the roat family history - dharma9.com family history-2nd ed.pdf · 1874 andrew is discharged from...

THE ROAT FAMILY HISTORY

A PHILADELPHIA FAMILY IN THE 18th & 19th CENTURIES

“…the search has begun; I’ve come to see where my

beginnings have gone”

Second Edition

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The Roat Family History

1

Table of Contents

3 A Partial Family Tree

“Follow the yellow brick road”

4 Timeline

“Ain’t it funny how time slips away?”

5 Chapter 1: Prologue

“Come on the amazing journey and learn all you should

know”

10

14

Chapter 2: Jacob & Thomas

“We come in the age’s most uncertain hour”

Chapter 3: Jacob & John

“I am a living legacy to the leader of the band”

22 Chapter 4: Andrew

“The sun’s going down and the moon’s just holding its

breath”

28 Chapter 5: Epilogue

“We’re captive on a carousel of time”

29

Chapter 6: DNA

“We’re all gonna be here forever”

31 Chapter 6: The Records

“I will always be telling this story”

38

41

Subtitles

“I want to tell you”

Map

“All these places have their moments”

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Dedication

To my mother’s Uncle Morris, who I never knew, but whose exhaustive genealogy of the

Schofer family captivated me sufficiently to write this one for the Roat family.

To my father, William Richards Roat, whose love and caring of family made me want to

study its past and to present this gift to its future.

To all of our ancestors, but especially to the 19th century members of the Roat family who

experienced Philadelphia’s uncomfortable transition from a “greene Country Towne” to an

industrialized jungle and lived everyday lives of struggle unimaginable to their 21st century

descendants.

Compiled April 1984 to June 2011

Written September 2010 to December 2010

Second Edition written June 2011

DNA chapter added August 2016

Special thanks to Dolores Roat, my 4th cousin, for sharing her research and adding to our

known history

By Stephen Richards Roat

www.roatroots.com

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3

A Partial Family Tree


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Timeline “Ain’t it funny how time slips away?”

1739

1760

(est)

1764

The elder Jacob Roat arrives from Germany

Thomas Roat is born

William Condon is born

1776

1784/05

1799

The elder Jacob Roat writes his will and dies a year later

The younger Jacob Roat is born in Philadelphia

Thomas Roat dies

1808 Margaret Condon is born in Philadelphia

1808/09 John W Roat Sr is born in Philadelphia

1834 William Condon Roat is born to John and Margaret

1837 John and Margaret Roat first appear in the Philadelphia Directory.

1844 Catherine is born to John and Margaret

1848 John W Roat Jr is born to John and Margaret

1850 Andrew W Roat is born to John and Margaret

1854 Jacob dies

1858 William Condon Roat Jr is born to William and Hannah; he dies 3 years

later

1862 Margaret dies

1864 Emma is born to William and Hannah

1867 Kate is born to William and Hannah

1869 Andrew and Rosetta file a notice of marriage

1869 Andrew enlists in the Army; sent to Wyoming territory

1870 Adella and/or Delia are born to John Jr and Amanda; Delia dies 3 months

later. Adella (if she really existed) died within 10 years

1871 Bertha is born to John Jr and Amanda; dies 8 months later

1873 Annie is born to John Jr and Amanda

1874 Andrew is discharged from the Army

1875 John Sr dies

1876 John III is born to John Jr and Amanda

~1880 Andrew and Elizabeth are married

1880 John Jr dies at 32 years of age

1884 Kate Roat, William’s daughter, dies at 18 years of age

1884 Elizabeth dies

1884 Andrew marries Hannah

1885 Andrew and Hannah move to 1518 N Opal St

1885 Edward is born to Andrew and Hannah, dies 2 weeks later

1885 Andrew purchases double plot at Glenview for his entire family; moves

Elizabeth there from Monument Cemetery

1886 Harry is born to Andrew and Hannah

1890 Hannah dies delivering a stillborn girl

1895 William dies

1909 Andrew dies

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1

Prologue “Come on the amazing journey and learn all you should know”

have a vague memory. My mother is sitting in a chair by the window of our

small row house on Princeton Avenue in Mayfair, one of the many post-war

neighborhoods built in Philadelphia for the flood of returning GIs eager to raise

families with the help of the GI Bill of Rights. It is daylight. While I seem to remember it

being a cloudy day, the afternoon sun was illuminating the left side of her face, though the

rest of the room was only dimly lit. My siblings are with me, but one seems to be missing.

My mother is holding a tissue or a handkerchief to her face, and we are asking her why she

is crying. I am almost sure that the date is April 26th, 1960, the day her mother died. My

father is not there because he was working days then, his long period of nocturnal laboring

not yet begun, and my younger brother is not there because he will not be of this world for

another seventeen months. I was only 2½ years old. But I have always had this memory. It

stays with me like many other memories, which seem to linger as if awaiting the moment

to take me somewhere, or to make me do something. This hazy, vaporous reminiscence I

believe to be the first memory I have as a human being in this life. And I find it interesting

that my first memory is of a major family event, the likes of which would one day be

investigated by someone researching their family genealogy.

My mother was born Celia Adelaide Schofer on January 20th, 1922. She was one

of 9 children of Frank and Carrie Schofer, and Frank was one of 11 children. I always knew

the family to be huge. When I was quite young, I’d say no older than 10, I discovered the

Schofer Family History. Compiled and written by Henry Morris Schofer, my mother’s

Uncle Morris, it was a hardbound volume of almost 200 pages of biographies and general

family history dating back to the early 1600s. The path stopped there only because of the

Thirty Years War in Europe. Invading armies destroyed everything in their paths,

especially plundering churches for their golden trappings of worship. Churches were also

the repositories of family information, and so the war was responsible for the disappearance

of millions of records which could never be reproduced. I remember spending countless

hours between the dull brown and slightly worn covers of this lengthy tome, reading every

page and story. While my great-great-grandfather fought in a German army against

Napoleon and was present at the surrender of Paris, and my great-grandfather fought for 4

years in the Union Army during the Civil War, I was equally intrigued by the stories of

those who died young, without the chance to make a memorable contribution to the family

history. Catharine Schofer was born in 1822 and died only 5 months later. Cemetery space

was so lacking in the day in Germany that graves would be reused many times. Eventually,

her bones were dug up to allow another to lie in her place. Doubtless, hers is one of the

tens of thousands of skulls staring ghoulishly from a pile in a catacomb, one of countless

mysteries now fodder for tourists and digital cameras.

I

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I would read these stories and wonder, “what about the Roat family?” As much

information as I had on the Schofers, the Roat family history was vague at best. My father

knew his grandfather’s name, but little else beyond a few sketchy and almost insignificant

stories. His grandfather’s name was Andrew. He died a long time ago. No one alive knew

him. He served in the Army in Wyoming. He was from Philadelphia. Why was one history

comprehensive and the other almost non-existent? The Schofers were very pious Lutherans.

They kept family bibles, into which they recorded family events. These bibles weren’t

meant to be carried to church; they were built to withstand the indignities of time and to

pass their stories to succeeding generations. They did their jobs well. And the churches,

both here and in Germany, kept records meticulously. Uncle Morris had a big job, but he

had the resources available to produce a painstakingly complete volume.

The Roats, however, didn’t have these resources. As our line was here in the mid

18th century at least, we didn’t have the benefit of meticulous 18th century European church

records. If there were family bibles, they were not passed down. Official records were not

collected until the mid 19th century and these were sporadic at best. Many events were

simply not reported. Others were reported, but the records not preserved well. All of the

records were made by hand, and the handwriting was unclear and rife with errors. Paper

records in the city often deteriorated, burned in accidental fires, or simply disappeared. As

I began my research in the pre-internet mid-1980s, the challenges, I knew, would be

daunting.

