While thinking about the upcoming birth of my first grandchild, who is due in May or June, I started thinking about various people who have come before me.
My own father, who I hadn’t seen since 1966, was not much of a family man. He drank, and he had a fondness for women. He had a total of nine children at last count, through five different women. He married four times but only had children (five) with the first two wives. I was his second child. His other four children were born out of wedlock… but that wasn’t their fault. In fact, the four who still live in Venezuela have grown up to become intelligent, exceptionally talented adults. One is a law school graduate who is currently serving as a nun. Another has a civil engineering degree. There is also a bank auditor who plays in a pop-rock band and another who is a classical guitarist and pianist and operates his own business.
My father’s father was a fine man who at one time served as the mayor of Pomona, Calif. He was known for his honesty and integrity from an early age, and actually got a patent on an invention.
His father – my great-grandfather, Edwin Burwick (pictured here with my mother, Dorris) – was a rather eccentric man, with a fondness for beer. On Christmas Day, 1940, Edwin wrote a letter to the man who had just married his daughter, Iva. In the letter, he told his new son-in-law, Lawrence, that he might want to know a little Burwick history. Edwin then proceeded to tell Lawrence about two brothers who came from Wales and settled in Ohio. Edwin’s father, William, was the son of one of the pioneering brothers.
“He finally drifted to Missouri in time to get in the Civil War and joined the 21st Missouri Infantry volunteers at the close of the war. He came back to a Missouri girl (Louisa Carter Creason). I don’t know for sure, but I think she went barefooted most of the time,” the letter stated. Edwin said he himself was born on a 160-acre tract of barren Kansas prairie that his father was given “for being a good soldier.” Edwin’s Scottish grandmother came to live with them at that time.
“She was a most remarkable woman and a great gardener. She would stroll over those prairies for days gathering roots and herbs, and when anyone got sick she would make some tea from this stuff. Anyway, we got well. She lived to be 90 years old, raising her own garden the summer before she died, including her private blend of smoking tobacco.”
Edwin’s father, William, traded his prairie land for a general store in Wilmington, Kansas, expanding to Osage City where he did a good business with coal miners until a strike began.
“Pa was a big-hearted guy like all the Burwicks, but he soon ran out of groceries and had no money to buy any more. Dead broke and no place to go. Suffering from ailments contracted in the service, Pa was unable to work.”
Edwin said his father was a very honest, conscientious and religious man. He described his mother as “opposed to everything what is, which is another trait of the Burwicks.”
Edwin’s mother, Louisa Carter Creason, came from a farm in Galena, Kansas. His Grandmother Creason was an English woman who came to Kansas from North Carolina, by way of Kentucky.
“She would tell us kids about being in the fort with Daniel Boone, and all those Indians battles and how babies didn’t cry in the dark,” Edwin wrote. “She told us about our Grandfather Creason, a red-heeled Irishman and the best man that ever lived. She said he treated her as though she was the Queen of England. It seems he was some kind of contractor for the way she talked. He brought home the bacon.”
Edwin related how Grandfather Creason tended to throw things whenever he got drunk.
“Sometimes he would break every dish on the place, and the next day go to town and buy a complete new outfit. So the mark of my Irish grandfather is deeply imprinted in the Burwick family.”
Although growing up poor, Edwin said his family got by. He went to night school and worked in a machine shop to help support his family until his father died.
“Went out with the boys and had a few fights (but not me). I was too busy drinking, no time to fight. Finally I met a Pennsylvania Dutch girl (Louisa Ellen Spencer). Her ancestors were Quakers (See March 7 entry).
“Well, after lying to her for three years, she finally said all right so we got married and here came the babies… Everything was all right with me until she gave birth to a little dwarf girl baby. My first thought was to drown her in the fish pond, but we didn’t have no fish pond and it was too far to the river, and before I could go to the river with her she opened her eyes and gave me that smile. So I said let’s keep her, and sometimes I think we done the right thing.
“Iva and I have had great times together. I hope you and her have had great times together. We hear what others don’t hear. We see what others don’t see.”
Signed, “Dad”
I get the feeling the Burwick family, at least on the male side, tends to alternate between good, honest men and those with a tendency to drink and carouse. I don’t know if that means I’m one of those good men that crops up every other generation. I guess history will show…
My own father, who I hadn’t seen since 1966, was not much of a family man. He drank, and he had a fondness for women. He had a total of nine children at last count, through five different women. He married four times but only had children (five) with the first two wives. I was his second child. His other four children were born out of wedlock… but that wasn’t their fault. In fact, the four who still live in Venezuela have grown up to become intelligent, exceptionally talented adults. One is a law school graduate who is currently serving as a nun. Another has a civil engineering degree. There is also a bank auditor who plays in a pop-rock band and another who is a classical guitarist and pianist and operates his own business.
