Cheesy Grits: A Ralston in Savannah, Part the Second, or "I Don't Think We're in Southport Any More..."

There was a lot of information in the 1900 federal census sheet regarding Jane's grandfather, George Ralston, and of course it was—besides his name and his date of birth—all new to us. It's best to start at the beginning, except that the beginning—the family—itself was a puzzle, as the family name appears to have been crossed out on the census sheet and a variant spelling given, but it is impossible to tell from the image which was the original and which the correction. The two names? "Ralston" and "Rolston!" Shades of Norma Dell Smith and the Cherokee Ralston/Rolstons! Of course, the fact that a census taker had stumbled over a family name isn't documentation of anything other than the fact that the census taker stumbled over a family name.



But it was seeing the "Ralston/Rolston" interchangeability and making the Cherokee connection that jogged my memory about the photo of Jane's grandfather. In my early days in the DC area, I had done some historical work for the Mennonites in Kansas and for Lawrence Hart in particular. Lawrence Hart is an honored Peace Chief in the Cheyenne Tribe and an ordained Mennonite minister, and the research I was doing had to do with documenting the peacemaking traditions amongst the Cheyenne in the XVIIIth and XIXth centuries—the traditions that inform Lawrence's views and made the bridge between his Cheyenne ethic and his Mennonite ethic. I had met with Lawrence and his colleagues and even taken a trip into the attic at the Smithsonian as they looked for pieces of Cheyenne tribal spirit and memory that had been removed and brought to Washington to be put on display—except there wasn't possibly enough room at the Smithsonian to display them all, which is why we were up in the attic. Lawrence and his colleagues came to see what should be restored to its home and its people. (This was long before NAGPRA was passed, which required the return of such items and any and all human remains.)

A most interesting thing happened while we were in the Smithsonian attic: our museum host was pulling out drawers to see what each contained, and one of the drawers had a small leather bag lying flat with the top tied with strip of rawhide. Lawrence's colleague looked hard at that bundle, and then said

"That's a medicine bundle. Our holy man [that's not the word he used, but I forget the one he did use] told me that I shouldn't touch it. But I want to see what's on the other side of it. I guess since I'm Cheyenne and Baptist, I'll just have to touch it with my Baptist hand rather than my Cheyenne hand."

And he did. And lived to tell the tale. So far as I know.

Anyway, the photo of Jane's grandfather reminded me very much of Lawrence Hart and his colleagues. But of course a physical resemblance is by no means a verification of identity either. Still, I had my antennae out.

Now, where was I? Oh yes: the address of the household being documented was 519 Herndon Lane in Savannah. (No Google maps then, but, as we found out much later, the street has a different name now anyway.)

There were four members of the Ralston/Rolston household in Savannah in 1900:

Head of household:

George Ralston/Rolston; race "B"; male; born in February 1867; age 33 at last birthday; married 8 years; born in Georgia; father born in Georgia; mother born in Georgia; occupation, "cooper"; can read, write, and speak English; lives in a house (rather than a farm.)

 Wife:

Valeria Ralston; race "B"; female; born in July 1873, age 26 at last birthday; married 8 years; born in South Carolina; father born in South Carolina; mother born in South Carolina; no occupation; can read, write, and speak English.

Son:

George Ralston; race "B"; male; born in August 1892; age 7 at last birthday; born in South Carolina; father born in Georgia; mother born in South Carolina;

Daughter:

Mirtle Ralston: race "B"; female; born in September 1897; age 2 at last birthday; born in Georgia; father born in Georgia; mother born in South Carolina.

The race designation "B" of course means "Black." I wasn't surprised to see this, as the census takers often simply wrote down their opinions about people as opposed to asking them about themselves. I had learned from my work in Cheyenne history that a Native American Indian could be identified as "Indian" in one document, "Mulatto" in another, "Black" in a third, and even "White" in still others. And, as I would learn over time, a similar variability applied to other non-whites in the census reports. All of these designations had to be taken with a grain of salt—including the designations given by the persons themselves, as they may have found it advantageous to dip and swerve on some questions, if only to mess with the person recording the data, who was almost invariably an uncomprehending white.

Nevertheless, we had taken a giant step in an unexpected direction. We had no idea where we were going to end up, but we knew we were very, very far from the Congregationalist Yankees of Southport, Connecticut, where my wife grew up.

I should make clear two things: (a) we mentioned none of our findings to Jane's mother; and (b) the fact that we could contemplate these discoveries at a safe remove from any consequences for our daily lives is but one aspect of what is rightly called "white privilege."

So what could we piece together about Jane's great-grandfather, the elder George Ralston, who was born in Georgia in February, 1867? Was he related to the Cherokee Ralstons? If not, who were his parents? And what about his wife, Valeria, who was born in South Carolina?

As usual, we were left with more questions than answers....