Research began at the Historical Society’s library at 13th and Pine. There, I was

able to examine census records and dozens upon dozens of Philadelphia City Directories,

which were almost the same as today’s phone books. I soon found Andrew and could trace

his life’s wanderings to a small extent. An inquiry to the US Archives turned up Andrew’s

Army enlistment papers and service record, which provided a little information, but no

parents’ or siblings’ names. The first breakthrough came when I looked a bit more closely

at the enlistment papers. In 1869, the enlistment officer, for a reason known only to himself,

decided to add Andrew’s address to the top of the form in a margin. The form did not have

a space for the enlistee’s address. Had the officer not added this unrequested and unrequired

information, I would have had nothing. But there it was, “residence: 1110 Parrish Street.”

This was a familiar address. I had seen it many times while perusing the directories. John

W. Roat lived at that address for more than 20 years. Was John Andrew’s father?

Often in life a solution to one problem leads to another problem. When conducting

genealogical research, this happens time and again. Andrew lived at 1110 Parrish St. John

also lived at 1110 Parrish St. John is about 40 years older than Andrew. He certainly fits

the profile. But there’s a problem: Andrew listed his age at enlistment in 1869 as 21 years

old, which was then the minimum age for recruitment. He actually certifies his age as 21.

That puts his birthday around 1848. So I should be able to find him in John’s family on the

1850 census. It took a while but finally, I found John and his entire family in the 1850

census: wife Margaret, sons William and John, daughter Catherine…….and no Andrew.

Mind you, this is 2 years after Andrew’s birth, according to the enlistment papers. Could

Andrew have lied about his age in order to enlist? It was common back then. A trip back

to the microfilm was in order to look up John’s family in the 1860 census, as Andrew would

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certainly be listed there if he is John’s son. I don’t know how much time I spent looking

over the 1860 census. I do know that it was many hours over several weeks. I also

remember how sore my neck was after each session, leaning forward to catch any glimpse

at all of something that looked even remotely like John Roat. But the 1860 census was a

mess. Page after page looked like nothing more than squiggles and broken lines. It was

faded, patched, and blurred. It was useless; I couldn’t find John at all. By 1870, Andrew

was in the Army in Wyoming; he would not be found on the 1870 census in his father’s

house on Parrish St. A search of the city archives turned up interesting information about

Andrew, including a possible marriage no one knew about. But the city archives are quite

disorganized. They are meant mostly for people who already know events and dates and

want to view the original record. But if you don’t know the event or date, it is difficult to

find anything.

To make matters worse, the little information I had on Andrew was contradictory.

His enlistment papers from 1869 say he was 21 years old, putting his birth in 1848. A

marriage license from 1869 says he is 21 as well. The 1870 census also lists him as 21,

making his birth year 1849. The 1880 and 1890 census show him as 30 and 40 years old,

making his birth year somewhere in 1850. The 1900 census lists his birth date as November

1848 (on the same census, he misstates his son’s age by 3 years). His June 1909 death

certificate only says he is 59 years old. So was he born in 1848, 1849, or 1850? If he was

born in 1848 or 1849, he couldn’t be John’s son because he wasn’t on the 1850 census.

Was John an uncle? For 25 years this question, like a ghost, reappeared often in my mind.

One night in the mid-1980s I drove almost an hour to a Latter Day Saints library

(the Morman church holds the world’s largest genealogical library). I was there a total of

about 2 minutes when I found out that they had no Roats at all on record. It now reminds

me of one of my favorite movies, “Avalon,” a story about an immigrant family and one

older member’s ongoing effort to educate the children on the family history. Toward the

end, the old man is in a nursing home. He talks about how, a few years before, he went

back to the old neighborhood and so many of the places he lived in or frequented were now

gone. Finally, he found one place which still exists and he said “thank God, because I

almost thought that I never was.” That’s how I felt after finding nothing at all in the largest

genealogical library in the world, like we never was. After a year or so of looking, I thought

my search to be over. I had no other avenues to follow, no other ideas, and no one with a

greater amount of genealogical experience could give me any encouragement. I was

content to know that I had “probably” found one generation that had been previously

unknown, but unhappy that I could only make assumptions.

During the ensuing 25 years, I would often think about my research. The advent of

the internet looked promising. A few times I began a search, found little or nothing, and

suspended it yet again. Twice a year the Buddhist temple I attend conducts a ceremony

which is intended to remind us of our ancestors and to bestow our gratitude on them. Each

time over the years I would think about my research when these ceremonies were held. In

2010, my wife suggested that we hold a special ceremony just for my family, like her

mother does for her family in Korea. While I was writing down the basic information she

needed, I once again thought about my research and went back to the computer. What I

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8

found this time would shatter the wall which had been standing before me and laughing at

me for 25 years. The same Latter Day Saints database which had, 25 years before,

figuratively slapped me in the face, had been updated with over 9 million records from 19th

century Philadelphia. In addition, in the 5 years or so since I had abandoned my last search,

new technologies had been applied to old records, including damaged records like the 1860

census, making them accessible to researchers who had previously not been able to use

them. Suddenly, a wealth of information appeared before me like a beautiful rising sun,

illuminating the once dark recesses of the family’s attic. The 1860 census, the same one I

spent countless hours pouring over unsuccessfully, was electronically enhanced,

painstakingly indexed and transcribed, and made available on line. And there was John’s

family: John, his wife Margaret, his eldest son William, daughter Catherine, second son

John, and his youngest son, Andrew. Yes, our Andrew finally had parents and siblings.

These same records shed a new light on the family’s 19th century existence. Perhaps not a

flood, but a strong stream of new information allowed me to put together a hitherto

unknown portrait of a family.

The Roat family lineage goes back to Colonial America. In the early 1700s, most

colonists in Philadelphia were from England, but there were also a large number arriving

from present-day Germany, many of whom escaped the turmoil of The Palatine, or German

Pfalz. The Palatine encompassed an area of the Rhine River, roughly between Cologne and

the Swiss border. Frequent attacks by Louis XIV’s French army in the late 1600s and early

1700s, including the 9 Years War and the War of Spanish Succession, had left the area

devastated. The people were then assessed enormous taxes in order to pay for the damage.

To add insult to injury, several years of terrible weather destroyed the crops and caused

widespread famine. In the early 18th century, many thousands of Palatinate Germans came

to the new world. William Penn’s liberal laws and religious tolerance made Pennsylvania

a favored place for emigration. Thousands of Palatinates, now called Pennsylvania

Germans, arrived in Philadelphia, some moving west of the city to set up farms, some to

Germantown, and many others to the northern part of what we now call Old City, near 3rd

and Vine Streets, which is the same area in which our known family lived. In the next

chapter, we will be introduced to our colonial era ancestors.

My research has not ended, but I have exhausted the available resources. There

seem to be no other Roats in the 18th century to research, and there is no definite link to

any Roats in Europe. As time goes by, perhaps more source information will become

available but I do believe I have reached the end of the line. Many mysteries remain and

will never be solved, but we no longer have to shrug our shoulders when asked. If anything,

I think we now know more about our 18th and 19th century ancestors than most other people

know about their own. But only the official records remain of their lives. No witnesses

have survived to testify as to the character of any of our ancestors. No diaries or stories

exist telling us of their personalities, adventures, dreams, ambitions, struggles, or their

suffering. But, when we assemble the pieces, we uncover the story of a typical family which,

over many generations, remained close and supportive to one another. The 18th century

family, which had some economic means, took great pains to ensure that their children,

who were left without parents at early ages, were taken care of through guardianships. The

19th century family, who for unknown reasons had fewer economic resources, supported

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one another through trying times, and incurred the expense of burying their dead with

reverence and love, even though they were of limited economic means. They worked hard,

paid taxes, raised their children, stayed out of jail, and did so while living in small, cramped

rowhouse neighborhoods, with little privacy and without even the most basic modern

amenities like refrigerators, washing machines, or decent healthcare. They lived simple

lives of quiet dignity. They loved their children. They took care of their nephews, cousins,

and even cousins’ widows. They repeatedly suffered the premature deaths of family

members.

They were our family, and this is their story.

The dark area in the map above is the Palatinate area of Germany, from which the Roat family

apparently originated.

