52 Ancestors 2025: Choices—Tracing the Many Lives of Stephen Anthony Reed

 

This week’s exploration took me deeper into the life of my maternal grandfather, Stephen Anthony Reed—the only grandparent I ever met. While I remember him vaguely, his legacy within the family was more complicated. He and my grandmother, Ruby, divorced in the 1930s, reportedly due to his infidelity. Family lore says he was a car salesman who once gave a car to a girlfriend, even though the family had modest means.

The 1930 census places the Reed family in St. Joseph, Missouri, with Ruby, their daughter Ruth (my mother), and sons James, and twins John and Joseph. By 1940, Ruby and the children were living with her parents, Orin Taylor and Nellie Mae McWilliams Fast—a sure sign of the family fracture.

Since my first genealogy goal of the year was to trace the Reed line, I began with Stephen and also looked him up in the 1940 census. He was still in St. Joseph, now living with a new wife, Margaret L., and two stepdaughters: Detrie O. Wilcox and Rose M. Stephens. The names were unfamiliar. I assumed Margaret had been previously married to a man named Stephens and began searching records under various combinations, but came up empty-handed.

Then came some intriguing clues: a 1961 Wyoming marriage certificate listing Stephen’s wife as Verla, and mid-century city directories showing that he owned a roofing company in Nebraska, managed by Verla. The marriage certificate indicated both Stephen and Verla were previously married but widowed.

Still determined to find out more about Margaret, I returned to the 1940 census and reexamined it closely. One daughter, listed as Rose M. Stephens, was also recorded elsewhere as Rose M. Stephenson. The handwriting was difficult, and the transcription had been slightly off, but this provided a new clue. I eventually located Rose in the 1950 census—living in a convalescent home in St. Joseph and unable to work. Her 1967 death certificate confirmed she was the daughter of John Tipton Stephenson and Margaret Branstuder. She was also living in a nursing facility that was part of the local public health department.

This led to a breakthrough: Margaret’s older daughter, “Detrie,” was actually Delcie Oleta Stephenson, who had married Ralph Lewis Wilcox in 1936 in Nebraska. She later appears as Dulcie O. Stephenson Hord, confirmed by a FamilySearch tree and a Find-A-Grave entry.

Piecing this together: in 1930, Margaret Branstuder was married to John Stephenson (update: but she and John were not living together). Sometime between 1930 and 1935, Stephen Reed and Margaret left their respective families and began a life together. In the 1940 census, Margaret and Stephen were living with her daughters. They had resided in Plattsmouth, Nebraska in 1935. Rose, then 15, was not in school, and Delcie (Dulcie) was working as a waitress, though married, with no husband in the home.

By 1950, Stephen was in a new relationship, living in Norfolk, Nebraska with Verla Catherine Fultz Verbeck. Though listed as married, they didn’t officially wed until 1961, as confirmed by a Wyoming marriage certificate. Verla had been previously married to John Edward Verbeck, who passed away in 1955.

This research opens up new questions: What became of Margaret Branstuder after 1940? What were the circumstances of her and Stephen’s relationship—and her disappearance from the record? While Dulcie and Rose left some traceable paths, Margaret’s trail fades. As for Stephen, the records suggest a life of frequent moves, multiple relationships, and occupational shifts—choices that left its mark on those around him.  

There's more to uncover, and it’s a reminder that genealogical research is often less about static facts and more about untangling the complex stories behind the names. The search continues, with questions for both archives and family memory.

Addendum: I was able to pick up some of Margaret's trail. Here's an update.

52 Ancestors 2025: Language in My Family Tree

 

Although many of my ancestors came from the British Isles and Northwestern Europe, other languages were also well represented in my genealogy. For this topic, I could write about my 5th-great-grandfather, Christian Fast, whose parents came from Germany. He grew up in Maryland and Pennsylvania, speaking both English and German. When he was captured and adopted by the Delaware Indians after a failed attack, he no doubt learned their language as well. His German skills played a crucial role when he later escaped captivity and returned home—only to find that his parents, seeing his native dress and war paint, struggled to believe he was truly their son.