My father’s father was a fine man who at one time served as the mayor of Pomona, Calif. He was known for his honesty and integrity from an early age, and actually got a patent on an invention.
His father – my great-grandfather, Edwin Burwick (pictured here with my mother, Dorris) – was a rather eccentric man, with a fondness for beer. On Christmas Day, 1940, Edwin wrote a letter to the man who had just married his daughter, Iva. In the letter, he told his new son-in-law, Lawrence, that he might want to know a little Burwick history. Edwin then proceeded to tell Lawrence about two brothers who came from Wales and settled in Ohio. Edwin’s father, William, was the son of one of the pioneering brothers.
“He finally drifted to Missouri in time to get in the Civil War and joined the 21st Missouri Infantry volunteers at the close of the war. He came back to a Missouri girl (Louisa Carter Creason). I don’t know for sure, but I think she went barefooted most of the time,” the letter stated. Edwin said he himself was born on a 160-acre tract of barren Kansas prairie that his father was given “for being a good soldier.” Edwin’s Scottish grandmother came to live with them at that time.
“She was a most remarkable woman and a great gardener. She would stroll over those prairies for days gathering roots and herbs, and when anyone got sick she would make some tea from this stuff. Anyway, we got well. She lived to be 90 years old, raising her own garden the summer before she died, including her private blend of smoking tobacco.”
Edwin’s father, William, traded his prairie land for a general store in Wilmington, Kansas, expanding to Osage City where he did a good business with coal miners until a strike began.
“Pa was a big-hearted guy like all the Burwicks, but he soon ran out of groceries and had no money to buy any more. Dead broke and no place to go. Suffering from ailments contracted in the service, Pa was unable to work.”
Edwin said his father was a very honest, conscientious and religious man. He described his mother as “opposed to everything what is, which is another trait of the Burwicks.”
Edwin’s mother, Louisa Carter Creason, came from a farm in Galena, Kansas. His Grandmother Creason was an English woman who came to Kansas from North Carolina, by way of Kentucky.
“She would tell us kids about being in the fort with Daniel Boone, and all those Indians battles and how babies didn’t cry in the dark,” Edwin wrote. “She told us about our Grandfather Creason, a red-heeled Irishman and the best man that ever lived. She said he treated her as though she was the Queen of England. It seems he was some kind of contractor for the way she talked. He brought home the bacon.”
Edwin related how Grandfather Creason tended to throw things whenever he got drunk.
“Sometimes he would break every dish on the place, and the next day go to town and buy a complete new outfit. So the mark of my Irish grandfather is deeply imprinted in the Burwick family.”
Although growing up poor, Edwin said his family got by. He went to night school and worked in a machine shop to help support his family until his father died.
“Went out with the boys and had a few fights (but not me). I was too busy drinking, no time to fight. Finally I met a Pennsylvania Dutch girl (Louisa Ellen Spencer). Her ancestors were Quakers (See March 7 entry).
“Well, after lying to her for three years, she finally said all right so we got married and here came the babies… Everything was all right with me until she gave birth to a little dwarf girl baby. My first thought was to drown her in the fish pond, but we didn’t have no fish pond and it was too far to the river, and before I could go to the river with her she opened her eyes and gave me that smile. So I said let’s keep her, and sometimes I think we done the right thing.
“Iva and I have had great times together. I hope you and her have had great times together. We hear what others don’t hear. We see what others don’t see.”
Signed, “Dad”
I get the feeling the Burwick family, at least on the male side, tends to alternate between good, honest men and those with a tendency to drink and carouse. I don’t know if that means I’m one of those good men that crops up every other generation. I guess history will show…
I love to read about family history too. I just recently did our family tree..got back to the late 1500's. My great grandfather was a little irishman and my great grandmother was full blooded Sioux Indian...it's no wonder I so mixed up! ha!! Love reading your writing!
ReplyDeleteI agree Tracy. Family history is fascinating. My paternal grandfather lied about his age when he emigrated to America. He'd never tell us why, but we gather from the circumstances that he was trying to avoid getting drafted into the white army during the Russian revolution.
ReplyDeleteOn my mother's side, my grandmother's maiden name was Vanderbilt. As in, the wealthy railroad barren Vanderbilt. Grandma use to refer to us as the little twig off the big tree.
Don't worry Steve. You're definitely on the good side. :)
ReplyDeleteI hope I am on the good side too!
ReplyDelete