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2

Jacob & Thomas “We come in the age's most uncertain hour”

n late July of 1776, Jacob Roat lay dying in his house on the east side of 3rd

Street between Sassafras (now Race) and Vine Streets, dictating the terms of

his will. Around the corner lived a seamstress named Elizabeth Ross, “Betsy”

to her friends, with her husband John. A few blocks to the southwest, Jacob Graff was

renting a room to a young Virginian named Thomas Jefferson. Two blocks to the south

was the home of Benjamin Franklin. And all around the small city of Philadelphia, within

a short walk of Jacob’s home, lived those men who had just written, debated, ratified, and

signed the Declaration of Independence a few weeks earlier.

Regardless of its status as the new nation’s largest city, William Penn’s “greene

Country Towne” was small in 1776. While the borders of the city were South Street to the

south and Vine Street to the north, and the Delaware and Schuylkill Rivers to the east and

west, most of the population of about 30,000 lived within 6 blocks of the Delaware. Though

it was the largest city in the colonies, it still had a small-town feel, as you could easily walk

from one end of the populated area to the other. Regardless of social status or income,

everyone lived close together and rubbed shoulders on the streets, in shops, and in pubs. It

was quite possible to pass Franklin, Ross, Jefferson, Adams, or Hancock while simply

walking the streets and carrying on your daily business.

Due to its rapid growth, Philadelphia in the mid-1700s was a place where a man

could do very well for himself. It’s unclear if Jacob arrived from Germany in 1739 or if he

started his business in that year. Jacob was a potter, and apparently quite a successful one.

He owned many properties, including 2 in Germantown which he purchased in 1775, and

his residence and place of business which stretched from 3rd St to 2nd St between Elm St.

(Now New St) and Vine St., the present site of the Painted Bride Art Center. The inventory

of his estate listed luxury items the likes of which most men of his time could not dream to

own. There was a silver watch, silver spoons and sugar tongs, Delft china, and walnut

furniture. There were decanters, wine glasses, 22 china tea cups and saucers, and several

tea kettles. It looks like he did a bit of entertaining. He also owned a large German bible

and a “sickly black mare.” The inventory shows he did not own a human being.

But in late July of 1776, Jacob found himself “infirm and weak in body” and

“considering the certainty of death.” He was also concerned with the “uncertainty of the

time,” an apparent reference to the fear that persisted even among the most ardent

supporters of independence of how the British would react to the declaration which was

signed a few blocks away just 3 weeks before. They were well aware of the British

occupation of Boston and the Patriot defeats in New York, and the city itself was blockaded

by 2 British warships for a short time; would the people of Philadelphia be the next to feel

I

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the wrath of the British military? A year later that answer would be “yes” when the British

marched into Philadelphia and occupied it for about 8 months.

Jacob’s home and workshop were located at #9, far right center above, on 3rd Street between Sassafras

(now Race) and Vine Streets.

Jacob was survived by his wife Susanna, adult son Christian, and minor children

Thomas, Jacob (who apparently also became a potter in partnership with a John Curtis),

and Rebecca. With 3 minor children, it is safe to assume (but by no means assured) that

Jacob was not very old. Christian was named one of the executors and received a double

share of the estate. He also received the property in which his father was living, across the

street from a property given to Thomas and Jacob. Thomas received all of his pottery tools.

Jacob’s widow Susanna received a property on Elm Street (now New Street) between 2nd

and 3rd Streets, around the corner from where she and Jacob lived. Rebecca received a

property in Germantown. The rest of the estate was distributed to all of the survivors. Jacob

left his survivors well cared for, though Susanna was to lose the property on Elm Street in

the event she would remarry, which I believe she did within about 3 years. Christian’s will,

written in 1779 and proved in 1781 after his death, lists a step-sister named Elizabeth

Wightman who was not listed in Jacob’s will. Jacob’s will references a property in

Germantown purchased from a Jacob Wightman. I don’t know if Jacob Wightman and

Elizabeth Wightman are related, but it’s possible that Susanna remarried a man named

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Wightman who had a daughter named Elizabeth. Christian does not list his mother as one

of his survivors, so she may have predeceased him.

Jacob’s son Thomas served in the Pennsylvania Militia during the American

Revolution. The militia, though, wasn’t as glamorous as it may sound. Organized in May

1777, service was compulsory for all able-bodied white males between 18 and 53 years of

age. Members served for brief periods only sporadically, some just 2 or 3 times for about

2 months each time over the 8 year course of the war. Rarely seeing any combat, they

mainly acted as guards and in supporting roles to the fighting troops. In September of 1777,

Washington’s troops were defeated at the Battle of Brandywine and again at Paoli, west of

Philadelphia. The British continued their advance to the north and east, with the intention

of surrounding the city from the north. It was then that Thomas was called for militia

service a second time (the first was in the spring of 1777). Immediately afterward was the

Battle of Germantown. It is known that some militia served in a fighting capacity during

that famous battle, but as records of the time do not indicate what service a militiaman

performed, there is no way of knowing if Thomas participated.

Jacob’s will was filed in April of 1777, so he lived less than a year after it was

written. We then fast-forward to April 1st 1799, 22 years after Jacob’s death. Someone

named Thomas Roat died “sometime since” and his 4 minor children petitioned the court

to appoint a new guardian. These children are Elizabeth and Jacob, both over 14 years of

age, and Margaret and Thomas, both under 14. Once again, it appears as if the father died

relatively young as he left 4 minor children, and it also appears as if their mother died

before him. The record doesn’t show why both parents died so young, but Philadelphia

suffered 5 deadly yellow fever epidemics in the 1790s; there was an especially vicious

epidemic from August to November, 1798, in which about 1,300 people died. The

orphaned children were living with an unnamed aunt. We don’t know for sure if this

Thomas was the son named in Jacob’s will, but there are a few interesting details to

consider:

• When Jacob died in 1777, he had 4 children. The oldest, Christian, was an adult.

The second oldest, Thomas, was a minor. In all likelihood, Thomas was an older

minor, close to adulthood, as he was second oldest to the adult Christian. If he were,

say, 17 in 1776 when the will was written, he’d be 40 in 1799, the perfect age to

have 4 minor children. It was a small city. While it’s possible there were 2 Thomas

Roats born close together in place and time, how likely is it?

• Jacob left his family his extensive real estate holdings. Thomas also died with

“considerable real estate” according to the 1799 proceedings. Using the same logic

as above, if there were, indeed, 2 Thomas Roats born close together in time in a

smallish city, how likely is it that both would own “considerable real estate?”

• It was customary to name sons after grandfathers. Thomas named his first son Jacob.

It must be noted, however, that not everyone followed this custom.

• Thomas’ will lists this younger Jacob as being “over 14 years of age,” putting his

date of birth around 1784. As we will see in the next chapter, we have a direct and

confirmed ancestor named Jacob who was born in 1784. Again, how many Thomas

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Roats were born close together in time and place, owned “considerable real estate,”

and had sons named Jacob who were born around 1784 in Philadelphia?

If this is nothing more than coincidence, then it would be a rather remarkable

coincidence. While there is no smoking gun which definitively ties Jacob and Thomas

together, there is enough strong evidence to safely make that assumption, and the 1799

court proceeding clearly ties Thomas to a later Jacob who is already confirmed to be a

direct ancestor. This would give us 10 generations of Roats in Philadelphia as of this

writing, going back to at least 1739.

But a puzzle remains. The 18th century Roats obviously were quite well off. Both

left real estate to their children and Jacob’s estate lists luxury items which common people

of the time did not own. As we will see, the 19th century Roats were of a far more modest

background. Rather than owners of multiple properties, they were barely above the status

of laborers. What changed? Where did the money go? Why is there such a dramatic

difference in the fortunes of the Roats between the 18th and 19th centuries? In 1819, the

American economy collapsed, causing widespread bankruptcies and an estimated 75%

unemployment rate in Philadelphia. It was the nation’s first great depression, and there

would be more. Did they suffer losses in these great economic catastrophes? Many people

did. In our next chapter, we’ll take the opportunity to meet our 19th century family.

