All posts by Hugh D Byrne

Hugh D Byrne

About Hugh D Byrne

Genealogy is a hobby, and this site is primarily a vehicle for publishing my family's research (along with occasional random thoughts on other topics). I enjoy hearing from others researching related lines, and site feedback/suggestions are always welcomed and appreciated.

Visualizing my family’s migration

Genealogy applications and software have gotten a little boring lately.  With all the fascinating technologies surrounding data visualization, machine learning, and otherwise, most people choose the path of least resistance and hand their data over to  And while Ancestry has some interesting visualizations for family trees and relationships, the closed-platform nature of it pretty much places users at the mercy of whatever Ancestry’s engineers think is a compelling way to display data.

I’ve been watching applications on Tableau’s public site for some time, and really like the free visualization tools it provides for experimenting and sharing.  My first try at visualizing  family data with Tableau is to track the growth and migration of my family lines over the past ~500 years.  It’s a pretty straightforward set of inputs: Births, deaths, and other life events along with their locations in longitude and latitude.

You can see the results below, or on the Tableau site.  It shows the growth and migration of family lines from 16th century England to around the world today.  For simplicity, I’ve not added a filter to look by surname, but that may be a future enhancement.

Blossoming trees

Welcoming the 1% (who aren’t trying to hack this site)

Reviewing the traffic stats for this site is like taking a trip around the world.  From Iran to Russia, and all over Asia, visitors flow in from around the globe.  What are they looking for?  A review of security logs indicates roughly 99% are looking for holes to hack and take control of my humble little site.

And lately they’ve succeeded.  Much to my irritation, a hacker recently wrested control, took down the site, and replaced it with a shopping site for Japanese sportswear and industrial goods.  Actually, it was more a vehicle for some black hat SEO to try and build link juice for Rakuten.  Having regained control and restored the old pages, I’ve been sensitized to the modern reality that every site is worth hacking, and every site will be hacked, or at least be attacked.  Basic security tools have given way to more elaborate protections, which only seem to increase the frequency and aggressiveness of attacks.

The world of online genealogy has changed quite a bit in the 11 years this site has been live.  Ancestry has led the way in bringing personal histories and family trees online for others to see and reference, but I find their approach to content ownership and privacy problematic.  More so even than Facebook or LinkedIn, Ancestry takes the work and content created by others, claims it as their own, and aggressively monetizes it.  This may be a good business model, but I choose not to support that beyond a basic level of participation.

What’s next on the technology horizon?  The deeper integration of DNA data and research is accelerating the disruption of traditional research tools, and it’s only a matter of time before a platform emerges that effectively merges modern and classic genealogical data.

I’m keeping my eyes open for a new vehicle for cataloging and displaying genealogical data and biographical content.  But until then, I’ll continue to welcome traffic from around the globe, particularly the 1% comprised distant relations and family researchers.

Suspicious minds and questionable family lines

Every family has secrets. Lots of them. Entire lifetimes can be colored by efforts to keep criminal records a secret, hide out of wedlock births, or bury marriages that ended unhappily. And in some cases, those secrets are maintained by subsequent generations, with only the occasional whisper between those in the know, until anyone and everyone who might have some inside knowledge has passed away.

My third great grandparents, Francis Austin and Eleanor Whitten, surely had many secrets. They had a rough life, and moved at least a half-dozen times between 1820 and 1855, migrating west from Vermont to New York, Indiana, and, finally, Illinois. Along the way they had at least 13 children.

George Washington Austin, house on 4th Street, Hollister, CA, early 1920s

George Austin early 1920s

Or did they?

My gr-gr-grandfather, George Washington Austin, was born in 1848, the youngest of Francis & Eleanor’s 13 children to survive past childbirth. But if Eleanor and Francis really were the parents, Eleanor would have been 47, and the next youngest child would have been born more than five years earlier. After giving birth to at least 12 other children, while it’s not impossible George could be Eleanor’s son, it does seem questionable.

George Austin clearly resembles his siblings. And as the 1850 census shows him as a member of the household, there’s nothing to indicate he was anything but a member of the family from day one. Is it possible George’s mother might actually be one of his older sisters?

George Austin and Brother_edited-1

George Austin and Harrison Austin

Of Francis & Eleanor’s 13 children, six were girls. Of those who would have been of age, only one, Susan, was living in the household at the time George was born. That she would have been 15 at the time could be further grounds for speculation.

Clearly, some more research is needed. By the 1860 census, Susan is nowhere to be found, and I’ve not been able to locate any record of marriage or death. And if George wasn’t a son of Francis and Eleanor, there was never any rumor or innuendo mentioned by his granddaughter (my grandmother, Vivian Ebi).

