Why I Am Not a Real Odaffer
Brief Preface
This is a rare blog post for me, in that it is focused pretty much on “I” and “me.” Please excuse, and be gentle in your deserved criticism.
About Real Odaffers
I grew up on a farm. It just seemed that to be a “real Odaffer,” you had to be a farmer. Sort of an unwritten rule for us Odaffers.
My dad Ray was a farmer. My grandfather Ed was a farmer. And my great grandfather David was a farmer, and so was my great great great grandfather Henry. I later found out that my great great great great grandfather John Wolfgang spent the latter years of his life working on the John Mason farms in Maryland.
And whale of a lot of other Odaffers have been farmers, including one who wanted a male child to help him farm, but was blessed with eight daughters.
But when they came to me, they must have thrown away the mold. Somehow, at an early age, I knew that, even though I liked the farm, I was not going to be a farmer. I was not going to be a “real Odaffer.”
So now, at age 80, and even after having owned a farm or two in my life, I feel a need to figure out why full-fledged farming just wasn’t for me. If I knew, maybe I could help some young Odaffer-wondering whether to be a farmer — to make his or her career choice.
What Growing Up On A Farm Did For Me
As I look back upon my life, the one thing that stands out in stark relief is that growing up on a farm really painted the heavens for me. There was something about the richness of living on the farm that helped me develop a positive approach to life.
Like the animals, I was always ready to engage in a new day. And the planting and harvesting gave me the feeling that you could count on things to generally come out OK. It felt safe and encouraging.
The idea that if you worked hard you could provide almost everything you and your animals needed — the good ole Midwest work ethic — gave me a lot of satisfaction and security. And because we were very poor and had almost nothing- I learned to live simply and wasn’t preoccupied with the need for “things.” You feel pretty positive when you have everything you need.
And on top of this, the farm was interesting. “Why are you spending all this time smacking those corn stocks together,” my sister Jane would ask — really dying to know. It didn’t feel right to tell her that I was pretending to be Knights of the Round table, engaged in a fierce battle, or Robin Hood and Friar Tuck fighting with quarterstaffs, or Beowulf, who I thought was a brave Viking, engaged in a battle for his life.
The farm was a great place to exercise my imagination- to pretend- and to get those creative juices to flow. It was simply a fun place to be.
Why Did I Almost Stay On the Farm?
Yes, I almost did.
At Deland-Weldon Senior High School — almost to my own surprise — I took Vocational Agriculture classes, and joined the FFA (Future Farmers of America, no less). I was FFA president, and received FFA awards. Farming, in rural Weldon, Illinois, just creeps into your blood.
I learned about agriculture, how to judge cattle and hogs, how to select and plant grain, how to do basic work with tools, and a lot more.
Some would have said I was on my way to becoming a Jim-Dandy farmer!
One spring afternoon — when I was 15 years old — I was with a group of classmates and my Vo Ag teacher on a farm tour when news reached us that my father was involved in a farm accident.
When we arrived at the field, where my father and a helper had been building a fence using a tractor with a post-hole digging auger attached, I was totally shocked and devastated to see my father’s dead body wrapped around the auger. There was nothing anybody could do.
My brother-in-law farmed our farm the rest of that year, and then we sold it.
I think if I have been 18 instead of 15 when my father died, I would have felt a greater obligation and capability to take over the farm, and might have retired a farmer, just like my father and grandfathers before me.
So Why Did I Not Become a Farmer?
After much thought, I come to the conclusion that I simply just don’t know for sure. But I do know it was not a choice made by chance. I knew early on that I really didn’t want to be a farmer.
Interestingly, even though my father’s death affected me deeply, I don’t think it was a major factor in my not becoming a farmer. On the contrary, it got me as close to being a farmer as I ever got.
It was a fact that no one on my mother’s side ever farmed. It just seemed that they, too, knew that they did not want to be farmers. I think they simply were not made that way. Perhaps I had an overbalance of genes from my mother’s side.
Or maybe there is this deep-seated guidance system in a person (some might call it “God’s guidance” that simply let’s you know that there are other things in store for you.