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3

Jacob & John “I am a living legacy to the leader of the band”

hiladelphia in 1784 was 100 years old. Ten years earlier it had been the

second largest city in the British Empire, but it was now the new nation’s

largest city, its center of commerce, and its capital. It would be another 15

years before the capital would move to the new city of Washington, intended to be as

impressive as Paris. The revolution had just ended and the states were held together,

precariously at best, by the Articles of Confederation, a weak government which created

more problems than it solved. And the fear that a larger power, such as England, Spain, or

France, would attack and return the nation to colonial status hung oppressively in the air.

In 1784, Philadelphia was a city of about 40,000, including the suburbs. Many of

the neighborhoods that we know today, such as Frankford, Germantown, Manayunk,

Southwark, Northern Liberties, and Eastwick, were actually in the suburbs of Philadelphia.

It wasn’t until 1854 that the city annexed the suburbs, partly because it made law

enforcement more effective, but also because that’s where expansion was taking place and

the city didn’t want to miss out on all of the new tax revenues. Long before this annexation,

the population of the suburbs had far exceeded that of the city.

It was into this city and in this year that Jacob Roat was born, the son of Thomas

and grandson of Jacob. The earliest address we have for him is in 1816 at “Wissahiccon”

Lane which, as far as I can tell, was about 4 blocks north of Market Street and within a

block or 2 of the Delaware River. By 1818 he was living on Ridge Road (now Ridge

Avenue) just above Vine Street. Ridge crossed Vine Street diagonally at 9th Street in those

days, an intersection which no longer exists, having been removed during construction of

the Vine Street Expressway. He is listed as a cedar cooper, or a maker of barrels and other

round containers. As an artisan, he occupied a higher social level than a laborer. Later, he

took a second job for about 4 years as the doorkeeper at Commissioner’s Hall, a county

office building for the Spring Garden district. If this were the present day, we would assume

that this post might require political connections; was Jacob politically connected in some

way? We don’t know who he married, but he had at least 2 children who can be confirmed,

John and Josiah. I have found a census record from 1820 which I believe is his, though I

cannot be sure. It includes 5 children, 3 boys and 2 girls, all under the age of 15 with 3

under the age of 10. Census records of this time did not list the names of family members,

so his sons’ names do not appear in records until later, and his wife’s doesn’t appear at all.

Jacob died at the age of 69 on September 16, 1854 of chronic enteritis, an inflammation of

the small intestine usually caused by the ingestion of contaminated food or water. He was

buried at Union Methodist Episcopal Church Cemetery.

P

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Jacob Roat moved to this block of Ridge Avenue north of Vine St. in 1818. The Shaw building in the

center was originally a firehouse of the Fairmount Fire Co. This particular structure was not built

until after Jacob left the block, but another firehouse occupied the same site during Jacob’s

residence here. It cannot be determined if the structures on either side of Ridge Avenue were of

Jacob’s time, but these are the types of buildings that existed in his day, so it is entirely possible

that he lived in one of them. None of these buildings survive today. Photo taken in 1880.

Union Methodist Episcopal Church was started in 1802 by 50 disgruntled

parishioners from St George’s Church, one of the most historic churches in Philadelphia

today. It was located on 4th Street between Market and Arch in a building also used by the

University of Pennsylvania. Later, they built a new church on the same site. The cemetery

was originally located at 9th and Noble Streets until sometime around 1838 when urban

development forced its relocation to 10th and Washington Streets in south Philadelphia.

Sometime later it was removed completely and the bodies reburied elsewhere. Interestingly,

I have found another Roat who was buried in the same cemetery. She was married, first

name not legible but it looks like it might have said simply “Mrs,” lived in the same

neighborhood as Jacob, was only about 2 years older than Jacob, and died just a few years

before he did. These signs point to her being Jacob’s wife except for one very important

piece of evidence: she died on Christmas Day, 1850. 1850 was a federal census year. The

census was enumerated on August 16th, more than 4 months before her death. But the

census does not list a wife living with Jacob. This might be explained by her cause of death,

which was a wasting form of tuberculosis. She was, in all likelihood, sick for an extended

period of time. And, as tuberculosis is contagious and officials in Philadelphia at the time

often quarantined people with infectious diseases, it is possible that she was quarantined at

the time of the census. This is, however, entirely conjecture on my part. We will probably

never know if this woman was Jacob’s wife or just a coincidence of place and time.

By the time Jacob’s son John was born in 1809, Philadelphia was still the young

nation’s largest city (if you include the suburbs), though New York would overtake it a

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16

year later. It was also arguably the most attractive city in the nation with Americans and

foreigners alike celebrating its charms. Ten years before, the founding fathers couldn’t wait

to leave it for the new Paris on the Potomac 175 miles to the south. But the new Paris was

still a muddy backwater in 1809 and a move was afoot in the halls of congress to return the

capital to Philadelphia. It almost succeeded. It passed a first vote before being derailed by

southern lawmakers.

It is in the northern suburbs where John W. Roat and his family made their first

appearance. In 1837, at the age of 28, John Roat and his small family were listed for the

first time in the Philadelphia Directory in a house at 10th and Coates. They would soon

move to 11th and Vernon, where they would live from 1839 to 1853. It was in 1853 when

they purchased the house at 1110 Parrish Street, where John would live until his death in

1875. All of these houses were then in the northern suburbs of Philadelphia. Parrish Street

is just a block or 2 south of Girard Avenue and in 1853, 11th and Parrish was both to the

north and to the west of the heavily populated areas. Farther to the north and west of their

home were farms, but they would watch these farms quickly be developed into homes,

factories, and cemeteries. I have no official record of where John lived before 1837; he just

suddenly appears in our history.

John’s brother Josiah Roat was born in 1812, 3 years after John, and died on August

26th, 1881 of apoplexy. He was buried at Oddfellows Cemetery at 24th and Diamond Streets.

He married Sarah, who was born in New Jersey, and they had 6 children that I know of:

Edward, Thomas, Oliver, Elizabeth, Sarah, and Josephine, all born between 1837 and 1852.

Josiah was a plasterer. Josiah begins to show up in the Philadelphia Directories in 1835,

living in the house of his father Jacob, near present-day 9th & Callowhill Streets and within

a few blocks of John. On the 1850 census the roles are reversed; Jacob is listed as being 65

years old and living in Josiah’s house at 7th & Odgen Streets with Josiah’s wife and 5

children.

As previously mentioned, records from this time were lacking. While the

relationship between Josiah and his father Jacob has been clearly established in the

preceding paragraph, similar records linking John to Jacob and Josiah have not been found,

but there is plenty of other evidence which links them. For instance:

• John and Josiah were only 3 years apart in age.

• John and Josiah lived just 3 blocks apart during most of their adult lives.

• John’s son William became a plasterer, like Josiah, rather than a carter like

his father and brothers, as if he was apprenticed to his uncle.

• John’s and Josiah’s extended families lived within blocks of each other,

even moving from the older east side of the city to the newer west side at

about the same time.

• In 1890, John’s son Andrew, on the death of his 2nd wife Hannah, moved

into the home of Josiah’s widowed daughter-in-law, Elizabeth Roat, with

his young son Harry.

• And the most important piece of evidence: At Harry Roat’s funeral in 1951,

an Alberta Berbeck told Roat family members that she was Harry’s cousin

and that she and Harry lived together as children. It turns out that Alberta

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17

Roat Berbeck was Elizabeth Roat’s granddaughter, and Josiah’s great-

granddaughter. Further, she lived in Elizabeth’s house at the same time that

Andrew and Harry boarded there. So here we have John’s son Andrew and

grandson Harry living in the same house as Josiah’s great-granddaughter

Alberta and Alberta is calling Harry “cousin.” This confirms a close family

relationship between members of John’s and Josiah’s families. Utilizing all

of this evidence it is now easy to link the two as brothers, and confirm Jacob

as John’s father.

