52 Ancestors; Week 12 - A Family Pattern

A Family Pattern - The Iron Thread of the Rexroads

For over two hundred years, the Rexroad family followed a rhythm set by the strike of a hammer against an anvil. While history shifted around them—from the religious upheavals of 17th-century Bohemia to the rugged frontiers of West Virginia the pattern of their lives remained remarkably consistent: they were masters of the forge.

The Bohemian Origins

The pattern began in the heat of the Thirty Years' War. Johannes Recksrodt (b. 1590), a blacksmith and weaponsmith, forged arms for the Protestant Union. He fought in the pivotal Battle of White Mountain in 1620, a conflict that decimated Bohemia and sent ripples of change through his lineage. Despite the chaos of war, the family trade endured.

His son, Wenzelslaus Recksrodt (1621–1705), carried this legacy from Bohemia to Erbach, Hesse. Serving a Count in the Imperial Austrian Service, Wenzelslaus worked as a Hut-und Waffenschmied—a ferrier and armorer. His life was defined by the dual necessity of the era: caring for the horses that provided transport and maintaining the weaponry required for defense.

Establishing the Guild

In the Odenwald region of Hesse, the Recksrodt family didn't just practice their craft; they defined the industry. They established a network of "iron hammers" and forges, eventually holding a monopoly on the iron-making trade in the area.

The pattern of excellence was formalized in the next generation. In 1669, two sons of Johann Balthasar Rexroth (1645–1694) were officially recorded as master blacksmiths in the local guild books. One of these masters, Johann Balthasar Rexroth II (1673–1734), ensured that the technical precision of the craft was passed down as a birthright.

The Pattern Crosses the Atlantic

In 1749, the family's "iron thread" stretched across the ocean. Johann Zachariah Rexroad (b. 1725) brought the family trade to Pennsylvania. Though he moved his family from the settled counties of Pennsylvania to the wilderness of Pendleton County, Virginia, he never abandoned the anvil.

This ancestral blueprint continued through:

• Johann George Rexroad (b. 1754): Continued the trade in Berks County and Virginia.
• John Rexroad (b. 1790): Maintained the forge through the turn of the 19th century.

Seven Generations of Iron

The lineage eventually led to Phebe Rexroad (b. 1833), who married Aaron Simmons in 1859. While Phebe’s marriage marked a transition into a new family name, she was the daughter, granddaughter, and great-granddaughter of men who breathed the soot of the forge.

From Johannes Recksrodt in 1590 to the mid-19th century, the Rexroad family maintained a singular identity. For seven consecutive generations, the family pattern was cast in iron—a relentless, multi-century commitment to the art and utility of blacksmithing

 

Zachariah Rexrode - our German Immigrant
Immigrated in 1749 to Berks County, Pennsylvania.
His great-granddaughter was Pheobe Rexroad Simmons 
Pheobe Rexroad is my great-great-grandmother

52 Ancestors: Week 11 - Turning Point

 
Turning Point: The Strength of June Elizabeth Putman

A turning point in a person’s life is often a moment that changes everything - forcing them to find strength, courage, and a new direction. Such a moment came in the life of my grandmother, June Elizabeth Putman, whose resilience shaped the future of her family.

Walter Raymond Simmons & June Elizabeth Putman
Photo taken about 1920 enhanced with Gemini

In 1920, June married my grandfather, Walter Raymond Simmons, in Detroit, Michigan. It was the beginning of a hopeful new life together. Walter found work at the Ford Motor Company as an auto worker, a good job during a time when Detroit was booming with opportunity. The young couple rented a house in Dearborn, Michigan, not far from Walter’s older sister Bernice and her husband Howard. Family was close by, and I imagine they spent many evenings or weekends visiting with them.

Walter and June Putman Simmons
Photo taken about 1921 enhanced with Chat GPT

In June of 1921, June gave birth to their first child, a son named Wallace Raymond Simmons. Their home in Dearborn soon became the center of a growing young family. During these early years, June also pursued her love of music. She attended the Detroit Conservatory of Music, where she received a certificate of accomplishment. Music would remain an important part of her life. She was an accomplished pianist and eventually learned to play the organ as well.

