Thursday, June 18, 2026

Added and Updated MyHeritage Record Collections - Week of 12 to 18 June 2026

  The following Record Collections were ADDED or Updated in the MyHeritage Collections Catalog during the week of  12 to 18 June 2026:


The number of collections at the top of the list shows 1,689 collections (an increase of 2) with  39,775,244,206 records (an increase of over 426 million records - it was 40,399,469,537 three weeks ago!).

Four weeks ago, the "Last Updated" list showed 7,550 collections.  What happened to over 5,800 collections that are not on any collection list?  See the list for three weeks ago in 

Added and Updated MyHeritage Record Collections - Week of 8 to 14 May 2026.


Something is very wrong with the "Last Updated" collection list!!!  Or did MyHeritage remove or combine over 5,800 record collections?

The Family Tree collections are not on the "Last Updated" list at all.  I collected the latest numbers for the Family Tree collections from the "Number of Records" list which does have the Family Tree collections (and a total of 1,689 collections).
 The number of entries in the family tree collections were last updated this week.  

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See previous Genea-Musings posts about MyHeritage record collections and features in https://www.geneamusings.com/search/label/MyHeritage.com.

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Disclosure: I receive a complimentary PremiumPlus subscription to MyHeritage, and have received other material consideration in past years. I uploaded my autosomal DNA raw data to their DNA product. This does not affect my objective analysis of MyHeritage products. I am a paid subscriber to Family Tree Webinars and love it.

The URL for this post is: https://www.geneamusings.com/2026/06/added-and-updated-myheritage-record_01994491571.html

Please comment on this post on the website by clicking the URL above and then the "Comments" link at the bottom of each post. Share it on X, Facebook, or Pinterest using the icons below. Or contact me by email at randy.seaver@gmail.com.  Note that all comments are moderated, so they may not appear immediately.

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Ask AI: "Describe the Life Of James Richman in 1835 At Age 14 in Hilperton, Wiltshire"

 I wondered if the FREE AI tools could provide me with information about a young boy's life in  Hilperton, Wiltshire in 1835.  My 2nd great-grandfather, James Richman (1821-1912) was age 14 in 1835.  The ABC Biography for James is in ABC Biography of #20 James Richman/Richmond (1821-1912) of Wiltshire and New England.

My Prompt for Anthropic Claude Sonnet 4.6 was:  "Please describe the life of 14-year-old James Richman in Hilperton, Wiltshire in 1835, based on the attached biography. Consider family, work, education, community activities, entertainment, fun?"

(AI NotebookLM infographic -- James Richman at Age 14 in 1835)

Here is the Anthropic Claude Sonnet 4.6 response:


James Richman in 1835: 

A Portrait of a Young Man in Hilperton, Wiltshire


The World James Richman Knew 

In 1835, James Richman was fourteen years old and very nearly a man by the standards of Hilperton Marsh. He had grown up in a crowded cottage on Marsh Lane, in the low-lying ground between the village of Hilperton and the town of Trowbridge, where the land was wet and the lanes became muddy rivers in winter. It was a landscape shaped by water — the River Biss ran nearby, the Kennet and Avon Canal cut through the valley to the south, and the seasonal flooding of the marsh was as familiar and inevitable as the turning of the seasons.

Hilperton itself was not a grand place. It was a working village of perhaps three or four hundred souls, clustered around St. Michael's Church on the hill and spreading down into the marsh below. The Kennet and Avon Canal, completed in 1810 — the year before James's parents married — had brought new commerce to the area, carrying coal from the Somerset coalfields and connecting the local wool trade to the wider markets of Bristol and London. The towpaths along the canal were as familiar to Hilperton children as the church lane, and the slow passage of the narrowboats was one of the rhythms of daily life. 

Family Life 

James was the fifth of eight children born to John and Ann Richman, and in 1835 the cottage on Marsh Lane was still full of family. His eldest sister Elizabeth, at twenty-four, was an experienced weaver who had likely been at the loom since she was ten or twelve; Sarah, twenty-one, was still at home and probably working as well. His brother John, nineteen, may already have been setting up his own household — he would marry Maria Matthews that very October. James's sister Ann, seventeen, and his younger brother Thomas, twelve, completed the household.