On the death certificate for John’s wife Margaret, issued upon her death from

cancer on November 8th, 1862, a rare event occurs: parents are listed. Margaret’s father

was William Conden (which likely was Condon) and her mother is listed as Elonor (surely

misspelled). Who was William Conden? I don’t know. But there are two I have found who

could be her father, though one is much less likely as he would have been 55 years old at

her birth, whereas the other would have been a more realistic 44. This second William was

Catholic, not very common in Federalist Philadelphia, and is buried at the second Roman

Catholic Church built in Philadelphia, Old St Mary’s on 4th Street near Walnut. Buried in

the same cemetery is the famous Revolutionary War hero Commodore John Barry.

Margaret was buried at Monument Cemetery, which would see many Roats pass through

its gates and rest in its soil, though only temporarily.

Monument stood on North Broad Street at Berks, the present home of Temple

University’s McGonigle Hall, an outdoor athletic facility, and parking lots. Monument,

opened in 1837, was the second of the many Victorian-styled cemeteries created as “rural

cemeteries,” that is, quiet places for the deceased to rest and for loved ones to visit and

have a picnic while they were there. Other rural cemeteries were Glenwood (which we will

see later), Mt Hope, Mt Peace, Oddfellows, and Laurel Hill. Only a few of them survive

today. It wasn’t long before these quiet places were surrounded by urban sprawl, and the

fact that they quickly filled to capacity and were no longer commercially viable doomed

them in the 20th century. In the 1950s, Temple University needed room to expand and saw

the now-filled and slightly neglected cemetery as an obstacle. Citing its neglect and its use

by juveniles as a nighttime hangout, they petitioned the city for its removal and eventually

won out over strong neighborhood opposition. Monument was emptied in 1956 and all of

the bodies, including dozens of Roats (many not mentioned in this history), were moved to

the Susquehanna Lawn of Lawnview Cemetery in Rockledge PA. The elaborate marble

gravestones and statuary, many of which were created by leading 19th century sculptors

and which gave the cemetery its name, were all dumped into the Delaware River near the

present site of the Betsy Ross Bridge and many are still visible at low tide. The new graves

at Lawnview were supplied with brass surface markers, but almost all of them have sunk

deep into the ground and have been overgrown by grass.

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18

Top Left: Monument Cemetery in its final days. Middle Left: Monument being emptied of bodies. Right:

Monument’s headstones strewn along the banks of the Delaware River, exposed by the low tide.

Bottom: Lawnview Cemetery; Susquehanna Lawn, where the Roat family plot was relocated from

Monument Cemetery. Most of the markers, including the Roat marker, have sunk below the surface of

the lawn and can no longer be seen.

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19

John was born in 1808 or 1809, Margaret in 1808. Both list Pennsylvania as their

places of birth in various census. They had 4 children that I know of:

1. William Condon 1834 – December 15, 1895

2. Catherine 1844 – January 21, 1921

3. John W. Jr. 1848 – December 31, 1880

4. Andrew 1850 – June 12, 1909

It is worth noting that all 4 of these children lived to be adults. While I always knew

that infant mortality was high in these times, I was still surprised to see the number of

deaths to infants and children. Case in point: of John’s children, William had at least 2 (and

I think 3) children die at very young ages, John Jr lost 2 or 3 (there is a question of how

many children he had, described later), and Andrew had 2 children die at childbirth or

shortly afterwards. From one family of 3 sons, at least 6 or 7 out of approximately 12

grandchildren died prematurely. Also worth noting is the 10 year difference between the

ages of John’s first and second children. It’s quite possible that there were one or more

other children born to them who did not survive.

John witnessed a major transformation in the city of his birth during his lifetime.

Philadelphia in 1809 was still very much enmeshed in an artisan economy. Workers like

his father plied their trades in small shops, with the owner living upstairs. The apprentice

system was still very much the norm. It was easy to walk from one end of the populated

area to the other. Businessmen, artisans, and laborers lived side by side, walking the same

streets and frequenting the same taverns and shops. By the time of John’s death in 1875,

the city was crowded and sprawled over 6 square miles, with railroads and streetcar lines

crisscrossing the landscape. Most American workers labored in factories owned by

corporations. Where a man once worked with a few other men and the owner in a small

shop, the norm had become a 10 – 12 hour day in a large factory with hundreds of co-

workers, strictly regimented by the clock, and motivated mainly by the fear of being fired.

In mid-century, working conditions were unsafe, on-the-job injuries were common and

sometimes crippling or fatal, and the worker often succumbed to diseases from working

with dangerous chemicals or breathing noxious fumes. As an example, young girls and

women were employed in the manufacture of matchsticks. The women needed to wet their

fingers with saliva often. Doing this transferred the chemicals used in the matchsticks to

their mouths, resulting in infections, loss of teeth, gum diseases, and eventually facial

disfigurement, oral cancers and brain damage. All from just making matches. Vacations

and sick days were almost unheard of. A working man wasn’t expected to live much past

60 in these days. Most people had moved out of what we now call Center City into newly

developed neighborhoods, which also started the process of residential segregation by

economic status.

Living conditions in the city deteriorated over the century. A rapidly expanding

population brought with it poor sanitation and overcrowding in the older, more affordable

neighborhoods. The many creeks which crossed the area were used as open sewers,

contributing to an increase in communicable diseases, especially tuberculosis and typhoid

fever. Water and food borne illnesses increased. It is in the mid to late 19th century when

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20

we see childhood mortality increase. Few people were immune from watching a child die.

In the late 19th century, the city began to cover the polluted creeks in brick and concrete,

converting them into underground sewer systems. These underground creeks/sewers are

still used today but now terminate at sewage treatment centers.

According to census records and Philadelphia directory listings for 1840 through

1870, John worked as a carter or driver, which was the mid-19th century equivalent of a

truck driver. Many carters moved goods to and from the rail yards and the river wharves.

In the 1860s, tax records show his occupation as “retail dealer,” “building and construction,”

and “demo.” This coincides with a building boom near the end of the Civil War. The type

of tax indicates that he was being paid for goods or services, as opposed to an income tax.

This all seems to indicate that he was self-employed and a bit of an entrepreneur. The 1860

census indicates that his real estate was valued at $3,000, but an average house in 1860

cost less than $1,000, and an average annual salary for a driver was about $500. $3,000

seems a bit high for an average driver, so it’s possible that he inherited some of his assets

from his father. As we remember from the previous chapter, John’s grandfather owned

“considerable real estate.” This possibility, however, is only conjecture.

Margaret died on November 8th, 1862 when her youngest child, Andrew, was just

12 years old. At this point, 18 year-old Catherine became the lady of the house and took

care of her father. In the 1870 census, she and John are the sole residents of 1110 Parrish

Street and 26 year-old Catherine is listed as a housekeeper. This was probably to be

expected, especially in a time when a 61 year-old man was expected to die soon anyway.

And die he did, on December 30th, 1875, at the age of 67 years and 2 months, of apoplexy.

At the time, apoplexy was used to describe a sudden death which was more than likely a

heart attack or stroke. John was also buried at Monument Cemetery.

John’s eldest child, William Condon Roat, was born in 1834 and worked his entire

life as a plasterer, as was Josiah Roat. It looks to me as if William was apprenticed to his

uncle Josiah. Sometime along the way he married Hannah, one year younger than her

husband, and had 6 children that I could find. Mary was born in 1855, but I have no record

of her whereabouts after the 1870 census. Margaret was born in 1861, married Lafayette

Woerner, had 8 children (one of which died at 9 months) and moved to Delaware. William

Condon Jr was born in 1858 and lived just 3 years and 10 months. Kate was born in 1867

and lived 18 years. Both were buried at Monument Cemetery. Emma W. was born in 1864

and Sarah C. in 1868, but no more information about them was found. William lived for

more than 20 years at 814 Enquirer Street, since renamed Marvine. Hannah died in 1881

from tuberculosis and was buried at Monument Cemetery. In 1885, in the same year that

William’s daughter Kate died, William moved into his brother Andrew’s house at 2214

Ingersoll Street, which is around the corner from Girard College, as the family continued

to move north and west. Along with him came his daughter Margaret and her growing

family. William died on December 15th, 1895 from hepatitis and nephritis. After burying

his wife and 2 children at Monument Cemetery, he was buried at Mt Peace Cemetery, 3111

W Lehigh Ave, another of the rural cemeteries of the time, but one that still exists.

