Musings for the birthday of a much-loved uncle
It’s one of The Legal Genealogist‘s favorite family pictures.
In part, because of what it tells us about the boy in the picture.
And in part because of what it tells us about the woman who took the picture and whose handwriting appears on the back.
You can write some of the story yourself, just by looking at the photo:
Yes, indeed, that is my uncle Jerry — my mother’s younger brother — the ninth child born to my Cottrell grandparents, Clay Rex and Opal (Robertson) Cottrell.1
And, yes, indeed, that is my uncle Jerry tied to a tree.
It was taken in Medicine Park, Oklahoma, just an hour or so northeast of the part of Oklahoma where my grandparents had lived when they met.
With the caption carefully written on the back, in my grandmother’s unmistakable handwriting:
Yes, indeed, my uncle Jerry was a handful.
He’s the one, for example, who dared to speak up after my grandmother laid down the law after dinner one day. “The next person to criticize my cooking,” she told everyone, “gets to do the cooking from now on.” The very next morning, at breakfast, it was Jerry who uttered the words: “This gravy is salty!”
The entire table grew silent. My grandmother stared at the boy. It took him a second to realize just what he’d done. He looked up, got that smile on his face and — being Jerry — did what he had to do.
He said: “And that’s just the way I like it.”
Yes, indeed, my uncle Jerry was a handful.
Now that’s no real surprise. He was the ninth-born child, and the seventh to survive. The first-born, Ruth, died as an infant, in Texas.2 Another child, Donald, died in 1932 of smallpox.3
But there were six other strapping Cottrell kids in that household when Jerry was born. Just by virtue of the numbers, Jerry would have been a handful.
So it’s no wonder that his name on his original birth certificate isn’t Jerry.
It’s La Stone.
Think about that for a minute.
Spell it out.
L – A – S – T O – N – E.4
That original birth certificate is dated 82 years ago… tomorrow.
Happy birthday, Uncle Jerry.
And many happy returns of the day.
SOURCES
- Texas State Department of Health, Birth Certif. No. 54941 (1934), La Stone Cottrell; Bureau of Vital Statistics, Austin. ↩
- Dutton Funeral Home (Iowa Park, Texas), Record of Funeral, Baby Cottrell, 22 February 1918; digital copy privately held by Judy G. Russell. Also, interview with Opal Robertson Cottrell (Kents Store, VA), by granddaughter Bobette Richardson, 1980s; copy of notes privately held by Judy G. Russell. ↩
- Texas Department of Health, death certificate no. 35631, Donald Harris Cottrell (1930); Bureau of Vital Statistics, Austin. ↩
- Except that he wasn’t. There were three more children born after Jerry… ↩
Great story. I had to laugh when I saw the picture because my mother-in-law told me she used to have to tie her daughter to a tree in the backyard because she, too, was a handful!
What a wonderful picture and story. So, if La Stone is the name on the original certificate how did he end up with Jerry? Was a second certificate issued? Just curious.
And then 3 more!! Opal must have been a busy woman keeping up with that group. It amazes me when I think of how hard our female ancestors worked cooking, growing food, churning butter, washing clothes, etc. My grandmother made soap in a huge kettle by the smokehouse! She(only)had six children.
Jerry is what he was always called — and LaStone is officially his middle name. An amended birth certificate was issued a few years later… as in 58 years later — in 1992!
I’m surprised the officials didn’t refuse that name!
(a) It’s Texas. Freewheeling, in every respect.
(b) It’s not derogatory — it just wasn’t accurate!
Judy,
That made me laugh out loud until my tummy hurt! On top of everything else, your grandparents must have had quite a sense of humor. With that many children, you need it.
My mother only had three children. I’m the oldest. My brother, 20 months younger, was the handful in our family. Mom resorted to putting him on a leash when she had to take him shopping or in other busy places with no other adults to help cope, since I wasn’t enough older to help. They really did sell these in sizes for babies old enough to walk, up to toddlers, in the early 1950s! He was simply so curious that he got himself in some dangerous pickles. When Mom was pregnant the last time (for real) three years later, with my brother Hank still sometimes needing the leash, some of her friends said, with both sympathy and good humor, “What on earth will you do if you have another Hank!?” My sister, who refers to herself as “the baby,”and is the calmest of us all, loves to tell this story. On the other hand, my sister-in-law isn’t so fond of hearing it. One of their two children was “another Hank,” and some of his broken arms, difficulties at school, etc, scared her silly. One of my brother’s grandsons is “another Hank” as well. They all turned out to be favorites, like your Uncle Jerry, but it took a while!
So thanks for bringing us a good laugh, a great story, and a wonderful picture of a boy with a splendid grin. Happy birthday, Uncle Jerry!
Doris
You have to love the Hanks — and Jerrys — of the world.