On a windy Saturday in April, 10 would-be detectives took their seats in a reading room of the State Archives building, a 20-story “Space Odyssey”-like monolith at N. 3rd and Forster streets. The morning had featured presentations by archivists on using public records to find Civil War ancestors. Jonathan Stayer, supervisor of reference services, called the post-lunch session to order with a quick announcement. “OK, there isn’t any particular plan for the afternoon. Everybody just research whatever they’re interested in.”
“I’ve never done this before, and I’m totally lost,” someone said. Her name was Kitty, she wore a sweater with a small butterfly decal, and she had come to dig up records on her great-great grandfather.
“He was a musician, but we don’t know what kind of musician. We do have a drum. The ropes and the, what do you call it, the skin, are still intact. But we don’t know if it’s his.”
This year marks the 150th anniversary of the Battle of Gettysburg, and, for those who are marking the occasion with a bit of genealogy, some recent legislation is bearing fruit. Senate Bill 361, which passed in late 2011, moved old birth and death certificates to the State Archives, where they’re currently being digitized and made available to the public.
Michael Hengst, chief of staff for state Sen. Bob Robbins (R-Mercer County), who sponsored the bill, said the main challenge was overcoming fears of identity theft. He assuaged that by pointing out that birth certificates wouldn’t become accessible until they were 105 years old. “It’s kind of hard to pose as somebody who’s 105,” he said.
Hengst, an amateur genealogist since the age of 14, just published a hefty tome of his paternal ancestors, going back to the year 1500. One of his hopes is that the open records will simplify research for other genealogists, who often have to track down multiple incomplete documents. “One fellow came into the archives looking for regimental information,” Hengst said. “I think he thought it would be in a nice folder. It was very frustrating for him. It’s accessible, but you’ve got to be the detective.”
At a table towards the back of the room, Mark and Dorothy Gagermeier, members of the Susquehanna Trail Genealogy Club, tapped at laptop computers.
“I got interested in 1984,” said Mark.
He had come from York and had dressed for a beach vacation, in a Hawaiian shirt and blue plastic glasses. “I got hold of this software, Personal Ancestry File. I like computers, I like genealogy, and the two just sort of fit together in that program.”
He opened a window and scrolled to the end of his tree, through 12 generations. “’Georg Gaggermeier.’ They spelled it differently then. He’s from the 1650s. My ex-wife’s goes all the way back to 1200.”
Years ago, Dorothy’s brother spotted their mother’s maiden name on a plaque at Gettysburg. “We’ve gone back, but we haven’t been able to find it,” she said. On their laptops, they began combing indexes for the soldier in question, a man named John Croyle. Mark clicked his way through a maze of links. “We actually need to find… what are we on here?” He peered at the address bar.
Eventually, they found records for three John Croyles, but none was the one they needed. “Your data doesn’t match Bates,” Mark observed to Jerry Ellis (associate archivist, Records Management Services Section). He was referring to Samuel Bates, who compiled a five-volume record of Civil War soldiers from the commonwealth in 1869. It has since become the starting point for many a Pennsylvania genealogist.
“Bates isn’t always right,” Ellis replied. “He did it all in two years. We’ve been at it 150.”
James Robison, who administers a website on the history of Watsontown (mywatsontown.com), had come to beef up his section on local soldiers. He sat in front of a tall, skinny screen with an image of a list of names, several of which had the word “substitute” beside them. “People could pay for someone to take their place in the draft,” he said. “There were riots over it in New York. It was basically poor people fighting a rich man’s war.”
Outside, in a plaza, spring buds twitched furiously on a few trees. A propaganda poster hung on the wall, showing a soldier climbing some books to a city in the clouds (“KNOWLEDGE WINS”). Josh Stahlman (archivist, Arrangement and Description Section) spread out a laminated muster roll, filled with row upon row of tiny brown script. It was yellowed and full of holes, but otherwise looked like a giant sheet of loose-leaf, with the familiar faint blue lines. A researcher pored over the names. “I can’t keep track of all this in my head,” he said.
“Neither can we,” Stahlman offered, smiling.
An hour later, the Gagermeiers were sifting through large cardboard boxes of paper. “Nothing yet,” said Dorothy.
Kitty gave a big thumbs-up and grinned. “He was a drummer!”
With help from an archivist, she’d found her great-great grandfather’s name on the rolls. He had mustered as an unspecified musician, but in the “remarks” section there was a clue.
“His pay was stopped until he settled his debts for a ‘new batterhead and three snares.’ We Googled ‘batterhead’ and sure enough, it’s the—” Kitty gestured with her hands. “You know, the membrane on a drum. I’m so excited!”
For more information on what’s available at the State Archives, visit www.portal.state.pa.us/portal/server.pt/community/state_archives.
