I am excited to present to you our guest blog for today. At a recent genealogy meeting, society member Linda Rozier Davis was challenged to write about an ancestor. The following story, entitled  "A Vignette of Mamaw Shaw," are her recollections. 

I hope you enjoy the read as much as I did.

A Vignette of Mamaw Shaw

I was first aware of Mamaw Shaw in 1959 when my sister and I spent two weeks of our summer vacation with our great aunt Florence (Shaw) Fenstermaker in Warrington, Florida. Aunt Florence was the youngest of Mamaw’s seven children who lived to adulthood. And, as often befalls the youngest daughter, her mother lived with her.

Mamaw Shaw, Photo Courtesy of Linda Rozier Davis

I was twelve years old, and Mamaw was 86. I had never thought of her having a life before I met her or who her parents were or where she had lived or how she had felt when she was a teenager. I squandered the opportunity to ask.

For me, she was frozen in time - a scrawny, wrinkled, petite, quiet old woman with a twinkle in her eyes that hinted of mischief.

That mischief showed up early on one of those August mornings that got hot early. 

While still in our pajamas, my sister and I were walking around the inviting pool in Aunt Florence’s yard. 

Even at her advanced age, Mamaw was spry and had a brisk walk. Quietly and seemingly out of nowhere, she slipped up behind my sister who was standing on the edge of the pool, looking intently at the blue water. With the swiftness of a lizard’s tongue and the energy of a toddler, Mamaw Shaw pushed my sister into the pool. Aunt Florence immediately hollered “Mama!”

After a brief yelp of surprise from my sister, she gladly accepted her fate and took an unexpected swim in her pajamas. 

Mamaw was grinning from ear to ear and seemed quite pleased with herself!

Crime. Murder. Bank Robberies. Hidden Treasure. Dragons. Here lie all the ingredients for a rousing tale. If you wanted, you could even tell one story with each item in that list. Didn’t Harry Potter have to break into a bank that was guarded by a dragon during one of his adventures? To say I love stories is an understatement. I loved a rollicking good story before my obsession with books even started. But my habits, my addictions, truly sunk deep in my blood during the fifth and sixth grades. That’s when I first read the works of J. R. R. Tolkien and Franklin W. Dixon (yes, I know Dixon was a pseudonym for multiple ghostwriters, but as a kid I thought of him as one guy).  

Anyway, from those first reads I gained a lifelong love for J. R. R. Tolkien. And although I no longer read the Hardy Boys anymore, my fascination for the entire mystery genre began with them. I devoured book after book featuring Frank and Joe Hardy, relishing their adventures in The Tower Treasure, searching for the Secret of the Caves, or wondering what was in The Secret Panel. I mean, who doesn’t love a good mystery? Spicing up a story of any genre, whether it’s a fantasy, romance, or historical fiction, is as easy as introducing a secret, a puzzle, a stolen identity, international intrigue, or buried treasure. But what happens when you encounter a real secret? I mean a real-life secret. One you find in your own family. Especially a secret held by those who are the closest to you. The people you thought didn’t hold anything back. For some, revealing a secret is life shattering. For others, it’s like eating a piece of candy. 

In 2001, my grandfather, Charles F. Taylor passed. As a 26-year-old who always lived far away from him, I mourned the loss of the only grandparent I’d ever known. He stayed with us on various occasions, and once a year or so I’d get to visit, but I never really got to spend time with him the way my cousins did. So the minute I got the news of his passing, I packed my car for a weekend trip and drove to his Arizona home for the funeral. All my mom’s siblings were there. Half of them sat around in a dazed stupor until my aunt (we all have that one aunt), took to the bottle to ease her pain. Everyone else scattered quickly then. They ran back to their hotel rooms and left me with the lush of an aunt until morning. 

I was grateful for the funeral, if only to escape my drunken aunt. But then something extraordinary happened. While sitting in the pew of the little church providing the services, mom stood up to speak and give a life history of my grandfather. And at first, I wasn’t really sure I heard her right. I did a double take. I looked around to see if anyone else looked confused, but they all seemed to take it in stride. What did she say that rocked my world? She said, “It is unknown why Charles F., born James Monroe Taylor, took his brother’s name.” 

My head spun. Did I hear what I thought I heard? Did mom say grandpa took his brother’s name? Why would he do that? How did he do that? How can you be born James Monroe Taylor and knowingly transition into Charles F. Taylor? My mind reeled with even more questions. How old was he when he took his brother’s name? What year did he do it in? Most importantly, why is this the first I’m hearing about it? 