Walter Simmons holding Wallace & June
Photo taken about 1922 enhanced with ChatGPT

Four years later, June traveled back to her hometown of Henning, Illinois, to give birth to her second child. On January 29, 1925, her son Paul Herbert Simmons—my father—was born. After his birth, she returned with her baby to Dearborn, where she and Walter continued raising their two boys. June later said that those were happy years. Walter worked steadily in the auto industry, and the family enjoyed a comfortable life together.

June Putman Simmons, Paul Simmons, Walter Simmons & Wallace Simmons
Photo taken about 1929 enhanced with Gemini

But in 1931, everything changed.

 

That winter, when Paul was only six years old, he came down with the flu, which soon developed into pneumonia. Shortly afterward, Walter also became ill with the flu, and his condition worsened into pneumonia as well. Paul eventually recovered, but Walter did not. On February 24, 1931, Walter Raymond Simmons, my grandfather died.

Walter R. Simmons 1902-1931
Buried in Mann's Chapel Cemetery, Vermilion County, Illinois

For my grandmother, this was a devastating turning point. Suddenly she was a young widow with two small boys, living far from her parents and facing the uncertain years of the Great Depression. Both her parents and Walter’s parents came for the funeral. Afterward, June made a difficult decision. She packed up her belongings and left the life she had built in Michigan.

Her youngest son, Paul, went temporarily to live with Walter’s parents, as Walter’s father was a Methodist minister who served several churches in central Illinois. June and her older son Wallace drove a Model A Ford all the way from Dearborn back to her parents’ home in Henning, Illinois. It must have been a long and emotional journey—leaving behind the place where she had once been so happy.

Life in Henning during the early years of the Great Depression was not easy. Her parents, Ernest and Cora Putman, were doing their best to make ends meet like everyone else. After several months, June’s father encouraged her to bring Paul home so that her two sons could once again be together. Soon Paul returned, and for the next four years he lived in Henning with his mother, brother and grandparents. 

June slowly rebuilt her life. She became active in the church, where she played the piano on Sundays and often during the week. She also began giving piano lessons to children in the Henning area. Music once again provided both comfort and purpose. Meanwhile, Wallace and Paul attended the Henning public school in town.

Henning Elementary School about 1932
Paul Simmons, my father, sitting fourth from the right 

Henning School Basketball Team 1933-1934
Wallace Simmons kneeling second from the right

Even during those difficult years, new possibilities began to appear. About a year after returning to Henning, June started corresponding with a man she had known in Detroit named Jack Merritt. Jack had been through hardships of his own; his wife had taken their small child and returned to Alabama, eventually filing for divorce. Over the next two and a half years, June and Jack wrote letters to one another. In those letters she described her life in Henning, her church activities, and her piano teaching.

Eventually they arranged to meet in Chicago, where they attended the World’s Fair together in the early 1930s. Their friendship deepened, and on April 1, 1934, June married Jack Merritt in the nearby town of Bismarck, Illinois.

This marked another turning point in her life. Once again, June packed her belongings and returned to Detroit—this time with her second husband and her two sons. They settled into a house on Vinewood Avenue, where they lived from 1934 until 1960.

In Detroit, June joined a nearby Presbyterian church and played the organ on several occasions. Music continued to be at the center of her life and service. On August 14, 1940, June gave birth to a baby girl, Carl Sue Merritt. Over the years she watched her two sons and daughter grow up. All graduated from high school and the boys later enlisted to serve during World War II. She experienced the worry of seeing them leave for war and the joy of welcoming them safely home again.

Jack Merritt, Wallace Simmons, Paul Simmons, Carol Merritt & June Putman Simmons Merritt
Photo taken 1944 - Enhanced with Gemini

Looking back on my grandmother’s life, I often think about the courage it must have taken for her to begin again after losing her first husband. The death of Walter Simmons in 1931 could have left her defeated, but instead she showed remarkable strength and resilience. She returned to her parents’ home, rebuilt her life through faith, music, and family, and eventually found happiness again with Jack Merritt.

 

That tragic winter of 1931 was the great turning point in her life. From it came a new chapter—one that revealed her determination, faith, and the quiet strength that carried her family forward for generations.