But I’m especially interested in my Dutch and French-speaking ancestors who settled in the Dutch colony of New Amsterdam. In the 17th century, the Dutch Republic (Netherlands) became a refuge for persecuted Reformed Protestants from France and Spanish-controlled Belgium (Wallonia). Many of these refugees had French names like des Marets, Durie, DuBois, de Ruine, and Sohier, while others had Dutch names like Banta, Van Horne, Van Neste, Rutgers, Terhune, Helling, and Brickers.

One of the earliest immigrant couples in my lineage was Joris Jansen Rapelje and Catalina Trico, who were married in the Walloon Church in Amsterdam on January 21, 1624, and sailed for the New World just four days later on De Eendracht. Within 40 years, New Amsterdam had become a multicultural trading city, but Dutch remained the primary language.

That changed in 1664 when British warships arrived, and New Amsterdam became New York—with English as the official language. Over time, the French-speaking settlers intermarried with their Dutch neighbors, adapting to their surroundings. As they migrated westward, their communities became known as “Low Dutch” colonies, following familiar migration patterns from New York to New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Kentucky. By the 18th century, English had largely replaced their original languages. When the Cossart/Cossairt line settled in Ohio, they became less insular, intermarrying with English-speaking neighbors, fully integrating into the American melting pot.

And back in New York? The city remains a global destination for immigrants, continuing to enrich its culture with new languages, traditions, and foods—all in pursuit of the American Dream.

Word cloud generated using data estimates and historical research with assistance from ChatGPT.

52 Ancestors 2025: Home Sweet Home - The Neighborhood

 

One thing I’ve learned in my research is that farming was practically universal among my ancestors—even those who lived in Manhattan and Brooklyn had farms. Occasionally, there was a mill, but generation after generation, they were primarily farmers. With farming came a tendency to move westward, from the original colonies into New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Kentucky, Ohio, and eventually Barton County, Missouri.  

So how did "Home, Sweet Home" end up being a city home for me? Like many farm kids, my father sought new opportunities in factory work as the country ramped up defense production before World War II. He found an airplane mechanic’s school in Buffalo, NY and eventually landed a job at the Bell Aircraft Plant, assembling P-39 fighter planes. In the summer of 1941, he married my mother, and they settled about a mile and a half north of downtown Buffalo, near the Elmwood Avenue streetcar line, which took him to work.  

After a few moves, the family settled in a neighborhood off Elmwood Avenue, about a mile north of their original home. Elmwood was a bustling street, and as free-range kids, we could walk to church, school, the library, grocery stores, and all kinds of shops, all under the majestic elm trees—until Dutch elm disease wiped them out in the 1960s and 1970s, leaving the neighborhood looking barren. The streets were filled with families with school-aged kids, and we had nearby Olmsted-designed parkways and Delaware Park for bigger adventures. While we lived on the edge of an Italian neighborhood, our community also included refugees who had fled war-torn Europe—a theme that seems to echo throughout my own family history.  

This kind of walkable, mixed-use urban living is what modern urban planners advocate today—though thankfully, with less pollution! It wasn’t sterile, high-rise public housing, but older homes that required upkeep, especially in Buffalo’s harsh weather. Today, older industrial cities face challenges as manufacturing declines, but many neighborhoods still thrive. And as climate change becomes more evident, cities like Buffalo could become destinations for future generations.  

Now that I’ve moved around the country, I still feel most at home in cities, walking the streets and visiting local stores—though my love of gardening remains a vestige of my farming heritage.  

