Me and Dr. Hardgrove

I'm a complete and total nerd.

I'm a bookworm. Always have been and always will be. While my friends were out fixing cars and playing sports, I was reading about history and doing work on my family tree.

My heroes were different. My view of "celebrities" was different. Case in point, Dr. Maurice Hardgrove. All my youth, there was this really cool model of the Titanic on top of the large card catalogue in the Fond du Lac Public Library. I always glanced up at it in the adult section (it wasn't in the kids'). One day I looked more closely at the sign inside the glass case it was in and it said that it was built by Dr. Maurice Hardgrove. I looked closer and it said that not only did he make it, but he was on the Carpathia (the ship that picked up the survivors of the Titanic) when he was a boy. This was so cool to me. The odds of me meeting one of the remaining survivors of the Titanic at age 15? 0% chance. This was the next best thing. He was equally important from a different aspect of the tragedy we all know. He was my celebrity. I wanted to meet him. I wanted his autograph.

I told my mom. I was 15. "If you want to get me something for my birthday, I'll take Dr. Hardgrove's autograph." I didn't think my mom took it seriously.

She did.

It was the summer of 1990, I was 15 and we came to Milwaukee and I met Dr. Hardgrove and his wife. They were two of the nicest people you could possibly meet. We spent a few hours at their home. After a bit, Dr. Hardgrove stood up and went to a door and said to come with him. I went down to his basement and he pointed at a box, "Jack, can you please bring up that box?" I gladly obliged and brought it upstairs. It turned out to be his box of Titanic items (newsletters from the Titanic Historical Society and his postcards that he kept since he was a boy from the Carpathia and this great photo of him, with his parents, aunt & uncle, and grandparents -- grandfather was a Civil War vet). They were from Fond du Lac and I knew the names. His uncle, Dr. Frank McGauley pronounced my great-grandfather dead on April 3, 1916. His grandfather, the Civil War vet, was Maurice McKenna, a well respected attorney in Fond du Lac, who wrote the 1912 History of Fond du Lac County. They were also were friends with Fond du Lac's most prominent doctor, William Minahan, who would go down on the Titanic just two nights after this photo was taken.

Young, 8 year old Dr. Hardgrove is standing right over his grandfather's shoulder. I asked him what he remembered and he told me that he couldn't sleep that night and he snuck out of the cabin and went into the hallway. He saw two crewmembers who were talking about how the ship was turning around. Then they saw him and told him he better get back to his cabin. He also remembered that everyone tried to bring warm blankets and clothes up to the deck after the survivors were on board.

Didn't read that in a book. I heard it first hand.

The shocking conclusion? Dr. Hargrove tells me to take the box. He and his wife have no children and he knows it will be in good hands, with someone that will respect the items. I was stunned.

I became an "honorary family member", if you will. Does this kind of thing really happen? Yes it does. It made everything I knew about the Titanic even more personal. Dr. Minahan was my great-grandparents' physician; he even saved my great-grandmother's life in 1906. Now, here in 1990, another part of the Titanic legend became personal.

With the centennial of this tragedy I pulled out the box that's been undisturbed for a few years. My mouth dropped. Beyond the items I recalled, inside were old, personal photos of Dr. Hardgrove and his family. Now, I need to share them with the world. This is from my friend, who brushed history 100 years ago.

Dr. Hardgrove and his parents.



Dr. Hardgrove (Class of 1921) went to my high school, Fond du Lac High and played football there, five years before my grandpa did.

Dr. Hardgrove as a young man, entering medical school.

Dr. Hardgrove and his medical schoolmates.

Who does this? Who passes on his personal, private and irreplacable photos to someone he just met? All I can think is that he was touched that someone viewed him as someone to look up to, especially a young teenager. Rediscovering this the other week made this even more special to me. I will always have a special connection and affection for Dr. Hardgrove.

Unfortunately, Dr. Hardgrove passed away several years ago. I can assure you that although he is gone, he will not be forgotten. That is why I'm writing this now; to share his story with you.

I was so lucky to not only have one of my little dreams achieved, but it was so much more. It still ripples and affects me to this day, 22 years later.

Is there a lesson here? I guess so. Always be honest, genuine and caring in life. You never know how it will impact someone else.

God bless Dr. Hardgrove and his family. God bless the Carpathia. God bless the souls and families affected by the Titanic tragedy. It was a century ago, yes, but it affected people then and now. It is so important to remember. This is why history is important.