The cottage would have been small — two or perhaps three rooms, with a loom or looms taking up considerable space. The smell of wool and damp stone was the smell of home. Privacy was not a concept the Richmans could afford; sleeping arrangements meant sharing beds, and conversations could not be kept secret in such close quarters. Yet the Richmans were not an isolated family. They were woven into the fabric of the community, connected by blood, work, and worship to dozens of other families in the marsh and the village above.

John Richman, James's father, was at this point age 46 and likely still working as both a weaver and a laborer — by 1841 he would be listed as a coal hauler, suggesting that sometime in the later 1830s he moved away from the declining handloom trade and toward the heavier work of hauling coal from the canal wharves to local homes and businesses. Ann (Marshman) Richman, James's mother, was a weaver throughout her adult life and almost certainly had her loom working every day that the wool trade would sustain it. For working-class families in Hilperton Marsh, every pair of hands was an economic asset, and James was old enough to be contributing meaningfully to the household. 

Work and Labor 

By 1835, James Richman was almost certainly working. The census of 1841 would describe him as an agricultural laborer, and it is likely he was already doing such work by his mid-teens, if not before. In the Wiltshire of the 1830s, boys from laboring families typically began full-time or near-full-time work by the age of twelve or thirteen. The notion of childhood as a protected time of learning and play was a luxury belonging to the middle and upper classes; for families like the Richmans, children were economic participants from an early age.

Agricultural labor around Hilperton and Trowbridge involved a broad range of seasonal tasks. In 1835, a boy of James's age might have been employed in bird-scaring in the early spring — a monotonous but necessary task of keeping rooks and pigeons off newly sown grain. As the year progressed, he would have moved on to weeding, hoeing, and tending livestock, and in summer and autumn to the heavy work of haymaking and harvest, when every able body in the village was pressed into service. The harvest was not merely labor but also a social event, with gangs of workers moving across the fields together, the work punctuated by shared food and conversation, and the end of harvest marked by the traditional Harvest Home supper, often provided by the farmer.

He may also have assisted his father with coal hauling, helping to manage a cart or carry sacks. The physical demands of such work would have built the strength that later sustained him through long years of labor in both England and America. He may occasionally have helped his mother at the loom, performing the preparatory work of winding bobbins or stretching warps — tasks that were traditionally assigned to children in weaving households.

What is important to understand about the textile trade in 1835 is that it was under severe pressure. The great steam-powered factories of Trowbridge, just a mile or two from Hilperton Marsh, were expanding rapidly, their power looms capable of producing cloth at a fraction of the cost of a cottage handloom. Trowbridge already had fourteen large steam-powered factories by 1820, and the pace of mechanization only accelerated through the 1820s and 1830s. For families like the Richmans who had depended on handloom weaving, wages were falling and work was becoming increasingly scarce. The family's gradual shift away from weaving — John toward coal hauling, the children toward agricultural labor — reflects this painful economic transformation as clearly as any historical document could.

Education

James Richman probably could not write his name in 1835. This is not documented fact for James specifically, but it is a reasonable inference: neither of his parents could sign their names, as the X marks on their 1811 marriage register demonstrate, and formal schooling was extremely limited for working-class children in Hilperton in the 1820s and 1830s. However, by his 1845 marriage, he signed his own name in the record.

By 1835, a small village school may have existed in Hilperton, where children could receive basic instruction in reading, writing, and arithmetic — the 1833 Factory Act had prompted renewed attention to elementary education, and church-run schools were spreading through the countryside. Sunday schools, run under the auspices of St. Michael's Church, were almost certainly available, and these provided at least some exposure to reading, primarily through the Bible and prayer books. James may have attended such a school intermittently in his younger years, perhaps learning to read simple texts, though his ability to write is uncertain.

What he knew with far more certainty was practical knowledge: how to judge the weather, how to handle a horse and cart, how to manage the soil and the seasons, how wool went from raw fleece to finished cloth. This was a different kind of education — transmitted not through books but through observation and apprenticeship — and it was the knowledge that actually sustained his life and his family's lives.

Community and Church

St. Michael's Church stood at the center of James Richman's community life, as it had stood at the center of every significant moment in his family's history. He had been baptized there. His twin siblings Thomas and the first Mary had been baptized there in 1823, and the second little Mary had been buried there in 1825. The church was not merely a place of worship but the register of lives — the institution that marked birth, marriage, and death, that gave shape and meaning to the passage of time.

