Genealogy books

06/14/2019

Memorial Day 2019 has come and gone, but below is a contribution that might be useful to some who read this column. Regards, Steven Powers Chylinski Author
A Friend Remembered on Memorial Day 2019

Wally and I grew up together. In fact, we were born on nearly the same day and about the same year, although geographically far apart. We played baseball together as children and adolescents in the inner city of Cleveland, Ohio. We played on fields so junk-filled, so weed-covered that no self-respecting athlete would likely use them today. But we were poor inner-city kids who simply made do with what the baseball gods and fate left for us.
We both longed for adventure, and found a taste of it with a girl I shall now call Ann Rudniski. Ann lived far from the homes that Wally and I inhabited in the Warszawa neighborhood, now prosaically called Slavic Village. Ann lived off Scranton Road on the near west side of Cleveland. Sometimes, Wally and I took the Number 18 bus of the Cleveland Transit System to the corner of West 25th Street and Denison Avenue. We then either hitch-hiked (life seemed safer in those days) or we simply hoofed it to Ann’s house. At other times, I visited Ann on my own.
While Wally and I had each longed for adventure, romantic or otherwise, we found our thrills in diverse ways during our late adolescent years and early adulthood. I joined the domestic Peace Corps for an overseas assignment at the age of 22, while Wally joined the United States Marine Corps. This was during the Vietnam era.
Wally Ostapchuk (1945-1968)
I do not recall the specifics of that early part of Wally’s life, since he and I lost touch with each other soon after both of us moved out of the Warszawa neighborhood. While Wally went to Lorain County just west of Cleveland, my family had moved to another equally run-down area of Cleveland’s east side.
On one fine spring day while I was living on the Caribbean island of St. Thomas, I received a letter from my parents. Enclosed with the letter was a newspaper obituary for a person named Lance Corporal Walter Michael Ostapchuk, age 22. It seems that somewhere in the jungles of Southeast Asia some 9000 miles from Cleveland, Wally was killed by what the Marine Corps likes to call “hostile fire.” I took that to mean that my childhood friend had been shot. The exact location of his death remains somewhat of a mystery since the web site https://marines.togetherweserved.com cites Hill 471 near the Khe Sanh Combat Base on the Laotian border as the probable site of Wally’s demise, while the web site www.interment.net says that my dear friend died at Da Nang Air Base on the 5th of April 1968. In any case, Wally has now been gone for over half a century. Yet I still remember him fondly on this Memorial Day.
If you would like to ponder the meaning of war or the meaning of life as I have done several times at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall in Washington, DC, you will find Wally’s name on Panel 48E, Line 19. You may even choose to shed a few tears even though you did not know this skinny, blond-haired, left-handed first basemen as I did. Requiescat in pace, Wally!

A Panel of the Viet Nam Veterans Memorial Wall in Washington, DC

Try our Comprehensive Marine Corps Records Search - TogetherWeServed is the largest community website for finding USMC Veterans and honoring their service.

06/06/2019

Here's a ery touching poem.

That’s The Way

“Do not talk so much,” said he. “That’s the way that women are,” said she, “So love me!”
“Do not spend so much,” said he. “That’s the way that women are,” said she, ” So love me!”
“Do not mother me,” said he. “That’s the way women are,” said she, “So love me!”
Then, one day, he went away, Sorry that he couldn’t stay. “How can you treat me thus?” asked she. “That’s the way I am,” said he, “So love me!”
James Kavanaugh (1970)

05/29/2019

A Friend Remembered on Memorial Day 2019

Wally and I grew up together. In fact, we were born on nearly the same day and about the same year, although geographically far apart. We played baseball together as children and adolescents in the inner city of Cleveland, Ohio. We played on fields so junk-filled, so weed-covered that no self-respecting athlete would likely use them today. But we were poor inner-city kids who simply made do with what the baseball gods and fate left for us.
We both longed for adventure, and found a taste of it with a girl I shall now call Ann Rudniski. Ann lived far from the homes that Wally and I inhabited in the Warszawa neighborhood, now prosaically called Slavic Village. Ann lived off Scranton Road on the near west side of Cleveland. Sometimes, Wally and I took the Number 18 bus of the Cleveland Transit System to the corner of West 25th Street and Denison Avenue. We then either hitch-hiked (life seemed safer in those days) or we simply hoofed it to Ann’s house. At other times, I visited Ann on my own.
While Wally and I had each longed for adventure, romantic or otherwise, we found our thrills in diverse ways during our late adolescent years and early adulthood. I joined the domestic Peace Corps for an overseas assignment at the age of 22, while Wally joined the United States Marine Corps. This was during the Vietnam era.
Wally Ostapchuk (1945-1968)
I do not recall the specifics of that early part of Wally’s life, since he and I lost touch with each other soon after both of us moved out of the Warszawa neighborhood. While Wally went to Lorain County just west of Cleveland, my family had moved to another equally run-down area of Cleveland’s east side.
On one fine spring day while I was living on the Caribbean island of St. Thomas, I received a letter from my parents. Enclosed with the letter was a newspaper obituary for a person named Lance Corporal Walter Michael Ostapchuk, age 22. It seems that somewhere in the jungles of Southeast Asia some 9000 miles from Cleveland, Wally was killed by what the Marine Corps likes to call “hostile fire.” I took that to mean that my childhood friend had been shot. The exact location of his death remains somewhat of a mystery since the web site https://marines.togetherweserved.com cites Hill 471 near the Khe Sanh Combat Base on the Laotian border as the probable site of Wally’s demise, while the web site www.interment.net says that my dear friend died at Da Nang Air Base on the 5th of April 1968. In any case, Wally has now been gone for over half a century. Yet I still remember him fondly on this Memorial Day.
If you would like to ponder the meaning of war or the meaning of life as I have done several times at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall in Washington, DC, you will find Wally’s name on Panel 48E, Line 19. You may even choose to shed a few tears even though you did not know this skinny, blond-haired, left-handed first basemen as I did. Requiescat in pace, Wally!

