“If you look deeply into the palm of your hand, you will see your parents, and all generations of your ancestors. All of them ae alive in this moment. Each is present in your body. You are the continuation of each of these people.” – Thich Nhat Hanh
Travels With Maggie
Antonio Joseph was born in 1789 in Lisbon, Portugal. He was my great-great-great-grandfather. Most likely he was an illegal alien, having jumped ship, on which he was a cook, in Connecticut in 1822, shortly thereafter marrying Annis Rogers. At some point, Annis left Antonio, and she and their son, Thomas Miller Joseph, moved to Texas.
I’m sure there’s a juicy story about the family breakup, but of course there are no records so all I can do is use my writer’s imagination. I do know, according to records traced down by my son, that Antonio stayed behind in Connecticut, where he worked as a cook for an insane asylum, and that he died in Hartford in 1868.
This historical marker in Galveston does not mark the grave of my great-great-grandfather, Thomas Miller Joseph. His grave, like many others, was relocated somewhere during hurricanes that hit Galveston Island. -- Photo by Karen Bean
Young Thomas, meanwhile, became a prominent lawyer in Galveston, served the city as its mayor for five consecutive terms, was a chief justice, a Democratic leader and both a Texas State representative and senator. In other words, my great-great grandfather, the son of a sea cook, was important enough to have made it into Texas history books and to be honored by a historical marker.
One of his, and Mary Trueheart’s eight children, was Lucian Minor Joseph, my great-grandfather. His only child, with Annie Rutledge, was Robert Rutledge Joseph, my grandfather, who with Iva Mae Andrews, had eight children, of which my father, Richard Wilkinson Joseph, was the seventh, according to census records.
From all that I know and can learn, the Josephs were a prominent family in Cleburne, Texas.
While Thomas Miller Joseph isn't as important in Texas history as Sam Houston, his name can still be found in Texas History Books as a prominent man in Galveston circles. This giant sculpture of Houston, if you're interested, can be found along Interstate 45 near Huntsville, Texas. -- Photo by Pat Bean
You would have thought I would have heard at least bits and pieces of this family history growing up. Not so. For some reason, I never was told, my father broke off all connections with his family, and would not talk about them at all.
Looking back now, I realize that we were the family’s poor relations . And poor we were. One of my dad;s older sisters took it upon herself to send a box of hand-me-downs to our family a couple of times a year. It came to my mother, not my father, however.
Since my unknown aunt had a daughter a couple of years older than me, the box was like Christmas, better even because what came in the box was always ever so much better than what I would get for Christmas.
An older brother of dad’s also kept in touch with the family through my mother. And I know that during a few hard times he helped out. But again I never met him.
Families are funny things. It’s love and hate, and jealousies and quarrels all mixed up together. It’s sad because when my mother died, all contact with my father’s family ceased. I never knew any of them. It’s a whole big part of my genes and history that were never a part of my life, and never will be. .
Perhaps that’s why I find this story of the son of a sea cook history so fascinating. Perhaps I even get a bit of my wanderlust from that Portuguese sailor who was born in Lisbon but ended up in America.
Pat Bean's blog 