I learned the answer to one of the questions then and there.  

It’s the first I heard about it because families keep secrets.  

Because people are often tight-lipped about various aspects of their lives.  

All at once, in one moment, because of one statement from a church pulpit, grandpa became exponentially more intriguing. He became an international man of mystery, and unfortunately for me, we were about 45 minutes from burying him with his secrets. Now that he was gone, who could he tell? 

Dead. Gone. Buried.  

Where do I even start to find the answers to questions I didn’t know to ask before that moment? You see, grandpa, he was a quiet man who called all of his loved ones “pumpkin,” and he never once offered me a single detail about his life. He answered questions sparingly if you asked him, and those sparing answers varied in their levels of depth and specificity.  

One time I asked, “Grandpa, what do you think of your enchilada?” 

“Small,” he responded before the rest of the conversation fell silent.  

And the enchilada in question was probably about half his size (he was a little guy himself). This small enchilada came after he ate four taquitos and the rice and beans on the side. Moments later, while sitting quietly at the table, we offered my brother an enchilada and some taquitos. My brother said, “Nah, I’m good. I’m going to have some stew.” 

To which my grandfather finally piped up. “There’s stew? I’ll have some stew,” he said and kept eating quietly. My grandfather was quiet and listened to everything everyone said.  

That quiet nature is, for me, one piece of evidence that he actually took his brother’s name. You see, I’m skeptical by nature. I’m not sure I believed mom’s story. Sometimes I think it could be a hoax. But there are questions. Quite a few of them if you ask my family. There’s evidence and clues, some circumstantial, some fact. On somedays, I believe. On others . . . 

On others, I dig. But before I really started digging mom told me a story. She said that years after she found out he took his brother’s name she asked him, “Why did you take your brother’s name?” 

“Ask Reni (the drunken aunt). I told her everything,” was grandpa’s reply.  

So, trusting my Aunt Reni to have the answers, mom asked her sister about the entire affair. “What are you talking about?” Reni said. “Dad never told me anything about that.” 

And thus ended that session of mom’s sleuthing.  

One time I asked mom, “How did you find out Grandpa took his brother’s name?” Mom told me the tale. According to her, grandma took on some ironings for extra income. One day when the postman came to deliver the mail, mom maneuvered past the ironing board grandma was working at and went to grab the mail. On her return, she sorted through the letters to find one addressed to James Taylor (not the musical artist). “Oh, we need to catch the postman before he leaves,” mom said to grandma.  

“Why? What do you have there?” grandma responded.  

“There’s a letter for a James Taylor. That’s not us.” 

Grandma motioned for mom to give her the letter.  

“Give it to me,” she said. “That’s for your Dad.” 

Confused over why her Dad, Charles, who was typically referred to as Chuck or Pinky, would have a different name, she handed the letter over to grandma.  

“Your Dad was born with the name James,” was the most explanation mom received. In subsequent conversations, mom asked about grandpa’s name change and my grandmother surmised my grandfather changed his name when he ran away from the Civilian Conservation Corps. Personally, changing your name because you ran away from the CCC doesn’t sound like an offense you keep secret for sixty years after the program ended. At least not from your closest loved ones.  

Still, the man kept the reason secret. On another occasion grandpa entertained his brother, Charles Franklin Taylor in the home (My grandfather only ever went by Charles F. not Franklin). Mom, understanding the old ideal—children are to be seen and not heard--made herself scarce, but clearly remembers keeping quiet in the presence of the two Charles. She felt awkward and even thought something more illicit might have happened for grandpa to take a new name. She got the impression because she knew she wasn’t supposed to let her uncle know that her father used the name Charles.  

But who really knows? The mind of a child can imagine all kinds of intrigue and subterfuge. So can the minds of adult grandchildren who would like to know a few extra details of their grandparents’ lives. I wonder if grandpa felt the need to lie in order to serve in World War II? Then I discount the idea—he was plenty old enough to serve by the time the United States entered the war. I wonder if he struggled with some illicit affair with another woman somewhere. I wonder if he was running from money troubles or some other problem where he wanted to live secretly.  

I don’t know why he took on his brother’s name. I don’t know how he legally changed it. My perception is that it would have been easier to appropriate someone else’s identity (modern technology might have something to say about that).  But still, knowing about this little family mystery in the first place is a great impetus for me to sit down with family and friends, to document my life, the life of my family and others. It’s a great story that links me to the power of a name, an individual, and helps me learn about a man I didn’t get enough time with while he walked this earth. It also makes me think--If Grandpa had a secret identity, can I have one too?