Whatever the real reason, after all these years I can only say, “Sometimes you just feel things ‘in your bones.“
Memories on Memorial Day- Some Old Time Values
As I brush the old dead grass off of the base of his gravestone, and place the fresh flowers beside it, I am reminded, on this Memorial Day, of my step-father, William (Willie) Atteberry.
He is not an official entry on my genealogy family tree, but somehow it feels like he should be.
He was not a veteran, but he was a patriotic citizen who loved his country, and helped preserve it.
I treasure him because of what he did for my mother, for her kids (including me), for her grandkids (our children), and simply for the uniquely fine human being that he was.
I highly suspect that his character and many of his values were a reflection of the era in which he lived, but I’m just biased enough to think that, this notwithstanding, he was something special.
I’ve decided to reprint the eulogy I wrote for Willie when he died, so maybe you can see what I mean.
_________________________
William Edgar Atteberry 1895-1992 — A husband, a father, a father-in-law, a stepfather, a grandfather, a relative, a friend. What was it that made him so special — a genuine article — a one of a kind?
And how do you measure the influence a man like this has had on others in his lifetime, and the nature of his lasting influence.
In years, decades, even centuries to come a little girl or boy — descendants of Willie Atteberry or others who knew him well — will sit on their mother’s or father’s lap and hear about how important it is to be honest, to tell the truth, make your word good, to treat others as you want to be treated, and to pay your debts on time.
They will be told that on a job, you should always get there early and give an honest days work. They will hear about the value of good black soil, the good things about farming, and how a young man named Willie who came to central Illinois with 35¢ in his pocket went on to become a successful farmer.
They will hear how important it is to conserve resources — to tile and plant fields well so the soil won’t wash away, and to plant trees so future generations can enjoy them. And yes, they will hear the philosophy that if you earn a nickel you should save at least 4¢.
They will hear about the importance of minding your own business, treating others fairly, but not letting anyone push you around. They will learn the virtues of good country food, horses, and cow’s milk. They will hear that a good life is being generous, and helping those in need.
They may even hear a simple, inspiring story about how a small boy, with no mother and limited support from his father, ran away from an uncaring relative’s home at the age of 7 years and made it on his own by being honest, living a clean life, and by putting in a lifetime of hard work.
William Atteberry — educated, but with no formal education beyond the early grades. A man who claimed that without education a person “doesn’t have any more chance than a one-legged man in a rump kicking contest” — but a man who had a Ph.D. degree, with highest honors, in common sense.
William Atteberry — a model of simple everyday application of religious principles, an inspiration to those around him, and a solid person you could always count on.
William Atteberry — independent, strong minded, but one who knew who he was, what he stood for, and who was successful in the finest sense of the word. He often said that, living on the “poor farm,” he might have to “get a tin bill and pick with the chickens.” You never had to, Willie, and you never will.
Phares O’Daffer, October, 1992
A Witty Elderly Ancestor With A Sense of Humor
My 97 year old mother, Ruby, who was living in the Meadows Nursing Home in Central Illinois for the last 10 years of her life, had a very weak body but a sharp mind — and you never knew what she was going to say.
She was a living testimony to the fact that some people don’t lose their wittiness or sense of humor just because they get old.
Some Ruby Stories
I had been in her room a while — working on her favorite clock that wouldn’t even run a mite.
I thought she was a bit subdued, but maybe she was just worried that her designated clock fixer just didn’t have it.
“Well, I’ve fixed your clock,” I finally said proudly. “That’ll be $10, please.” “Charge it!” she shot back, without skipping a beat.
______
“Oh, that’s way too much,” Ruby exclaimed with conviction when I plopped the medium chocolate malt down on her bed stand. “I couldn’t possibly drink all that.”
Then, 10 minutes later, I heard that loud “slurpppp” that can only be caused by someone sucking on a straw, hoping against hope to get just a little more good stuff from the bottom of the container.
Then, looking up with a large smile, Ruby deadpanned, “Well how on earth did that happen?”
______
“I need a haircut today,” said Ruby, who adamantly refused to use the hair dresser services at the nursing home.
