52 Ancestors 2025: Off to School

 

September (now late August) is a time of hope, anticipation, trepidation, and often change, as children, adult students, parents, grandparents, teachers, and other school staff face a new school year. Education has been an important part of our nation’s history, from the founding of public schools in Massachusetts to the cutting-edge technologies being developed in our universities. But for a genealogist, school records can give us glimpses into our ancestors’ lives and their communities.

Being farmers and often pioneers moving westward, my ancestors faced challenges getting the now-standard K–12, let alone a university education. As far as I can tell, my family’s role in schooling began with my 3rd-great-grandfather, John Jay Fast (1814–1891), who exemplifies the 19th-century migration pattern from Pennsylvania to Ohio, then to Illinois, and finally to Barton County, Missouri. The 1889 book of Barton County biographies notes:

The eldest of this family, John J. Fast, was reared on a farm, and had very meager educational advantages, not attending school a year altogether. By private study, however, he qualified for teaching, and followed this profession for some time…He was the first treasurer of the Lamar school board…

So the Fasts appear to be a branch invested in public education, and that tradition carried on. My maternal grandmother, Ruby (Fast) Reed, was a schoolteacher in Barton County. After separating from my grandfather, Stephen A. Reed, she needed to support herself and her children and turned to teaching. According to the 1940 census, she earned $560 a year. Unfortunately, she died at the age of 60, with a memorial document noting that she was a fourth-grade teacher. My great-aunt, Mary (Fast) Hizar, was also a teacher. I remember her being intrigued by my Golden Book of Natural History, written by the remarkable (for me) science author Bertha Morris Parker. I left my book with her so she could use it in her classroom, and that Christmas I received a brand-new copy.

This brings us to my mother, Ruth, who also became a schoolteacher. She taught in a rural one-room schoolhouse, where children of all ages learned side by side. We have three school pictures (one is shown here) that appear to represent the years 1937–1939. At the time, she was teaching at Bryan School, which I was able to locate in Barton City Township, just down the road from her grandfather’s farm, where she lived with her mother. The children—some of whom appear to be siblings—would have walked or ridden in a wagon up to two miles each way. I have a book about Barton County schools that includes memories and pictures of those days. These one-room schools were essential to rural communities, but as school buses became common, they were consolidated, and the children transferred to schools in Liberal, Missouri.

Was my mother able to continue teaching after she married and moved to Buffalo? Unfortunately, no. City teaching positions required a college degree, and Mom had only a high school diploma with a few summer terms at Southwest Missouri State Teachers College (now Missouri State University) in Springfield. But once a teacher, always a teacher. She instilled in us a love of learning—always keeping books in the house, sending us to the library, and immersing us in cultural activities. All three of us earned college degrees, with two going on to PhDs and careers in biomedical research. In that sense, we were first-generation college graduates—or maybe not.

Mom was able to teach right out of high school at age 17, but as consolidation brought stricter requirements, Ruby continued her summer classes and eventually graduated from Southwest Missouri State College in 1951, at age 57. She was certainly a model of perseverance.

52 Ancestors 2025: Off to Work – A Furrow in Time

 

For most of my family’s history, this prompt points to a single occupation—farming. “Off to work” usually meant getting out of bed and heading to the barn or the kitchen. With so many generations to choose from, where to begin? Farming shows up in colonial times—in places like Massachusetts Bay Colony or the tip of Manhattan—in the early years of our country on the frontier, and later as families spread westward. For this post, I chose to focus on the late 1800s, when my ancestors settled in Barton County (and surrounding areas) in Missouri. This period allows me to use U.S. Census records, especially the Agricultural Schedules, which list crops grown and their value.

I was fortunate to find the Missouri Agricultural Schedules readily available online. All I had to do was download the PDFs and scroll through by township. Using the 1870 and 1880 census records, I located many of my ancestors and entered their information into an Excel spreadsheet. I then uploaded this data, along with household information, to ChatGPT to help analyze what was happening on these farms. With so much detail, there’s almost too much for a single post—so this is just an overview.

On my maternal side, the family tree includes the Fasts (3rd- and 2nd-great-grandfathers), Benjamin McWilliams (2nd-great-grandfather), S. D. Reed (2nd-great-grandfather), and Anthony Gilmartin (2nd-great-grandfather). One good example is John Jay Fast, born in Ohio in 1814. Before the Civil War, he moved first to Fulton County, Illinois, and then to Barton County, Missouri. The census snapshots catch him in his mid-fifties and mid-sixties, showing a productive and diverse farm with a mix of grains, hay, and livestock. By 1880, with two of his sons striking out on their own, he hired extra help and still managed to increase both output and value. His farming skill was passed down to his son William Marion. By that same year, B. C. McWilliams also had a productive farm, while the earlier census shows him just starting out, breaking sod.

