Tag Archives: Peg (Laurence) Charboneau

1865: Christina (Albeitz) Stoutner’s unique arrival in the U.S.

Sepia Saturday 555. Seventh  in a series on my maternal German ancestors, the Stoutners, of Gloversville, Fulton Co., N.Y.

Christina (Albeitz) Stoutner (1844-1924). Scan by Molly Charboneau

My immigrant great-great grandmother Christina (Albeitz) Stoutner appears to have arrived in the U.S. from Germany circa 1865 — at the end of the U.S. Civil War.

Based on her 1 Aug. 1844 birth date, she would have been 21 at the time.

Alas, I have thus far been unable to locate a ship record that would give me her exact year of immigration — so that research continues.

https://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/90711902/
German emigrants for New York embarking on a Hamburg steamer (1875). My great-great grandmother Christina (Albeitz) Stoutner was among the throngs of emigrants who left Germany for the U.S. in the mid 1800s in search of a better life. Image: Library of Congress

However, in various censuses Christina or a household member gave her immigration year as 1864 or 1865 — and her obituary supports her arrival around that time.

Discovering Christina (Albeitz) Stoutner’s Immigration Year – Sources: FamilySearch (censuses) and research files (obituary)
Year Source Name Details Imm. Year
1900 U.S. Census Christine Stoutner Number of Years in the U.S. – 35 1864 (penned) 1865 (estimated from years in the U.S.)
1910 U.S. Census Christina Stoutner 1865 (penned)
1920 U.S. Census Christina Stoutner Naturalized in 1866 (Penned) 1865 (penned)
1924 Obituary – Gloversville Morning Herald, 17 May 1924 Mrs. Christina Stoutner “a resident here for about sixty years” circa 1864 (estimated)

An intriguing immigration story

Yet perhaps the most intriguing information about Christina’s arrival in the U.S. comes from an oral history interview that my mom Peg (Laurence) Charboneau did with her Aunt Margaret (Stoutner) Rothbell — my maternal grandmother’s younger sister — in the mid 1990s.

Below Christina (Albeitz) Stoutner’s name is a notation that says “landed in the U.S. the day Lincoln was shot.”

Mom sat down with her aunt, took out a blank sheet of paper and sketched a family tree of the Stoutner line based on what Aunt Margaret told her — a hand-drawn chart I have copied, consulted and annotated over the years.

And below Christina (Albeitz) Stoutner’s name Mom made a notation that says “landed in the U.S. the day Lincoln was shot.” Well, how about that!

Remembering a landmark arrival

https://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/2002717084/
1865: Pres. Lincoln’s funeral in New York City – removal of the body from the City Hall to the funeral car. On 14-15 April 1865, New York City was undoubtedly preoccupied with news of the president’s assassination — as historic newspaper headlines testify. Into this whirlwind of shock and sorrow stepped my great-great grandmother Christina (Albeitz) Stoutner, fresh off the boat from Germany — at least according to my mother’s family history notes. Image: Library of Congress

U.S. President Abraham Lincoln was assassinated on the evening of 14 April 1865 and died in the early hours of 15 April — a cataclysmic event at the end of the U.S. Civil War.

New York City was undoubtedly preoccupied with news of the unfolding tragedy — as historic newspaper headlines testify. And into this whirlwind of shock and sorrow stepped my great-great grandmother Christina, fresh off the boat from Germany. At least according to my mother’s notes.

Yet because Lincoln’s assassination was so momentous, and the young immigrant Christina would likely have registered every nuance about her arrival in a new country — and because her story was passed down the generations, perhaps from her retelling of it — I find this story about her believable.

All that remains is to find the ships that came into the Port of New York on 14 -15 April 1865 — and locate a record from one of those ships that contains Christina’s name. But that is research for another day.

Up next: Christina (Albeitz) Stoutner heads for Gloversville, N.Y. Please stop back! Meanwhile, please visit the blogs of this week’s  other Sepia Saturday participants here.

