Finding My Roots

In 1977, over 130 million Americans spent eight nights glued to their televisions watching the mini-series “Roots”. The true story of a young African man, kidnapped and sold into slavery in the United States, Roots held most of America in a grip of fascination.

At 14, I believe I was the only American alive who didn’t tune in. I was probably too busy reading Stephen King novels, or watching “Battle of the Network Stars”. The reason I skipped this entertainment phenomenon was because I had absolutely zero interest in roots. Mine, or anyone else’s for that matter.
This changed recently when my son announced that he needed to do a genealogy project for school. The project involved creating a family tree that included great grandparents, finding out where his ancestors came from, and bringing in some family artifacts.

I’ve known bits and pieces of my family’s history, but had never put it all together into a cohesive story. To gather information for his project, I enlisted the help of my father for the Anderson side of the family, and my mother and sister for the Rockwell side (my mother’s maiden name).

My mother’s family tree has always held the more impressive history. Deacon William Rockwell sailed from England on March 30, 1630, on the “Mary and John”. His great grandson, Jabez Rockwell, was reputedly in the boat with George Washington while crossing the Delaware River on the Christmas Day attack on Hessian troops. (As a child I visited the Valley Forge museum, where my mom pointed out Jabez’s powder horn on display.)

According to family legend (and published accounts), Jabez Rockwell and some friends walked from northeastern Pennsylvania to New York City in 1826 to see their former comrade-in-arms, The Marquis de Lafayette, who was having dinner with statesman Henry Clay. Upon reaching Lafayette’s hotel, the doorman initially refused entrance to Jabez and his friends, at which point my ancestor complained quite loudly. The doorman finally relented and sent a message to the Marquis who immediately invited Jabez and company to join the party. So the next time you hear me raise a stink about something, remember this: It’s genetic.

And then there’s the Anderson side of my family. My grandfather, Albert B. Anderson Sr., arrived from Sweden at Ellis Island on Nov. 1, 1916 at the age of 19. My grandmother, Asta Jensen, arrived several years later from Denmark. Asta’s history reads a bit like a soap opera. Her mother Martha Jensen, married a man named Alfred Jensen (A relative? Possibly). Alfred was a grave digger by profession. However, in those days in Denmark you rented your grave for a specific number of years. When your time was up, your remains were moved to the foot of the grave to make way for the next “tenant”. Alfred had the unenviable job of moving the remains. But Alfred was actually Asta’s stepfather. Her biological father was a juggler of some distinction, known to us only by the stage name “Edy”. He and Martha never married. It’s strange to learn that, way back in the early 1900’s my own great-grandmother had a …well, a baby daddy.

My father volunteered other Anderson family lore. His Swedish cousin married a woman who bore him a son, then discovered that his wife was a reformed (or possibly not) prostitute, and divorced her after two years of marriage (The son is now a policeman). My grandfather Albert, a New York City tailor who catered to Wall Street bankers, had a client named Henry Rudkin, whose wife, Margaret, began a little baking business during the Depression which would eventually be known as Pepperidge Farm. My dad’s upstairs neighbors brewed bathtub gin and would frequently be raided by revenue agents. I advised my son to be selective in which Anderson family nuggets made it into his presentation.

War heroes, grave diggers, prostitutes and jugglers. The lesson I learned from my son’s genealogy project is that you never know what you might find in your family history until you look.

But be warned. If you shake your family tree too hard, you’re bound to have a few nuts fall out.