AIN'T NOTHING LIKE THE REAL THING

Philip J. Berg, Esquire

I've been following with interest the legal battle over the President-elect's proof of citizenship. A few months ago Philip Berg, a Pennsylvania attorney, filed a lawsuit stating that Barrack Obama:

1. Is not a natural-born citizen; and/or
2. Lost his citizenship when he was adopted in Indonesia; and/or
3. Has dual loyalties because of his citizenship with Kenya and Indonesia

In June of this year the Obama campaign released a digitally scanned image of his birth certificate in an effort to quell speculation that he might not be eligible to serve as President of the United States. The image only prompted more skepticism and so the debate continues both online and in the courts.

When my brother was a preschooler my parents started celebrating his birthday in May instead of March. Even though I got upset and questioned it, they steadfastly insisted that I was mistaken about the date. Many years later they finally confessed that they altered his birth certificate in order to give him an advantage in school. Despite their shenanigans, he proved to be mentally gifted and eventually graduated from high school a year ahead of his classmates. (Bobby's second birthday party, Los Angeles, California)

When I told Chuck that I wanted to write a post about Obama's birth certificate, he was concerned that I was entering controversial territory. "How are you going to relate that to Family History?" he wondered. "Boy, he really has no clue what I do all day!" I thought to myself. I spend countless hours viewing microfilm trying to find just such evidence as Philip Berg is looking for to support his case. I'm never completely convinced either until I obtain primary sources to validate my research.

I shouted with joy when I finally found my grandmother Ayleen's birth record. It confirmed my hunch that family members assumed aliases shortly after her birth. (photo taken about 1910, San Antonio, Texas)

Genealogists are always more credible when they can base their research on information found in a document originating at the time of the event, instead of relying on a secondary source, such as Obama's newly-created Hawaiian Certification of Birth.

A few years ago my father asked me to obtain a copy of his half-sister's birth certificate. He was convinced that Judith could not possibly be a blood relative. "Marilyn [his wife] says that she doesn't resemble me or my father in any way," he offered as an explanation for his sudden obsession. He also believed that his newly-divorced stepmother was probably pregnant when she married his father. "I remember Dad kept saying, 'that was an awfully short nine months!'" When Judy's certified birth record showed that she was born over eighteen months after the wedding, my dad begrudgingly accepted the fact that they probably had the same father.

Although the LDS church has microfilmed millions of records, they haven't achieved 100%...yet. But that's okay with me, because there is just no substitute for going to the source and holding the real thing. That's what happened this summer when we traveled to northern California and visited the Searls Historical Library in Nevada City.

Searls Historical Library, Nevada City, California (June, 2008)

I was looking for evidence to determine what had become of an ancestor's first husband. I wasn't satisfied with undocumented sources that claimed she was a widow at the time of her second marriage. Imagine my excitement when I stepped inside Judge Searls old law office on Church Street and discovered the complete file of my ancestor's 1856 divorce! I spent all afternoon reverently unfolding, flattening, and then carefully placing page after page on the Xerox copier. A silver-haired volunteer, unfamiliar with the machine and just as uncomfortable with my pervasive presence, stood by wringing her hands. "Surely you don't need a copy of everything!" she kept saying. I just smiled, and continued to push the green button on the copier. It was obvious that this lady hadn't yet grasped the significance of the real thing. She didn't relax until I stopped copying just moments before closing time and wrote out a check for all sixty pages.

A partial view of a room in Judge Searls' law office, showing his original filing cabinets full of legal documents from the 1800s.

Before I left I reluctantly refolded the faded blue papers. They were held together by thin strips of ribbon, sewn through the corners of each page. Some of the ribbon had tragically ripped out of the packets when the volunteer carelessly brushed up against the xerox machine while answering the telephone. I muffled a gasp when she reached for a stapler. It seemed almost sacrilegious to tamper with the integrity of the original document. She must have read my mind, because she hesitated, then grabbed some paper clips. "I sure hope those don't rust," was all I could think as she fastened the papers together. I placed the packets back into their snug wood and metal holders. I respectfully watched the volunteer slide the drawer once again into the judge's sturdy cabinet. I couldn't help but wonder if it would be another 150 years before anyone touched that incredible packet of papers again.

My grandfather's sister Sophie changed her name to Shirley. Later she married a man named Meyer Levy who was known to everyone as Mike Meyer. When I viewed a digitized copy of her original birth record, there was a line drawn through the entry. The name Shirley Goblinger Meyer was handwritten above the line. Her father's name was Morris in the original record. It too was crossed off and the name Joseph inserted. A notation stated that the record was changed in June 1961 by affidavit. (Aunt Shirley and Uncle Mike, 1976)

In 1968, Shirley's older sister Betty (aka Beckie) also had her birth record altered. This is particularly disheartening because she was born just a few years after the family immigrated to the United States. It's impossible to decipher the surname in the 1903 record because of the line drawn through it, but it is definitely not G-o-b-l-i-n-g-e-r. Also, her mother (Fannie) is Dora and her father's name looks like John in the original record. It's unfortunate that the clerks in the city of St. Louis were allowed to deface these documents. I believe they could have provided valuable clues necessary to trace the Goblingers back to their origins in Europe. (Betty Goblinger Sirkin, 1990)

Genealogy is all about finding the records. Over the years I've gained a real appreciation for the importance of analyzing original documents. I'm sure most genealogists would agree with me that the Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell song, Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing, could be our theme song.

My grandmother, Sara Saiger, dropped the "h" in her name when kids in her fifth grade class started calling her Sahara Desert. I recently found the names of her mother and older brothers on a ship's manifest. They sailed from Liverpool, England to Boston, Massachusetts in February 1904. The original family surname was ZEIGER. Her birth records were lost by the City of St. Louis when she was still a child. I remember Grandma telling the story of how the principal had her open her mouth and then looked at her teeth to determine whether or not she was old enough to enter school.

My sympathy goes out to Philip Berg in his quest for certified copies of Barack Obama's original birth certificate, as well as supporting documents pertaining to his citizenship. Most genealogists passionately believe in the accessibility of public records. I've included examples in this post from my own family tree to illustrate why I live for the moments I get to sing out loud, So glad we got the real thing, baby!

One of my most challenging projects has involved researching my rather well-known ancestor, Charles S. Howard (pictured above on left). Howard owned the famous racehorse Seabiscuit. I was initially dismayed that I was unable to enlist the cooperation of living Howard cousins to help me complete my pedigree chart. Now, however, I am enjoying the rewards of doing my own work. Finding C.S. Howard's birth record is just one of many exciting moments I have experienced while tracing my father's maternal line. (p.s. to my Howard cousins: Charley was not born in Marietta, Georgia).

copyright 2008 by Kathleen Stewart Goodrich