© 2021 Molly Charboneau. All rights reserved.

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Peg: My thirtysomething mom #AtoZChallenge

Sepia Saturday 516. P is for Peg: My thirtysomething mom. Sixteenth of twenty-six posts in the April 2020 Blogging From A to Z Challenge on the theme “Endwell: My Elementary Years”— where my genealogy journey germinated. Wish me luck!

When my family moved in 1957 to Endwell, N.Y., my mom Peg had been out of the work world for a few years — raising me and my brothers and carrying out the usual motherly duties.

But Mom had a bachelor’s in music education from SUNY Potsdam and taught high school music and chorus before marrying my dad, who she met in college. So during my elementary years — as we kids reached school age — she set her sights on resuming her paused career.

My family circa 1960. My mom had a bachelor’s in music education and taught high school music and chorus before marrying my dad. As my brothers and I reached school age, she set her sights on continuing her career. Photo scan: Molly Charboneau

Substitute teacher

During my elementary years, Mom reentered the workforce as a substitute teacher in the Endwell public schools — which created some embarrassing moments. I actually had her as a Hooper School substitute a couple of times — and the awkward dilemma was what to call her.

Certainly not Mom — although my tittering classmates would whisper, “Isn’t that  your mother?” So I learned an early lesson in professional demeanor and called her Mrs. Charboneau just like the other kids.

During Mom’s time at Hooper School she got to know Mr. Pierce — the same school principal who changed my fifth grade class — and he encouraged her to go to grad school.

“He was younger than me and convinced me to get my masters degree,” Mom told me years later. “He said it would really be worth it for my career.” But how to do it with three young children?

Ithaca College Masters

Mom stepped up to the challenge, researched nearby schools and settled on Ithaca College — which offered a masters program in music education and was a one-hour drive each way from Endwell.

I remember her school years. Dad came home from work and took over childcare duties — and Mom headed out for the drive to Ithaca, not returning home until late at night. Amazing to think of it now — but she was clearly determined.

My mother Peg (Laurence) Charboneau and family at her Ithaca College grad school graduation (1962). It was dress up clothes all the way as Dad and us kids stood proudly with Mom after her graduation ceremony. My maternal grandparents Liz and Tony (aka Boom and Gramps) attended, too. Photo: Elizabeth (Stoutner) Laurence

Mom’s plan went pretty well — except on one of her class nights when I told Dad that I had my sixth grade photo the following day and he had no idea how to fix my curly hair. Yikes! So I struggled with bobby pins as best I could — and posed the next day for my worst school photo ever. (And no, I will not be posting it here!)

Mom completed her masters in 1962, with her proud family standing with her at graduation. Then she resumed teaching at St. Ambrose, a Catholic parochial school in nearby Endicott — many of her former students still remembering her all these years later.

Mom at home

My bad hair day notwithstanding, Mom did a good job of balancing school, work and home life — possibly because she was a teacher who was trained in handling dozens of children.

She was a unique, no-nonsense mom who some neighbor kids, and even grownups, found intimidating. When one of the boys up the block hit my hip with a shot from his BB gun, Mom marched up to his yard, snatched the air rifle out of his hands and said, “If you want it back, send your mother for it.” That gun sat in our closet for years.

Also, instead of yelling from the porch like the other moms, she used to whistle for me and my brothers to call us home for dinner or homework or whatever — a habit she started on the farm. “Hey, your mom’s whistling for you,” became our playmates’ catchphrase as they adjusted to this odd behavior.

Mom’s beloved Easter Bread (2020). Mom pulled out all the stops for the holidays — making her famous turkey stuffing in November, preparing bouillabaisse on meatless Christmas Eve, and best of all braiding colored eggs into her famous Easter Bread, which my sister Carol still bakes every year. Bread and photo by Carol Charboneau

Unsurprisingly, Mom was also big on education — poring over our report cards, filling in the parent comment lines, giving us a talking to if we fell behind in school and even grounding me once for bad grades! A tough taskmaster at the time, Mom became an inspiration as I grew into adulthood.