Sunday services were a fixture of village life, and the Richman family, like their neighbors, would have attended regularly. The Church of England provided both spiritual sustenance and social structure, with the congregation organized by the visible hierarchies of pew and position. The Richmans, as laborers and weavers, would have sat toward the back, among the working poor, while the farmers, tradesmen, and gentry occupied the more prominent positions. Yet the church was a shared space, and the rhythms of the church calendar — Advent, Christmas, Easter, Whitsuntide, harvest festival — were the rhythms of the year itself.

Methodism was also making inroads in Wiltshire by the 1830s, offering working-class people a more emotionally direct form of worship and, often, stronger ties to community self-help and mutual aid. Whether the Richmans had any connection to the Methodist chapels that were springing up in nearby Trowbridge and the surrounding villages is not known, but the possibility is worth noting.

The village also had its secular community structures. The Kennet and Avon Canal brought carters, boatmen, and tradespeople through the area, and the inns and alehouses of Hilperton and nearby Trowbridge served as gathering places for working men. For young James, these were the spaces in which the adult world of male community was conducted — the exchange of news and opinion, the settling of disputes, the making of informal economic arrangements.

The Shadow of the New Poor Law

James turned fourteen in April 1835, just one year after Parliament passed the Poor Law Amendment Act of 1834 — one of the most controversial pieces of legislation of the era. The new Poor Law replaced the older system of parish relief with a harsh regime centered on the workhouse, deliberately designed to be so unpleasant that only the truly desperate would accept it. The message it sent to laboring families was stark: work or face the workhouse, with its regimented misery, its separation of husbands from wives and parents from children.

For a family like the Richmans — perched on the edge of economic stability, dependent on declining cottage industries and irregular agricultural labor — the new Poor Law was not an abstraction. It was a threat that hung over every period of unemployment, every illness, every failed harvest. That John Richman would eventually be listed as a pauper in the 1861 census shows how real that threat was. In 1835, as the new legislation was just beginning to reshape the parish relief system, James would have heard the adults around him talking about it — in the cottage, at the church, in the lanes — with a mixture of fear and anger that was entirely justified.

Entertainment and Recreation

Despite the hardships of his life, James Richman was fourteen years old in 1835, and boys of fourteen find their pleasures wherever they can. The countryside around Hilperton was the playground of his childhood and youth — the fields and hedgerows, the towpath of the canal, the streams and water meadows of the Biss valley. He and his friends and siblings would have fished in the river, swum in the canal in summer (to the probable dismay of their parents), climbed trees, and ranged across the farmland in the way that boys have always ranged across open country.

Village games and sports were a significant part of community life. Cricket was already well established as a popular summer game in Wiltshire, played on village greens with improvised equipment by teams that crossed all social boundaries. Skittles was a favorite in the alehouses, and various forms of football — rough, uncodified, and energetic — were played in the streets and fields. Wrestling and cudgel-play, traditional rural sports, were features of the local fairs and festivals that punctuated the year.

The fairs themselves were among the great pleasures of working-class life. Trowbridge, just a mile or two away, held regular markets and occasional fairs, and the larger fairs at nearby towns would have drawn the Richman children with their noise and spectacle — traveling entertainers, animal shows, stalls selling gingerbread and ribbons, and the sheer pleasure of crowds and color in lives that were otherwise defined by monotonous work. May Day celebrations, Midsummer fires, and the Harvest Home supper were seasonal highlights that gave structure to the year and provided legitimate occasions for communal joy.

Music and song were woven through daily life. Wiltshire had a rich tradition of folk song, and the evenings in the Richman cottage — especially in winter, when darkness fell early and the loom was still — were likely filled with the songs that working people had always used to make labor bearable and leisure sweet. James would have known the old ballads and hymns, the drinking songs and harvest songs, by heart from his earliest years.

Looking Ahead

In 1835, James Richman was at the threshold of adult life. He was a working boy in a working family, in a village undergoing the slow upheaval of industrialization, in a country that was changing faster than any generation before him had experienced. Within ten years he would marry Hannah Rich, a girl from another Hilperton weaving family who was growing up in the same lanes and attending the same church. Within twenty years he would make the extraordinary decision to uproot his family and emigrate to America, crossing the Atlantic to build a new life in Connecticut.

