Today's blog comes from Carmen Hamilton, a history major at IPFW.
by Carmen Hamilton
History at its finest is a good story, the kind you stay up
all night reading. A story is only as good as its ability to reach the listener
on a personal level, and to fall in love with history is to make a connection
that transcends time and geography. I’ll
explain how I found that connection, right here in Fort Wayne, and why I feel
so many young people haven’t been able to do the same.
Benjamin F. Wallace is my answer when anyone asks where my
interest in history came from. He was born in Vermont in 1834, and died there
in 1853, just eighteen years old. I was
born in Indiana, in 1991. Our lives are separated by nearly 140 years and 800
miles, give or take, but they overlapped in a unique way during my sixth-grade
year. I remember stumbling upon his
tombstone in the woods near my house in rural Noble Country, clearing away creeping
vines to read the words, tracing the letters with my fingers to decipher them:
BENJAMIN
F.
son
of
Seth
and Desire
WALLACE
Died
Jan. 3, 1853
Aged
18 yrs. 2 mon.
For me and my friends, the finding provided ample fodder for
our active imaginations. We formulated dozens of scenarios surrounding Benjamin
and what might have caused him to die so young. He could have been ill, or he could have been killed in a duel – slain
by a rival while fighting for his sweetheart’s hand. There were whispers of
murder, but this version was a little too scary to imagine further. We felt
sorry for the stone, alone in the woods with no visitors. One day, we left
flowers. A week later, they were gone…replaced by a folded sheet paper, which turned
out be a photocopied newspaper article, headlined:
Monolith
Haunts I&M Basement
The article revealed that the tombstone had been discovered
in the basement of the since closed I&M building, located on the Main
Street of Kendallville (about 30 minutes north of Fort Wayne). According to the article, the tombstone was
not made of mineral located in the area, nor had anyone of that name died in
Kendallville. Instead, the stone had been transported all the way from Vermont,
presumably by horse-drawn-cart. How and why these events took place were lost
to history, or at least not mentioned in the newspaper. Weeks after the building’s closure, the stone had
appeared mysteriously in my neighbor’s yard, who guessed it had been left as a
prank. He, too, felt sorry for Benjamin, and decided to place the stone in a
peaceful spot in the woods.
For me, this development stirred up more questions than
answers. I felt like Nancy Drew with a mystery to solve, unsure of where to
look for clues. A few weeks later, I came across a brochure for The Genealogy
Center in the Allen Country Public Library. The center boasts one of the
largest genealogical research collections in the nation, and offers access to
the records of Ancestry.com.
On my first of many visits, I found out that numerous people
named Benjamin Wallace had lived in Vermont, but only one had been born to Seth
and Desire, and had died in 1853 at age eighteen. This was my Benjamin – no longer a name carved on a cold slab of stone, but
a real person. I learned that he was one of seven brothers, all of whom had
died before the age of twenty-five. He was descended on his mother’s side from
English immigrants who arrived to Connecticut in the 1640’s.
Unfortunately, this little information was all I could unearth,
and much of Benjamin’s story – such as how and why his headstone came to be in
Indiana – remains a mystery. However, the investigation itself had opened my
eyes to world of genealogy. If I could research the life of someone I’d never
met, why not research my own relatives? With the help of older family members and
the staff of the Genealogy Center, I began to piece together my own family
history.
Centuries ago, my ancestors were scattered across Europe,
North America, and even Africa. They were among the first immigrants to settle
in colonial America, and also among the natives, waiting on the shore of that
new world. In the American Revolution, one fought for independence of a new
nation, while another defended ties to his home country – both died for their
cause, never knowing which side would win, or that they would one day share a
descendent. In the Civil War, my ancestors wore both blue and grey: one was a
plantation owner, another, his slave, and yet another, an abolitionist who
assisted the efforts of the Underground Railroad.
As I learned their stories, my ancestors, like Benjamin,
became more that names on paper. Some of their stories made me happy, while
others brought tears to my eyes; some made me proud, and others made me
wonder. I felt I had met not only my
ancestors, but myself in a new and deeper way. I am more than a small-town,
Indiana girl: I am a dreamer and a sailor, an explorer and a native, a redcoat and
a patriot, a slave and a captor, a Yankee and a rebel, with the blood of three
continents and many nationalities running through my veins. It wasn’t until I learned where I came from
that I truly appreciated who I was, or knew where I wanted to go.
For me, the vital connection between past and present had
been made at the Genealogy Center, sparking a lifelong passion for history. Unfortunately,
numerous young people have been unable to make this connection, and therefore
feel less than enthusiastic about the subject. For most, the aversion can be
traced to high school, where students were expected to memorize key dates,
names, and facts, but never learned how the events of the past relate to their
lives and the world they live in.
While passion for his subject is desirable in an educator,
many teachers are so in love with history that they forget they’re addressing
people who are not. The best way to hold an audience’s interest in history is
to present it in the form of a story. When properly framed, there is potential
for action, horror, mystery, and drama. Historical figures are recognized as
individuals with genuine emotions, strengths, and weaknesses. Their lives and
their challenges were real, and the impact of their decisions ripples into the
world today. Students will begin to care when they can trace causes and effects
over several generations. And once they care, the memorization of important
dates, names, and events will no longer seem a burden.
I would also encourage educators to introduce their classes
to the Fort Wayne History Center and the ACPL Genealogy Center. Both are
treasure troves of local and family history that can make the subject instantly
more relateable to students. This was the case, at least for me. My ancestors
may not have been kings, or inventors, or military heroes, but as I study the
times in which they lived, I hear their names echoed in a professor’s lecture,
their stories whispered in a textbook’s pages, their strangely familiar voices,
calling from the past.
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