It's personal.



The black and white photo postcard is another gift from Dr. Hardgrove. It was a postcard he actually kept from the Carpathia, April 1912.

Frank's Past, My Future

Tonight is special. 96 years ago is special. For me, at least.

On the evening of Monday, April 3, 1916, Frank Waller lay in bed. His breathing was more labored than normal (most likely it was the death rattle). Tillie quickly sent for Miss Kitchen and Miss Tank. At ten minutes past ten (9:10 CDT which didn't exist back then), Frank drew his last breath and exhaled. His chest dropped in the room lit by a small lamp. There, in the presence of Tillie, Ashley, Esther, Annabelle, Elsie Tank and Miss Trumer, Franklin Wilson Waller died at the young age of 36 (my age right now). The entire room cried for some time, then his face was covered by the blanket on the bed.

What does this have to do with me? This was my great-grandfather. My grandmother, Annabelle, told me this story several times. She was four. Imagine losing your father at four. Your husband of 13 years, the father of your three children at the age of 36. It was tuberculosis.

That meant that little Annabelle didn't get to spend much time with her father and her memories were limited. Her most memorable story about her and her father is sad, but cute. While Frank was lying in bed in his room on the second floor. She would stand at the bottom of the staircase and he would call down to her, “Lover.” To which Annabelle would respond. “Wha-at?” And teasingly he would answer, “Nuh-sing.” Then she’d play back, “Lover!” Frank would answer “Wha-at?” and she’d giggle and respond “Nuh-sing!” Frank’s love for his children is very clear in this story. Although he was so sick, he always made time to play with his children, even if he couldn’t be near them.

Life was a struggle for the Wallers. Frank was born on the Fourth of July, 1882. His grandfather was a Freewill Baptist minister who was an abolitionist and had two uncles fight for the Union in the Civil War, losing one in the infamous Andersonville prison. He was the oldest of six children. His parents had a marriage that fell apart on Christmas Day, 1903 when they had too much to drink. In front of their family, to Frank and everyone's horror, his father struck his mother, not once, but twice! Merry Christmas? God bless us everyone? In 1904, the divorce went public and Frank's mother was accused of being a prostitute so she left town.

A few years later, March 31, 1906 to be exact, my great-grandmother Tillie was going through an incredibly difficult birth. The family doctor, J. W. Helz. Dr. Helz exited the room that Tillie was in, looked Frank in the eyes and told him there was no way she’d survive the delivery. Frank was just informed that his wife of three and a half years was about to die. Frank was unwilling to accept this and ran out of the house they lived in at 297 S. Main Street. His destination was the office of the most highly regarded physician in Fond du Lac County, William Edward Minahan. Dr. Minahan had an office located at 88 S. Main. Frank pleaded with Dr. Minahan to deliver his unborn child and safe his wife’s life. Dr. Minahan agreed and the two returned to the house, where at 9:30 AM, Frank and Gertrude’s first daughter was born, Esther Gertrude Waller.

This is relevant right now too. Not only was the 106th anniversary of this miracle, the fate of both Frank and Dr. Minahan would forever be linked to the month of April. As I stated earlier, today is the anniversary of his death. Minahan's would follow just six years and fifteen days later in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Dr. Minahan’s reported last words were probably spoken after witnessing his sister’s fear, “Be brave.” During the course of the night of April 14/15, both his wife and sister were transferred to collapsable lifeboat D. He drowned that night, his body was recovered on April 30, 1912 by the SS MacKay Bennett. His body was recovered and tagged (bodies were tagged in the order in which they were recovered) with the following paperwork:

 NO. 230. - MALE. - ESTIMATED AGE, 6O. - HAIR, GREY.

            CLOTHING - Black suit and overcoat

             EFFECTS - Pocketbook; papers; gold watch, "Dr. W. E. Minahan"; keys;

            knife; fountain pen; clinical thermometer; memo book; tie pin; diamond

            ring; gold cuff link; nickel watch; comb; check book; American Express;

             $380; 1 collar button £16 10s. in gold; 14 shillings; nail clipper.

             FIRST CLASS PASSENGER.

 NAME - DR. W. E. MINAHAN.