52 Ancestors 2025: Historic Event – The Salem Witch Trials

 

This week’s topic, “Historic Event,” is a tricky one because my family history is deeply tied to the New World—spanning the American Revolution, Civil War, westward expansion, and, if online genealogies are correct, even the Mayflower. One surprise I discovered early on during my lunch break visits to the Family History Library was my deep Puritan roots, with family names like Shattuck, Joselyn, Larkin, Fay, Morse, Day, Cleveland, and Hale.  

One family that caught my attention was the Hales, among the earliest Puritan settlers of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. My 9th-great-grandfather, Deacon Robert Hale, arrived in 1630 as a carpenter and acquired several parcels of land in Charlestown, Massachusetts. He and his wife, Joanna, had nine children, including Joanna Hale, who married John Larkin (my 8th-great-grandparents) in 1664. They settled in Charlestown, but John died young in 1678 at age 38. Joanna, then about 31 years old, later married William Dodge and moved to Beverly, Massachusetts.  

It seems Joanna and William moved to Beverly shortly after their marriage, possibly to be near her older brother, John Hale, who was the first pastor of the First Parish Church in Beverly. Beverly was just a short boat ride from Salem and the two communities were closely connected. During the Salem Witch Trials of 1692, John Hale initially supported the court’s actions—until his own wife was accused of witchcraft. This shocking turn led him to reconsider his stance, and he later published his influential book, A Modest Inquiry into the Nature of Witchcraft, in which he examined the hysteria and its consequences.  

We don’t know Joanna Hale Larkin Dodge’s personal views on the trials. However, given that her family was well-established in Beverly and likely attended her brother’s church (the only church in town), it’s safe to say she and her children witnessed these events firsthand. The Hales, Larkins, and Dodge were interconnected through marriage, and the aftermath of the trials surely impacted the next generation. Sadly, Joanna passed away in 1693, but she left behind a legacy woven into the fabric of 17th- and 18th-century New England. 

52 Ancestors 2025: Brick Wall - The Reed Conundrum

 

I guess it’s all relative, but my brick wall goes back 230 years—and since it’s my maternal line, it’s especially frustrating. What is certain is that the Reed family lived in Muskingum County, Ohio, in the early to mid-1800s, and that Stephen D. Reed (pictured) moved to Barton County, Missouri, between 1870 and 1880.

A few years ago, while scouring genealogical sites, I found S.D.’s family, with John Reed as the patriarch. There was a nice listing of all of S.D.’s siblings, along with an indication that John came from Loudoun County, Virginia. In a way, this makes sense—during the Civil War, S.D. seemed more butternut than Union-supporting, and legend has it that when the draft officials came around, he made himself scarce.

With so much information about S.D. and his descendants, why the brick wall? Part of the challenge is that records from this period are scarce. Part of it is simply that Reed is a common surname. But another reason might be that I just haven’t had the chance to dig into this branch—I’ve spent so much time on my paternal brick walls (Naylor and Tharp) that this one has taken a backseat.

Apparently, some Ancestry trees trace this line further, but which ones are plausible? Are there secrets buried in Loudoun County records—land deeds, tax lists—or do I need to look at marks on pre-1850 censuses? It looks like I’ll need to start with what I know and work my way back.

Oh, and another brick wall—23andMe tells me I have Bavarian ancestry, yet I haven’t found a single Bavarian ancestor in my tree. So maybe there are brick walls I don’t even see yet. More research, more work—but also, more discoveries ahead.

52 Ancestors 2025: Siblings - The Cossart Family’s Diverging Journeys

 

There are many families in my family tree, and except for recent generations, there may not be many interesting sibling stories that have been passed down. However, one family intrigued me because its various siblings took dramatically different paths.

My 5th-great-grandparents, Francis Cossart and Margaret Van Nest, came from Huguenot-Dutch families in New Amsterdam and later New Jersey. Before the American Revolution, they settled in the Low Dutch Colony of the Conowago Valley in York County (now Adams County), Pennsylvania. They had seven recorded children, and here are the stories of three of them.

