Our American Roots (Maternal Ancestor No. 2)
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Hazel Edna Williams
b. October 17, 1892 in Groton, SD
d. March 17, 1983 in Milwaukie, OR
Parents:Father: Elias WilliamsFamily:
Mother: Mabel BirdMarriage: February 04, 1913 in Spokane, WAFamily History:
Spouse: Theodore Michael Marx
b. November 09, 1884 in New Buffalo, MI
d. November 25, 1975 in Portland, OR
Parents:Father: Mathias Marx
Mother: Maria Elizabeth WiedenmanTed told his son Phil that he had "road the rails" down to Arizona, then headed up to Spokane to work as a lumberman. He has not been found in the 1910 census yet.
Theodore’s brother Otto was a witness at their wedding and on March 1, they moved to Wardner, British Columbia, Canada, where Ted was the supervisor for the sawmill being constructed there (the dining room set they bought is still in the possession of their grandson Mike Bucknum). After that they lived in a company house in Port Angeles, WA while constructing the mill there.
On January 7, 1920 Theodore M. Marx, 34 year old Superintendent Saw Mill Construction {F. W. Horstkotte, Engineer} born in Michigan; Hazel E., 27 year old born in South Dakota; Theodore W., 5 year old born in Washington; Beatrice E., 3 7/12 year old born in Washington; Fairfax A., 1 11/12 year old born in Washington; were renting a house at Sisson Road (household 22), McCloud Ward I, Siskiyou, CA. Both parents could speak, read, and write English.
According to Beatrice Bucknum: "In 1921 we moved to Fresno, CA and along the way visited Dad’s Aunt Rose in Vallejo, then stopped at the Cliff House in San Francisco. When I was in the 2nd grade, we lived in Longview, WA and in order to get to school had to walk across a make shift bridge crossing a swamp. Early in the school year we got smallpox and the house was quarantined. Every day after work, Dad would come to the front door and talk to us and see if Mom needed anything, but he was not allowed in the house. After we got well, Dad took a job in CA and Mom and Auntie (Adah) moved to Portland, OR, where I attended St. Francis on 22nd St., about a mile from where we lived. In 1926 Mom was driving us up to Longview to spend Christmas with friends and we hit a patch of ice on Dead Man’s Curve north of Vancouver and the car went into a gulley. Auntie tried to jump from the car and died instantly - when Mom was a young girl she and Auntie would go out in buggy rides and when they were going to wreck Auntie would jump out of the wagon and she never got hurt; so guess she thought that it would work just as well in the car - and I suffered a broken arm. For a long time after that Mom was afraid to drive and for the rest of her life would say the rosary whenever anyone other than Dad or I were driving. Due to the smallpox, measles, and broken arm, I missed so much school that I had to repeat the 4th grade. In 1927 Ted, Dennis, and I attended a Catholic boarding school in Coeur D’Alene, while Mom lived with Grandma in Spokane and Dad was away constructing another mill in Southern Washington. The Sisters at the school treated us very well, but I hated being away from home and was very homesick. That is why I never allowed any of you to go to boarding school. On holidays we would take a bus from school to Grandma Lamphier’s. Under advisement of Fred Horstkotte, Dad had pulled all of his money out of the banks before the depression hit. While Dad continued to work on the road, Mom moved to 55th St. in Portland and I graduated 8th grade from St. Rose. In February 1932 Dad purchased a gentleman’s farm outside of Mount Angel, OR so that we would have a stable place to grow up. Grandma Lamphier came down to manage the household duties and care for Phil, while Mom and the rest of us stayed in Portland until I completed my freshman year at Holy Child HS in June, then we moved down to the farm and Grandma Lamphier went home to Spokane. After Ted’s senior year at Mt. Angel HS, Dad went back on the road and Uncle Ed moved down to help Ted run the farm. Ted took a year off, then decided to attend Mt. Angel College and Uncle Ed took over managing the farm until he decide to move back to Spokane and join the Police Force. They didn't get a phone on the farm until after our wedding and, then, it was a party line until the last couple of years before they sold and moved to Portland."
