It’s a memoir... What is there to research?

One thing I have learned while working on my memoir is that I can’t count on my memory. To make the stories I write as accurate as possible, I am researching my memories. That process has brought me both satisfaction and disappointment.

I was writing about a neighborhood family whose daughters I babysat when I was young. The Starlings* lived in Summit Grove for just a few years, but they had a true impact on my life. I was writing the details from memory, and when you do that, it’s like part of you is transported back to that time of your life.

I found myself missing them and wondering where they are now. I knew Carolyn, the wife/mother of the family, had passed away a few years after they moved away. Her husband and daughters had paid us a visit shortly after her death and told us the sad news.

Over the years, we lost touch with them, so I googled the father's name and found his obituary. He had passed at the age of 82 in 2022. Based on the surviving children listed, he had remarried and apparently had been married before Carolyn, a fact I did not know. It was in that list of his surviving children that I found the baby girl I had babysat the summer after seventh grade: Little Baby Russann.

I’d looked for her before, but it’s hard to find women if they are married and don’t use their maiden name anywhere. So armed with the newfound knowledge of Russann’s married name, I searched on Facebook and Eureka!

Friend request sent and accepted.

I am now connected with someone I haven’t seen in almost 50 years... when I changed her diapers.  Such is the marvel of social media.

I messaged Russann explaining who I am. “I used to babysit you and your sister in Summit Grove.” 

“Are you one of the Carty kids?”

“I am!”

“Yes! I remember you. Didn’t you have a cute brother named Alan?”

Sigh. It’s always one of my cute brothers they remember.

Since that first exchange, Russann and I have gotten a bit reacquainted... 50 years is a lot of catching up. So, we are still working on it. Having her back in my life is one of the more satisfying accomplishments of my memoir research.

A contrasting disappointment is losing my half-sister for the second time.  

A Complicated Family Tree

Growing up, my half-sister Barb never lived with us, and honestly, I don’t recall knowing her when I was young. When my dad and his first wife Lil divorced, they apparently split their offspring like assets. Lil kept the older two: Barb and Buddy, and Dad took the younger two: Ricky and Danny.

As teenagers, my sister Lynn and I developed a relationship with Barb when she started having us babysit her kids. All we really knew was she was the daughter of our dad’s first wife, but not our dad’s biological daughter. A story I always doubted.

Barb called our dad “Dad” because she was only nine months old when he had married her mother. Her name all through school was Barbara Carty because Dad said he had adopted her. I acquired a copy of her birth certificate, which showed Barb had the last name of the man listed as her father. (The man her mother had been married to for slightly longer than the human gestation period.)   

I always suspected that my dad was actually Barb’s biological father. Not just because she looked a lot like him, but it just made more sense than my dad adopting his wife’s ex-husband’s daughter. That seemed really out of character. Some of my siblings and cousins were like-minded with me on this matter. So, I started my research. 

The newspaper articles I found online seemed to align with my theory.

In 1945, when he was 18, my dad – let’s call him Ray for this part – had a short-lived relationship with Lil. However, she married another man – let’s call him Will – in July of 1945.

Even though World War II was ending, both Will and Ray were drafted into the Army with orders to leave in November of that year.  

I found a newspaper article stating Lil and Will were legally separated on August 22, less than two months into their marriage. Of course, they may have reconciled for a time before Will left for the Army on November 12, but I found another newspaper article printed on November 20 announcing that Will had filed for divorce from Lil on grounds of “cruel and inhuman treatment.”  Which, coincidentally, would be the same grounds Lil would file against Ray a decade and three kids later, but I’m getting ahead of myself.  

On the same day of that announcement, Ray left for Camp Hood in Texas to begin boot camp. After which, he was sent by ship to the Asia-Pacific on March 2, 1946. His records show overseas service for six months and 10 days.

After his overseas service, Ray’s ship arrived back in the US on Nov. 18, 1946, and on Dec. 6, 1946, he was honorably discharged from the Army at Fort Sheridan, Illinois, and given bus fare to return home to Clinton.

Will had beaten Ray home, getting out of the Army on May 2, 1946, because he had a baby on the way. Even though he had filed for divorce before his deployment, he and Lil were still married when baby Barb was born on May 23^rd.  

Will and Lil would be divorced before Ray’s bus pulled into Clinton.

Things moved fast for Lil and Ray, and they were married on February 21, 1947. Ray always claimed he “adopted” Barb. (I've gone down a couple of rabbit holes in search of a record of the adoption, but have had no luck.)

All these clues seemed to point to Ray being Barb’s biological father: The separation announced August 22, the fact that given Barb’s birth date, she was likely conceived between August 27^th and September 6^th, and the announcement of filing for divorce in late November. It just seemed to point that way. 

I imagined Will taking one look at his daughter and proclaiming, “This baby looks a lot like that Carty fellow you dated! I want that divorce!”

Back to calling him Dad

As I grew older and left home, I lost touch with Barb. The last time I saw her was at Dad’s funeral in 2003. Barb had been listed as his daughter in Dad’s obituary, and my research showed she had also been listed as a daughter in Will’s 1993 obituary. 

I was sad to hear of Barb's passing in 2019. Her obituary stated that she was born May 23, 1946, in Clinton to Raymond Carty and Lillian Nolan Carty. Poor Will was written out of the script.

Admittedly, I became a little obsessed. I had to find out. So back to my research. 

Again, thanks to an online obituary, I found and connected with Barb’s granddaughter, Amanda, on Facebook. She’s a lovely young woman and perhaps my last chance to prove my theory. When I told her my suspicions that my dad was Barb’s real father, I asked if she had ever done a DNA test. When she said she had an Ancestry DNA kit in a drawer and would be happy to take it, I was ecstatic.  

Finally! I could confirm my suspicions that Dad was Barb’s real father. My brother Alan had taken the same DNA test years ago, so he would show up in Amanda’s results if our dad is her grandfather. I could hardly wait for the results. I probably messaged Amanda a few times too many as she waited for the email.

The results are in

When Amanda got the results, she reached out immediately.

“Any Cartys in your results?” I asked.

“Yes!” she replied.

I was fist-pumping the air. But the celebration was short-lived. 

The results showed no DNA shared with Alan, which is my branch of the family tree. The “Carty” in her results is the daughter of one of my half-brother’s sons. Because Barb had the same mother as my half-brothers, which I already knew.

I don’t blame you if you can’t follow all that. I had to draw a little chart myself. (Dad in the middle with two wives, and Lil having an offshoot with Will and Barb.)

Multiple marriages make for complicated family trees, but the bottom line is my half-sister Barb was not my dad’s biological daughter. And I was wrong. Darn.

I can almost hear Maury Povich proclaiming, “Ray Carty, you are... NOT the father!”

The bright spot is I now have a relationship with Barb’s granddaughter, Amanda. I told her, “I am still your Great-Aunt!”

To hell with DNA.

* I’ve changed the neighbor’s surname for their privacy.