And I, her only son — with a very limited skill set — was her choice as cutter. Probably only because of proximity.
She was not at all worried that I couldn’t give her the needed thinning, so I proceeded to “snip, snip, snip,” as I whittled her mop of hair down to size.
“Okay, I’m finished cutting your hair. You look like a million dollars,” I said.
“Without the zeros,” she quipped with that wry smile.
______
Ruby had few psychological hangups, but adjusting to new eye glasses was one of her downfalls.
It happened more than once. A trip to the optometrist, a test, quite a time choosing frames, and finally, trying on the the new glasses.
“I can’t see out of these glasses,” she said, as she put them on her table and put the old ones back on.
“Just try them, Mom, you have to wear new glasses for a while to get used to them,” I replied.
After half-heartedly trying for a few days, she pronounced, “They don’t work. I don’t see right.”
“You couldn’t see with the old ones when you were getting your eyes tested,” I said. “What do you say to explain that?”
“I say that some things just can’t be explained,” she responded with a voice of finality. And that was that.
______
“So you took Dana (our grandkid, her greatgrandkid) to the dinosaur display at the museum, huh?” Ruby asked. “How did it go?”
“She really enjoyed it,” I said. “It was a wonderful display, and the dinosaurs were so amazingly realistic.”
“So how would you know about realistic dinosaurs?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye. “Just how many real dinosaurs have you seen in your life?”
______
I asked Ruby what she wanted for her 97th birthday, which was fast approaching.
“I would like to have some bacon,” she asserted without a second thought.
Her cholesterol was approaching 200, and she hadn’t been allowed to eat bacon. But she was going to be 97 years old, and that should count for something.
“Bacon it is, then,” I said.
We brought in a cake and used the kitchen to cook some bacon.
When Ruby had eaten more bacon that one would think possible, it was time for dessert.
“Do you want some cake, Mom?” I asked. “It looks pretty good.”
Ruby looked at the cake, looked as my wife Harriet and I, smiled, and said, “Well, if I have to make a choice, you take the cake — I’ll take the extra bacon.”
_______
“The doctor. is coming to see you today,” I said. “Think of some questions you want to ask him.”
“Okay, my arthritic hands are causing me a lot of problems,” Ruby answered with obvious concern. “The fingers bend both ways and way back.”
“Well, maybe the doctor can give you some help on that,” I said.
“He’d better,” Ruby responded decisively, “If he says it’s just old age and nothing can be done, we may have to get an older doctor.”
______
I walked in her room on December 22, 1999. The idea of my computer being Y-2K compatible (being able to not get all screwed up when the year changed from 1999 to 2000) was on my mind.
“You’ve got a problem,” I said, as I looked her in the eye.
She knew I was setting something up.
“What do you mean, I’ve got a problem?” She frowned, as if to say that if she had a problem, she’d know it.
“You’re not Y-2K Compatible,” I said.
“What do you mean by that?” she asked. I explained the Y-2K compatible idea, and she allowed she had seen things about it on TV.
“Why do you say I’m not Y-2K compatible?” she asked.
“It’s like this,” I said with feigned seriousness. “If you die after the end of the year, your gravestone will be all screwed up. Etched in stone, it now reads ‘Ruby Odaffer, 1902 – 19 – – .’ But then it should read 1902 – 2000. What are you going to do with the ’19’ ? ”
“Well,” she said with an air of finality and a bit of smugness for getting the last word. “ I’ve got worse problems than that. Furthermore, the way I figure it, it’s more your problem than mine.”
Postscript
My mother died on January 4, 2000, shortly after our Y-2K conversation.
She was absolutely right. Y-2K was my problem, not hers. It took me four months to get a new gravestone from North Carolina.
I look back fondly on these, and many other instances of my mother’s wit and good humor.
There is something beautiful about an ageless wittiness and sense of humor.
Genealogical Truth is Stranger than Fiction
- At March 04, 2014
- By Phares O'Daffer
- In All Posts, Genealogy
1
You have probably heard the old saying, “Truth is Stranger Than Fiction.” As I have gotten involved in Genealogy, I am amazed at the truth in this timeworn adage.