 

52 Ancestors: Week 10 - Changed My Thinking

 

How German Research Changed My Thinking

When I first began researching my family history, I approached genealogy with a simple goal: trace each line back until I found the immigrant ancestor. Once I identified the person who crossed the ocean, I felt I had reached the natural stopping point. My German lines—Simmons, Rexroad, and Arbogast—were no exception. I documented their arrival, noted their early American lives, and moved on. I never imagined that German research would become the area that most profoundly reshaped my thinking. 

My Family Tree with the German Surnames
Simmons, Rexrode, Arbogast, Huffman, Heavener, Moyers, Michael

That shift began several years ago when a fellow genealogist encouraged me to start a German Special Interest Group. I hesitated. Despite having many German surnames on my father’s side, I didn’t consider myself an expert. But he was persistent, and eventually I agreed. That decision changed everything—not only for my research, but for my understanding of what it truly means to study immigrant ancestors.

Preparing to lead others pushed me to take a deeper look at my own German families. I soon discovered that many of them were first‑wave German immigrants, arriving in America in the mid‑1700s. Their origins were vague, their stories incomplete, and their European identities nearly erased by time. Simply identifying the immigrant was no longer enough. I needed to understand where they came from, why they left, and what shaped their lives before America.

This realization led me to tools I had never used before. The Meyers Gazetteer helped me understand historical jurisdictions and pinpoint obscure villages. CompGen opened doors to databases, surname projects, and volunteer‑indexed records. Archion provided access to digitized German church books—records that became the backbone of my breakthroughs. With these resources, I shifted from “finding the immigrant” to “finding the village.”

Meyers Gazetteer

Once I located a village, everything changed. German church records revealed baptisms, marriages, burials, and entire family networks preserved with remarkable precision. My most dramatic success came with the Rexroad line (originally Rexrode/Rexroth). Using these tools, I expanded my family tree back five more generations back to the late 1500s, uncovering more ancestors I never knew existed.

Reckerodt Crest 

Along the way, I learned to read a little German—just enough to recognize key words, months, and church terminology. But even more transformative was discovering how effectively Google Translate and AI tools could help interpret old script, extract meaning, and confirm my translations. What once felt intimidating became manageable, even exciting.

Baptismal Record for Zacharias Rexerodt 

Translation by Chat GPT
February 22   -    Master Balthasar Rexerodt, a citizen and master blacksmith, and his wife Christina, daughter of Bastian..., had a child who was baptised on the 20th of the same month. The child was baptised Zacharias

Leading the German SIG has deepened this transformation. I now see the immigrant not as the end point, but as the bridge between two worlds. The real story begins in the village, in the church records, and in the centuries of life that came before.

What started as hesitation has become one of the most rewarding parts of my genealogical journey. German research didn’t just expand my family tree—it expanded my thinking.

52 Ancestors: Week 9 – Conflicting Clues

 

Lewis Holmes Davis – 1826-1891

My 3x Great Uncle

Lewis H Davis 
12th Illinois Cavalry Co E & Co I

As genealogists, we are often warned that sources don't always agree. We are taught to be skeptical, to cross-reference, and to never take a single document as gospel. But what do you do when an official government record tells you a man died in 1848, yet you find him drawing a pension for a war that didn’t even begin until 1861? This was the paradox of my 3x great-granduncle, Lewis Holms Davis.

The mystery didn't start with Lewis. It began with a search for his father, my 3^rd great-grandfather, Joel Davis. I was searching for evidence of Joel’s death, but the trail in Erie County, New York, was cold—no death records, no probate files, and not even a marriage record for him and Deborah Stephens.

Faced with this brick wall, I pivoted to their eight children, specifically Lewis Holms Davis, the third of eight. I quickly found a Mexican War enlistment document for Lewis. He was described as 21 years old, born in Erie County, New York, with hazel eyes and brown hair, working as a butcher. He enlisted on September 7, 1846, at Detroit, Michigan. However, the records delivered a devastating blow: a muster roll from late 1847 reported that he had "Died Oct — 47 at Perote," while another return stated he died October 1847. For most, that would be the end of the line.