As the generations pass by, family secrets can turn into family mysteries. This certainly wouldn’t be the first case of a questionable family lineage, but hopefully new facts will emerge in the future to help better understand the real story.

Genealogical sources are most reliable when you avoid shortcuts

Why to avoid shortcuts with sources

Ah, the siren song of shortcuts. Who can argue with wanting a faster way to get from Point A to Point B? Shortcuts shave effort, improve efficiency, and enable us to get more done in less time. They make life so much easier.

Until they don’t.

Recently I’ve been haunted by the shortcuts I took during my early days of genealogical research. These ghosts turn up most often in the oldest data in my files, and typically involve incomplete genealogical sources, facts presented with no supporting source whatsoever. While today I scratch my head and wonder what I was thinking at the time, the simple truth is in my early days of research, the thrill of discovering new information and desire to go further faster outweighed the sense that proper documentation might hold some future value.

One of my most frequent shortcut offenses during my earlier days was the liberal use OneWorldTree from OneWorldTree bills itself as “the world’s community tree.” That’s a much better tagline than “genealogy’s lowest common denominator”, but the latter statement is closer to reality. An aggregation of thousands of personal family trees all stitched together into one giant database, much of what’s in OneWorldTree lacks any verifiable source data, and some items presented as fact amount to little more than hearsay. While the database contains some great info that can give direction for further research, any item I come across in my file solely sourced from OneWorldTree is immediately suspect.

Dealing with the holes in my older data has been an ongoing challenge, but one I’m gradually managing to address. From the hundreds of facts sourced from OneWorldTree, I’ve managed to whittle it down to a little more than a hundred. And while I’d love to quickly get that number down to zero, sadly there are no shortcuts to doing the job right this time.

A picture of my predecessors (and me)

I’ve been spending more time with a camera this past year, and less time doing genealogy research and website additions. This wasn’t a conscious decision, more a byproduct my professional time in 2013 and 2014 being consumed by development of a new website and CMS for my firm, GreenBiz, making ByrneFamily site additions and enhancements feel more a busman’s holiday. Pouring time into photography was also a great excuse to get outside and see some new parts of the world.

My newfound photo enthusiasm was such that I enrolled in a course at City College of San Francisco, and as part of the curriculum I was recently assigned to do a self-portrait. That gave me the idea to incorporate my longtime interest in genealogy with my budding enthusiasm for photography. Having recently read Christine Kenneally’s terrific The Invisible History of the Human Race, I’ve been contemplating how the lives and stories of my ancestors have shaped my own identity, which in turn sparked the idea for the featured photo, incorporating several dozen of the 1000+ family photos, negatives, and slides that grace/clutter my home office and garage.

The setup was a little challenging, and involved mounting the camera to a ceiling light fixture, spreading the photos across the kitchen floor on a bed of construction paper. More than once our dog, Cogswell, thought it might be nice to come lick my face (as dogs will do) resulting in a scurry to keep him from tramping all over the old photos. My goal for the final product was to present myself as one element in a composite of many identities, a unique entity who’s part of a larger tableau.

Overall, I’m pleased with the result. And while I think it’s a compelling visual, what brings meaning to me is knowing much of the life the stories of each and every individual presented. Their stories have become my story.

Fremont Landing California

Levi Austin’s fleeting wealth quickly washed away

Dead and long forgotten. I have a soft spot for those who led interesting, meaningful lives, but for one reason or another never got much attention from other researchers. Often it’s because they fall into the category of d.s.p. (descessit sine prole; died without issue). With no descendants to carry their stories, they are the cul de sacs in the family neighborhood.

Levi Brown Austin has always been one of my favorite lone twigs on the Austin branch of my tree. And if it wasn’t for him, who knows when or if the rest of my Austin line would have ever made it to California.

Levi Austin circa 1880

Levi Brown Austin

Born in Rochester Vermont in 1819, Levi Austin was the eldest of 13 children in a family that never managed to settle down. The Austins were constantly on the move, relocating from Vermont to New York, Indiana, Ohio, and Iowa, where Levi stayed and worked in the furniture business from 1842-1849. Times were never good for the family, so when news of the California Gold Rush came in 1849, Levi and his brother, Freeman, were quick to pick up and head west along with thousands of other Forty-Niners. Their journey went without incident, and Levi and Freeman arrived in California on August 16, 1849 via the Donner Pass.