On my paternal side (Cassatt, Houseworth, Yount), I wasn’t able to compare 1870 and 1880 as completely because not all Agricultural Schedules were available. Still, the combination of Population and Agricultural records shows that these families, too, maintained respectable farms with grains, hay, potatoes, wood lots, and livestock.

The household data also helps paint a fuller picture. With AI’s help, I could see who was available for chores. It also highlights how often families were blended—widowed heads of household remarrying, sometimes to other widows who brought children into the family, or adult children returning after the death or separation of a spouse, often with children of their own.

These records help bring farming families to life, moving them beyond just names and dates. They also reveal the larger forces that shaped their lives: the extension of railroads, the Panic of 1873, swarms of locusts, and falling commodity prices brought on by the abundance produced as farms began to mechanize. There is so much more history—and so many more records—to explore. By organizing these details of marriages, births, deaths, and residences into timelines, and then using generative AI to connect the dots, I can keep building the narratives of these families. More blog posts to come—stay tuned.

52 Ancestors 2025: Playtime

 

“Playtime” is a tricky topic when it comes to specific ancestors. For one, I don’t have many stories about leisure activities. For another, from what I know about their culture, Puritans didn’t seem particularly playful, and farming didn’t exactly leave time for the Grand Tour. So this topic lends itself more naturally to recent family memories. Being a working-class family, our vacations were modest and affordable—basically falling into two categories: trips back to Missouri for the Fast family reunion, and camping trips. This post is more about reminiscing than research.

The family reunion lasted one day, but the vacation itself was two weeks of visiting—minus three days of travel each way in the days before the interstate highway system. I remember snippets of the journey: Burma-Shave signs, drinking warm Dr. Pepper at a St. Louis gas station while switching from US-40 to US-66, and getting car sick in the rolling hills as we approached Springfield, Missouri. But it was also a time for visiting farms and listening to family stories.

Our camping trips were real adventures. Sometimes we stayed local, at Camp Arrowhead off NY-16 on the way to Olean, or ventured farther to the Adirondacks, especially Lewey Lake. Hiking, mountains, woods, campfires—being outdoors in every sense. Somehow, the love of nature feels like it’s in my DNA. My eastern ancestors often settled in wooded areas they had to clear for farmland. One ancestor lived with the Delaware tribe for over a year after being captured. The Wilderness Road to Kentucky was too narrow for wagons, so my migrating ancestors hiked the entire way. And many who fought in the American Revolution and Civil War walked from battle to battle. As I got older, my “playtime” included canoeing and hiking in lakes, streams, and woods—and my son, who spent many hours as my backpack passenger, has now carried on the tradition.

While “playtime” may not appear in written family history, I do remember it vividly on the Missouri farms I visited. We went fishing (where I learned about chiggers), set off firecrackers forbidden in my city neighborhood, and enjoyed plenty of social time. Clippings show community gatherings—weddings, showers, or visiting friends from out of town. Judging by the sense of humor in my cousins, I’m sure there was plenty of general hijinks.

On one Missouri trip, my cousins Terry and Benny taught me the song My Gal’s a Corker; She’s a New Yorker. One line went, “She’s got a long, long, nose; just like a garden hose.” I was a quick learner and proudly sang the whole thing to my extended family at my aunt’s house. Years later, I learned that our generation’s humor wasn’t always appreciated by our elders—but I’m betting they were quietly laughing as my cousins received their punishment after I left.

52 Ancestors 2025: The Legal Troubles of Benjamin Cruiser McWIlliams

 

We’ve met my 2nd-great-grandfather, Benjamin Cruiser McWilliams, before. Through his writings on his Civil War POW experiences and life as a new settler on the Missouri prairie, we’ve had a window into our nation’s history. But I wasn’t expecting to see his name connected to the prompt “legal troubles.” Two unrelated events led me there: first, while using FamilySearch’s full-text search to check Ben’s land transactions, I stumbled across a couple of court cases. Second, my ace genealogist cousin, Cindy Cruz, sent me Ben’s complete Civil War pension file—and pointed out a rather heated dispute.

Details about the court cases were scarce, but in 1872 Ben was convicted of petit larceny and fined $5. In 1878, an appeal was filed but later withdrawn—though whether it was for that case or something else is unclear. By the 1870s, though, Ben was already a successful farmer. He had purchased land in 1866, and both the 1870 and 1880 U.S. Census agricultural schedules confirm his prosperity. This makes me suspect the case involved a minor dispute, perhaps a business deal gone wrong.