Newspaper accounts of their Golden Jubilee Celebration:
They remained on the farm until 1967, when they moved to an apartment on SW Harrison and First St. in downtown Portland. In 1972 Rex Marx brought his father Leo out for their last visit and they had a special mass at the apartment and took communion together. On February 4, 1973 Father Dennis wrote: "Almighty and everlasting God, we have celebrated the sacrifice of Divine Love in praise for your great goodness. Look with favor and kindness upon our parents-these faithful servants of yours who have now spent 60 long years in the happiness of sacramental marriage. You have blessed them that their eyes should see their children’s children’s children, like a strong oak whose acorns scatter and surround it with a forest. Continue to shower your divine gifts upon them and bless you and keep you together: In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit." On May 25, 1976 Hazel moved into a two room apartment attached to the house her daughter Bea had bought in Milwaukie, OR on May 7th. On January 14, 1980 Hazel flew to San Diego and spent a couple of weeks visiting her son Phil and even toured the Zoo. No small feet for the young, let alone someone 87 years old.
According to Richard Bucknum: "The grandfolks farm seemed to be a place of gathering for all of us while we were growing up. Dad’s job as California Regional Manager for Crowell-Collier’s fund-raising division allowed us most summers off and we would frequently made the jaunt from San Jose up to the farm. It was always a point of excitement for us as we rounded the bend out of Brooks and could see the trees and the white farm house looming off to the far right. The house sat on 80 acres with another ‘back’ 40 fenced off and undeveloped and 40 more across the road where the barn was. To this day the scent of gasoline takes me back to those memories of the 250 gallon gas tank behind the garage and the smell of machine-grease to the little workshop that was set behind that and the occasions when Granddad would allow us to watch him work on something, and the smell of hay will always remind me of the days of jumping from the loft in the barn onto the loose hay below and the forts we used to make with the bales. Coming into the house from the garage area you entered a massive room, which used to be the kitchen before they remodeled. Here is where we used to bring the pots of steamer clams which the men would sometimes go over to the coast and catch early in the morning. We also used to spend hours out here pitting the bing cherries from the tree along the road or husking corn for dinner. There was a bathroom off of this room and at the far end was the mud room which lead out to the brick ‘cold-cellar’ which Granddad constructed as a place for Grandma to keep all of her preserves made each year. Granddad’s guns were also kept in the mud room, as was a certificate awarded him from the State of Montana as an ‘Indian Fighter’. Grandpa never mentioned this certificate to any of us, but had it hanging behind the water heater and would respectfully look at it whenever he was getting one of his guns. I noticed it when I was staying with them the summer of 1965 and asked him about it. It was the shortest story that I ever heard from him and basically was: that while he was in Montana on a job, there had been an uprising and they were forced to defend themselves and fight off a band of Indians. For his effort (he was an excellent marksman) he was given that certificate and it was not something that he was proud of but was a necessity at the time. He hung it there not out of pleasure in his accomplishment, but out of respect and to honor the human life which he had taken. This really calls to mind two of the three facets that made Granddad special beyond measure. (1) In all my years of visiting with him, he always had pertinent stories to add to any conversation, and yet I never heard him tell the same story twice. (2) I never heard him say a negative word about anyone, nor exhibit any indication of any prejudice toward others. To the contrary, the only time that I can remember him exhibiting any anger in his voice was when his son Ted resigned from the Rosarians and he was expressing his disappointment for Ted’s bigotry. From the old kitchen you would enter the new kitchen, which was substantially smaller and off of which was their bedroom. Next was the small dining room, off of which were the stairs to the bedrooms upstairs and the second bathroom, and against the wall was Grandma’s upright piano. Occasionally she would play it, but mostly it was reserved for Fathers Dennis and Gerard, both concert pianists. To listen to Father Dennis’ tribute to a Rachmananov piece transported you to places unseen and unattainable on our own. At the top of the stairs was ‘Tressie’s’ room. None of us know why Tressie lived there, but she and Grandma used to spend hours embroidering and when Tressie passed away, her dresser was filled with doilies, napkins, and table clothes that she had done. Next was the ‘boys’ bedroom which Ted and Dennis shared and off of which was the ‘Mouse Room’, the most infamous room in the house. Most of the toys which the kids grew up with were in their, but it would take all of ones internal strength to steel ones courage and go in and get one. Next was Mom’s bedroom and at the end of the hall was a small closet which Granddad had converted into Phil and Dave’s bedroom by installing a bunk bed. This was truly a room where you had to step outside to change your mind. Between the dining room and the front room