No matter how hard I might try, I couldn’t come up with fiction that would come close to matching some of the genealogical facts I’ve discovered about our family.
Let me use some situations, a few perhaps mentioned before, to illustrate.
A Surprising Link to the Old World
You might think your ancestor came over to the new world on a ship of immigrants, but it is much harder to believe what I discovered in a DAR library:
- That he was a Hessian soldier who came on a British Soldier transport ship that took four months to get here
- And that he had left a family in Germany, and later stayed in the U.S to start a new family
A Soldier Who Fought on Both Sides
Who would believe that Johann Wolfgang Odoerfer would have fought for the British as a Hessian Soldier, defected, and fought for the Colonists in the same Revolutionary War?
And was given land in Ohio for his service to the Colonists? And was declared a Patriot by the DAR? You’ve got to be kidding.
A Disappearing Cemetery
Wait a minute! A cemetery with 25 gravestones here one January, and gone the next? And back the next?
Well that was a case with a small Odaffer family cemetery I discovered near Monticello, IL.
After I visited in a January snowstorm, some vandals had taken all the stones and thrown them in a nearby creek.
The local genealogists found and replaced them — making the cemetery better than before. If you hadn’t seen it, you may not have believed it!
A Prolific Great Grandfather
It did seem a little strange to find that my great grandfather David had 15 children over a span of 35 years, with two wives, who differed in age by 31 years.
I don’t think I would have written this into a book of fiction — it just seems a little too far-fetched.
The Gravestone Mystery
And there are my great great grandfather Henry Odaffer and his wife Elizabeth. Married to the end — no divorce record can be found.
Yet, Elizabeth’s gravestone sits lonely, just inside the gate of the New Tarleton Cemetery in Tarleton, Ohio. Henry’s stone is no place to be found, and there isn’t even a space for it.
In fact, I’ve looked high and low, in Maryland (in case they somehow took him back to his place of birth for burial), Ohio, and Illinois, and can find no grave/gravestone for Henry anywhere. It remains a mystery.
An Amazing Family
And who would believe that this website and my database contains information on over 1,300 Odaffer individuals and relatives — probably over 90% of the Odaffers who live or have lived in the United States?
And what an interesting group of people! Just when you think you know it all, you learn something new. I had never known of an Odaffer who was a physician.
Then, just last week, I found out that in 1942, Dr. Robert George Odaffer sold a hospital he owned in Farmington, New Mexico and bought the Cushman Ranch in Colorado to develop a tourist resort. Stuff for a novel, indeed!
So there you have it. You think what you want. But I think that in genealogy, truth is stranger than fiction — by far.
What’s in a Name?
- At February 05, 2014
- By Phares O'Daffer
- In All Posts, Genealogy
- 1
The Dilemma
Well, there it was. Right there on my birth certificate. “Odaffer.” Small “d,” no apostrophe.
I had been using “O’Daffer”– capital D and an apostrophe all my life — and my name was listed that way as an author of a whole bunch of books. And everywhere else. All of my precious — but significant only to me — award plaques said “O’Daffer.” Capital “D” and an apostrophe.
No way I could change the spelling now. But I felt I was cheating on history. If I could go back, I thought, I would darn well use “Odaffer.”
In fact, when they used Odaffer on my plumbing bill recently, I smiled and let it go — I sort of liked it.
Am I Alone?
Over the years, when I would interview a relative, the spelling of our name would often come up, and people did not always agree. Here are a couple of examples.
A Quote from a California Relative: “I can’t understand why some people have changed our name. It has always been spelled “O’Daffer” with an apostrophe and capital “D”! I just don’t like people messing with our name.”
A Quote from an Illinois Relative: “ Somebody, I don’t know who, tried to make our name Irish. Well, we’re German. It is “Odaffer” with a small d and no apostrophe. Always has been. Its just foolishness to try to change it.”
So others have had consternation about the spelling of our name. I was not alone!
What to Do About It?
In a fit of humor, I thought “WWJD?” Not quite what you thought, perhaps.
I was thinking, “What would Johann Wolfgang, my great, great, grandfather who came here from Germany do?