A Panel of the Viet Nam Veterans Memorial Wall in Washington, DC

Try our Comprehensive Marine Corps Records Search - TogetherWeServed is the largest community website for finding USMC Veterans and honoring their service.

05/22/2019

As we near Memorial Day 2019, I wanted to take some time to remember a dear friend from my childhood. The story follows below.

A Friend Remembered on Memorial Day 2019

Wally and I grew up together. In fact, we were born on nearly the same day and about the same year, although geographically far apart. We played baseball together as children and adolescents in the inner city of Cleveland, Ohio.
We played on fields so junk-filled, so weed-covered that no self-respecting athlete would likely use them today. But we were poor inner-city kids who simply made do with what the baseball gods and fate left for us.

We both longed for adventure, and found a taste of it with a girl I shall now call Ann Rudniski. Ann lived far from the homes that Wally and I inhabited in the Warszawa neighborhood, now prosaically called Slavic Village. Ann lived off Scranton Road on the near west side of Cleveland. Sometimes, Wally and I took the Number 18 bus of the Cleveland Transit System to the corner of West 25th Street and Denison Avenue. We then either hitch-hiked (life seemed safer in those days) or we simply hoofed it to Ann’s house. At other times, I visited Ann on my own.

While Wally and I had each longed for adventure, romantic or otherwise, we found our thrills in diverse ways during our late adolescent years and early adulthood. I joined the domestic Peace Corps for an overseas assignment at the age of 22, while Wally joined the United States Marine Corps. This was during the Vietnam era.

I do not recall the specifics of that early part of Wally’s life, since he and I lost touch with each other soon after both of us moved out of the Warszawa neighborhood. While Wally went to Lorain County just west of Cleveland, my family had moved to another equally run-down area of Cleveland’s east side.
On one fine spring day while I was living on the Caribbean island of St. Thomas, I received a letter from my parents. Enclosed with the letter was a newspaper obituary for a person named Lance Corporal Walter Michael Ostapchuk, age 22. It seems that somewhere in the jungles of Southeast Asia some 9000 miles from Cleveland, Wally was killed by what the Marine Corps likes to call “hostile fire.” I took that to mean that my childhood friend had been shot. The exact location of his death remains somewhat of a mystery since the web site https://marines.togetherweserved.com cites Hill 471 near the Khe Sanh Combat Base on the Laotian border as the probable site of Wally’s demise, while the web site www.interment.net says that my dear friend died at Da Nang Air Base on the 5th of April 1968. In any case, Wally has now been gone for over half a century. Yet I still remember him fondly on this Memorial Day.

If you would like to ponder the meaning of war or the meaning of life as I have done several times at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall in Washington, DC, you will find Wally’s name on Panel 48E, Line 19. You may even choose to shed a few tears even though you did not know this skinny, blond-haired, left-handed first basemen as I did. Requiescat in pace, Wally!

04/07/2019

Thank you. Tony.

04/05/2019

Here is a brief blurb about one of my great-grandmothers. Regards, Steven Powers Chylinski Gyrith Olafsdottir (b.c. 923/925-d. 986 AD/CE), wife of Harald I King of Denmark

