on swings because of what happened to her sister.

I’m not sure if the family lived again with Cornelius, who also ended up in Buffalo, or if they were separated. Aunt Kate never liked to talk much about her father, but when she did, she said he was bad news and referred to him as a blaggard. My mom took that to mean he was a drunkard or scoundrel. It was in Buffalo where Cornelius died in 1887 at the age of just 43. Mary was 13 years old when her father died.

Skip ahead five years. Henry Mattimore worked at Farrar & Trefts Boiler Works in Buffalo. But how did he and Mary meet? Looking at the New York Census for 1892 gives us a clue. Here we find Mary, now 18, living with her sister Kate and her mother Catherine, a shopkeeper in Buffalo’s Ward 1. Guess who appears just two people away in the census? Henry Mattimore, engineer, and his cousin James Cody, boilermaker. The census doesn’t list addresses, or indicate if this was a boarding house or single family residences, but one can assume by the proximity in the census that Mary and Henry were neighbors.

New York State Census of 1892. Mary and her sister are listed as cake packers, while their mother is listed as a storekeeper. Maybe they worked in a bakery or bread shop?

The rest is history as they say. About two years later in 1894, Henry and Mary were married. Son Harry was born in 1895 and Joseph in 1898. But tragically, Mary would die just three years later.

Harry wrote a family history that includes this: “My father moved the entire family, including my mother’s sister (Aunt Kate) and her mother (Grandma O’Rourke) to Los Angeles in 1899. Unknown to my father, a smallpox epidemic was raging there when we arrived, and I promptly caught the disease. As soon as I recovered, we moved to Tucson, Arizona, where my mother died in 1901 at a mountain resort hotel in Mount Oracle. She was buried in Tucson and we then moved back to Buffalo, in 1902.”

This is an excerpt of Harry’s hand-written family history.

But what made the family move to Los Angeles in the first place? We now know from Mary’s death certificate that she died of tuberculosis (called phthisis on the certificate — an archaic name for TB or consumption back then). The duration listed on the certificate indicates she had the disease for three years and contracted it in New York. So the move in 1899 had to have been right after her diagnosis. In an effort to give his young wife the best possible chance to recover, Henry packed up everyone, belongings and in-laws included, and headed for the dry desert climate that was said to be best for those suffering with tuberculosis. With smallpox raging in LA, and the enticements of the “health hotels” of Tucson, it is not surprising they moved there.

1900 United States Census for the Territory of Arizona shows Henry and Mary with their two young boys Harry and Joseph, along with sister-in-law Kate O’Rourke and mother-in-law Catherine O’Rourke.

At the turn of the century, Arizona was still just a Territory — and a magnet for those lured by the romance of the Wild West. Penicillin and antibiotics had not yet been discovered. In the early 1900s, tuberculosis killed one in seven people living in the U.S. and Europe. Between 1880 and 1945, if you had tuberculosis, the prescription was Arizona. Tucson, in particular, was “the destination” for the disease. At one point there were more than 30 sanatoriums or hotel-style facilities holding permits in Tucson. Initially sanatoriums were like resorts for the affluent. But most patients in Arizona were working people who couldn’t afford private care. However, many of the mining companies and railroads subsidized the cost of their treatment in hospitals — and Henry worked for the railroad in Tucson.

Nearby Mount Oracle gained international fame as an ideal cure for those suffering from pulmonary and rheumatic diseases. Those with tuberculosis were known disparagingly as “lungers.” In polite society, tuberculosis was called “consumption” because it “consumed” the body. Europeans knew it as “the white plague.” Symptoms were fatigue, night sweats, coughing, chest pain, bloody sputum, and weight loss. The disease sometimes affected the kidneys, brain and spine as well as the lungs. After an article was published in the leading medical journal, many came to Oracle in the belief that plenty of fresh air, sleep, wholesome food and exercise would restore them to good health. 

Before 1920, Tucson had 7,000 people who had come for treatment of tuberculosis. So many people came to the West that not enough housing was available for them all. But this influx of the infected is what gave Arizona the population it needed for statehood. Arizona became a state in 1912.

Here is Mary’s official death certificate, with cause of death listed as Phthisis, an archaic term for Tuberculosis.

There was no cure for tuberculosis until the advent of antibiotics in the mid twentieth century. By the 1950s, tuberculosis was no longer a major public health threat. Most sanatoriums were already closed by then or had been demolished years before. But before then, tragically, our great grandmother Mary Mattimore fell victim to the disease on August 1, 1901 in Oracle, Pinal County, Territory of Arizona.

My next post, sort of a part 2, will tell of the search for Mary Mattimore’s burial site in Tucson.

P.S. Does anyone have any other photos of Mary O’Rourke Mattimore? My mother thought the one included in this post was the only known photo of her.

There were other Mattimoe families whose surnames ended up Mattimore that emigrated from Ireland to the United States — Toledo, Nashville and San Diego among other places. So for whatever reason, Mattimore eventually seemed to be the more common surname here. But when I explained to my mom (or reminded her?) that Mattimoe was actually a derivative of Milmo, with a variants of Milmore and Mullamore among others, that was almost too much for her to want to believe.

First of all, let me say that it is believed that all Mattimoes are related. There is a narrow band where County Sligo and County Roscommon meet where Mattimoes are said to have settled and a number still live today. Evidence points to the areas in Sligo near Ballysadare or Coolboy as the actual birthplace of the Mattimoes. But migratory movements were southward as is proven by the very large number of Co. Sligo names found inside the borders of Roscommon. Migration to secure land was necessary because on the death of a father, farms were divided among sons, explaining why holdings were so small; families became inescapably poor in every succeeding generation. The move was part of a large migration from impoverished and over-populated Sligo to under-populated Roscommon. But in general the Mattimoes kept to this particular geographic border area, and the name Mattimoe has been, and still is, considered a fairly rare name in Ireland.

