Several years ago, the New York Times ran a story about the New York Public Library's telephone reference service. Titled "Library Phone Answerers Survive the Internet," the piece chronicled the continued relevance of NYPL's team of ten who staff the telref desk. Here at the Tennessee State Library and Archives, we offer a similar service, although our calls are not limited to five minutes, and we are usually happy to call patrons back after checking printed sources. We have one professional librarian dedicated to the telephone reference desk each weekday from 8:00 a.m. to 4:30 p.m.
One of the issues discussed in the Times article is that the general public does not have access to, or does not have the knowledge of, many online resources:
"There are "dark areas" on the Internet, Mr. Duguid [adjunct professor at the School of Information at the University of California at Berkeley] said, vast databases that are not scanned by search engines like Google...'If you have a good search question, Google is great for answering it,' Mr. Duguid said. 'If you don't have a good question, you will get 17 million responses and you will wish you hadn't asked.' "
This issue arose twice this morning as I manned the telephone reference desk here at TSLA. My first call was from a patron searching for her daughter's 1956 death certificate. Unable to visit Nashville to print off the record, and perhaps unable to provide the necessary $20.00 research fee, I was able to direct her to the Shelby County Register of Deeds website. This excellent site contains several state-wide indexes to Tennessee vital records. Even more exciting, the site includes digitized images of many original Shelby County documents. The patron's daughter's death certificate was one of these. I was able to email the patron a link to the website; I also sent her a pdf attachment of her daughter's death certificate. This service was completely free of charge.
My next call came from a patron wishing to lease retail space in Sumner County. She knew the address of the property she had in mind, but needed the name and contact information of the owner. Using the State of Tennessee Comptroller of the Treasury's Real Estate Assessment Data website, I provided the requested information, satisfying another patron with a timely and accurate answer.
Neither of these individuals were aware of the deep resources available online, although anyone with an Internet hookup could access this information. Best of all, our services are free--or, perhaps, prepaid, since all Tennessee residents support our service with their tax dollars.
Telephone reference at the Tennessee State Library and Archives can be reached at 615.741.2764.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
My Ancestor was a Cherokee Princess Who Rode with Forrest
Though I've only been involved with genealogical research for about 11 months, I've already become familiar with some recurring myths that seem to be rampant within this hobby.
The most common myth seems to be that one's ancestor was a Cherokee princess, and usually the person speaking wants to trace his or her lineage back to said royalty. This is unfortunate on two levels: first, conducting any Native American genealogical research is quite difficult, and I am far from mastering that pursuit; and second, the Cherokee people simply did not have princesses (or kings or queens, for that matter).
This subject is explored quite well on this site; the author does a great job of explaining "why your great-grandmother wasn't a Cherokee princess," and what other factors could provide clues as to how that myth began. But if you're simply looking for information about ancestors who possibly have Cherokee blood, you might consult Cherokee Roots or the nine volumes of Cherokee By Blood, which are shelved in the South Reading Room.
Then there's the claim that an ancestor "rode with Forrest" or "rode with [Stonewall] Jackson" or "rode with Lee" and the subsequent question: "How can I prove this?"
Short answer is that you're probably not going to be able to.
However, there is hope on this one. I suggest starting by finding out where your ancestor served (oh, for the Union? instant disqualification--the three generals above were Confederate).
Anyway, here's an example. Tennesseans in the Civil War will tell us what regiment and company, etc., your ancestor served in, and then we can look up a history of that particular outfit. The official histories of each regiment are printed in The War of the Rebellion: A Compilation of the Official Records of the Union and Confederate Armies. No, this source is not going to tell you that your ancestor one day rode with General Fillintheblank, but it will give you an idea of what battles your ancestor was involved with, and what officers were in the vicinity.
I've done a little research and found out that my ancestor, Abner Hanner, fought for the North in the Battle of Shiloh, where General Grant led the Union army. If I didn't live in the South, I might start bragging that my great-great-grandfather rode with Grant. But I don't think that's a good idea here in Nashville.
The most common myth seems to be that one's ancestor was a Cherokee princess, and usually the person speaking wants to trace his or her lineage back to said royalty. This is unfortunate on two levels: first, conducting any Native American genealogical research is quite difficult, and I am far from mastering that pursuit; and second, the Cherokee people simply did not have princesses (or kings or queens, for that matter).