Dr. Minahan was 44 at the time of death, but his estimated age was 60 as shown above, showing how badly the water damaged his body. His body was then moved to Halifax in Canada (where many Titanic fatalities were interred), and then shipped to his brother Victor and finally laid to rest in Green Bay, Wisconsin on May 2. (In 1987, some vandals broke into his tomb and stole his skull! Luckily they were apprehended quickly afterwards and the tomb is under much heaver lock & key).

But for Frank, the suffering continued. His only sister -- his baby sister -- Mable died in 1910 at the age of 17. It was tuberculosis. It is possible that this was the onset of his exposure to this affliction that would eventually kill him. Next, it was his father-in-law in 1913. It was tuberculosis.

By 1915, the disease was bad enough to send him to the Tuberculosis Sanatorium in Wales, Wisconsin. Here, the archaic treatment of letting the men and women live in cottages that were open to the elements, allowing them to have "fresh air" to breathe.

Then his mother-in-law died at the end of summer, 1915. Little Annabelle came out to see her father.

How the family could afford this stay is still not known. This was a house painter. Frank had wonderful talents in singing (boy's choir) and music (he played the violin), but he had trouble keeping other jobs he had, like working as a cabinet maker or on the railroad. He drank. Is it a wonder? Looking into my great-grandpa's life, I can see his weakness. I can see his desire to escape. He was not a mean drunk. He was a very happy drunk. This is best illustrated by a story my grandmother told me years ago. Tillie would have dinner ready, but Frank will be off drinking and she’d send Ashley to get his father. A young Ashley Waller would walk into the tavern and find his father, well immersed in his drink and some conversation. Frank would beam with pride and start boasting about his son in his stupor. Ashley who was around eight or nine, would walk home with his father, trying to keep him upright to get home for the night. This was not an isolated incident.

It wasn't always good at the bar though. He couldn't escape. In the summer of 1912, Frank witnessed an enraged and drunk man stumble into a tavern, accuse the owner of cheating with his wife, then threatened him with a knife. This was in front of everyone there. The owner, Tim Norton, pulled a gun and shot the man that started attacking him. The man would die a few days later of his wounds. The men, Frank included, were summoned to court to testify as witnesses. The bar owner had one last connection to Frank....his daughter Marjorie would later marry Frank's only son Ashley in 1925.

So now Frank is gone. It is a rainy Friday, April 7th and the family travelled to the public cemetery on the edge of town.

It was the complete despair of the situation that was sinking into little Esther and her mother during their ride in the car, as poor Esther cried so hard that she wet her pants. It might have lightened the mood for a moment in Tillie’s eyes, but no doubt nothing could remove from the grief the Waller family felt.

Even though Frank Waller was respected and loved by virtually everyone around him, he was laid to rest without a foot or head-stone in the cemetery. The family couldn't afford one. It wasn't until after Tillie remarried (a short while after, she remarried in September 1916, as she needed someone to be a husband and she needed him right away) to Clarence Thornburg, who took a white stone and etched in the most simple epitat possible: "F. Waller".

So why is all this so important for me? When I was a boy, my grandpa used to take me out to the cemetery to water the flowers at the graves. I didn't understand why my great-grandma was on a stone with a man named Clarence Thornburg, yet we cared about this separate plot next to them with "F. Waller". I asked him who it was. He said that was grandma's father. That he died when she was four and then her mother remarried. So I looked at this lonely gravestone thinking my great-grandfather must have lived a life that was pretty much forgotten. That my grandmother was robbed of many great years with her father (life with her step-father was far from good, as Ashley and Esther could attest).

Then I wanted to know a little more. Who was Frank Waller? Who were these people that died long before I was born? The next thing I knew, I was writing down names, asking stories and collecting photos. Frank Waller's death gave birth to my genealogy passion which I've had since 1987. I was 12. Now, I've pieced together not only the Waller family history (I'm working on completing the book by the end of the year -- it's over 230 pages and I'm only up to 1933) but researched all branches of my family back hundreds of years.

Anyone who knows me, knows that genealogy not only consumes me, but it defines me. I've been able to meet dozens of new relatives and re-establish long-lost ties. I've enjoyed every minute and look forward to teaching my son (the 13th generation Copet) how to appreciate our history. It interlinks with history and things that I learn about every day. It makes me feel right in the world, like I'm where I'm supposed to be.