The boy of 1835 could not know any of this. He knew Marsh Lane and St. Michael's Church and the muddy towpath along the canal. He knew the smell of wool and the weight of a coal sack and the sound of the loom. He knew his parents' worn hands and the faces of his brothers and sisters. He knew the particular quality of the Wiltshire light on a summer morning, and the cold that crept under the door in January. That world — modest, rooted, and real — was the foundation on which the rest of his long life would be built.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

James Richman married Hannah Rich on 7 September 1845 in Hilperton. They had nine children, emigrated to the United States in 1855, and settled in Putnam, Windham County, Connecticut, where James died on 20 December 1912 at the age of 91.

Author's Note

The documented facts about James Richman in 1835 are few. We know from parish records that he was born on 22 April 1821 in Hilperton, making him fourteen years old in 1835. We know his parents were John Richman (a weaver, laborer, and later coal hauler) and Ann Marshman Richman (a weaver). We know his siblings: Elizabeth (age 24), Sarah (21), John Jr. (19), Ann (17), and Thomas (12) were all living at home in Hilperton Marsh; his twin siblings Thomas and Mary had been born in 1823, and two infant sisters named Mary had died in 1823 and 1825. We know the family lived on Marsh Lane in Hilperton Marsh. We know that by 1841, James was listed in the census as an agricultural laborer. We know he later married Hannah Rich in 1845 signing his own name, had nine children, and emigrated to America in 1855.

Everything else in this portrait — his daily routines, schooling, work, friendships, and recreations — is historically informed inference, grounded in what is well documented about rural working-class life in Wiltshire in the 1830s. It is clearly so presented throughout.

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3)  The Google NotebookLM Video Overview of this post is below.

4)  As genealogists, we can usually find the 17th to 19th century church records, and the later census and civil records, for English families, and we may find occupation, land and probate records. In addition, there are books and websites about the daily lives of people in those times.  The AI tools have been pre-trained on historical events, social history, geography, literature and other disciplines so they can provide information for questions like this one, and by 2025 they have the ability to search the Internet.  

5)  After I read these types of social history summaries, I wish that I could be a time traveler for one day to visit the Richman family in Wiltshire and witness their daily lives.  I'm glad that the general lifestyles and occupations are known from historical records and witness accounts.

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Links to my blog posts about using Artificial Intelligence are on my Randy's AI and Genealogy page.  Links to AI information and articles about Artificial Intelligence in Genealogy by other genealogists are on my AI and Genealogy Compendium page.

Copyright (c) 2026, Randall J. Seaver


Please comment on this post on the website by clicking the URL above and then the "Comments" link at the bottom of each post.  Share it on Twitter, Facebook, or Pinterest using the icons below.  Or contact me by email at randy.seaver@gmail.com.  Note that all comments are moderated, so they may not appear immediately.

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Treasure Chest Thursday - 1850 U.S. Census Record for Zacheriah Hildreth Family In Townsend, Massachusetts

It's Treasure Chest Thursday - time to look in my digital image files to see what treasures I can find for my family history and genealogy musings.

The treasure today is the 1850 United States Census record for the Zacheriah Hildreth household in Townsend, Middlesex County, Massachusetts.


The Zacheriah Hildreth household is the first household on the page:


The extracted information for the Zachariah Hildreth household is:

*  Zacheriah Hildreth, age 67, male, a farmer, $1000 in real property, born MA
*  Hannah Hildreth, age 59, female, born NH
*  Hariet A. Hildreth, age 14, female, born MA, attended school.

The source citation for the Zacheriah Hildreth entry (census date 1 June 1850) is:

1850 United States Federal Census, Middlesex County, Massachusetts,  population schedule, Townsend, dwelling #307, household #341, lines 1-3, Zacheriah Hildreth household; imaged, "1850 United States Federal Census," Ancestry.com (https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/8054/images/4199352_00516 : accessed 7 July 2021), Massachusetts > Middlesex > Townsend, page number 82 (stamped, image 39 of 47); original record on National Archives Microfilm Publication M432, Roll 796.

 Zachariah Hildreth (1783-1857) is my 3rd great-grandfather, who married Hannah Sawtell (1789-1857) in 1810, and they had nine children, including my 2nd great-grandfather Edward Hildreth (1831-1899). 

                                      =============================

Disclosure:  I have a paid All-Access subscription to Ancestry.com now.  Ancestry.com has provided a complimentary subscription and material considerations for travel expenses to meetings, and has hosted events and meals that I have attended in Salt Lake City, in past years.