This subject is explored quite well on this site; the author does a great job of explaining "why your great-grandmother wasn't a Cherokee princess," and what other factors could provide clues as to how that myth began. But if you're simply looking for information about ancestors who possibly have Cherokee blood, you might consult Cherokee Roots or the nine volumes of Cherokee By Blood, which are shelved in the South Reading Room.
Then there's the claim that an ancestor "rode with Forrest" or "rode with [Stonewall] Jackson" or "rode with Lee" and the subsequent question: "How can I prove this?"
Short answer is that you're probably not going to be able to.
However, there is hope on this one. I suggest starting by finding out where your ancestor served (oh, for the Union? instant disqualification--the three generals above were Confederate).
Anyway, here's an example. Tennesseans in the Civil War will tell us what regiment and company, etc., your ancestor served in, and then we can look up a history of that particular outfit. The official histories of each regiment are printed in The War of the Rebellion: A Compilation of the Official Records of the Union and Confederate Armies. No, this source is not going to tell you that your ancestor one day rode with General Fillintheblank, but it will give you an idea of what battles your ancestor was involved with, and what officers were in the vicinity.
I've done a little research and found out that my ancestor, Abner Hanner, fought for the North in the Battle of Shiloh, where General Grant led the Union army. If I didn't live in the South, I might start bragging that my great-great-grandfather rode with Grant. But I don't think that's a good idea here in Nashville.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Feather Crowns
For a long time, I've been fascinated by the culture and history of Southern Appalachia. My hometown of Nashville is not located in the region, but much of the state of Tennessee is. I often enjoyed exploring rural areas of East Tennessee during the four years I spent in Knoxville (which is one of the larger metropolitan areas in the Appalachian region).
Just north of Knoxville on Interstate 75, there's a wonderful trove of all things Appalachia called, appropriately, the Museum of Appalachia. John Rice Irwin, the museum's founder, has done a remarkable job of compiling a massive collection of objects that he displays in the facility's "Appalachian Hall of Fame."
I discovered the feather crown display on my first visit to the museum. I was instantly intrigued.
Mr. Irwin has dedicated a small exhibit area on the second floor of the Hall of Fame to the topic of death and dying in Appalachia. Within this dreary display are the glass cases holding rare "death crowns," or feather crowns. It's difficult to describe these objects, but they're basically small discs of feathers whirled tightly together in a neatly ordered fashion (almost like a crop circle of feathers). According to Appalachian legend, these whorls of feathers were often found in the pillows of the recently deceased. Of course, most pillows were once composed of soft down feathers, so perhaps it was once common to find these amazing objects.
Legend says that feather crowns were only found in the pillows of the dead whose souls had reached heaven; the unfortunate dead folks whose pillows contained no feather crowns were presumed to be in a far less pleasing post-life environment.
Unfortunately, there's precious little information about feather crowns--and the superstitions surrounding them--on the Internet. A cursory Google search turns up a single page devoted to the phenomena. To see feather crowns in person, you'll probably have to go visit the nice people at the Museum of Appalachia.
Just north of Knoxville on Interstate 75, there's a wonderful trove of all things Appalachia called, appropriately, the Museum of Appalachia. John Rice Irwin, the museum's founder, has done a remarkable job of compiling a massive collection of objects that he displays in the facility's "Appalachian Hall of Fame."
I discovered the feather crown display on my first visit to the museum. I was instantly intrigued.
Mr. Irwin has dedicated a small exhibit area on the second floor of the Hall of Fame to the topic of death and dying in Appalachia. Within this dreary display are the glass cases holding rare "death crowns," or feather crowns. It's difficult to describe these objects, but they're basically small discs of feathers whirled tightly together in a neatly ordered fashion (almost like a crop circle of feathers). According to Appalachian legend, these whorls of feathers were often found in the pillows of the recently deceased. Of course, most pillows were once composed of soft down feathers, so perhaps it was once common to find these amazing objects.
Legend says that feather crowns were only found in the pillows of the dead whose souls had reached heaven; the unfortunate dead folks whose pillows contained no feather crowns were presumed to be in a far less pleasing post-life environment.