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21

Second son John Jr was born in 1848 and was a carter like his father and also a

fireman. He apparently served in the cavalry in the Civil War, though he would have been

only 17 years old at war’s end. He married Amanda Wentz, who was one year younger. I

have found separate records for 2 girls, possibly twins, born in April of 1870. Adella is

listed on the 1870 census as being 2 months old, but not on the 1880 census. The only

explanation is that she died. Her twin Delia is not listed on the census, but there is a death

certificate for her dated July 12th of that same year. Because of the similarities in their

names and the lack of information, it’s possible that Adella and Delia are the same child,

but the name was misspelled at least one time. My guess is that they were the same child,

but we will never know. Bertha was born in 1871 but died 8 months later on November

26th. Annie C, 7 years old, and John W III, 4 years old, are listed on the 1880 census, but

John Jr died on December 31st of that same year, at just 32 years of age, from exhaustion.

Why exhaustion? John had a few scrapes with the law, apparently the result of drunkenness.

On July 30, 1868, he was arrested for “riotous conduct and insulting citizens.” When an

officer showed up, John pulled out a knife, threatened the officer with it, and was shot in

the face. The injury wasn’t serious. He then fled into a firehouse where the other firemen

attacked the officer. John was recaptured two days later. On July 24, 1871, John was again

arrested for public intoxication and creating a disturbance. Once again, he resisted arrest,

this time by running into a stable and using a pitchfork as a weapon. He was apprehended.

Perhaps exhaustion was a more polite term for the effects of alcoholism. He was buried at

Monument Cemetery. John III is listed as living in Philadelphia in 1920, along with his

wife, Anetta, and his mother, Amanda. Amanda’s name is now listed as Eads, as if she

remarried, and she was 70 years old. In 1924, she applied for her late husband’s Civil War

pension. Of the 4 or 5 children that John and Amanda had in just about 10 years, at least 2

died before they reached their first birthdays and a third possible child died sometime in

her 1st ten years. At least 2 of these children were buried at Monument cemetery. By 1880,

when she was just 31 years old, Amanda was a widow who had lost 2 or 3 children. The

late 19th century was cruel indeed.

John and Margaret’s daughter Catherine was born in 1844, and lived with her father,

unmarried, until his death in 1875 when she was 31 years old. I have found a record of a

Catherine Roat, born November 22, 1844 being married to a Charles Hinkle, born in 1840.

They had 1 child, Robert Franklin, who was born in 1882, when his mother was 38 and his

father was 42. I cannot prove conclusively that this is our Catherine, but the circumstantial

evidence is relatively strong. Our Catherine remained single until her father’s death in 1875

when she was 31 years old. This Catherine had only one child and not until 1882 when she

was 38 years old, which was highly unusual in the 19th century (it’s even unusual today).

This Catherine also lived in the same neighborhood as our Catherine. I think these two

Catherines were the same person. She died on January 29, 1921; her husband died just after

on March 21, 1921. Their son died in 1956.

Andrew, John and Margaret’s youngest child, is our direct ancestor and warrants

his own chapter.

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22

4

Andrew “The sun’s going down and the moon’s just holding its breath”

ndrew W. Roat was John and Margaret Roat’s youngest child. He was

probably born in November of 1850, just months after Millard Fillmore

became president upon the death of Zachary Taylor. His mother died when

he was 12. As a young boy, he witnessed the election of Abraham Lincoln, the secession

of the southern states from the union, and the Civil War. He first shows up in records on

the 1860 census as a 10 year old in John’s family of 4 children. On March 31st, 1869 there

is a marriage record for Andrew and Rosetta Snyder, 19, of Reading. While he can’t be

more than 18 years old, he states that he is 21. I am reasonably sure I have the same Andrew

W. Roat as he lists his occupation as “butcher,” the same occupation he used when he

enlisted in the Army. But did they really marry? It’s unclear whether this is a marriage

record or just a marriage license being issued. It’s possible that they obtained a license but

never went through with the marriage.

On October 15th of that same year, 6½ months after the marriage license record,

Andrew enlisted in the US Army and served from 1869 through 1874. Why would he do

that if he had just married? Did the marriage break up? Did they never marry? Was he

running away? Or did he need a good job in order to support his new wife? We’ll never

know. Rosetta disappears. I can find no trace of her anywhere. And, as we shall see later,

Andrew went to great pains to see that he would be buried with all of his loved ones,

including two wives, upon his death, but he didn’t include Rosetta in those plans. During

the next 5 years, while he is in the Army in Wyoming, there is an entry in the Philadelphia

Directories for an Andrew W. Roat, carter (the occupation he would use for the rest of his

life). Was this another Andrew W. Roat, or was this Rosetta living under her husband’s

name? Again, we’ll never know.

Eleven days after enlisting in the Army, Andrew was assigned to the 4th regiment

of the infantry and sent to Ft. Fetterman, Albany County, Wyoming Territory and arrived

on November 15th. Ft. Fetterman is in eastern Wyoming and was established just 2 years

earlier as a major supply post for the armies fighting the Indians in the post-civil war west.

The new transcontinental railroad ran just a few dozen miles to the south and a westward

migration along its route had begun. The incoming settlers and the existing Native

American tribes competed for the same land, with the predictable violent clashes ensuing.

The fort was located on a plateau above the North Platte River. In a letter to the Adjutant

General, Major William Dye described the post and surrounding country as “...situated on

a plateau...above the valley of the Platte, being neither so low as to be seriously affected

by the rains or snow; nor so high and unprotected as to suffer from the winter winds.” But

he was talking about the summer. The long winters were another story altogether. When

another commander took over in November 1867, just 2 years before Andrew’s arrival, he

A

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23

had a different assessment: ..."officers and men were found under canvas exposed on a

bleak plain to violent and almost constant gales and very uncomfortable..."

As an outpost of civilization on the Western frontier, the fort represented protection

and a haven to travelers and soldiers passing through. But Fort Fetterman was always

considered a hardship post by officers and men who were stationed there. On May 18, 1874,

Captain F. Van Vliet, of Company C, 3rd Cavalry, felt so strongly about the hardships on

his men that he wrote to the Adjutant General requesting his company be transferred

because there was "...no opportunity for procuring fresh vegetables, and gardens are a

failure. There is no female society for enlisted men...the enlisted men of the company are

leaving very much dissatisfied, as they look upon being held so long at this post as an

unmerited punishment...whenever men get to the railroad there are some desertions caused

by dread of returning to this post..."

Desertions were common, and the post frequently lacked adequate supplies and

equipment. Supplies had to be hauled from Fort Laramie to the southeast or from Medicine

Bow Station on the Union Pacific Railroad. Luxuries were scarce and pleasures were few.

However the soldiers found some diversion from the garrison life at a nearby establishment

known as the "Hog Ranch.”

A scene from Fort Fetterman today,

showing the bleak landscape in the

background.

At some unknown time Andrew was transferred to Ft Bridger, in the far

southwestern corner of Wyoming. Ft Bridger was a much older fort, having been founded

in 1843 as a privately owned supply post by the famous western mountain man Jim Bridger.

Ft. Bridger was conveniently located along the Oregon Trail where it branched off into 3

trails: one which continued to Oregon, another which ended in northern California, and the

Mormon trail which went to Salt Lake City and Utah territory. It was acquired by the Army

in 1858 and converted to military use.

The fort’s location was head and shoulders above Fetterman’s and considered the

garden spot of the west. It was described by pioneers passing through as "a pretty place to

see in such a barren country." "Perhaps there is a thousand acres of level land covered with

grass, interspersed with beautiful stony brooks and plenty of timber, such as it is -- quaking

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24

asp.” Another described the fort’s location "in a handsome and fertile bottom of the small

stream on which we are encamped. The bottom produces the finest qualities of grass, and

in great abundance." In addition, "The water of the stream is cold and pure, and abounds

in spotted mountain trout, and a variety of other small fish. Clumps of cotton-wood trees

are scattered through the valley, and along the banks of the stream." Yet another describes

“a beautiful valley of fertile soil." "In this valley, there is a fort called Fort Bridger, after

the old pioneer who built it and lives there near where we have camped." "This valley is

certainly very rich and affords the best of grass. It is watered by 7 beautiful streams running

through it, called Rushing creeks. These streams are from one to 3 feet deep of clear cold

water, just from the mountain tops." I am hoping that Andrew was at Ft Bridger long

enough to appreciate its splendor and natural beauty.