Copyright (c) 2026, Randall J. Seaver

Please comment on this post on the website by clicking the URL above and then the "Comments" link at the bottom of each post.  Share it on X, Facebook, or Pinterest using the icons below.  Or contact me by email at randy.seaver@gmail.com.  All comments are moderated, and may not appear immediately after posting.

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Wednesday, June 17, 2026

Genealogy Education Bytes - Week of 11 to 17 June 2026

  Welcome to Genealogy Education Bytes, posted on Wednesday afternoon for the past week, where we try to highlight some of the most important genealogy and family history education items that came across my desktop since the last issue.




1) Upcoming Conferences and Institutes:

* Conference Keeper Calendar - has many links to register for and/or view seminars, conferences and institutes.

*  Palatines To America National Conference ($$, In-person, in Lancaster, Pennsylvania) -- 18 to 19 June 2026.

*  FEEFHS Annual Conference ($$, In-person, in Salt Lake City) -- 5 to 7 August 2026.

*  Pennsylvania's Genealogy Event "PaGE" 2026 Conference ($$, Virtual) -- 6 to 8 August 2026.

2 ) Upcoming Webinars and Online Classes (times are US Pacific):

* Conference Keeper Calendar - has many links to register for and/or view seminars, webinars and classes.

* FamilySearch MonthlyWebinars (Free)

* RootsTech 2019-2026 On-Demand Sessions (Free)

*  Legacy Family Tree Webinar -- Wednesday, 17 June, 11 a.m.:  DNA in Action 3 of 6: Generating Clues from DNA Networks by Karen Stanbary.

*  Legacy Family Tree Webinar -- Friday, 19 June, 11 a.m.:  Descendants in Dialogue: Connecting Families of the Enslaved and Enslavers by Sharon Batiste Gillins and Cheri Hudson Passey.

*  Legacy Family Tree Webinar -- Tuesday, 23 June, 11 a.m.:  Top 10 Canadian Collections at MyHeritage by Kaye-Prince-Hillenberg.

*  Legacy Family Tree Webinar -- Wednesday, 24 June, 11 a.m.: WWII internment of Japanese immigrant "enemy aliens" in the San Francisco Bay Area by Grant Din.

3) Recent Podcasts:

* Ancestors and Algorithms:  Ep. 42: Writing the Proof - How AI Helps You Make Your Case

*  Ancestral Findings:  Summer Genealogy Starts Now



4) Recent YouTube Videos:


*  BYU Library Family History Center:  Basic Research Skills – Kathryn Grant (14 Jun 2026)

*  Carole McCulloch Geneablogger:  Welcome to the AI Genealogy Starter Campus




*  Denyse Allen • Chronicle Makers:  I Stopped Asking AI Questions (Do This Instead)

*  Ellen Thompson-Jennings - Family History Hound:   A Family Story Hidden in Asylum Records: Christine Shannon










*  Genealogy TV 2:  Finding Land Records


*  Int'l Institute of Genealogical Studies:  Methodology-Genealogy Reference Sources








*  Trace Your New England Roots:  Connecticut's Forgotten Witch Panic: Worse Than Salem?
*  Trace Your New England Roots:  Did He Fake His Death to Abandon His Family?


*  Write Your Family History With Devon Noel Lee:  STOP Overloading Family History Stories With Details: Leverage a Textbox


5) Did you miss the last post in this series -- Genealogy Education Bytes - Week of 4 to 10 June 2026?

Read past Genealogy Education Bytes here.

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NOTE: If I missed an upcoming conference or webinar, or a useful podcast or video, in this time period, please let me know in a comment or an email.

The URL for this post is:  https://www.geneamusings.com/2026/06/genealogy-education-bytes-week-of-11-to.html

Copyright (c) 2026, Randall J. Seaver

Please comment on this post on the website by clicking the URL above and then the "Comments" link at the bottom of each post. Share your comment on X, Facebook, or Pinterest using the icons below. Or contact me by email at randy.seaver@gmail.com. Note that all comments are moderated and may not appear immediately.

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Life Memoir of Edna (McKnew) Schaffner (1884-1974) of San Francisco, California

  I wrote an AI-assisted ABC biography for the family of my wife's grandparents Paul Frederick and Edna Catherine (McKnew) Schaffner in ABC Biography of Paul Frederick Schaffner (1879-1934) and Edna Catherine McKnew (1884-1974) Family of San Francisco, California.  based on my genealogical research over 38 years. 