Unfortunately, there's precious little information about feather crowns--and the superstitions surrounding them--on the Internet. A cursory Google search turns up a single page devoted to the phenomena. To see feather crowns in person, you'll probably have to go visit the nice people at the Museum of Appalachia.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Tennessee: Where "The 'Possums Hang Like Sugar Lumps of Glory Hallelujah"
Back in 1897, the great state of Tennessee jumped on the World's Fair bandwagon and decided to throw itself a great big 6-month-long party in Nashville. The 1897 fair was called the Tennessee Centennial Exposition, although the state's centennial had actually occurred the previous year. (Images from the Centennial Expo will soon be posted on TeVA, the Tennessee State Library's digital archive.)
Many other cities and states joined in the party by hosting special days honoring themselves. October 11 and 12 were Brooklyn and New York State Day, respectively, and a fancy entourage of New Yorkers trekked down to the sleepy town of Nashville for those two days' events.
At that time, Brooklyn had just a little while longer to be a city in its own right before being encapsulated into the New York City metropolis, a merger that was to take place shortly after the Tennessee Centennial Expo ended. Thus it was with great vigor that the keynote speaker of Brooklyn Day, St. Clair McKelway, lamented his city's imminent demotion to "borough" status; perhaps he realized Brooklyn would forever be eclipsed by its tonier neighbor Manhattan:
"We are here on parole, but under sentence of municipal death...Brooklyn is to become a leaven hidden in four borough measures of metropolitan meal, until the whole be leavened."
Mr. McKelway used his somber speech as a warning to Nashville against "municipal merger," an option that Music City did in fact approve in the 1960's to great success.
Anyway, Mr. McKelway's stern words at the lectern provide a stark contrast to the theme chosen by Tennessee's governor, who spoke the following day in honor of New York State. Governor Robert Love Taylor decided to focus his oration on the perceived difference in work ethic and general productivity between New Yorkers and Tennesseans:
"It is believed by many of our brethren of the North that our people here in the South are not as vigorous as we should be, that we lack the snap and push necessary for the quick and permanent growth and development of our country."
Ironically, these words were spoken by the governor of a state that could not manage to throw its own centennial party in the correct year. But his choicest words are below (delivered, I'm sure, with lots of "snap and push"):
"[Northerners] forget that our persimmon trees yield tons of persimmons per annum, and that the 'possums hang like sugar lumps of glory hallelujah from the bending limbs of the aforesaid and the same. They forget that we can only labor half the time and rest the other half and live better and happier than any other people on the face of the earth."
I guess that showed those uppity New Yorkers. Our possums are fat, we're lazy, and we're darn happy bout it.
Welcome to Nashville, y'all.
Many other cities and states joined in the party by hosting special days honoring themselves. October 11 and 12 were Brooklyn and New York State Day, respectively, and a fancy entourage of New Yorkers trekked down to the sleepy town of Nashville for those two days' events.
At that time, Brooklyn had just a little while longer to be a city in its own right before being encapsulated into the New York City metropolis, a merger that was to take place shortly after the Tennessee Centennial Expo ended. Thus it was with great vigor that the keynote speaker of Brooklyn Day, St. Clair McKelway, lamented his city's imminent demotion to "borough" status; perhaps he realized Brooklyn would forever be eclipsed by its tonier neighbor Manhattan:
"We are here on parole, but under sentence of municipal death...Brooklyn is to become a leaven hidden in four borough measures of metropolitan meal, until the whole be leavened."
Mr. McKelway used his somber speech as a warning to Nashville against "municipal merger," an option that Music City did in fact approve in the 1960's to great success.
Anyway, Mr. McKelway's stern words at the lectern provide a stark contrast to the theme chosen by Tennessee's governor, who spoke the following day in honor of New York State. Governor Robert Love Taylor decided to focus his oration on the perceived difference in work ethic and general productivity between New Yorkers and Tennesseans:
"It is believed by many of our brethren of the North that our people here in the South are not as vigorous as we should be, that we lack the snap and push necessary for the quick and permanent growth and development of our country."