was a planter filled with greenery and made of exquisite stone that Granddad brought back from Montana. This same stone was continued across the front room and encompassed the fireplace. The front room ran the width of the house with an entryway and small closet off to the side. The TV sat in the corner with Granddad’s chair along the front wall and Grandma’s blue rocker across from that next to the planter. She had upholstered it herself and made an ottoman covered in a petit point of a bowl of fruit. Across half of the room was a picture window and during the summer we would sit at the window at 4:00 o’clock and watch the quail engulf the lawn to gorge themselves on the seed that Granddad would spread for them. ‘Pheasants were for hunting because they were cunning and quick; quail were for watching because there was no challenge in hunting them.’ At the far end of the room a painting (tribute to Homer Winslow) which Dennis and Gerard collaborated on was built into the wall. Mom has both the petit point ottoman and the picture in her front room. There were many great moments spent visiting the grandfolks and cousins on the farm. At Christmas we would decorate the tree with delicate glass-blown ornaments which Grandma had since she was a child. Of course, this was always done under her watchful eye and careful guidance, with the final comment always being that tinsel had to be put on one strand at a time, not thrown on. She managed to avoid this conflict in later years when she found a ring which had long streams of tinsel and we could just put the ring over the top of the tree and drape the tinsel down. But summer was the greatest time. The pear and cherry tree were full of fruit, the arbor that led out to Granddad’s garden was full of grapes and the garden bore rows of raspberries, blackcaps, cucumbers, carrots and radishes. You could sit for hours in the swing and watch the gold fish in the pond Granddad built, or slide down the overgrowth in front of the cherry tree - a great place to play king of the mountain - or ride the tractor with Granddad, or hike to the ‘back 40’ and watch the weasels or beavers, or go across the road and spend hours playing in the barn, or investigating the old slaughter house, or chasing the sheep - although that wasn’t either Granddad's or the sheep's preference. On the Fourth of July, Uncle Dave would bring down firecrackers from Washington and Uncle Ted would come down from Portland and we would spend the evening way into the dark playing ‘kick the can’ or ‘hide and seek’, while the adults played Bridge. Of course there was also the occasional getting caught smoking behind the workshop and Father Gerard making us eat an entire pack of Pall Malls, but by and large it was great memories of family times. We really did feel like we were all one family and those days were sorely missed after the grandfolks moved to Portland. There were a few of those moments after that, but far and few between. Mostly, they involved times when Grandma was away visiting someone and Bob, Patty Marx, and I would take a bottle of ‘Old Granddad’ over to the apartment and fix all of the foods that Grandpa wasn’t supposed to have, but loved dearly. As to Granddad’s marksmanship: it was nothing short of amazing. I remember watching the men shoot skeet. They would stand next to the garage, yell ‘pull’ and the next thing you would hear was a big boom. Most times you would see a gray disk turn into dust, but sometime it would sail off to points unknown. But when Granddad stepped up all you ever saw was dust, even in that summer of ’65 when he was 79 years old. Earlier that summer, they had a problem with five wild dogs running loose in the fields and destroying the crops. The grandfolks had called Animal Control and they sent out there sharpshooter to take care of the problem. After dozens of shots and almost an hour, he came traipsing back to the farmhouse and informed them that the dogs were just too fast and he wasn’t able to get any of them. Granddad picked up his rifle, headed out and you heard five shots and within ten minutes Granddad was back putting his gun away. The officer commented, ‘I told you they were too fast’ and Granddad remarked, ‘not anymore’. I truly believe that even at this advanced age, he would have had no problem qualifying for the Olympics. He also sought to pass on value lessons to us and didn’t hesitate to make sure that we all knew the dangers of guns and that safety and attentativeness was most important; for as skilled as he was, in a moment of lapsed concentration while hunting a mole down his hole in the front yard he shot off the tip of his own finger. The third facet that made Granddad so special was his constant search for new knowledge. For a man who had only completed the sixth grade, his engineering and people skills, along with his work ethics, took him to the tops in his field at a very early age. In 1970 when I was going to college about 10 blocks from where they lived, I used to visit everyday either during lunch or after school. Granddad would spend the entire time discussing anything technical or scientific and was fluent regardless of the topic. But the greatest exhibition of this was when I came home on leave during my Navy days. There were not enough hours in the day to discus all of the facets of Nuclear Power or Submarine Technology. His mind, even at the age of 90 was so clear and crisp that the most complex intricacies were mere child’s play to him as to comprehension and application. Of course, the boys disagree with me on that point and feel that his lucidness was