So I went back to Johann Wolfgang and his ancestors, to get the name straight. Johann Wolfgang Odorfer, or Odoerfer — in some records. Johann’s father — Marcus Ohdorffer. Marcus’s grandfather — Stephan Ohdorfer. And Stephan’s grandfather, way back in 1560 — Heinrich Ohdorfer.
But wait! What about the prized name “Odaffer”? Yes, I found it. Johann Wolfgang Odoerfer, like a lot of German soldiers who stayed in America, simplified his name. He used “John Odaffer.” It was his “Americanized Name,” so to speak.
But it didn’t end there. I took another peek at the 1780,1790, or 1800 census information. I guess the census takers were people that were somewhat hard of hearing, and a little lax about “getting the name right.”
The census is replete with names of Johann Wolfgang and his descendants spelled “Odeffer,” “Odoffer,” and even “Odofer.”
Looking further, I think I found that the name “O’Daffer” was first used by one of John Odaffer’s children — John B’s branch.
My guess is that one of the kids married an Irish lady, and the name Odaffer was just too close to an Irish name to pass up, so she changed to the more “stylish and Irish” spelling — “O’Daffer”
And my oldest sister Wanda, finding out that the Decatur branch of Odaffers used “O’Daffer,” could not resist the classier moniker either, and used it in High School. I followed her in school, and just fell into using “O’Daffer” because that’s the way the High School spelled it.
So it seems that there is, and always has been, confusion about the spelling of this reasonably interesting name. Not much anyone can do.
A Final Word
So there you have it. With all the changes in spelling through the years, no one has a claim on the “correct spelling.”
But, after Johann Wolfgang chose it as his American name, my great, great grandfather, my great grandfather, my grandfather, and my dad all used “Odaffer,” and that should have been good enough for me.
(Woops, I just noticed that someone, on my great grandfather’s death certificate, spelled his name “David O’daffer.” Small d and an apostrophe.) Oh Well…
4 Tips for Better Genealogy
- At November 30, 2013
- By Phares O'Daffer
- In All Posts, Genealogy
- 1
Whether you are just starting, or are an accomplished genealogist, I would like your reaction to these four tips for better genealogy.
Applying these tips, even more than I did, would probably have helped me in my quest to find out about the Odaffer family. Each tip is illustrated by where I used it and how it helped.
Tip 1 — Leave No Stone Unturned
I’m amazed that my 16-year-old son Eric agreed to go on a genealogy trip with me, and how well he resisted the inborn need a 16 year old has to rebel against adult imposed endeavors — except maybe at the very end of our trip.
Looking for signs of my great grandfather, David Odaffer, we ended up in an old cemetery near Circleville, Ohio. Our well had run dry — no Odoerfer or Odaffer graves to be found. It was time to go home.
It was then that I spied a pile of old stones, out in a back corner of the cemetery.
“Come on,” implored Eric. “You’re not going to find anything back there. Let’s get out of here.” I finally got Eric to help look through the pile of stones. On the bottom of the pile — literally the last stone — we found a dirty, barely legible piece of a broken gravestone.
We brushed it off, and with great excitement read “Ida May, daughter of D. and A. Odaffer, Died April 2, 1861. Aged 1 yr, 9 mo, 2 days.” We had located David in Ohio!
I gave Eric a short speech on the value of thoroughness and persistence in genealogy, as well as in life — a lesson I’m sure he really only learned by himself when he got older.
Tip 2 — Call or Write Often
Over the years, whenever I was in a different city, I checked the phone book, sometimes finding an Odaffer, and gave them a call.
I had to work hard not to get hung up on, but it usually worked out. And I often found out something new about the branches of the Odaffer family.
And I have written many letters to county clerks, church officials — you name it. Sometimes it paid off too.
On a trip, I had stopped at the Church of the Latter Day Saints Genealogy Library in Salt Lake City, and was about ready to leave when someone on the staff told me that he would help me prepare a letter in German.
With his help, I wrote letters to three Lutheran churches in the area near Nuremberg, Germany, where I suspected some of Johann Wolfgang’s relatives might have lived.