Ironically, these words were spoken by the governor of a state that could not manage to throw its own centennial party in the correct year. But his choicest words are below (delivered, I'm sure, with lots of "snap and push"):
"[Northerners] forget that our persimmon trees yield tons of persimmons per annum, and that the 'possums hang like sugar lumps of glory hallelujah from the bending limbs of the aforesaid and the same. They forget that we can only labor half the time and rest the other half and live better and happier than any other people on the face of the earth."
I guess that showed those uppity New Yorkers. Our possums are fat, we're lazy, and we're darn happy bout it.
Welcome to Nashville, y'all.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Thankfull Taylor
Vertical files are some of the most often requested materials in the South Reading Room. One of my colleagues does a superb job of compiling newspaper clippings, unpublished research material, and all sorts of other ephemera to include in the hundreds of files that we maintain on a myriad of subjects and surnames.
Recently, a patron requested to view the Taylor file. While I was on 5 pulling the folder for that surname, I noticed a nearby folder with the heading "Thankfull Taylor." Out of curiosity, I pulled Miss Taylor's file to explore while the patron studied the folder on the Taylor surname.
Turns out Miss Thankfull Taylor was a young peasant woman in Rutherford County in the 1870's who suffered nightly--over the course of several years--from hideous convulsions and excruciating pain in her abdomen. A series of doctors was consulted to remedy Thankfull's woes, but none could quite figure out what ailed her. According to her mother, a dark object rose from Thankfull's throat during her worst fits, which usually occurred late at night.
Finally, a particularly indefatigable doctor instructed Thankfull's mother to grab hold of this dark object when next it reared its head in the girl's mouth. When this occurred, the mother used her fingers to hold the squirming object and sent for the doctor--stat! The doctor arrived and, with the mother's assistance, succeeded in extracting a 23-inch water snake from Thankfull's open mouth. The girl was immediately relieved of her pains and went on to live an uneventful life. Her name can be seen on the 1880 Federal census for Rutherford County. You can read more about Thankfull's story--which appeared in a Tennessean Magazine story over half a century ago--if you request her vertical file at the South Reading Room reference desk.
Discoveries like this one--whether factual snippets from history or sketchy yarns from outlying counties--help make days in the South Reading Room much more interesting.
Recently, a patron requested to view the Taylor file. While I was on 5 pulling the folder for that surname, I noticed a nearby folder with the heading "Thankfull Taylor." Out of curiosity, I pulled Miss Taylor's file to explore while the patron studied the folder on the Taylor surname.
Turns out Miss Thankfull Taylor was a young peasant woman in Rutherford County in the 1870's who suffered nightly--over the course of several years--from hideous convulsions and excruciating pain in her abdomen. A series of doctors was consulted to remedy Thankfull's woes, but none could quite figure out what ailed her. According to her mother, a dark object rose from Thankfull's throat during her worst fits, which usually occurred late at night.
Finally, a particularly indefatigable doctor instructed Thankfull's mother to grab hold of this dark object when next it reared its head in the girl's mouth. When this occurred, the mother used her fingers to hold the squirming object and sent for the doctor--stat! The doctor arrived and, with the mother's assistance, succeeded in extracting a 23-inch water snake from Thankfull's open mouth. The girl was immediately relieved of her pains and went on to live an uneventful life. Her name can be seen on the 1880 Federal census for Rutherford County. You can read more about Thankfull's story--which appeared in a Tennessean Magazine story over half a century ago--if you request her vertical file at the South Reading Room reference desk.
Discoveries like this one--whether factual snippets from history or sketchy yarns from outlying counties--help make days in the South Reading Room much more interesting.
Stepping into the 21st Century
We don't have Wi-Fi yet, but now the South Reading Room has its own blog.
Every afternoon, I work in the main reading room at the Tennessee State Library and Archives. The South Reading Room is ground zero for genealogists and other researchers who visit TSLA. We're the jumping-off point for those who later browse microfilm or head back to the Manuscripts Department to peruse primary documents.
I'll use this forum to showcase some of the more interesting things I encounter during my days at the reference desk.
Every afternoon, I work in the main reading room at the Tennessee State Library and Archives. The South Reading Room is ground zero for genealogists and other researchers who visit TSLA. We're the jumping-off point for those who later browse microfilm or head back to the Manuscripts Department to peruse primary documents.
I'll use this forum to showcase some of the more interesting things I encounter during my days at the reference desk.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)