I wondered what Edna (McKnew) Schaffner might have told her grandchildren in a life memoir in 1972.

(AI Google NotebookLM Infographic for Edna (McKnew) Schaffner's life memoir)

I requested Anthropic Claude Sonnet 4.5 to   "Please write a life memoir for Edna (McKnew) Schaffner based on the attached biography, as she might tell her grandchildren in 1972."

The AI Anthropic Claude Sonnet 4.6 memoir (edited for accuracy and completeness) is: 


My Life: A Story for My Grandchildren

As told by Edna Catherine (McKnew) Schaffner in 1972

My dears, you've asked me to tell you about my life, and I suppose at eighty-eight years old, I've earned the right to reminisce. Pull up your chairs and let me tell you about San Francisco, about my family, and about the journey that brought me to this house on Rivoli Street where you've grown up knowing your "Oo Hoo."

The San Francisco of My Childhood

I was born in 1884, in a San Francisco that was so different from the city you know today. My father, Elijah Pickrell McKnew, was an oysterman—he worked down at the waterfront, harvesting oysters from the bay and selling them to restaurants and markets throughout the city. My mother, Jane Whittle McKnew, came all the way from Australia as a little girl. She was born there and came to America when she was just a child. Can you imagine? Coming across the entire ocean at that age? She was a remarkable woman, my mother, and she taught me everything about managing a household, about stretching every penny, and about the importance of family.

I was the eighth child of eleven children—eight! That means I grew up in a house that was always full of noise and activity and love. My oldest siblings—Allethia, Alfred, Henry, and Alice—were already married and starting their own families by the time I was thirteen. Having older sisters who were wives and mothers gave me something precious: I could see what my own future might look like. I could watch how they managed their households, how they raised their children, how they navigated marriage. It was like having living instruction in how to become a woman.

My childhood home was at 4131 19th Street in the Castro District. That big house! I can still see it so clearly—the street number above the front door, the way the light came through the windows, the feeling of constantly being needed, constantly being part of something larger than myself.

With so many siblings, there was always work to do. I helped my mother with everything—the cooking, the cleaning, the mending, the laundry. Laundry day was a full day's work, let me tell you. We didn't have washing machines like you have now. Everything was scrubbed by hand on a washboard, boiled in great pots, wrung out by hand until your arms ached, hung on the lines to dry, and then ironed with heavy flat irons heated on the stove. With eleven children producing dirty clothes, laundry day was never-ending.

But the work didn't feel like drudgery, you see. It was simply what we did. We were a family, and we took care of each other. My mother showed me how to make soups and stews, how to bake bread, how to prepare oysters in a dozen different ways since my father's work brought fresh oysters home regularly. I learned to sew and mend, to keep a clean house, to care for younger siblings. These skills would serve me well my entire life.

Learning a Trade

By the time I was sixteen, I was working as a milliner—making and decorating women's hats. This was skilled work, you understand. A hat wasn't just something you threw on your head. It was a work of art. It required taste, an eye for color and style, and the ability to work with your hands in precise ways. You had to understand fashion, know what was coming, what would suit different faces and different occasions.

I loved that work. There was something deeply satisfying about creating something beautiful and practical at the same time. A woman might come into the shop discouraged about her appearance, and you could create or modify a hat that made her feel beautiful, confident, ready to face the world.

The millinery trade also gave me something my father's work as an oysterman couldn't—a degree of independence. I was earning my own money, but living with my parents and siblings. I was learning a skill that was respected. I was part of the working world, even though I was a woman in an era when women were expected to stay home.

The Earthquake

I'll never forget April nineteenth, nineteen hundred and six. I was twenty-two years old, and I had not yet married my Paul. But that morning—that terrible morning—the earth itself began to shake.

I've never experienced anything like it before or since. The ground moved beneath our feet like the earth was alive. It felt like the whole world was coming apart. Buildings crumbled. People screamed. And the fires—oh God, the fires that came afterward. For three days the city burned. For three days we didn't know if we would lose everything.

My family's house on 19th Street survived. Can you imagine? With the fires burning around it, with people losing everything, our house stood. We had to repair it, yes, but we were among the fortunate ones. My mother was so grateful. I remember her looking at that house, at the street number above the door, and saying a prayer of thanksgiving.