Although I have my own memories on the subject, it also gives me the excuse to call my mom. Before writing this down, I called her and asked her again about my grandparents. I wanted to ensure I wasn’t mistaken in any of the details of the story. On this go round I was reminded that people often called grandpa, “Pinky.” I don’t remember hearing that detail before, even when it was part of the eulogy at his funeral. I've probably forgotten more than I should have (all the more reason to cite your sources, am I right?). I’ve known for some time that Grandpa served in the CCC, but I haven’t truly explored that aspect of his life. My mom and I wrote various agencies to see if we could find more information about it, but alas, our search was fruitless. Hearing about the CCC is so different than the harmonica playing, radio transmitting man I know, the one who wasn’t afraid to beat an 8-year-old at the billiard table three games straight—three games where the 8-year-old only attempted three shots.  

Those additional details matter to me. Just like it matters that I get to ask mom about her family. This mystery, one of many, might not quite be as adventurous as the Hardy Boys, but it has its intrigue, and better yet, I am the one who gets to do the sleuthing. Genealogy is all about the sleuthing. With this story, sometimes I dig deep. Other times I am content to let it be the family story. But these mysteries, they’re one of the reasons we spend so many hours on the computer, in dusty libraries and archives, walking cemeteries . . . we love the hunt for our families and to solve these mysteries. I know you have family mysteries, family stories. Tear jerkers. Romances. Comedies. We all do. We have secrets buried with those who have gone before. What are they? And how are you finding your answers? What will the journey be like along the way?  

Here at the Mississippi Genealogical Society we love a good story, a good mystery—we love a good tale we can share with others and ones that will help make meaning in you and your family’s life. So if you feel inclined to share a story or two, maybe a romance, or an adventure, a mystery, or some other aspect of your genealogy, please think about joining us for a meeting, writing a blog post, or submitting a photo we can use on social media. Or just come enjoy the membership of this community who loves discovering kin.  

There’s always more to learn if you ask the right questions.

Remember when I said I wanted to highlight some hints, tricks, and collections that are specific to Mississippi? Well, let's return to the topic. And let's choose something for those of us who like doing our genealogical research in our pajamas!

In my opinion, one of the best resources for those who love to research from the comfort of their own home is the Mississippi Digital Library. This website, described as a "collaborative digital library for the state of Mississippi," [1] is an excellent resource. The site partners with numerous Mississippi Institutions in order to provide digital access (and other services) of its collections to researchers everywhere. 

Basically, how it works is that Mississippi institutions such as libraries, universities, historical societies, and genealogical societies upload their content in various collections. On the backend, the various partners work like crazy to make the information findable, searchable. And then they provide it to the public. Free.

I say free, but there's the typical caveats. If you use their information, you should cite it. If you want to publish their information in a book (especially if you're going to sell the book), you need to contact the institution that owns the material. There may be a publication fee.

Anyway, as a researcher you can search specific institutions, collections, or even search the entire site. All you need to know is how to navigate library search engines and you are good to go. (If all you can do is a basic keyword search that'll work fine). As a librarian and archivist, I often complain that library websites are often too dense, unruly, and too difficult to navigate. That's not the case here. The Mississippi Digital Library is clean, easy to read, and easily accessible, especially to those new to research. 

Overall, the Mississippi Digital Library is a great place for searching for your kin. There's all kinds of items to look for, from University publications, yearbooks and more, to photos from historic events like hurricanes and other natural disasters. There's correspondence and letters from Mississippians and even genealogical information. It's all there. I know some of you will find your family if you search the site. You just have to use it. Better yet, you can use it while wearing your pajamas. 

1. "About," Mississippi Digital Library, Mississippi Digital Library, 2015; accessed 29 July 2025: https://msdiglib.org/). 

Out of all the times I broke my ankles, the story of how it happened never made it to the newspapers. And I broke them both. Luckily, I broke them on different occasions. But my great-grandmother? You probably don’t know this, but she stepped on a stick, fell off a porch and dislocated her ankle. See the image below [1].

After reading that story, I’m wondering how they treated a dislocated ankle in 1906. And did her dad say, “Yeah, all you need is a little ice and you’ll be okay,”? Did her friends read the thrilling tale of her fall and drop by for a visit to console her?