Original army

buildings at Fort

Bridger.

Fort Bridger in a

woodcarving from

1873, about the

time when Andrew

was stationed

there. Contrary to

Fetterman’s

bleakness, notice

the mountains and

abundance of

trees.

His army record doesn’t show what he did in Wyoming, but the 4th Infantry was

active. They spent quite a bit of their time escorting wagon trains and payroll deliveries,

frequently having to fight off attacks from Native American raiders. As Andrew listed his

occupation at the time of his enlistment as “butcher,” it’s possible he was involved with

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25

providing food for the fort. About 18 months after his discharge, some members of the 4th

Infantry fought at the Battle of the Little Big Horn.

Andrew served his entire enlistment, 5 years, in Wyoming Territory and was

honorably discharged as a private in October 1874. This says a lot about our intrepid hero.

Andrew’s service record would be called a spreadsheet today. On his page are about 40

names. Of those 40, I would estimate that about half deserted. Many were returned to

service, and a few deserted a second time. Some never returned. Andrew stayed and served

his entire hitch.

Andrew’s next appearance in the Philadelphia Directory doesn’t occur until 1878,

4 years after his discharge. Perhaps he took his time coming back, or maybe he lived in his

father’s house on Parrish Street for a while. Oddly, his occupation that year is “oysters,”

and then he vanishes for a year. By 1880, he is back, he calls himself a “driver,” and he is

married to Elizabeth (who he apparently called “Lizzie”) and living at 2214 Ingersoll Street,

around the corner from Girard College, yet farther north and crossing Girard Avenue for

the first time. Elizabeth was born in 1845 in Bucks County, PA. I don’t know anything else

about her except that she died on January 18th, 1884 of “anaema.” She was buried at

Monument Cemetery, but would not remain there long.

On December 24th, 1884, Andrew married Hannah Harding at the 19th Street

Methodist Episcopal Church. She was the daughter of Irish immigrants (her father’s name

was Alexander) who came to America in the 1840s, possibly as a result of the Irish potato

famine. Hannah was 28 years old, born in Philadelphia, and was the youngest of 6 children.

Her mother, whose name I don’t know, apparently died before Hannah turned 4 years old.

In 1880, Hannah worked as a live-in servant for a family headed by Francis Saylor, an

engineer who co-owned a bridge building firm; she was apparently one of 3 servants in the

household. Shortly after she and Andrew married they moved to 1518 North Opal Street.

On July 27th, 1885, Andrew and Hannah welcomed their first child into the world, Edward.

But times were cruel, and Andrew was not spared the fate of his brothers. Edward lived

only 2 weeks and 1 day and died from inanition. In a word, this means starvation. I find it

hard to believe that they would allow their son to die of starvation, and the fact that Hannah

successfully nursed her second son just one year later makes me believe that perhaps

Edward had an underlying condition which prevented him from properly digesting and

absorbing nourishment. Andrew purchased a double plot at Glenwood Cemetery at 27th

and Lehigh and buried Edward there. Sometime later, I don’t know when, he moved

Elizabeth’s body there from Monument Cemetery. By this time, the area around Monument

had become densely populated with factories and homes and the once-rural cemetery had

lost its luster. Monument was no longer regarded as a nice place to bury your loved ones

and predictions of its demise had already started.

I find it interesting that Andrew moved Elizabeth from troubled Monument

Cemetery into a plot at newer and nicer Glenwood which was also intended for himself,

his second wife, and the rest of his family. It indicates to me that Andrew was a man who

loved his wives and children. He did not have old fashioned marriages of convenience. He

had genuine and deep feelings for those around him, so much so that he wanted to be with

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26

them in death and in the proper surroundings. Further, Andrew listed her name in the

cemetery record as “Lizzie” rather than the more formal “Elizabeth” in an apparent show

of affection.

One year after Edward’s short life ended, on July 31st, 1886, Harry Ebert Roat was

born. Harry later married Marion Amelia Richards and they would together expand the

family from just 2 people to well over a hundred today.

On June 14th, 1890, Hannah delivered a stillborn child, an unnamed girl, and died

the same day from "puerperal eclampsia resulting from renal disease." This is a disorder

which occurs during childbirth and is caused by extreme high blood pressure. It results in

convulsions and multiple organ failure and was a leading cause of death in women of the

19th century. She and her unnamed daughter were buried next to Edward in the same plot

at Glenwood Cemetery at 27th and Ridge Avenues in north Philadelphia where Elizabeth

was also moved to. And in the course of 6 short years, and by the age of just 40, Andrew

suffered the deaths of 2 wives and 2 children. He never remarried.

Later, Andrew would also be buried at Glenwood. When Glenwood was emptied

in 1938 for the city's first housing project (also called Glenwood), the family was moved

to Section T, Lot 154, graves 1 & 2 at Glenwood's new location in Broomall, where Harry

and Marion were later buried. Harry’s burial filled the original plot to capacity and the

neighboring plot was later purchased for Marion. The stone is on Marion’s plot and only

lists Harry and Marion. All of the others were buried in the unmarked plots to the

immediate left of Marion and remained anonymous to passers-by for over 100 years. In

2011, 102 years after Andrew’s death, the Department of Veterans Affairs installed a

granite military headstone on his grave.

After Hannah’s death, Andrew lived in 1893 and from 1897 to 1899 in the same

house as Elizabeth Roat, widow of Oliver, and daughter-in-law of Josiah. There are a few

“missing years” when he’s not listed in the directories, but that’s not unusual when

someone was living in someone else’s house. Oliver was born in 1843 the son of Josiah,

John’s brother. That would make Andrew and Oliver cousins. (Coincidently, Elizabeth’s

brother William Geary married Oliver’s sister Josephine) This house was at 1512 North

20th St, just 2 blocks from Andrew’s former house. It is known that Harry lived in this

house as well, but it has been suggested that he did not live there for all of the time his

father was there. Harry told some of his children that after his mother’s death he lived for

a time with an "Aunt Ide" in Roxborough. Aunt Ide was, according to Harry’s wife Marion,

her aunt Ida Richards Bittel. I have found no evidence for any of this, and I don’t know

how the Roat family and the Richards family could have crossed paths in 1890, 17 years

before Harry and Marion married. Marion’s father lived at least 12 blocks from Harry’s

father, and I can’t find Ida or her husband at all until 1892 when they were living in

Brooklyn, where they stayed at least until 1910. I believe the inaccurate Roxborough

reference comes from the location of their home at the time near Ridge Ave in North

Philadelphia, and is confused with the Ridge Ave in Roxborough. So who was Aunt Ide? I

don’t know if I will ever be able to unwrap this mystery.

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27

It is known that Andrew and Harry remained close. The 1900 Census lists the father

and son living together in a boarding house, where young Harry is listed as being employed

as an errand boy. Andrew continued to work as a driver, and even drove a handsome cab

at one time (according to Harry, he drove wealthy men to the brothels on Allegheny

Avenue). Near the end of his life, Andrew suffered mouth cancer and had surgery to treat

it. It is said that he lived for a while with Harry and Marion, but the directories list him as

having his own home. He died on June 12, 1909 at 9am of "tubercular caries of spinal

column." Basically, he had tuberculosis which went untreated and infected his spinal

column. It can be very painful and cause spinal deformities. The hunch on the fictional

Hunchback of Notre Dame was caused by this. Andrew probably had a cough and pain in

his back, and did not know that they were related. His death certificate lists his address as

"from the street" as if he was homeless, but he had an address in the directories and a son

who cared at least enough to arrange a proper funeral at a funeral home. I believe that the

people who wrote the death certificate just did not know where he lived. He died at

Philadelphia General Hospital after a 2 day stay.