“What would men be without women? Scarce, sir…mighty scarce.” Mark Twain

Gyrith/Gunhilde Olafsdottir was a princess of Sweden who was born about 923AD/CE. She was the daughter of Olaf “Mitkg” Bjornsson, King of Sweden (born about 885 in Sweden and Ingeborg Thrandsdottir of Uppsala, Sweden (born about 886).
Gyrith first married Herbastus “the Dane” de Crepon about 959. They had one child together:
i. Wevia (Dulceline) who was born about 959 in Pont Audemer, Eure, Francia.
Secondly, Gyrith married Harald III “Bluetooth” Gormsson, King of Denmark. According to rootsweb.com, the couple had at least two children:
i. Thyra Haraldsdottir, Princess of Denmark, born about 947
ii. Gunhilde Haraldsdottir, Princess of Denmark, born about 949
http://wc.rootsweb.ancestry.com/cgi-bin/igm.cgi?op=GET&db=lorenfamily&id=120073 Retrieved 11/8/2015. However, another website, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gyrid_of_Sweden notes that Gyrith and Harald “Bluetooth” had four children:
i. Tyri of Denmark
ii. Sweyn/Swein Forkbeard
iii. Haakon Haraldsson
iv. Gunhilde Haraldsdottir
In any case, Gyrith served as Harald’s queen consort from 952 until 970 AD/CE.
Beyond these simple facts, we seem to know relatively little about Gyrith’s life. The www.ancestry.com website had much contradictory information about her life, marriages, and children. For example, ancestry.com says that Gyrith was born January 11, 919 to King Olaf II “the Sharp-sighted” and Anna Ingeborg Sula Thrandsdottir Bjornsson. Olaf was noted as age 32 at his daughter’s birth and his queen, Anna Ingeborg was age 33. Further, this web site notes that Gyrith’s first husband was King Harald “Bluetooth” Gormsson and not her second husband. The web site further states that the couple had eight children together. In fact, that first child was cited neither as Thyra nor Tyra nor Wevia, but rather was listed as Gunnora Haraldsdottir de Crepon. Specifically, this record shows that their first child, Gunnora de Crepon, was born in Arque, Seine-Inferiure, Normandy in 936 AD/CE and that she died about 1031. According to this site, Gyrith and Harald went on to have other daughters (no sons are mentioned):
ii.Wevia Eva Senrie Dulceline (b. 942 in Haute-Normandie
iii.Thyra (who would become the Queen of Norway), born 947 iv.Ermengard (b. 958/959)
v.Sigrid (Seinfreda) Sprakalegg Munso b.960
Three of these daughters may have been born in Francia, while the other two may have been born in Denmark (Thyra) and Sweden (Sigrid) respectively. It is obvious that much more investigation must be completed to sort out this family. www.ancestry.com/familytree Retrieved 11/8/2015.
Further complicating this picture of Gyrith is a citation on www.ancestry.com/trees that proclaims that Gyrith/Gunhilde Olafsdottir and Herbastus Harald I Bluetooth married in Koben Havn (Copenhagen) in 935 when Gyrith was a mere 16 years old. The site goes on to cite a birth date for Gunnora Haraldsdottir of November 21, 936 in Crepon, Calvados, Basse-Normandie, Francia. This would again support the belief that Gunnora was not the third or fourth daughter of the couple, but rather their first-born. The family trees that are described on www.ancestry.com are notoriously filled with flaws and mere repetitions of dubious or simply incorrect information.

04/03/2019

Here is a short blurb from the Prologue of the memoir, Waking Up Cattywampus.

Prologue
It was a cold and dreary Saturday morning in February 2011 in a fashionable Cleveland, Ohio suburb. Earlier that day, I had received a telephone call from the caregivers at the assisted living site where my ailing and aged parents lived. It was a comfortable setting that from the exterior appeared to be just another private home on a suburban, upper-middle-class street. The building was indistinguishable from the other dwellings on that thoroughfare.
The call from the nurse who owned the facility was one that I had probably dreaded since childhood. The voice on the other end of the line began, “I am afraid I have some bad news for you.” Filled as I was with a sense of foreboding, I suspected what was coming next.
“Your father is not doing well,” the nurse announced. Was this health care code for “Your dad is dying?” It was. With trepidation, I responded shakily, “Wha’, Wha’, What’s wrong?” For a minute, all stopped including my breathing. I am sure that Mrs. Watson (not her real name) was as delicate as she knew how, but there is no easy way to say to a family member, “Your father may be nearing the end.” She added, “You will want to come here as soon as possible.”
And she was right about Dad’s demise. Still, I thought to myself, “Modern medicine could surely save him. For God’s sake, a world-renowned hospital in Cleveland was now performing face transplants.” Surely, it could buy my childhood hero a few extra months or even years.
My father died like he had lived—in a grandiose manner that belied his 5 feet, 6 inch stature. As he lay dying, the 25 by 30 foot living space that he shared with my mother was quite large, and contained relatively little furniture—a bed, two dressers, and a small, well-worn night stand. The shades and drapes were tightly drawn shut even though it was 10:00 a.m. The dim light gave the room an air of a 19th century Charles Dickens’ novel. The scene where Ebenezer Scrooge was awakened by the Ghost of Christmas Past comes to mind here. The room’s temperature seemed quite high and it felt stuffy, like the air decided to stop moving in deference to the unfolding events.

03/11/2019

Although this is a page for Genalogy Books, here is a heads-up about my new book. It is my memoir entitled Waking Up Cattywampus: Memoir of a Displaced Southerner. Book is available as an e-book on Amazon or as a print book on https://milestonepublish.com.
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03/05/2019

The paperback version of my memoir Waking Up Cattywampus, is now available at https:/milestonepublish.com. Please enjoy!
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