We have a photograph of our family taken right after the earthquake, standing on the street with our stove and other household goods pulled out of the house. You can still see the house number clearly—4131. That photograph reminds us always of how close we came to losing everything. Dear grandchildren – please save that photograph!

My Paul

I want to tell you about your grandfather Paul, because he was a good man and I loved him very much, even though our time together was shorter than I would have wished.

I met Paul in the ways young people met back then—through family, through church, through the community. He was the son of Herman Schaffner, a man who was involved in fraternal organizations. Paul was handsome and hardworking and kind. He had ambition. He wanted to build something, to provide for a family.

We married on June twenty-fourth, nineteen hundred and six. Can you believe it? Two months after the earthquake. The city was still smoking. Thousands of people were homeless and living in tents in Golden Gate Park. The future seemed uncertain. But Paul and I looked at each other and decided to have faith. We decided to begin our life together anyway.

The ceremony was small and simple—performed by a Methodist clergyman, with my sister May and Paul's brother Herman as witnesses. I was twenty-two years old. Paul was twenty-six. We were young and hopeful, and we were going to build a life together in the city we both loved.

Paul worked his way up in the oil company—he started as a stenographer and became a manager. He was a hard worker, and he was respected by the people he worked with. He was also deeply involved in fraternal organizations—the Masons, the Shrine. These organizations were about more than just fraternity; they were about service to the community, about charity, about brotherhood.

But I want you to understand something about your grandfather. He wasn't just a businessman. He was a man of principle. He believed in helping others. He believed in being part of something larger than himself. He passed those values on to your mothers, and I hope you'll carry them forward as well.

My Daughters

Our first daughter, Muriel Jean, was born in nineteen hundred and nine. Oh, how happy we were! A beautiful baby girl. Then Edna May came along in nineteen hundred and thirteen. I was a mother now, and it was the most important work I'd ever done.

Paul and I worked together to raise our daughters with good values. We wanted them to be educated, to be kind, to understand that they had responsibilities to family and community. We wanted them to marry well and be happy.

Muriel married Samuel Blair Mertes in nineteen hundred and thirty. They had one daughter, Jean in nineteen hundred and thirty three, who was the light of my life. After Paul passed away in nineteen thirty-four, Muriel and her family came to live with me here at 46 Rivoli Street, and Jean grew up right here in this house. I taught her things. I loved her with all my heart. Jean married William duBos in 1955, and they have two children – Michelle born in 1961 and William born in 19658.

Edna May married Leo Severt Leland in nineteen hundred and thirty-seven. They have two children, Linda born in 1942 and Paul born in 1945. Linda married Randy Seaver in 1970 and I went to the wedding in Chula Vista with Lee, Edna and Paul!

I was a grandmother now, and then a great-grandmother, and I loved all my grandchildren and great-grands fiercely.

Paul's Passing

In nineteen thirty-four, when Paul was only fifty-five years old, his heart gave out. It was sudden, and it was devastating. One day he was here, and the next day he was gone.

I was fifty years old when I became a widow. I won't lie to you—it was hard. We had been married for twenty-eight years. I had depended on him. I loved him. But I had my daughters, and I had my grandchildren, and I had my faith. I also had the knowledge that I was capable—I had managed households, I had worked, I had raised children. I knew I could survive this.

After Paul died, Muriel and her family moved in with me permanently. This house on Rivoli Street became our home together. We all helped each other. I helped raise Jean. Blair worked as a pressman. I did what I could to help manage the household. We were a family taking care of each other, just as my own family had done when I was young.

My Later Years

These past forty years without your grandfather have been long, but they have been filled with meaning because of you—my grandchildren, my great-grandchildren.

I've been a member of the Order of the Eastern Star for sixty-three years. Do you know what that is? It's an organization for women connected to the Masons—an organization that emphasizes charity, truth, and loving-kindness. I've served in that organization, and I've been proud to be part of a group of women dedicated to helping others and supporting each other.

I've spent these years here at 46 Rivoli Street. I've tended my garden where I grow Cecil Bruner roses—those delicate pink roses. Do you remember me bringing them to you? I loved bringing those roses to my daughters and granddaughters every week! A rose is a simple thing, but it's beautiful, and it says "I love you" without words.

I've watched you children grow up. I've attended your birthday celebrations, weddings and your family gatherings. I've tried to be present in your lives, to show you what it means to love a family, to be part of something that lasts.