Once in California, Levi surprisingly didn’t head straight for the gold fields. Instead, perhaps thinking there were easier ways to get rich than panning for gold, he headed across the Sierra to the town of Fremont. The Fremont in this case was not today’s Bay Area city, but an earlier settlement called Fremont in Yolo County, situated on the west shore of the Sacramento River at the mouth of the Feather River (the photo above is of the former site of the town) . At the time, it was the closest point to the gold fields that could be reached by large boats, and as such was briefly one of the most important ports in California. In Fremont, Levi worked as a carpenter, deputy Sheriff, and recorded the 1850 US Census for the town. In it, he claimed to be one the wealthiest land owners in town, listing property valued at $5000.

Fremont Landing California

What’s left of Fremont, California.

Unfortunately, the good fortunes of Fremont and Levi Austin were short-lived. The winter of 1849-50 washed away most of the town, as well as a sandbar that had once stopped ships from navigating further upriver. The town rebuilt, but having lost its strategic importance to commerce, disappeared in a matter of a few years, with many of the buildings moved to other towns, such as Knight’s Landing. Levi’s land was now all but worthless.

Jane Martin Austin

Jane Martin Austin

In 1851, Levi returned to the gold country, settling near Nevada City, where he tried his hand at strip mining, inn-keeping, and carpentry. There he met and married Jane Martin, a native of Missouri. The couple had at least four children, only one of whom, Annie, survived to adulthood. In 1869, the family packed up and moved to Hollister, CA, where Levi again ran a hotel and worked as a carpenter. His move to Hollister also brought about the migration of my gr-gr-grandparents, George and Annie (Rue) Austin, to California, and their first property in Hollister was purchased from Levi.

Annie Austin

Annie Austin

Levi’s later years were not kind, and he Jane, and Annie lived a hand to mouth existence, living variously in San Juan Batista, Monterey, and finally, Santa Cruz. His occupations included stationer, grocer, and carpentry, but increasingly the family relied on Annie’s income as a school teacher to keep the family afloat. He died in 1897 at age 77, followed in 1904 by Jane, and in 1916 by Annie, who succumbed to cancer at age 56. The family were all buried at the I.O.O.F. cemetery in Hollister, and all must have had wooden or no headstones, as they have not survived to the present.

With no descendants, Levi and his family’s story, though rich and colorful, was largely forgotten. But as a Gold Rush pioneer, and the earliest member of my family to venture to California, he deserves better than to be relegated to the d.s.p. dust bin.

Henry Felix Kloman — to have known good people

Reverend Henry Felix KlomanGathering data online is my primary research activity these days, but there’s something special about holding a historic book, letter or photograph in your hands. This was brought home to me recently when I revisited a stash of letters from my grandparents and great grandparents.  I had glanced at them several years ago, but never read through them, let alone transcribed any.

Among the various old professional and personal letters was a manila envelope with a short note on it, written in my great-grandmother Edna Valentine’s handwriting. It said simply, “I have known good people.” Inside was a collection of letters from family and friends, stretching from 1900 into the 1960s, covering a wide variety of topics.  Reading through them, it was easy to understand why they were special to Edna, for each letter had some unique element that communicated the writer’s humanity and connection with her.  They made for several hours of fascinating reading.

While nearly all of these letters might warrant it’s own essay, one that stands out is from Edna’s brother in-law, Henry “Harry” Felix Kloman, written from the front lines of World War I in November, 1918.  The Reverend Henry Kloman was born in Warrenton, VA, in 1870.  In 1895 he was ordained by the Episcopal church, and in 1900 married Eleanor “Nell” Marshall Trapnell of Charles Town, WV.

By the time the US entered World War I in 1917, Kloman had risen to become dean of the Cathedral in Fargo, ND.  Having also become a military chaplain in 1912, he was called into service in 1918, and was shipped over to France as a major to become chaplain of Mobile Hospital #1.  It’s from here that he wrote to Edna on December 10, 1918, describing what must have been a distressing and horrific scene:

The last month of the war we operated on 1077 cases & I had 227 burials… We were & are yet constantly in wind & rain. We wade in mud, sleep in mud, eat in mud. There is no escape. We were always within range of the enemy guns & frequently shelled & bombed…as I went over the battlefield we saw most awful sights, many of our own boys…were lying unburied where they had fallen two & three weeks before, some bodies only in part & no possible way of identification. I buried all we found.

While Kloman goes on to describe further scenes of battle and death, he does so with no comment about what, if any, emotional toll this is taking on him.  At one point he does say that if he’s going to be in this war, he’s glad to be at the front lines, indicating he was rather alright with the whole thing, or at least wanting to be in a place where he could be of greatest service.

