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Gilbride or Gallagher: Which Michael is Buried in Sacramento?

I'm taking on a little challenge this week to hopefully correct a mistake 138-years in the making. It involves a cemetery record in which the wrong surname was recorded. Was it Michael Gilbride or Michael Gallagher who was interred at St. Joseph Cemetery in Sacramento? (You may remember my posts about Michael Gilbride published in fall 2022, and how I originally discovered him, his family's move to Lowell, Massachusetts, and more. To catch up, start here:  Dear Sir: How I Found My Civil War Veteran, Michael Gilbride .) I can make a compelling case that the man was Michael Gilbride, who is a third great-granduncle, and the son of my immigrant ancestor James Gilbride (1874-1872) and his wife Mary Catherine Hart Gilbride (1807-1855). Why is this important? Michael was a Civil War veteran, who served in the 52nd Pennsylvania, Co. H. By the time he lived in Sacramento, he was indigent. In 1884, he applied for a Civil War pension, and was still fighting for it in 1886, when he died.
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It's a Journey


Wow! I'm tired. 

I just spent an hour—just an hour—working through one more box in my "archive closet." That's the closet in my office which holds all the photos, memorabilia, artifacts, etc., collected from various family members over the years. 

Today's task was a box of my own stuff. It was full of correspondence, journals, and file folders from as far back as my high school days. 

I'm sure that I thought I would use those high school English papers again when I saved them. Or the various college term papers from Cleveland State University (Class of 1984, thank you!) But, I can't think of a single time I have in the intervening 40+ years! Into the trash they went!

Then there were the notebooks and various journals. Egads! I could only skim those while wincing at my emotional turmoil over this guy or that incident. I was single then, so there was also much introspection as to why I felt or thought the way I did. The journals covered my time working after college in Cleveland, and later my work and social life in New York after I moved there to pursue my dance "career" and before Jim and I got married. But that person is long since gone, and gratefully, I felt very detached from these items. Those got shredded to spare anyone—like our kids—the possibility of having to read any of it at some future date.

That was the easy stuff.

What wore me out completely was going through the correspondence, mostly from family members who have passed. Innumerable cards from Mom, for every occasion from birthdays to holidays to passing on recipes I had asked for "and a few extra" to me. A forgotten letter from Dad after Jim and I got engaged. Silly cards from my sister Sharon when I lived in New York. A card from my aunt Margaret—aka my Fairy Godmother—who took care to write and check in on me in New York. Towards the end of the hour I devoted to this task, I had to simply stop and put the pile down. My emotions were heavy.

I did get a few laughs from what I found, too. One item was a birthday poem I wrote Mom when she turned 53. (Fifty-three!! To think I am nearly nine years past the age she was when she got that poem...) But, gotta admit, I still giggled at some of what I wrote. I could be funny.

And the image above, a news clipping of our second dog, Pookie, made me smile and utter, "Aw!" Pookie came to us as a stray puppy when Jim and I lived in Tyrone, Pennsylvania, near State College. Our first dog, Mason, went out to do his business one night, and came back with the puppy! Though we tried (halfheartedly) to find this cutie a home as we were in the process of moving to Winona, Minnesota, we ended up keeping her. I think all bets were off once we named her Pookie! The photo captured a moment in time several years later, when a roving newspaper photographer just happened to find her on a particularly snowy day chest deep in the fluff.

My endeavors to condense the items in my "archive closet" spring from two things: First, I really need to make room for a filing cabinet in there, and I need floor space. Second, like many others of my age and older, I'm wondering who will want my collection of family history/genealogy stuff. Maybe you or someone you know is wondering that too.

So, I'm working through boxes. But it's a journey. Sometimes I'm slogging up a mountain of emotions, sometimes I'm laughing as I slide down the other side. My strategy is to work on the closet bit by bit, an hour here or an hour there. That's about just right.

I share this as encouragement if you have struck out on a similar endeavor. Be gentle. Take your time. Enjoy the journey. Lifetimes of memories didn't accumulate overnight, and they won't be dispersed overnight either.

Until next time...

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© Nancy Gilbride Casey, 2024. All rights reserved.


A Researcher’s Aside

If you are wondering how to approach downsizing your own family collection, I highly recommend reading the December 2023 issue of Stirpes, the journal of the Texas State Genealogical Society. The issue's theme is "Curating Your Personal Archive," includes articles, advice, and more on the topic. Check with your local library or genealogical society to inquire if they have the issue.

 



 

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