Thank you grandpa Frank. Your little stone has opened up a book generations later that is shared and understood now. That little stone means so much. I never imagined someone's past would lead my future.

Presidents' Day

This is one that I had to think long and hard about. I haven't blogged in quite awhile, but one of the things that drew me into history was presidents.

I'd like to start off with my two cents, which is I believe that we really need to go back to the traditions that our parents and grandparents had: two people, two days: February 12, Abraham Lincoln (arguably the most important US President, as he kept the Union together) and February 22, George Washington (arguably the most important US President, as he proved that an elected leader of a country can step down and allow for a successon that wasn't hereditary).

The problem with Presidents' Day is, arguably, that legends in our country are being watered down.

My favorite reference comes from The Simpsons with their little tune they did once. The kids in Lisa's class were doing a play and many were dressed up and sang this song:

We are the mediocre presidents.
You won't find our faces on dollars or on cents!
There's Taylor, there's Tyler,
There's Fillmore and there's Hayes.
There's William Henry Harrison,
Harrison: I died in thirty days!
All: We... are... the...
Adequate, forgettable,
Occasionally regrettable
Caretaker presidents of the U-S-A!

Of course it's funny to think of presidents in this way. A president that died in 30 days? Seriously? Yup and it was his fault because he didn't wear warm enough clothing and gave a very long inaugural speech and then contracted pneumonia. Then the President of the United States died.

So let's break it down for a minute. Taylor: Zachary, the 12th President of the United States. He fought in the the War of 1812 and even the Blackhawk War here in Wisconsin and in parts of Illinois. He was exhumed in 1991 as part of a conspiracy theory that he was the first president assassinated in office. The tests came back that he died of natural causes. Another funny thing, he was the father-in-law of the future and only President of the Confederate States of America, Jefferson Davis. But he was insignificant, right?

How about Tyler? John Tyler. What can we say about him? Tenth president of the United States. He was quite possibly the first president who stood on his own two feet and pushed back against the political machine that put him in the Vice Presidency. He replaced William Henry Harrison ("I died in 30 days!"). He was viewed by the others around him as unconstitutional. We have to understand that back then there was no truely clear picture of how the president is replaced if he would step down, be impeached and removed, die, etc. Tyler stepped up and assumed full powers. He worked with his elected successor, James Polk and Texas to annex the republic days prior to leaving office in 1845. Not to mention, in 1861, he sided with the Confederacy and became a member of their House of Representatives. This led to a black mark on his legacy as he would be viewed, after the Civil War, as a turncoat and remembered for the latter part of his life.

Millard Fillmore took the place of the deceased Zachary Taylor making him the 13th President of United States. Just to make him wonder if he was up to the challenge, Taylor's entire cabinet resigned when he took office. He probably was the "caretaker president" as The Simpsons called them, who had the most difficult situation to come into. The country he took over was debating about the boundaries of slavary (the Compromise of 1850, which would resurrect little known, failed one-term Congressman Abraham Lincoln into the limelight to fight the author of the bill, one Stephen A. Douglas, setting up a decade of political battles and grandiose). Fillmore also had to deal with Napoleon III who was trying to annex the Hawaiian islands. He worked with Japan to open the channels for trade. Although the success was finalized by his successor, Franklin Pierce, he did the footwork. Maybe his recognition was stolen because of misinformation.

Maybe all of theirs were.

How about good old Rutherford Hayes? The 19th President of the United States. Didn't win the popular vote, lost it to Samuel J. Tilden in a contested Presidential election. It ended up with the Republican party sending it to the courts, where the electoral college was locked and the party-controlled judges ruled in favor of Hayes. Sound familiar?

Those who do not learn from history, are doomed to repeat it. I'm not here to start politics, I'm here to focus on the history. We always think we live in such extraordinary times and that something like this never happened before, when usually, it has. That's why its important to know, learn and remember.

It's critical that we stop this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vR93eRNgq7M because we're doing it to ourselves, and making ourselves look like fools.

So what am I getting at after this whole blog? Presidents' Day, do we need it? Yes. It's a pretty exclusive club, there's only been 44 in 222. Think about that. Muammar Gaddafi who was just overthrown in Libya ruled for 41 years. That's just one person. These men deserve our gratitude because they served our country and did the best that they could to protect and lead our nation. There are no lessers or care-takers. You may not agree with some, but life's not perfect and no one is -- not even the Presidents of the United States.