All these questions about my great-grandmother’s injury reminds me of the time when my mom stepped off the porch to turn off the water to the hose. One step and she broke her ankle in two places. It took the entire neighborhood to carry her into the house. (And what I mean when I say neighborhood is our friends Ed and Scott from down the street.)

My dad had left for an afternoon round of golf he never got to play. When he arrived to check in for his tee time the golf course sent him back home to care for my mom. She got a cast. I’d like to think I signed it and drew something cool on it. Too bad my mom’s story never made it to the papers either. The Daily Republic in Fairfield, California just didn’t know what they were missing with that story. Neither did my dad, who was kind of disappointed. He thought my mom should have done something cooler than taking one step off the porch if she was going to break her ankle.

I mention my dad’s disappointment for a purpose. You see, some folks gloss over small stories like the one I found for my grandmother. They feel as if the information is too mundane, or not on a large enough scale to be worth collecting. I think otherwise. Reading and collecting the small factoids, tales, stories helps you to know and connect with your ancestors if you take the time to think and ask questions about the circumstances surrounding them. I may not know more about the dislocated ankle. How bad was it? How long did it put her out of action? Did she receive any cuts and bruises from the fall? Since the injury happened in November in Missouri, was it snowy or icy out? Did snow or ice contribute to the fall?

However, I can learn about how they might have treated the injury in 1906. Or if they even considered a dislocated ankle the same thing as they do in 2025. I can learn a few other details that might help me understand her life better or how teenagers might have responded to an incident like an ankle injury. So I am grateful for the story.

And I am a bit jealous my ankle brakes never made it to the paper. Not jealous because of my ego. But jealous that my descendants won’t be able to discover those stories in the paper and feel closer to me. If we’re lucky though, maybe this story about my mom’s ankle will still be floating around for them to find.

[1]. "Miss Maud Hoover," Monett Daily Record, (Monett, Missouri), p. 1, col. 3. 20 November 1906. Newspapers.com. (https://www.newspapers.com/image/1201120467/ : accessed 22 July 2025).  

The other night I traded in genealogy for mowing the lawn. Traded in might not be the proper way to describe it. It was more like I had to postpone the genealogy for cutting the grass. Unfortunately for me, I don’t have a great lawn mower, plus I live on a corner lot, so there is a lot of grass to cut, and the heat sweltered. Here in Mississippi we cut lawns in the sauna.

When I finished the task, I had to bag and blow the clippings, put the tools away, and finish some edging too. Needless to say, I would have preferred to spend my time climbing the family tree. I mean, I did think about it most of the time I pushed that lawn mower back and forth across the grass.

Eventually, I finished, right about the time the sun was setting. I showered, got dressed, sat down at my desk intending to work on genealogy, but played with Lego instead. You see, I’m building this really cool Haunted House. It’s got ghosts and skeletons and creepy clowns. And while I was building, guess what? I still thought about genealogy.

Unfortunately, my body refused to do it. I was tuckered out, as they say. I had already spent the day at work only to come home and work outside. I wanted to do other things, but I needed a rest.

For those of you who are passing genealogists, please remember, genealogy is work. Creating timelines and tables and citations and family trees and books and case studies takes time and effort. My body knew this and directed me to do other things. Once I realized what was going on, I went with it. No matter how much there is to work on when it comes to genealogy, there is never anything wrong with taking care of the mind and body first.

I mention this because I believe it is important to let the good things in life come to you. To let them happen in their proper time. Take these blogs I write. If I stress out over topic and ideas, if I try forcing a blog to be “good,” I will most likely not produce anything at all. But if I take care of the mind and body, I tend to produce better work.

The same can be said of many pursuits including athletics, academics, work, play. Our minds and bodies frequently need a reset. Anyway, I played with Lego for the night. I allowed myself to get some rest.

I know this concept worked for me because after I rested up and went back to genealogy the next day, I found a treasure trove of documents concerning my dad’s family. I found so much stuff I have never seen that it will take me weeks to sort through it all.

I am convinced that I found the information because I was rested and allowed myself to take some downtime when I needed it. I came back to my projects with a clarity of mind I wouldn’t have had I worked on the project tired, sluggish, and bleary eyed. The rest allowed me to think, ask questions, and plan some research activities. So please, take this as your friendly reminder to allow yourself a little rest and relaxation when necessary. I mean, life can’t all be the fun and games genealogy brings us. If you need to, relax a bit and then come back to the topic excited and willing to get the job done.