Mexican War Enlistments - Left half
Lewis Davis - highlighted in yellow
Fold3, Registers of Enlistmen in the United States Army, 1789-1914

Mexican War Enlistments - right half
Lewis listed as Died - Oct '47 at Perote, Mexico
Fold3, Registers of Enlistmen in the United States Army, 1789-1914

While digging through Virgil D. White’s Index to Mexican War Pension Files, I stumbled upon an entry that defied logic: DAVIS, Lewis H., SA-20383, 24 Sep 1888, Kansas. The entry noted service in Co A 6th US Infantry and a certificate for service in Co I 12th IL Vol Cav during the Civil War.

How could a man who reportedly died in 1847 while fighting in the Mexican War draw a pension for the Civil War forty years later? The "official" death record from the Mexican War was in direct conflict with a later pension application. To sort out the truth, I sent for the full pension file.

The file contained an affidavit that acted as a master key, unlocking the family’s true history. In his own hand, Lewis corrected the "static" of the earlier records:

• The Mexican War Reality: Lewis explained he was in a hospital at Perote from May until September 1847. After leaving there to join his regiment, he was taken prisoner between Perote and "Publo" (Puebla) and sent to  "Atalisco" (Atlixco) in the interior for about four weeks. He was eventually paroled under oath and made his way back to Detroit, Michigan, by September 1, 1849. This explains why Army clerks, seeing him vanish from hospital rolls while in enemy hands, simply marked him as deceased.
• The Fate of Joel Davis: Lewis provided the breakthrough I had been seeking for his father. He stated his father, Joel H. Davis, died on August 23, 1835.

Lewis H. Davis personal Affidavit in Pension File
National Archives, Record Group 15 (Department of Veteran Affairs), survivor's pension (Mexican War),
app #20,383; invalid pension (Civil War), app #773,398, cet #525,428, widow's pension, app #529,056,
cert #391,526

• A Mother’s Trail: His mother, Deborah Davis, was living in Detroit when she applied for and received a Bounty Land Warrant in 1848 since Lewis had no wife, no children and his father had died, his mother received the Bounty Land Warrant for his service.
• Civil War Service: Lewis detailed his service in the "War of the Rebellion" from December 28, 1863, until August 8, 1865, in Co E 12th Illinois Cavalry. An 1888 document from the Adjutant General's Office confirmed that previous charges of desertion had been removed, and he was officially discharged in August 1865.

Letter from the War Department dismissing charges of dissertion.
National Archives, Record Group 15 (Department of Veteran Affairs), survivor's pension (Mexican War),
app #20,383; invalid pension (Civil War), app #773,398, cet #525,428, widow's pension, app #529,056,
cert #391,526

Lewis provided a chronological itinerary of his life, moving from New York to Detroit to Chicago, then to Montgomery Co., Iowa (Sciola), and through various Kansas locations: Nemaha Co. (Seneca), Morris Co. (White City), and finally Dwight. He died September 25, 1891, in Leavenworth Military Hospital, Leavenworth County, Kansas and was buried at Leavenworth National Cemetery.

        LEWIS DAVIS 
 US Army  -  September 25, 1891
Find A Grave, Memorial 561392, photo by Steve McCray

·        The conflict was finally resolved. The 1847 "death" was a clerical error, a common occurrence when a soldier was missing in action or hospitalized in a chaotic foreign theater. Lewis was very much alive, surviving the Mexican War to serve again in the Civil War before settling in Kansas. He even noted with some dry wit that he "never received only two months pay for Service in the Mexican War," which he received at Veracruz in early 1847.

This case serves as a poignant reminder to all researchers: when records point in different directions, the most detailed, first-hand account must be our guide. By refusing to accept an "official" death at face value, I didn't just find a soldier; I resurrected the missing pieces of my Davis family tree. 

The pension file of Lewis H. Davis did not only solve the problem of conflicting evidence; it provided the long-sought death date of his father, Joel H. Davis. With that vital information in hand, I was finally able to provide the necessary proof to apply for and be accepted into the Mayflower Society. Lewis H. Davis may have been "dead" to the War Department in 1847, but his 1888 pension file gave him—and my family history—the final, triumphant word.