Ben was a survivor—both literally and figuratively. During his time in the notorious Andersonville prison camp, he had worked in the hospital, getting extra rations there until caught by the Raiders, and conducted shrewd deals with locals who couldn’t distinguish between worthless “old issue” Confederate money and the still-valid “new issue.” His resourcefulness, risk-taking, and business instincts no doubt served him well as a prairie farmer—but may have also landed him in conflict from time to time.

The pension dispute offers even more insight—and perhaps a glimpse into postwar Barton County, Missouri, where recently arrived “Yankee” settlers mixed uneasily with older residents whose sympathies leaned southern. Missouri had been a border slave state and a guerrilla battleground during the Civil War, with escalating violence between Union troops and Confederate bushwhackers.

From 1862, Congress provided pensions for Union veterans disabled during service. At age 37, Ben applied, providing testimony from himself, a physician, and several acquaintances. But in the file was a remarkable letter from Barton County neighbors declaring that granting him a pension “would be a fraud & swindle upon the Government and an outrage upon the feelings of every patriotic citizen and true lover of justice and right throughout this community.” Harsh words! They claimed he was well-to-do and appeared to have no disability.

Indeed, in 1880 his farm was valued at $5,000—far above the U.S. median of $600—and he was listed in the 1889 History of Barton County. Perhaps they had a point. Many successful farmers of that era claimed ailments like rheumatism or poor eyesight, and Ben’s claim of scurvy-related disability fit that pattern. Still, sworn testimony and a physical exam were required, and frontier farmers were known for working through pain.

Then I looked closer at the signatories:

J. C. Leonard, J. A. Eddlemon, T. B. Yount, Henry M. Mayfield, G. H. Dixson, J. H. Conrad, H. P. Schmalhorst, J. W. Schmalhorst, J. B. Geer, S. D. Reed, George Reed, D. H. Pierson, John J. Dixson, A. M. Comfort, G. W. Conrad, Lewis Stone, J. B. Eddlemon, Wm. Jones.

Some names were familiar—and in fact, many were in my own family tree. The Younts, originally from North Carolina, had roots in Cape Girardeau, Missouri, and had intermarried with the Mayfields, who came from Virginia. The Justice of the Peace, J. C. Krimminger, was from a family long associated with the Younts. The Reeds had Virginia roots before moving to Ohio, and according to family lore, S. D. Reed had gone into hiding to avoid Union Army service. Several others had parents or grandparents from Kentucky, North Carolina, or Virginia, while others hailed from Union states like Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois—but as we know, Union loyalty varied depending on local settlement history.

Old wartime animosities may have still been smoldering. Ben was a proud Republican, outspoken about his service. Perhaps his pension application struck some as self-serving, or as an attempt to profit while their own families had suffered in different ways.

In the end, his 1882 application was denied. He eventually received a pension in 1890, when eligibility expanded to all veterans. But whether the wounds healed is another matter—though the families certainly intertwined over time. Ben’s granddaughter, Ruby Fast, married Stephen A. Reed, grandson of S. D. Reed. Their daughter married the grandson of Henry Yount, brother of T. B. Yount, and one-time farmhand for J. H. Conrad. These were my parents.

The opening of the prairie drew settlers from all over—bringing with them their cultures, grudges, and histories. Some conflicts played out in courtrooms or in letters to authorities. Others, eventually, were resolved at weddings and family dinner tables.

52 Ancestors 2025: Wide Open Spaces — The Missouri Prairie

 

When my ancestors first arrived in the New World, much of the Dutch and British colonies were covered in forests. Over time, those forests were cleared for farmland—a pattern that continued as families pushed westward. Many of my lines ultimately converged in Barton County, Missouri, located on the eastern edge of the wide-open Osage Plains, part of the vast prairies of the American West. These prairies were characterized by tall grasses, with trees lining the many creeks and streams. The rich, loamy soil proved ideal for farming and attracted settlers from the Midwest and Upper South, especially in the years surrounding the Civil War.

The first of my ancestors to arrive in southwest Missouri were the Maddox and Curry families. Robert Curry (my 2nd-great-grandfather on my paternal side) married Elizabeth Ann Maddox, and by 1860 they were living in Montevallo Township, Vernon County—just north of Barton County. At that time, Vernon County’s population was only 4,850. Both families had deep roots in the East: the Maddoxes had lived in colonial Virginia, then migrated west through Tennessee; the Currys migrated through Kentucky from the east. They initially settled in Monroe County, Missouri, before 1840, then moved further west by 1850 in search of new farmland.