Amazingly, I soon received a letter from Georg Odoerfer, a member of one of the churches, who became a contact in Germany and a good friend.
Georg gave me a lot of help, often translating from books written on Old (High) German, to gather information about the Odoerfer family.
There is no doubt that making the right calls and writing the right letters can really be helpful in finding out about your family.
Tip 3 — Don’t Believe all You Hear
I talked to an older relative in our family about my great grandfather David Odaffer. She was old enough to have known David, and was a really valuable source as I delved into his life. Or so I thought.
She told me, “David came from a wealthy family in Ohio, and migrated to Illinois with $1000 sewn into his shirt. His wife Amanda wanted him to buy a farm near Monticello, Illinois, but he fooled all of his money away on drink.”
Upon checking this out, I found that there is plenty of evidence that the “wealthy family” label wasn’t accurate, and an abstract in the County Court House in Monticello showed that David bought 69 acres of land — soon after he got here — from John Dove for $1,360.
So you have to verify — check and recheck — the verbal information you receive. Sometimes people make the stories be the way they wanted them to be, not always reflecting the truth. The relative didn’t like David, and that may have colored her story.
Tip 4 — Record, Then Record a Little More
Everybody needs an Al Field. I had been working on the Odaffer family for several years before I met Al, who, being a relative, was also researching the family.
I had collected a lot of information about the family, probably more than anyone else.
And I knew that what I reported was true, since I had gotten it from very good records and sources.
But Al shocked me by demanding documentation, and in some cases, I didn’t have it. Oh, I’d had it once, and thought I had written it down carefully. But, lo and behold, my records just weren’t complete enough. I would record some basic information, but not enough and in not enough detail.
Al simply opened my eyes to the fact that you have to have a very good recording system, and you have to religiously record, and then record some more.
I got better at recording what I found, but some of the original gaps are still there, and I regret that I didn’t meet Al earlier. Thanks, Al.
So there are the four tips. Use them if they merit, and look for more hints to come!
God’s Grand Plan or Lucky Random Chance?
- At November 23, 2013
- By Phares O'Daffer
- In All Posts, Genealogy
- 0
You probably knew that a serious post would come sooner or later, so join the solemnity and consider the question, “What are we to make of our ancestor’s near brushes with death?”
I think the life of Johann Wolfgang Odoerfer, the Hessian soldier who is my (and maybe your) ancestor and link to Germany, makes us think about this question.
A Brush With Birth
Johann Wolfgang was almost not born. His father, Marcus was the 13th child in the family — an unlucky number at that. And evidence is that he almost died at birth. No Marcus, no Johann Wolfgang, no me (or maybe you).
Some Brushes With Death 
Also, Johann Wolfgang, as a soldier, had some near death experiences.
On the ship the Hessian soldiers sailed on to America, many soldiers — even one of Johann’s friends, died of malaria. Johann Wolfgang was spared.
When Johann Wolfgang was quartered in Rhode Island, the famous 22-ft. snowfall was devastating. Many soldiers froze to death, or got lost in the storm, were covered with snow, and died. Johann Wolfgang lived through this ordeal.
In the battle of Yorktown, Johann’s regiment was shelled unmercifully by their enemy, and was left to fight as the rear guard as Cornwallis attempted to escape by sea. Had Cornwallis not been compelled to return because of violent waters, Johann Wolfgang and his regiment would surely been annihilated by the overwhelming French and American forces.
Johann Wolfgang was captured in the battle of Yorktown, and forced to make a grueling march from Yorktown to Winchester Barracks prison in northern Virginia. The conditions in the prison were terrible, and a high percentage of the prisoners — not Johann, however — died of dysentery or other diseases.
A Question About Life
For sake of discussion, let’s assume that if Johann had died or been killed before he had a chance to sire Henry, his ancestors in that line would not have existed.
Pretty serious stuff, which could make those of us who are Johann Wolfgang’s descendants ask, “Am I here because Johann stayed alive by Lucky Random Chance, or because the whole scenario was a part of “God’s Grand Plan?”
