Naming Patterns
The Viking and the Virgin
At the end of 2004, I underwent a minor operation on my hand to correct
Dupuytren’s contracture, a condition that causes the fingers to contract
into something resembling a claw. The doctor casually informed me that
people who have the condition have Viking blood running in their veins.
And, it’s mostly a male disease. Really? Cool… I immediately jumped to the
conclusion that the condition must come from countless generations of
Viking men tightly gripping oars in frigid north seas, not to mention the
death-grip they must have held on their trusty battleaxes as they beat down
their enemies. I could just see my heroic paternal ancestor; standing in
the prow of his long ship, head tossed back, with long blond hair catching
salt spray in the wind. Me… a Viking… already I could feel the ancient
testosterone reawakening in my veins as I straightened my posture and sat
taller in the chair.
But, wait a minute, I’d always been told our line of Owens males came from
Wales. Surely, the good doctor was mistaken. Later on, of course, it hit
me… what were Vikings famous for? …raping and pillaging, that’s what. And,
where did they rape and pillage? Well, just about everywhere but their
favorite target was the British Isles, which, of course, includes Wales.
Suddenly, an entirely different image of my ancestor came to mind; that of
a roaring brute… ransacking a village, then beating and raping some poor
innocent Welsh virgin cowering in the corner of her hut.
When I returned to work following the operation, I mentioned my
Viking/Welsh connection to one of my coworkers, Martin, who hails from
England. Martin groaned and said “Oow, Virgil, don’t ever let anyone know
that you’re Welsh!” The Welsh, Martin informed me, are a primitive race…
filthy in their habits of personal hygiene and prone to drunkenness, lying,
thievery, and unspeakable sexual deviations. He advised me that I should
avoid revealing my Welsh origins at all costs. He referred me to an
Internet copy of
Reports of the commissioners of enquiry into the state of education
in Wales
published in 1847. Ye gods! Upon reading the report, this poor Welsh girl
of my imagination was suddenly transformed into some ignorant slut who
slept communally on the dirt floor of her hut with pigs, sheep, dogs, and
whatever drunken neighbors that happened to stagger in during the night. I
could just picture her: a dirty barefoot lass, in filthy rags, with a rosy
boil on her neck, runny-nose, bloodshot eyes, and hair all matted with a
mixture of mud, pig urine, and clumps of feces.
Thankfully, these images did not fit any of the Owens relatives that I
knew. And, thus began my quest to find out just what sort of people my
ancestors really were. Of course, I never found the Viking, the Welsh
maiden, or anyone like them. What I found were—for the most
part—ordinary-hard-working people caught up in the extraordinary events
that went into the making of our great country. I found a family of active
participants and survivors of a mass migration to America, a Revolutionary
War, a westward expansion, a horrendous Civil War, two world wars, and a
great depression… not to mention countless other triumphs and tragedies.
Although time has erased much of the story, a surprising amount can be
reconstructed—thanks mainly to the Internet. Available to anyone with a
home computer and Internet access are millions of online records including
old newspaper articles, birth, marriage, military, death, and census
records… just to name a few. Just as important, the Internet enables
different branches of the same family—most of whom have never even heard of
one another—to compare notes on family lore, share precious old photos, and
share copies of old documents, letters, and notes that have been handed
down within their respective families.
At this website, I have tried to tell the story of my ancestors. Of
necessity, their stories have been concocted from bits of family lore, old
records, and history books. Just as history evolves when new facts come to
light (George Washington did not admit to chopping down his father’s cherry
tree), so this family story has evolved—and no doubt will continue to
evolve—as new facts come to light. In my research, I’ve found that the
family lore has been greatly distorted and exaggerated as it was verbally
passed down over many generations. Although I have strived to stick to the
facts, a simple recitation of dry facts tends to de-humanize the subjects
and makes for dull reading. I wanted the characters in this story to be
seen and understood as real human beings, facing and dealing with the
serious issues of their day. Consequently, I have tried to connect the
dots—sometimes with historical background, sometimes with conjecture—in
order to give continuity and context to the story. In most cases, I’ve
tried to identify what is conjecture and what is fact but I certainly
haven’t done it in every case. Professional genealogists will shudder at
this—just as they shudder at the word conjecture. However, I am not a
professional genealogist and I make no claim that this is, in any way, a
definitive work of genealogy. Please read it and accept it for what it is:
one man’s feeble attempt to pay homage to his ancestors by telling their
story as he sees it.
Copyright © 2011 Virgil Owens