Unfortunately, they were caught up in the turmoil of the Civil War. The region was a hotbed of guerrilla warfare against Union forces. Being deeply Southern in sympathy, the extended Maddox family was aligned with the bushwhackers and suffered retaliation when Union troops struck back at towns that had supported the Confederacy. But that is another story.

Another transplanted Southern family on my paternal side was the Younts. Though the Younts originally arrived in Pennsylvania in the 1700s, they later established themselves in North Carolina and then in the Cape Girardeau region of Missouri in the early 1800s. Frederick Yount (my 2nd-great-grandfather) moved to Barton County with his second wife, Elizabeth, before 1870 and started a farm there. This was a blended family migration of Younts and Krimmingers—several of Elizabeth’s children also relocated and established themselves in Barton County. (Note: In the 1886 plat of Barton City shown above, nearby settlers included the Mayfields, relatives of Frederick Yount’s first wife. At least one was a 5th cousin. Even when families weren’t close, they were often distantly related and were part of the tight-knit web of early settlers.)

On my maternal side was Anthony Gilmartin, a Union Army veteran and 2nd-great-grandfather. He, his wife Jane, and their children migrated to Barton County between 1867 and 1870 from Illinois. Another Illinois transplant was John Jay Fast and his wife Hannah Robbins Day, my 3rd-great-grandparents, who arrived in 1866.

Another Union Army veteran, my great-grandfather David Cassatt, first moved to the prairies of Carroll County, Missouri, near the Missouri River. He later settled in Barton County in 1878. The Reed family also arrived during the 1870s, migrating from eastern Ohio under the leadership of S.D. Reed, my 2nd-great-grandfather.

Among the most notable of these settlers was Benjamin Cruiser McWilliams (my 2nd-great-grandfather), who not only moved to Barton County in the 1860s but also recorded his vivid impressions. As I’ve mentioned before, Ben was part Scots-Irish and part German from the Appalachian region of Pennsylvania, and the vast prairie made quite an impression on him. According to The History of Barton County, he:

...only remained here a short time, as the country was but a vast rolling prairie, with no houses or improved farms, and went to Dubuque, Iowa, thence to Cedar Rapids, and was married at Danforth, Johnson County, Iowa, to Miss Mary A. Cloud, on the 24th of December, 1867. In 1869 he returned to his farm in Missouri, at that time there being no house between his and the county seat, Lamar, sixteen miles away…

He further described his first impressions of the prairie in his own words:

I went around the next morning and [real estate agent George Walser] had his ponies hitched up to his ‘"buckboard," and we both got in and drove seventeen miles northwest of Lamar to the Round Mound in Barton City Township, where we commanded a good view of the surrounding country. The grass had all gone to seed that year and was as high as your head on all sides, resembling a vast sea.

Pointing from this point of view to a place to the southwest of where we stood, on the Round Mound, to land near the foot of the same said, "Now your land lies down there." [...]

Viewed from the top of this mound, the surrounding country was beautiful to behold and enough to captivate anyone, especially someone from the East, where mountains block the view. The broad plains stretched out on all sides and melted away into the horizon, with flocks of wild deer and antelope roaming freely. All other forms of game abounded—prairie chickens, wild turkey, and squirrels—in the timber. As far as the eye could reach, I found no settlements on this lone prairie, but the wild game held full sway. A few log cabins, however, dotted the creek banks as far to the east, near what was called Little Drywood, these were sheltered by trees.

To these east-coast migrants, the Missouri prairie truly was a land of wide-open spaces—a land of possibility. Barton County had just 1,817 residents in 1860. Though the region was a Civil War battleground, the promise of fertile land drew settlers westward, and by 1870 the population had grown to 4,285, and by 1880 to 10,332.

This post is only a summary of the settler ancestors in my family tree. As I’ve dug deeper into census records, agricultural schedules, and land deeds, more stories have come to light. Each deserves a post of its own.

These settlers formed farming and faith communities, and any map from 100+ years ago shows their farms scattered across various townships—but rarely far apart. Over time, these proximity-based relationships turned into marriages, as children who migrated or were born in Missouri grew up alongside one another.

Ben McWilliams recalled one such bond:

John Fast and family had located and settled in the north part of the city, near the present location of the waterworks tower. There were several trails which crossed his land, so he had laid rails across these trails to divert the travel from across his newly sowed wheat fields. Two sons, John and Marion, later went out and settled near Barton City, and became my lifelong neighbors and friends.

Ben’s daughter, Nellie, later married Marion’s son, Orin Taylor Fast—and together they became “Grandma and Grandpa Fast,” names that live on in many family tales.

Photo: 1886 Plat of Barton City Township; Courtesy of Cindy Cruz