When you came to the door, you would call out "Yoo-Hoo!" and so you called me "Oo Hoo" when you were small. That became my name to you. That nickname makes me happier than you know because it represents something simple and pure—a grandmother greeting her grandchildren, welcoming them into her home and her heart.

What I Want You to Know

Now that I'm eighty-eight years old, and my life is drawing toward its close, I want to tell you what I've learned. Life is not always easy. The earth can shake beneath your feet—literally, as it did in nineteen hundred and six, and figuratively, as it does when loss comes to you. But you survive. You go on. You hold onto the people you love, and you build something meaningful.

Work hard. Whether you're an oysterman like my father or a milliner like I was or a businessman like your grandfather Paul, or a pressman like Muriel’s Blair, or a service station manager like Edna’s Lee work hard at what you do. Take pride in it. Do it well.

Love your family. My family has been my greatest source of strength and joy. The aunts and uncles who were there for each other, the siblings I grew up with, the husband I cherished, the daughters I'm so proud of, the grandchildren and great-grandchildren who have filled my life with light. Family is everything.

Help each other. When someone needs you, be there. When you need help, ask for it. We're not meant to go through life alone.

Find beauty where you can. A rose in a garden. A moment of laughter with people you love. A well-cooked meal shared with family. The beauty of San Francisco—the fog rolling in, our bridges, the hills, the city lights. Beauty sustains us.

Be kind. Be honest. Live by your principles even when it's hard. Remember that the world is bigger than yourself, and you have a responsibility to help make it better.

And hold onto hope. Even when the earth shakes, even when you lose someone you love, even when times are hard—hold onto hope. The future is still ahead of you. There is still joy to experience, love to give and receive, meaning to create.

San Francisco

I want to close by saying something about San Francisco, the city that has been my home my entire life. I was born here. I've watched it grow from a rough frontier town into a great city. I've lived through the earthquake and fire that nearly destroyed it. I've raised my family here. I've worked here. I've loved here.

This city is in my bones. The fog, the hills, the waterfront where my father worked, the downtown where Paul worked, the neighborhoods where I've lived and raised my children, the people—the wonderful, diverse, hardworking people who make this city what it is. San Francisco is more than a place to me. It's part of my identity. It's part of who I am.

I hope you'll love this city as I have. I hope you'll appreciate what it took to build it and maintain it. I hope you'll be part of the community and contribute to making it better.

Closing

So there you have it—the story of my life. From the daughter of an oysterman in eighteen-eighty-four to a widow and great-grandmother in nineteen seventy-two. A life lived in San Francisco. A life lived for family. A life lived with purpose and love.

I won't be here forever. My body is tiring. But I want you to know that everything I've done, everything I've been, has been for you—for my daughters, my grandchildren, and now my great-grandchildren. You are my legacy. You are what makes my life meaningful.

When you see a Cecil Bruner rose, think of me. When someone calls out "Yoo-Hoo," smile and think of the love in that greeting. When you face difficulties, remember that we McKnews and we Schaffners are strong—we've weathered earthquakes and fires and loss and loneliness, and we've survived. You can too.

I love you all so very much. That's what I want you to remember most of all. Your "Oo Hoo" loves you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Edna Catherine McKnew Schaffner, November 1972

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Edna Catherine "Oo Hoo" Schaffner died on November 11, 1974 at her home on Rivoli Street at age 90 years.  t. She is buried at Cypress Lawn Cemetery in Colma, California, beside her beloved Paul.

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The Video Overview of Edna (McKnew) Schaffner's life memoir, created by the Google NotebookLM AI tool, is:      

I edited the Claude memoir text to correct minor inconsistencies and errors. Every large language model (LLM) AI tool writes descriptive text much better than I can write. The AI tools are very perceptive, insightful and inspiring, creating engaging text in seconds, including local and national historical events and social history detail when requested.

This is historical fiction, based on my own genealogical research and family records. It is what Edna "Oo Hoo" (McKnew) Schaffner might have told her grandchildren in 1972.  I wish that we had asked her to recall her life story when we were in San Francisco.   Oo Hoo was a sweet, happy, and dear  woman to Linda and me.  

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Links to my blog posts about using Artificial Intelligence are on my Randy's AI and Genealogy page. Links to AI information and articles about Artificial Intelligence in Genealogy by other genealogists are on my AI and Genealogy Compendium page.

Copyright (c) 2026, Randall J. Seaver

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