slightly faltering due to an observation which he declared to all present one day. He was the genius and a kinder and more understanding man I have never met. Uncle Dave exhibited many of these same characteristics. Grandma and Fathers Dennis and Gerard had untold talents in the humanities, while Granddad and Dave had untold skills in the sciences. Grandma’s talents laid in all areas that Granddad’s didn’t. She was a master seamstress, who made her own clothes and hats way into her eighties, and a rose aficionado extraordinaire. She loved spending her time out in the yard tending her plants and their yard would have been a showcase and the envy of any neighborhood. She also could regale every event that occurred in any house along the way to either Mt. Angel or Salem, a trip that we had to make daily that summer of ‘65. I went down there the last week in June and at that time had come up to my Dad’s shoulder, when they came down for my birthday Dad came up to mine. Oh how those weeks frustrated her! Every morning I would get up, get dressed, head downstairs and she would look at me and ask me ‘What in Heaven’s name have you done to your pants?’ Everyday we went through the same routine and had to drive into town to buy a longer pair of pants and every couple of days had to throw in new shoes. It really wasn’t until the folks came down that we realized how much I had grown. So, in being away from home those two weeks, I missed that glorious teenage ritual of borrowing your Dad’s suit coat to go out on a date. But that summer, I gained far more than I missed. Grandma thought that it was important that every man know how to care for himself and she taught me all of the humanities skills that would allow for that. Granddad taught me the importance of attention to detail and the willingness to spend a little more time to do the job right. It didn’t matter the task, the process was always the same. Even something as ‘simple’ as mowing the lawn. He would go across it laterally, then radially, and finally diagonally to ensure that the grass was cut evenly regardless of the direction that a blade might grow. They were wonderful people and I’m sorrowed for the generations that didn’t have the benefit of knowing them, for our lives were better for having known them and our values strengthened by their example The last visit that I had with Granddad in May 1975 will always stay with me. Even though his legs were really bothering him again and he was in such pain, he wouldn’t rest but just wanted to spend hours talking about nuclear submarines and all of the marvelous new technology. He was so joyful when we told him that Yvonne was pregnant and couldn’t wait to see the baby. The way that I consoled myself with his death was in the comfort that his time of passing was such that if reincarnation did exist, he would surely seek out Shane at his birth. Grandma still remained a staple in all of our lives and dearly loved having the great-grandkids visit. Almost all that we know of our family history is through her meticulous effort to keep it alive. Most of the distant cousins who I have met through following up on her information are envious of the record keeping which Grandma left us. They all have old photos that they found in trunks, but none have any documentation with them. We are, indeed, extremely fortunate, for Grandma wrote all of the details on the backs of 90% of what she left us. We have also been extremely fortunate in the longevity of our ancestors and that they passed on their memories to their grandchildren and great-grandchildren. We are also very fortunate that our family has consistently remained in close contact with second and third cousins. That summer of 1965 was the start of my interest and pursuit in keeping our history alive. It all started when Grandma was transferring the information from her Mother’s Bible to hers and she told me that her grandmother was born on the same day that I was. I spent weeks listening to her talk of the cousins she grew up with and her grandmother. She beamed as the memories were reborn within her and at all of the blessings which they had bestowed on her. On both sides, we have a heritage of strong willed and determined people. Added to that, they were never content to stay within their sphere of comfort and had the courage to always take that all important first step to the next level and ever expanding their sphere always keeping in mind to provide better for those to follow. Always seeking a better environment and one with more opportunities. They confronted the hardships of a new frontier head on and refused to let it stand in their way. They dealt with the hardships of deaths of spouses and children with a further determination to make their children’s lives even fuller."
Photos:
1896
1901 lumber camp in MI
1907 Spokane, WA
1912 Spokane, WA
January 1913
March 1913 Wardner, BC
1915 Port Angeles, WA
July 1915
1920 McCloud, CA
1921 California
1922 Fresno, CA
May 13, 1928 Portland, OR
1940
May 21, 1944
September 25, 1947 Papal Apostolic Benediction
1950 Mt. Angel, OR
May 14, 1951
1954 Multnomah Falls, OR
February 4, 1963
April 1967
February 4, 1973
1977
Hazel's notes about her family history:
Children: There are no living descendants of their sons Fairfax nor Joseph, which makes it all the more important that we cousins keep them alive in our memories and prayers.
Theodore William Marx II
Fairfax Aloysius Marx, Father Dennis O.S.B.
Joseph Philip Marx, Father Gerard O.S.B., Father Joseph Marx
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Copyright 2001 Richard Joseph Bucknum