After the war, Kloman returned to Fargo, and then to a number of parishes in the mid-Atlantic region.  He died of a stroke in 1942 at the age of 72, a year after his wife.

You can read the full text of the letter here.


Keziah Whitson Coles’ 1870 photo album brought back to life

There’s a long tradition of crappy photographers in my family. Great grandmother Edna was a pioneer of bad photography with her 1900 box camera mirror photo, presaging the selfie by over a century. Her son, Valentine (Coles), inherited the bad photographer gene, and proceeded to marry my grandmother, who was possibly the worst of the bunch. All three loved to take loads of bad photos, had multiple copies produced to ensure posterity, and never discarded a single image, no matter how bad. My mother had the great sense to break this cycle by marrying my father, who clearly had both talent and enthusiasm for photography. Dad went so far as to set up a dark room in our home, where he produced terrific images from the early 1960s until 1974, when my mother’s blossoming schizophrenia drove him to abandon it, along with many of his other ambitions in life.

Edna Valentine selfie circa 1905

Selfie pioneer Gr-Grandma Edna

As the self-appointed family chronicler of my generation, the spoils of decades of poor photography have found their way to my garage and home office (my genealogical man-cave). Over the past few years, I’ve culled the herd from well over 2,000 terrible images down to several hundred worthy of digitizing, more for their unique content (i.e. obscure, distant relatives) than their composition or technical quality (usually poor). During this time, I’ve grown wary of unearthing new boxes of old family prints, negatives, or albums of largely crummy photos.

With this long history of horrid family photos, the discovery of another old photo album immediately brought with it the dread of yet another collection of blurred, random, duplicate images unworthy of more than a cursory glance. But a closer look at the tooled red leather cover with brass buckles hinted this was something special, older and more elegant than anything I had seen in the family collection. Inside were 30 pages of carte de vista (CDV) photograph slots, filled with 58 carefully annotated professional portrait CDVs and tintypes.

isabelle and joseph brown on the beach at wading river long island

Tilt camera – check. Out of focus – check. Cut-off subject – check. Another typical family photo.

The album was assembled between 1860 and 1870 by Keziah Whitson Coles Valentine, then in her 50s. It is very much a family photo album of its day, beginning with photos of her husband’s aging parents, uncles and aunts (all born in the late 18th century), her own family, and many nieces, nephews, and cousins, all photographed in New York and Brooklyn studios. The album closes with the newest family member, her first grandson, John Hampton Valentine, who was born in 1867. Most of the subjects lived and/or were born on Long Island, primarily in the Glen Cove, Oyster Bay area. Unlike the many other 19th and 20th century family albums filled with scores of unidentified ancestors, nearly every image had long ago been annotated in pencil by Keziah’s granddaughter, Edna, and any negative judgment I might have had about the album being defaced was outweighed by the gratitude for the information it contained.

Here’s a slideshow of Keziah’s album. As much as photography has changed over the years, it offers a peek into how a grandmother collected and organized family memorabilia in a manner not too different from today. Or if you’d like to know more about the subjects and view the photos individually, skip down below the slideshow and click on the next page for the full-gallery:


Next — View full gallery

A farewell to Digg

I keep this blog focused on personal topics and hobbies, primarily genealogy, with only the occasional mention of matters related to my professional life. But the demise of social media site Digg has me straying off topic a bit, if only because Digg insidiously crept into my personal life during the course of the 2-3 years when I was active on the site (if you never heard of Digg, you’re not alone).

In late 2008, GreenBiz (where I do product and audience development) was on a quest to scale traffic. At that time, Digg was still the Big Daddy of social bookmarking sites, and getting a story promoted to its front page was good for anywhere from 2,000-50,000 visitors, or more. After immersing myself in the basic workflow of Digg, it became clear a relatively small group of folks were submitting a disproportionate share of the popular items on the site, and that by finding a way to join their ranks I could help GreenBiz reach a broader audience.

In order to achieve recurring success on Digg, one had to first join the community of power Diggers. This was something of a mutual aid society, and to join the group required consistent digging and commenting on 100-200 power-user submitted stories every day. Once a pattern of loyalty towards them was established, one would then befriend individuals in the hopes that they in turn would be supportive of your stories. Reliable and consistent behavior was essential for all but the most elite of this group, and this meant ensuring you dugg the vast majority of all your friends new submissions within 24 hours, seven days a week. Apps were developed to track mutual loyalty among friends, and those found slacking were quickly unfriended. Long vacations or even a few days off of Digg could have significant consequences in lost friends.