It will work wonders. I promise.

Yesterday, I planned to create a genealogy post for my social media feeds. I opened my phone and scrolled to an interesting newspaper headline I gathered about 10 years ago. It reads: Girl, 16, Slugged by Attacker Near Home [1]. I will drop a photo below.

The article centered on the night my dad’s aunt Eleanor was attacked near her Oakland, California home. Short, easy to read, and interesting, I decided to share the article with my friends and family.

But one thing held me back—I wanted a better image of the article for the post. Technology has improved in the decade since I originally found the article, so I hopped on Newspaper.com and searched for it again, knowing I should easily find a better image. Not only did I find it, but I found something better. I came across the same story in a different paper. While much of the text reads the same, the second article contained additional headlines and even a photo [2]!

These were new details for me. I greedily snatched the second article so I could post the one with the picture instead.

The entire scenario was that sweet genealogical serendipity that often happens when searching our ancestors. Plus it reminded me of that age old adage—check back later. Experienced researchers will often revisit their searches in various repositories. That’s because record collections are constantly changing, updated, and new materials are added, processed, and made available that weren’t available before. In this instance, I don't know why I didn't find the second article at the same time I found the first. The collections might not have contained that particular newspaper, I might have been searching a different name, who knows? However, I do know that going back again lead me to some important additional details previously unknown to me. 

Besides, in this case the new article was superior. The extra headlines, the photo with Aunt Eleanor looking chic, and even the story came across rather Hollywood to me. It gave the story an additional element of fun. (As far as a story of your family member being attacked by a stranger can be considered "fun.") Plus I loved the slight difference in detail here and there. Overall, I really loved stumbling across the new (to me) article and am happy I went out of my way to find a better image for the first one. It totally made my day.

So please, remember to check back later. You never know what you might find.

• 1.    "Girl, 16, Slugged by Attacker Near Home," The Oakland Tribune (Oakland, California), p. 3, col. 7. 1 June 1936. Newspapers.com. (https://www.newspapers.com/image/128119289/ : accessed 7 July 2025).  
• 2.    "Mystery Attacker Slugs Oakland Girl," The San Francisco Examiner (San Francisco, California), p. 15. 1 June 1936. Newspapers.com. (https://www.newspapers.com/image/457843386/ : accessed 7 July 2025).  

The 4^th of July is this week, and my thoughts have turned to my family who have served in the armed forces. Not just the Revolutionary War, but other conflicts as well. They’ve also turned to those family members who served in times of peace.

Most prominently, I’ve thought of my grandfather, who served in World War II. And though I have so many more questions about him than I will ever have answers, today I’d like to share a small discovery I made about Warren Hoover, my great granduncle. Warren was my grandfather’s uncle, and he served our nation during the First World War.

One day I was searching the local papers of the small Missouri town where my grandfather was born. I was hoping to find a birth announcement or some other mention of the family. Instead, I found a treasure trove of letters from Warren to my great-great grandmother. He wrote these letters home from France, where he was stationed during much of the conflict.

There are so many entries in those papers. Week after week they published his letters home. It’s amazing how much I’ve learned by reading these gems. Sometimes I’m struck by the things Warren says, but at other times I wonder at the things he doesn’t say.

If you want to read one of his letters, I’ve included one here for your perusal below [1].

I’m not here today to recount any specifics of Warren’s story, but rather to encourage those who are searching for family with military service to not only search for their ancestors in military records, but in letters, journal entries, newspapers and more. These are great sources to find mentions of those who have gone before.

I also want to say that if you don’t find any specific hits on your ancestor, don’t be afraid to read the local paper of where your ancestor lived at the time of these events. You’ll find yourself learning more about the conditions of life surrounding your ancestors’ time and place and feel more of a connection with them.

For me, these kinds of nuggets have done just that—helped me to view the world from a different perspective and to maybe learn what holidays like the 4^th might have meant to them, for good or for bad. Personally, I’m a fan of the 4^th of July and this weekend, I hope those of you who are celebrating will enjoy your holiday safely. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find some cool stories about your family too.

1.    “Monett Soldier Boy Receives Foreign Medal,” The Monett Times, (Monett, Missouri), p. 3, col. 1. 5 April 1918. Newspapers.com. (https://www.newspapers.com/image/174383191/ : accessed 1 July 2025).

You know, with all my talk about ax murderers and rat poison the last couple of weeks, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were scared to get involved with genealogy. But all jokes aside, I know plenty of people are scared they might uncover a family secret that upsets the balance of their current family dynamic.