This is a mysterious question, and some of the events related above and others — such as the violent waters that forced Cornwallis’s return to the battle of Yorktown — suggest to some that more than chance has to be at play here. But each of us has his/her own ideas about the bigger question, and we will probably never be able to prove that our ideas are correct.
The Bottom Line
But one thing we can hang our hats on is that Johann Wolfgang Odoerfer was one in a long line of courageous ancestors — with their warts and all — who gave all they had in their own way to pave the way for their descendants who followed them.
I guess that’s about all anyone can do, hopefully with God’s help.
10 Geneology Taglines and Tales
- At November 09, 2013
- By Phares O'Daffer
- In All Posts, Genealogy
- 1
Yes, there is humor to be found in genealogy. The 10 tantalizing taglines below can be found in various places, with no indication of who first said them. So I apologize for not being able to give credit to the originators, but thank them for glimpsing humor in genealogy and passing it on.
Enjoy the taglines, and the little tale, or observation about genealogy that comes with each one.
Tagline 1: Genealogy research — what I’m doing when I don’t know what I’m doing.
I have alluded to the possibility that I am a “stumbleologist” rather than a “genealogist.” Often, I have just searched and searched and finally stumbled onto something good. Like just happening to talk to an old guy in a library in Clear Spring, MD, who told my son Eric and I that John Odoerfer worked on the nearby John Mason Farms (Montpelier Estate, right), opening up a wealth of information about our ancestor.
Tagline 2: To a genealogist, everything is relative.
What a treasure trove of information you can get from talking to a relative. When I first started looking for my family tree, it was the photos, letters, and newspaper clippings in my Aunt Grace’s attic, along with her memories, that got me started. I did get a little suspicious, however, when Aunt Grace (left) told me that my great grandfather David had blond hair and blue eyes, given that all the other Odaffers I knew were black hair and brown eyed wonders.
Tagline 3: So many relatives, so little time.
The Odaffer family tree in this website contains over 1,200 relatives. And I am sure that just scratches the surface — thousands more in Germany, way back. And there are probably many more, uncharted in the United States. It is a work in progress – like a significant mountain, you just climb it because it is there.
Tagline 4: Genealogy — chasing your own tale.
Sure, a genealogist really wonders how he or she got here. There is a story out there, and all the details of the story will never be found. Now it is a short tale, but gradually getting longer. It is a bushy tale, with lots of strands. Ah, the satisfaction of grooming that tale!
Tagline 5: Cemetery — a marble orchard not to be taken for granite.
Genealogists spend a lot of time in cemeteries, and even looking for cemeteries. After searching a while, I went out on a blustery, cold winter day to find an old, forgotten country cemetery near Monticello, IL (right), that had a lot of my relatives buried in it. Too cold to be doing it at all, I photographed the stones, and recorded the names.
Two years later, I returned to re-look at that cemetery. It was totally gone! Luckily, people who cared found the stones, vandalized, down by and in a nearby creek, and restored the cemetery as best they could.
Tagline 6: That’s strange; half my ancestors are women.
We sometimes, unfortunately, forget that it takes two, a man and a woman, to produce a descendant. So it is not strange at all that half of my ancestors are women. But largely because of strange traditions and biases, as well as simply the ease of doing it because the male name doesn’t usually get changed, it is conventional to pay more attention to the male ancestors than to the women. But I am also working on my mother’s side of the family.
Tagline 7: Every family tree has some sap in it.
When my great grandfather David left his wife of many years to marry a much younger woman, I though a bit of a sap had been found. However, as often is the case, there were two sides to the story, which muddied his candidacy for being a sap. However, there are always plenty of saps to go around in a family tree.
Tagline 8: Genealogists never lose their jobs; they just go to another branch.
I was pretty self satisfied with my classification of the Odaffers: the Illinois Branch, the Indiana Branch, the Minnesota Branch, and the Kansas Branch. I had determined that the original Odaffers in Ohio had all migrated westward to form these Branches. It wasn’t until a friend, Stan Clemens, sent me a newspaper article about Whitey Odaffer in Lima, Ohio, that I discovered a currently existing Ohio Branch, and went to work on it.
