52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks #4: George Melvin Moore
Tonight, I’m missing my daddy and all the crazy stories he told about growing up in Harrisburg, Illinois in the 1950s. So, I’ll share one with you about his grandfather. First, I have to tell you a little about Great-Grandpa Moore.
What I know about George Melvin Moore
George Melvin Moore was born on June 30, 1875 in Saline County, Illinois to Joab (1846-1911) and Martha Ann (1847-1918) Moore. This line of Moore’s has been traced back to the originating USA location … what is now New Jersey … in the 17th century.
George had 5 brothers and 1 sister. He married Clara Agnes Dunn (she went by Agnes) on October 17, 1906. This was his second marriage.
Together they had 4 children, and raised 2 from George’s first marriage:
- Esther (1902)
- Myral (1904-1978)
- Lucille (1907)
- Joab (1909-1992, my grandfather)
- May (1911-1963)
- Josephine (1913)
- Eva (1916-1973)
George died on April 9, 1958 at the ripe old age of 82. My dad had 13 years of stories to tell about Great-Grandpa Moore!
Family Stories
I’m a bit sketchy on the children. I only remember my dad ever talking about his aunts, never any uncles. I’m not too sure … but judging from some vital records … Melvin actually belonged to George’s brother, Jesse. It’s a whole family saga that I’ll uncover someday. From what I know, the Moore’s were good at sagas. Speaking of which …
Daddy loved telling stories about his grandpa. George was a farmer … he and Agnes lived on a small farm a bit Northeast from where my dad grew up, so he spent plenty of time there.
My favorite story is about a goat that Daddy had an unfortunate encounter with. As the story goes, George and Agnes’ house had bare floors and limited rugs down, so Daddy would get out of bed on cold mornings and his feet would touch cold floor … that gives me chills right now (it’s 20 degrees outside where I live!) Brrr!
One evening, for whatever reason, Daddy was kicked by the farm’s one and only goat. Now, I’m sure my dad, who would have been less than a decade old at the time, did absolutely nothing to cause that goat to kick him … note the sarcasm there. I know better. I get “it” from somewhere!
In any case, the goat didn’t live long. Sorry if you like goats, but when you get kicked by one, grandpa’s have a way of taking care of things.
The next time Daddy stayed with his grandparents, he awoke the first morning, swung his feet over the side of the bed, readying himself for that cold floor. Guess what? Instead of cold, he put his feet down on a warm, cozy, new rug. I’ll let you figure out where it came from.
Final Thoughts
I’ve heard that story so many times in my life it’s scary. But, that’s what daddies and papas are for … telling you stories. It’s how we remember things, event poor old goats. It’s a testament to the type of grandpa George was, that’s for sure. I think I would have liked him a lot.
I’ve always pictured Great-Grandpa Moore as an old man … he was when Daddy knew him … so that’s how he looks in my mind. Not at all like the young man pictured above. My daddy looked like him … a lot, actually.
Sweet dreams, and may your feet always touch warmth on a cold day.