She was also big on family. Mom kept us connected with our maternal grandparents. And she pulled out all the stops for the holidays — making her famous turkey stuffing in November, preparing bouillabaisse on meatless Christmas Eve, and best of all braiding colored eggs into her famous Easter Bread, which my sister Carol still bakes every year.

Up next – Quaker State Motor Oil and the alphabet game. Please stop back! Meanwhile, please visit the blogs of the other Sepia Saturday participants here

© 2020 Molly Charboneau. All rights reserved.

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Italian Ancestors and Indian Arrowheads #AtoZChallenge

I is for Italian Ancestors and Indian Arrowheads. Ninth of twenty-six posts in the April 2020 Blogging From A to Z Challenge on the theme “Endwell: My Elementary Years”— where my genealogy journey germinated. Wish me luck!

One of the big area employers during my elementary years was the Endicott Johnson Corporation — a mass manufacturer of shoes.

EJ, as everyone called it, recruited workers from southern and Eastern Europe. This explained the large Italian and Czech populations in Endwell, N.Y. where I lived — and their closeness to their immigrant heritage, which was only one or two generations away.

I, on the other hand, was a motley mix of French, English, Irish, Welsh and Swiss on my dad’s side and German and Italian on my mom’s — all many generations back. Yet I longed for a more definitive ancestral identity to mesh with my playmates. Enter my Italian ancestors.

Four generations of Italian heritage (1956). Photo: Norman J. Charboneau

Just Italian enough

I took after my dad’s side — tall, fair with blue eyes and a mercurial Irish temper — but whenever my little neighbors or classmates rolled out their single-ethnic heritage I would chime up, “My mom is half Italian.” And just like that, I fit in.

Not only that, I had proof. Right before we moved to Endwell, our family went to Gloversville, N.Y. to visit my great grandmother Mamie (Curcio) Laurence [an anglicized version of Di Lorenzo] — and my dad snapped a picture.

Gathered on the steps of my Italian ancestors’ East Fulton St. home (shown above) are my great grandmother Mamie, my grandfather Antonio (Tony) Laurence, my mom Peg (Laurence) Charboneau along with me and my brothers — four generations of Italian-Americans all in one spot. So even if I wasn’t all Italian, I was still Italian enough to get by during my elementary years!

Indian arrowheads

Yet there was another heritage underlying our neighborhood that predated us all  — that of the Native American people who were early guardians of the land and inhabited the area before settlers arrived.

Depiction of a Susquehannock on the Smith Map (1624). The handwritten caption reads “The Susquehannocks are a giant-like people and thus attired.”  The Susquehannock people, whose original tribal name has been lost, lived along the Susquehanna River until displaced by settlers. Source: Wikimedia Commons

On my street —  just one block from the Susquehanna River — pretty much any digging with a backhoe unearthed carefully chiseled arrowheads.

These exquisite projectiles bore historic testimony to the sheer numbers of displaced Native people — like the Susquehannocks and others — who for generations had lived, planted, hunted and fished along same shores where I later lived during my elementary years.

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Native_American_arrowheads.JPG
Indian arrowheads (2006). On my street, just one block from the Susquehanna River, pretty much any digging with a backhoe unearthed carefully chiseled arrowheads — tangible traces of the rich Native culture that preceded us. Photo: Wikimedia Commons

The history of these Native people was not taught at Hooper School, so we kids had to learn what we could from Mr. Hughes — one of our street’s earliest residents.

He had a chest filled with arrowheads and other artifacts — unearthed as our houses were built — and once a year he’d invite us kids in to look over the amazing collection.

Our ancestors had been immigrants. But in Mr. Hughes’s living room we learned that a rich Native culture had preceded us — leaving tangible traces for us to discover many centuries later.

Up next: J is for Jello and other culinary delights. Please stop back! 

© 2020 Molly Charboneau. All rights reserved.

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