Francis was an important member of the community. Before the Revolution, he served on the Committees of Correspondence. During the war, he worked to supply soldiers with clothing and, as a member of the Provincial, then State, Assembly, helped draft the first Pennsylvania Constitution.

David Cossart (1743–1823)

The eldest son, David, followed in his father’s footsteps, serving in the local militia during the Revolution and later in the Pennsylvania Legislature. Even before the war, he had purchased a farm near his family’s land and remained in the area for the rest of his life. His son Denis moved westward to West Virginia, and that branch of the family found great success. One descendant, Robert Cassatt, made a fortune in land and stock trading in Pittsburgh before relocating to Philadelphia. His children became famous: Mary Stevenson Cassatt, the renowned Impressionist artist, and Alexander Johnston Cassatt, president of the Pennsylvania Railroad.

Christina Cossart Clopper (1755–1801)

Christina married Cornelius Clopper, a fellow member of the Low Dutch Colony, and they divided their time between Pennsylvania and Maryland. Their son, Francis Cassatt Clopper, bought a gristmill in Gaithersburg, Maryland, along Seneca Creek. He married an Irish Catholic woman and donated land to the local diocese to build St. Rose of Lima Church. His prominence led to the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad building the Metropolitan Branch to serve the D.C. and southwestern Maryland region. The road passing his mill, Clopper Road, later inspired lyricists Billy Danoff and Taffy Nivert, from Gaithersburg, to write that song that was completed by John Denver. Interestingly, this branch of the family also began using the “Cassatt” variation of the surname.

Pieter Cossart (1746–1781)

The second son, Pieter (Peter), was also a Patriot and militia member. Unlike his siblings, who remained in the east, he was drawn to the west, lured by the promise of land in Kentucky. In 1781, he migrated with many in-laws to the Fort Harrodsburg area of the Bluegrass region. Tragically, he was killed by Native Americans within six months of his arrival. His descendants, including Hendrick, William, and David, became farmers, shaping my lineage. His choice to move west remains one of the great “what ifs” of my ancestry. Interestingly, some of his descendants also adopted the “Cassatt” variation of the surname, suggesting that family ties transcended the distances as their paths diverged.

52 Ancestors 2025: Family Secret? Not Quite—But an Interesting Discovery

If there are any deep family secrets, no one has told me—but while researching various family lines, I’ve found that marriage dates and birthdays can be quite intriguing. Society in earlier times may have had a reputation for being prudish, but young people were just as drawn to each other as they are today.

I previously shared the stories of my great-great-grandparents, William Peter Cossairt (also spelled Cozart) and Nancy Tharp (read her story here), who lived in 1840s Warren County, Ohio. The marriage record pictured above is from 1843, and it appears that Nancy was 16 or 17 years old, as her father had to give his in-person consent for the marriage. Just two months later, Nancy gave birth to my great-grandfather, David (his story is here). Clearly, she was already pregnant at the time of their wedding.

Curious about how this situation would have been described in the 1840s, I consulted ChatGPT to see if the term “shotgun wedding” was in use back then. Here’s what it had to say:

In 1840s America, a shotgun wedding likely wouldn’t have been called that yet, as the phrase didn’t become widely used until the late 19th or early 20th century. However, the concept certainly existed. People might have referred to it as a forced marriage, hasty marriage, marriage of necessity, or even a marriage under duress. In more colloquial or regional terms, it might have been described as being married in a hurry or making an honest woman of her.

In some communities, especially in rural or religious settings, such a situation might have been framed as doing the right thing or a matter of honor. Local customs would have influenced the terminology, but the social expectation to legitimize a pregnancy or preserve family reputation was certainly present.

William was 26 years old at the time of their marriage—considerably older than Nancy. Were they young neighbors, caught up in the moment? Given the status of women and girls at the time, was there some duress or coercion involved?

We may never know the full story behind their marriage, but their family lines—and their legacy—lived on.