It is a very real possibility.

If you research your family, you very well could uncover an extramarital affair, a secret identity, or you might even find out that one of your siblings isn’t your blood kin after all. There are other possibilities too.

Yesterday, I took my children to the public library. As it tends to happen, I got caught up talking to a lady about genealogy shortly after we arrived. She told me she was scared to start searching for her family because she was sure she would find out some nefarious family secret. Especially one she didn’t want to know.

At the same time, she told me she wished she knew more about her parents, both of whom have passed. In that moment, standing in the library with all kinds of folks milling about, I wanted to tell her that she would find small nuggets of priceless information about her parents and family if she would only start the search. I wanted to tell her that she would feel closer to her parents and grandparents and that it would be a meaningful experience. I wanted to tell her how much fun she would have and how many new friends she would find and cousins she would discover.

Unfortunately, we were interrupted. I didn’t get the chance to tell her any of that.

I’ve already resolved to tell her how amazing genealogy can be, and I will the next time I visit her branch. I’ve already resolved to tell her that ax murderers, rat poison, and family secrets aside, there’s not really anything to be afraid of when searching for your ancestors.

I’ve resolved to tell her that despite my jokes, if she takes the first step, she’ll soon find herself on a truly profound and rewarding journey. If you’ve been on your path for a while now. Keep it up. Share your stories with us. If you’re new, then please, keep at it. Learn new things and discover all the wonder you can find in this amazing field.

Until next time . . . Don’t be afraid to start. Jump in and experience all the wonders of genealogy.

Last Week, I confessed that I don't always talk ax murders and murderers. This is true. 

Because sometimes I talk about poison too. 

So, I think I will drop this little nugget right here. [1]

And while I am at it, this little newspaper article sent me down the rabbit hole, where I found a lot of other records about this case. Or more specifically, records about Mark Curry, who is a distant uncle to me. (I'm too lazy to count the generations for this short post.)

Like it would for a lot of people studying their family, this story caught my attention. It caught my attention enough to keep digging. In fact, that digging yielded enough records and stories that I might have enough about Mark Curry to write a book. Okay, maybe not a book, but at least a pamphlet. 

But the pamphlet isn't the point. I am just here to show you--I don't always talk ax murders and murderers, sometimes I talk poison too. 

P. S. if you're interested in your family, your family's stories, or doing genealogy research, please come join us here in the Mississippi Genealogical Society. We're a much safer bunch than some of our stories might suggest. 

1. "Death by Suicide," Cassville Republican (Cassville, Missouri), p. 4, col. 3. 23 February 1893. Newspapers.com. (https://www.newspapers.com/image/334977025/ : accessed 17 June 2025). 

I don't always talk ax murders and murderers, but when I do, genealogy is involved. Let me explain, lest you think me crazy. Recently a friend took me to lunch for my birthday. During the course of our meal, I recounted a family history project I am working on involving a bank robbery. 

When I was done spouting the family tale, he said, "Cool. My introduction to family history was when my mom sent me journal entries about a relative. Some guy broke into his house, grabbed a hatchet and attacked his wife. She survived, but one of their children died. Then he followed the ax guy and shot him. Apparently the authorities just said," and waved his hand to show me the authorities let his ancestor off scot-free. 

Later, after lunch, and being a fan of research, I looked it up. Here's a photo of one newspaper entry about the event. [1] I found a few others. Chatted with my friend again and he told me he likes to see genealogical photos of the inmates in prison. 

This kind of conversation and stories are the reason why I gravitated to genealogy in the first place--to learn the sordid history and drama of my family's past. Just kidding. I like to know about my ancestors and their stories. The tales don't always have to be about ax murders and murderers. They could be about rat poison . . . oops, that's an entirely different story.

What I meant to say is that the stories don't have to be about the sordid and dramatic tales people went through. They could be heroic, or even downright domestic and boring. Anything to give me a glimpse into the lives of our ancestors. 

So, if you like swapping stories about bank robberies, ax murders, and rat poison, while at the same time outing your ancestors in the process, come join us at the Mississippi Genealogical Society. We'd love to get to know you.

And not in some creepy ax murderer kind of way. 

Sources:

1. "Speedy Justice," The Deseret News (Salt Lake City), p. 8, col. 2. 7 April 1869. digitalnewspapers.org (https://newspapers.lib.utah.edu/ark:/87278/s66t1g52 : accessed 10 June 2025).