The late Col. Cyril Mattimoe, a native of Boyle, Co. Roscommon, and no doubt a relative of ours from somewhere back in the mists of time, did extensive research on Mattimoe origins and history, writing a paper called “Origin of the Surname Mattimoe and Its Association with the Surname Milmo.” He also wrote a book called North Roscommon: Its People and Past. That book is out of print and only available in some Ireland central libraries, but I’ve been lucky enough to get a hold of copies of some of the pages.

Through his research, Col. Mattimoe came to believe that the name Mattimoe did not derive from any occupation, incident or place name. Its origin, like that of most other Irish surnames, developed from a Christian name. Below is an image capture from Col. Mattimoe’s writings on how the name developed.

Cyril’s research shows beyond question that Mattimoe was regarded as the same name as Milmo. There is oral and written evidence to prove that both surnames have at times been attached to and recognized as one and the same within the same family.

But Col. Mattimoe died 17 years ago a few days shy of his 90th birthday and hadn’t done a whole lot of new research for many years before his death. Was his research still correct? How could I prove that this was all really true to my mom? That probably all Mattimore lines are related back through time and that the names Mattimoe and Milmo were one and the same?

The answer is… DNA. Let me say that again, louder this time: DNA! I manage the DNA profiles on Ancestry.com for my mom, her brothers Richard and Hank, as well as several of my siblings. Several of us have small portions of identical DNA with descendants of those Toledo, Nashville and San Diego Mattimore lines I mentioned in the second paragraph. And to really affirm Col. Mattimoe’s research, some of us have DNA matches with descendants of a Milmore line that immigrated to Brasher Falls, NY. I can tell that Jane Hashey has a DNA connection with this same line, too, because her match with Milmore descendants is “in common with” some of our family matches — meaning we share the same DNA segment(s). Other cousins who have taken DNA tests may also show distant DNA matches with some of these other lines, independent of my family’s matches. But in all cases, the origins lead back to Sligo or Roscommon.

The map above shows that in the 1901 Census of Ireland, almost all Mattimoes were living right along the border region between Co. Sligo and Co. Roscommon.

With apologies to William Shakespeare, I say “What’s in a name? That which we call a Mattimore by any other name would smell as sweet.” This is to say that what matters is what something is, not what it is called.

If you’ve taken a DNA test and don’t know how to see if you can find DNA matches to others with specific names in their trees like Mattimoe, Milmo or Milmore (or Long, McMahon, etc), let me know and I can tell you how.

My mother Mary Elwell on left, with her brothers Hank and Richard

Even while they each are dealing with health struggles and facing their own mortality, 90-year-old Uncle Dick and 86-year-old Uncle Hank have thrived and have given us so much to enrich our lives and families. They are our Mattimore elder statesmen.

Richard lives with his daughter Eileen and her husband in Chicago, while his wife of 66 years, Annie, lives in a facility for Alzheimer’s. Together they have seven children and 15 grandchildren, mostly in the Chicago area. Besides his first cousin Harry Mattimore Jr., Richard is the only other Mattimore of his generation to reach the milestone of 90.

Among my mom’s things, I recently came across copies of some compositions that Uncle Dick wrote for a memoir writing class he once took. He had sent copies to my mom, who kept them. Some of the titles: My First Date, My Favorite Holiday, My Dad’s Occupation, My First Child, Power in My Family and The Person I Admired the Most. So who had the power in the family? Who did he admire most? In both cases that person was his dad, Joseph Mattimore. His writings are a treasure, and we are lucky to have them, these snippets from what seems like a lifetime ago.

Richard, Trish Lewis, Hank

Hank is widowed and living in Windsor, California with his son Sean and family. He has two children and four grandchildren. Despite recently learning he has late stage esophageal cancer, he remains an inspiration to us all on what it means to truly live. He likes to sum up his life in the words of an old AfroAmerican friend of his: “Life is a growin’ thing. Ya grows or ya dies.” Hank has certainly done a lot of growin’ — the size of his heart is testament to that.

A passage from Hank’s latest book A Life Lived: Love and the Human Condition by Someone Who Has Been There speaks to me about our ancestry and our connectedness to each other:

"We will never get ultimate closure because my story and everyone’s story doesn’t end with death. Our stories continue in our children and families and all those who have been touched by our lives. You may not know the name of your great-great-grandma, but your DNA, your history, was affected by her presence on earth."

Their presence in our lives — these remaining representatives of the Greatest Generation of Mattimores — continues to touch and inspire us. And we are blessed for it.

With yours truly, my Uncle Dick on left and Uncle Hank on right

Note: if anyone would like the address for either of them, let me know.

In addition to ancestry-related posts, it will be a great place to pass along family news and goings-on, perhaps profiles or tributes…so many things. Forgive me if at times I geek out with too much talk of chromosomes and centiMorgans (unit of measurement for the length of a piece of DNA). You can always just scroll past those posts!

If anyone is interested in contributing a post, you are most welcome. I know we have lots of wonderful writers and storytellers in the family. And please share any specific ancestry questions you might have or ideas for what kinds of things you might like to know about.

Lastly, I don’t have email addresses for all family members, especially adult children who might be interested in this blog. So please spread the word and direct them to MattimoreFamily.com. Anyone who subscribes will be alerted by email when there is a new post, and of course, I won’t share your email addresses with anyone. (NOTE: if you received an email from me with a link to this post, I have already subscribed you to the blog since I had your email address, so you don’t have to do it again. But if you are not interested, it is easy to unsubscribe.)

You can reach me through the “Contact” form on this site or by emailing me directly at rozanne.hakala@gmail.com.

Let’s stay connected!