Tagline 9: My ancestors are hiding in a witness protection program.
I have tried to find out what happened to Maria Magdalena, Johann Wolfgang’s wife from Germany. No matter how hard I try, I can’t find a record of her death, nor the place where she was buried. I have contacted the church she probably attended, and they can find nothing. If I didn’t have her birth record from the church, I would wonder if she ever existed. Witness protection program, indeed!
Tagline 10: Genealogists live in the past lane.
No doubt about it. I have spent a lot of time since 1955 thinking about the past. From a search for ancestors living in Germany in 1560 to a search to solve some cold cases still open today, it has been an exciting journey — and always in the “past lane.”
4 Reasons Why Geneology is Fun
- At October 27, 2013
- By Phares O'Daffer
- In All Posts, Genealogy
- 0
Now you know that I think genealogy is a lot of fun. Here are four reasons why:
1. Everyone Loves a Mystery
I k
now my great-great grandfather Henry Odaffer died — I guess because we all do. But for the life of me I can’t determine where he was buried.
His wife, Elizabeth is buried in the New Tarleton cemetery near Tarleton, Ohio, and her tombstone (right) stands there, welcoming you in, near the front gate. There is absolutely no evidence she divorced the guy, but Henry’s grave is nowhere to be found.
I have a folder full of clues, but finding Henry’s grave has been a tough nut and I am still trying to crack it.
It is an unsolved mystery of the first order. No need to buy that next mystery on Kindle–you’ve got several, ready to solve, right here in the Odaffer Family genealogy files.
2. Oh, the Places You Go and the People You Meet
A trip to Grub, Germany, to meet a relative who helped tie our family to Germany was quite an adventure.
But I was a little apprehensive as I knocked on the door of an old house in the center of Grub. I had been told that one of the oldest living members of the German Odoerfer clan lived there, and he might have some exciting tales to tell
A grizzled, but delightful, old man and his docile wife came to the door, and I knew I would be rewarded by hearing what they knew about the family.
But the biggest surprise came when they called for their daughter to meet the visitors from the States. You could have knocked me over with an old goose feather when she appeared in the doorway. She looked just like my sister Jane.
3. The Exhilarating Thrill of Discovery
I was totally worn out from the Washington D.C. meeting, but I sucked it up and grabbed a cab to the Daughters of the American Revolution Library.
After three hours of searching, all I found was a dry well. As I decided to call it a day and limp home to bed, the old saying, “Whoever said ‘seek and you shall find’ was not a genealogist” kept running around in my mind.
As I walked down the last isle of the stacks, it happened. I will never know why, but I saw, picked up, and thumbed through a single book below from the hundreds of books on the shelves.
I had never even given a thought that an O’Daffer could have been a Hessian soldier, but there he was, Johann Wolfgang Odoerfer, on page 76. And he was the connecting link between the U.S. and German Odoerfers/Odaffers.
4. Surprise Humor Around Every Corner
Finally, there was the Odaffer farmer in Ohio, who had made it abundantly clear that he wanted a son to help in the fields and take over his farm. He had eight daughters in a row after that fateful declaration.
So there you have it. Try it — you’ll like it. And I haven’t even mentioned the philosophical and life lessons you learn from being involved in genealogy –but that’s the subject of another post.
Ray O’Daffer
Ray and his sister May were twins. Ray had an 8th grade education. He was a farmer, sold seed corn, was a pretty fair carpenter, and a good father. He was generous, and had a good sense of humor. He was president of the Prairie View School school board for several years.
His wife, Ruby, described him as “accommodating” and considerate with others. When she met him, he liked to dance, but Ruby’s mother was against dancing, so they never did much of that.
As an adult, he moved a country house to the town of Weldon and totally remodeled it.
Ray was killed in a farm accident in 1949. He was caught in a mechanized post hole digger while building a fence on his mother’s farm one half mile south and 1 1/2 miles east of Weldon, Illinois.
Pall bearers at his funeral were John Clow, Charles Baker, Wayne Jiles, Vernelle Leischner, Will Glynn, and Carl Kingston. The Rev Dwight K. Sailor officiated.