If all of this sounds a little nuts, it was. But the traffic dividends made it irresistible. Try as Digg might to find ways to thwart this obvious gaming of the system, the power users evolved as well, resulting in an ongoing game of cat and mouse between Digg and its most interested users. And in trying to simultaneously outwit those gaming the site, placate major media outlets who were ambivalent about having their content on the site, and woo advertisers willing to spend higher CPMs for a quality audience, Digg completely failed on all counts. In short, Digg dug its own grave.

During my three years using Digg, I spent an average of 90 minutes a day, seven days a week, with rarely a day off. Usually the time was spent multitasking with other matters, such as sitting in meetings, watching the evening news, or talking with others. Digging was akin to needlepoint — an accompaniment to other activities. The ranks of power diggers contained some wonderfully warm people, others who were primarily focused on personal gain, and some who were just downright creeps. The pleasure of crafting a submission well-suited for the Digg community was always challenging, and often amusing (e.g. our original GreenBiz headline “KFC Lands in Hot Water for its Packaging” performed much better on Digg when changed to “KFC Packaging Even Worse than Its Food“). And for those efforts, GreenBiz was rewarded with well over 1 million visitors sent to us by Digg.

When the news broke recently that Digg had been sold for a pittance, few were surprised, as the rise of Facebook and Twitter had already relegated Digg to little more than also-ran. And as nostalgic as I might feel for the pleasure that came from generating popular items on Digg, the site was clearly a (big) novelty that came and went. I’m happy to have those 90 minutes a day to multitask on other things, or to simply enjoy a sunny day.

Reuniting with Thomas Tidball Trapnell

An afternoon of downtime in Washington DC a few weeks back afforded me an opportunity to visit Arlington Cemetery, and the grave of my great grandfather, Major Thomas Tidball Trapnell. It was a chance to get a few moments of peace in an otherwise hectic week, and to forge a connection with a man I never knew, and who was rarely spoken of in my family.

When I last visited Arlington in 2000, on a side trip during a wonderful vacation with my daughter, Zoë, I had no idea I had a relative buried there, much less someone as close as my great-grandfather. That’s probably because since 1940, when Thomas Trapnell died at age 56, his grave had only been visited once or twice by any of his descendants, and certainly none within the past half-century. It seems great grandfather wasn’t terribly popular among his offspring.

Tom Trapnell, springtime in West Virginia, about 1900

Thomas Tidball Trapnell was the 10th of 11 children born to Joseph Trapnell III and Rebecca Holmes White. He attended Annapolis, joined the Navy (which his father managed to reverse through an action by Theodore Roosevelt), and later attended NYU, where he earned a law degree (following in the footsteps of both his father and brothers).  Tom initially practiced corporate law, but following the outbreak of World War I, joined the military, where he remained the rest of his life.  An attorney in the Judge Advocate General’s Corp, Tom was somewhat unremarkable amongst his accomplished brothers, and unique among his sibling in divorcing his spouse, my great grandmother Edna Valentine. His letters to her while still married are typically aloof, written in an irritated voice, and often complaining about either her, money, or both.

Their divorce was a family affair, with Tom’s brother, Ben, providing counsel to Edna, and everyone apparently trying to make the best of it during a time when getting a divorce was challenging, even in New York state, where Edna resided. Following the divorce, Tom and his son, Coles, didn’t get along so well, and letters from father to son are mainly directive, with little affection or indication he had much insight into my grandfather’s nature. My grandfather grew to be rebellious towards his father, and the two had a volcanic fallout shortly before Tom’s death in 1940.

Family baggage aside, finding Thomas Tidball Trapnell’s grave was important for me. For someone so close in my family tree, I know very little about him, and though he had been dead for twenty years when I was born, his strained relationship with my grandfather had kept him off the radar screen. Learning more about his history has recently become a higher priority research task for me.

Thomas Tidball Trapnell / Winifred Pattishall Trapnell headstone, Arlington Cemetery

The visit to Arlington and Tom’s grave couldn’t have been more poignant. It was a cool March day, with a light rain falling on the cherry blossoms that were just beginning to bloom. As I walked past rows and rows of graves, off in the distance a full military burial was underway, complete with horse-drawn carriage and 3-volley salute. With good directions from the staff at the office, I was able to locate the grave of Tom and Winn (his second wife) without too much wandering, and snapped a couple of photos. It was a small, quiet family reunion, but after more than 50 years without a visitor, at least one of us enjoyed it very much.

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