Over the last few years, I have discovered that studying
one’s genealogy can be an addictive sort of hobby, almost like a pox. This is a
recent understanding: as a child growing up, I had little interest in family
history. What interest I had in family matters extended only to my grandparents
and a few cousins who lived nearby. I knew all other family members as ‘relatives,’
connected to my family in some mysterious fashion that provoked their
attendance at the occasional family picnic. These were invariably held at a
nearby park where old people sat talking for hours while I and my cousins got
into mischief. I never knew precisely who Uncle Fred was or why Helen Hearn was
a relative when her name was unlike any in my immediate family. Strangely, none
of the relationships was ever explained to me and I never inquired, content to treat
unfamiliar family members like a mysterious odor at a party – better not to
know. Now, as my age is beginning to exceed my grandparent’s age when I was a
youngster attending those family picnics, I am intensely curious to learn about
those whose blood is mixed with mine.
After a few aborted attempts to learn about my Indiana
forebears, I finally took a class in genealogy at our local library. I learned
how to track down relatives using data from wide variety of sources, many
available via the internet. It was like opening doors to the past as I found
names, places and pictures of those who came before. In several instances, the
data was like a storybook, detailing lives rich in joy and success while others
were punctuated by the sorrows of early deaths due to illness or accident.
The stories formed a tapestry of life that was remarkably different from mine as the sands of time played out and technology changed us in ways unimaginable to our grandparents. Discovering the past in this fashion was like a treasure hunt and each finding was an inducement for more searching.
About a year ago, I decided to investigate wife Marjorie’s
family history from her father’s side, a man named Leon Seaman. I soon found
the Seaman family had a remarkable past with a long history in America. As I
searched through the online data, provocative stories of interesting people filled
my computer screen and urged further study.
One of the most interesting characters was a man who was an
early leader of the Mormon Church before it began its long trek to Utah and Ill
fame as a sect harboring polygamists. (The Seaman relative wasn’t one) The same
Seaman Mormon and his wife also became known as the first white settlers of
Michigan’s Drummond Island. Interestingly, after he passed at age 52, his former
wife and family discontinued practicing the Mormon religion.
Other Seaman men were patriots and some became war heroes;
one a Medal of Honor pilot during WW II, who subsequently ferried President
Eisenhower in a Marine helicopter. Another Seaman became Canada’s most storied
ace in WW I, credited with more kills than any other Allied Pilot. He became
Air Marshall for Canada during WW II. Other Seaman men fought in the War of
1812 and the Revolutionary War including one Caleb Seaman, known for his undercover
exploits with the British– a reputation that earned him a trip to Canada.
The father of the Seaman family in America came to our
shores in 1630, succeeding those on the Mayflower by a mere ten years. He was
fruitful – his 16 children became the source of many Seamans that settled
throughout the US and Canada. The family members attributed to him numbered
over 3,000 at the turn of this century.
It was an exhilarating study, so mesmerizing that I had to
put it into words. The result is a new book, a labor of love now available at
Amazon.com. Here it is:
