Connecting Ethnography to Genealogy Research
The first ethnography writing I completed was in the form of a personal history of my great aunt, Virginia. I did not realize my writing might take on a whole new dimension by connecting ethnography to my genealogy research. Aunt Virginia’s story is one of many, which connected me to my father, whom I never knew. He was a glider pilot in WWII. Like many others, he was buried outside of his homeland in an American cemetery in Paris, France. My interviews with Aunt Virginia allowed me to find specifically how I fit into my own cultural heritage.
I wanted to uncover memories of my father that lived within my aunt. In her story of partly raising my father, I hoped to find him. Only through her could I find a father that lived and breathed, who went to school, who loved to fly kites on the beach when he wasn’t swimming. I wanted to uncover his childhood, with his brother. How did he fare among so many aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents?
My aunt told me my Dad was part Mexican and part Swedish. She said, “The marriage of your grandparents was not made in heaven. They married against the wishes of both parents. In her clear, but Spanish-accented voice, she told me, “Your father grew up in two worlds. He never learned Swedish, but he did speak, “very sweet Spanish. Tu abuela [your grandmother] never wanted to be a Mexican girl, so she dyed her hair red and tried to speak perfect English. Your father loved to go to Ensenada to be with his cousins, so he stayed with me most of the time when he wasn’t in school.”
My deceased grandmother, Camelina, as she is lovingly remembered, was the oldest of fourteen children, born in Ensenada, Baja California, Mexico. I only met her twice, when I was seven months old, and on my sixth birthday. Aunt Virginia was her sister and the second oldest. I had so many questions for my aunt. When was Camelina born? What was her childhood like, as the oldest in such a large family?
How did my grand parents meet, being from such opposite cultures? Where did they live? What was their home life like? Where was my father born? How did he end up in Kentucky where I was born? These were just a few of the answers I was seeking. Aunt Virginia’s interviews led me to other venues of research. Knowing that my father was a Glider Pilot in WWII, peaked my interest in glider pilots.
Exactly what did they do? One evening my husband and I took our two youngest children to the library to do homework. While there, I looked for books about glider pilots – and found one called, The Glider Gang, by Milton Dank, who was a glider pilot. After finishing his book, I read the inside back flap. I discovered Dank’s war credentials exactly matched my fathers.
They were both stationed in London, assigned to the 94th Troop Carrier Squadron, 439th Troop Carrier Group. I became so excited; I had to call Mr. Dank. “Yes,” he said, “I did know your father. We traveled together for thirteen days across the Atlantic on the U. S. S. George Washington. Dank sent me a roster of all the living glider pilots he believed would have known, or served, with my father.
Those were emotional times for me; as I penned letters of inquiry to all 25 of the glider pilots on the list. I was both overjoyed and overwhelmed as their responses came flooding back from Maryland, Pennsylvania, Nevada, Ohio, Texas, Utah, Arizona and fourteen other states.
Hidden memories were resurrected from deep inside my father’s comrades in battle. Their descriptions made him live and breathe again for me as each one documented a characteristic of the man I truly love; but have no memory of my own of him.
True ethnography unveils cultural traits. What are we learning from those veterans, about their friend, my father?
Milton Dank: “With best wishes for your search and God bless you for keeping the memory of your father alive.”
Henry Benefiel: “I remember him as a very able, good looking, dark haired, athletic, pleasant young man, . . . he also was a caricature artist, entertaining us at times . . . he was powerfully built. I have seen him walk on his hands for a block. I never heard him speak anything but excellent English.”
Pershing Carlson: “Your Dad was one of my best friends. . . . our squadron suffered extremely high casualties, losing 87% of our original cadre. Your father was a kind and generous person. . . . a good pilot and good officer. He frequently expressed his concern as to what would happen to you and your mother should he not survive the war.”
Vearne Ogden: “Lindy, as we called him, and I were very close, we had something in common (daddy’s little girls) . . . when most of our buddies were out on leave we would sit and talk about our little girls. Lindy wrote a poem, ‘Daddy’s Little Girl,’ that he gave to me.”
We learn on this website, that ethnography is about description. In fact, it is about “thick description,” as Clifford Geertz explains in, The Interpretation of Cultures. What thick description can we glean from my Aunt Virginia, and the glider pilots’ responses?
It is easy to see how connecting ethnography to genealogy research gives it a whole new dimension. Explore More!
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