And so passed the last of the 19th century Roat family. The average family member

born in the 19th century had a less than 50% chance of surviving to adulthood. Monument

and Glenwood cemeteries were filled with the bodies of Roats, none of whom lived to 70

years of age, few of whom even reached 60, and many of whom died as children. And as

the sun set on this chapter of the Roat family, one could not help but wonder if the 20th

century would be just as cruel as the century just ended.

The plots at Glenwood Memorial Gardens in Broomall, PA. On the left is the military memorial for Andrew

installed by the Department of Veterans Affairs in 2011, 102 years after his death. There is another unmarked

plot on the left, outside of the photo. These 3 plots hold Andrew, Elizabeth, Hannah, Edward, Hannah’s

stillborn girl, Harry, and Marion. All but Harry and Marion were first buried at Glenwood’s original location

in North Philadelphia between 1884 and 1909 and moved here around 1937.

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5

Epilogue “We’re captive on a carousel of time”

he moon didn’t need to hold its breath for long. The hardship of the 19th

century evolved into a 20th century of success. Harry and Marion had 10

children. These 10 children had 34 children among them, all of whom

reached adulthood. Compare that with John and Margaret’s family. They had 14

grandchildren that I know of, yet at least 7 died before reaching adulthood, 5 as small

children or infants and 2 as teenagers.

But from the birth of Harry and Marion’s first child in 1907, the family increased

from just these 2 to well over 100 by the time of this writing in 2011. I haven’t counted,

but it’s probably around 120. And we are no longer confined to the cozy environs of the

Quaker city, having crossed the borders into New Jersey and Delaware before traveling

farther to Boston, Chicago, Tupelo, Seattle, and Southern California, among other places.

So, really, what has changed? We were an average American working family in the

past, and we’re pretty average now. The times have changed dramatically and we have

ridden the tides of change. We still appreciate education, we still work hard, we still raise

our children, we still live by our values. Our ancestors have proven themselves to be a close

knit group. Upon the death of a parent, the surviving parent would move in with one of

their children. When Andrew’s wife Hannah died, Andrew moved in with his cousin’s

widow, who surely needed the extra income and in return provided a mother figure for his

son and the daily necessities of home life. Josiah took his nephew under his wing and taught

him the plastering trade.

Our ancestors did nothing which was especially memorable. No one became a

senator, there were no wealthy industrialists, no public monuments were erected to anyone

in our lineage. They were working people who labored unceasingly under dreadful

conditions for little reward. They watched helplessly as their children died, one after the

other, before they could even escape from diapers. They suffered the deaths of spouses at

untimely ages. Yet amid their suffering they carried on with their lives, undaunted,

hardened by the punishment hurled at them by life but not defeated. I am reminded of John

W Roat III, and finding his census record from 1920. There, 40 years after the death of the

father he never knew, John lived with his mother, taking care of her and raising his daughter.

After 40 years as a widow, Amanda was working as a nurse and providing extra family

income. And the mother and son, shattered 40 years before by the untimely death of their

husband and father, were still caring for each other and raising another generation. It

doesn’t stop. It just keeps on going…….

T

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6

DNA “We’re all gonna be here forever”

n Summer of 2016 I added a new chapter to my genealogy research. I submitted

my DNA for analysis. I took two tests, Autosomal and Y-DNA.

Autosomal DNA is what we talk about when discussing chromosomes. We all

know about the double helix and how the mother’s and father’s DNA combine to create

the DNA of the child. If mom has brown eyes and dad has hazel eyes, one of the genes will

win out over the other and you’ll get one or the other color. Or their combination could

lead to a third color. And this happens in every generation from the first to the present.

Autosomal DNA takes all these generations into account and keeps a record, so to speak,

of every ancestor you had. It can tell you about your DNA from far longer ago than you

can imagine, not just about the last few generations.

My mother was 100% German. As far as I can tell, the Roats were heavily German

and Irish, with a bit of English thrown in from the Richards side. So I was not surprised to

find that my DNA showed a great deal of British Isles and Western Europe (you won’t find

French, German, Belgian, etc in autosomal DNA, just regions). What did surprise me was

that it only came to about 75%. Where was the other 25%?

About 17% was Italy/Greece. Another 5% was Spain/Iberian peninsula. And there

were traces from the Middle East and Northern Africa. All told, about 24% came from the

Mediterranean. Does it sound familiar? This is the exact area of the Roman Empire. It made

me want to buy a toga. And considering I had DNA from all of those areas, it is less likely

from a slave family, who didn’t get to go anywhere, and is more likely from the family of

a soldier, official, or business person, all of whom could have easily travelled to all of these

areas and over multiple generations. Eventually, many Romans settled elsewhere, such as

in Germany, where the Roats came from. A first cousin on my mother’s side tested 95%

Western Europe, so this Mediterranean component appears to be from the Roat side.

The second test, Y-DNA, is for men only. Y-DNA is passed from father to son only,

and it passes almost unchanged from generation to generation. It’s useful for finding where

your specific family lineage originated and for finding relations who have also submitted

their DNA. I found out that everyone is part of a haplogroup, which is a group of people,

maybe a group of tens of millions, who all come from a common ancestor in pre-historic

times.

The Roat haplogroup is RM-269, which is the largest haplogroup in Western

Europe. We originated 25,000 years ago in an area which is now northern Iran and

Turkmenistan. They migrated east through the Caucuses, southern Ukraine, the Balkans,

Italy, Spain, and eventually up into Germany and the British Isles.

I

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30

In time, as more men submit to Y-DNA testing, I’m hoping that we will find men

who more closely match our specific DNA profile. Those matches could help to determine

more about our family’s origins.

All in all, I was disappointed in the results of the testing. I expected more

information. Hopefully, this will bear more fruit as time goes by and more people are tested.

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7

The Records “I will always be telling this story”

A selection from Jacob’s 1776 handwritten will in which he mentions “the

certainty of death” and the “uncertainty of the time.”

Jacob’s estate inventory from 1777. This selection includes money, a

German bible, a feather bed with bedclothes, and a silver watch.

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32

Andrew’s death certificate indicating his cause of death as "Tubercular Caries of

Spinal Column," and a contributing cause of “Pulmonary Tuberculosis.”

- –


33

Elizabeth’s death certificate. She and Andrew were married for about 4 years and

apparently had no children.

- –


34

Hannah’s death certificate indicating the cause of death as "Puerperal Eclampsia

resulting from Renal Disease." She and Andrew were married for 4½ years and had 3

children, though 2 died at or shortly after birth. Only Harry survived.

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35

Death certificate for Andrew and Hannah’s unnamed stillborn daughter

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36

Andrew’s Army enlistment papers. The following are indicated:

• Description: Hazel eyes, dark hair, dark complexion, 5 feet 6 ½ inches tall

• Address in the top margin

• Signature

• Hand written statement certifying that he is 21 years of age

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37

Outside cover of Andrew’s enlistment papers

Selection from the 1900 census showing Andrew and Harry living in a boarding house at

1027 Reno St. This address was between 10th and 11th Streets, about 2 blocks south of

Girard Avenue. It is also around the corner from 1110 Parrish St, the home in which

Andrew lived as a child.

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Subtitles “I want to tell you…”

For those of you wondering about the subtitles I chose for the chapters, here is an

explanation. They are all song lyrics.

Title Page

“The search has begun; I’ve come to see where my beginnings have gone.”

“Looking Into You” by Jackson Browne.

I’ve been using this on the family website since its inception in 1997 (or so) as I think it is

the perfect description of genealogical research.

Family Tree Page


“Follow the Yellow Brick Road/We’re Off to See the Wizard” by Yip Harburg & Harold

Arlen

My moment of silliness. Just follow the yellow squares to trace our direct ancestors.

Timeline Page

“Ain’t it funny how time slips away?”

“Funny How Time Slips Away” by Willie Nelson. I’m not a big Willie Nelson fan but my

father was. So this is for him. Otherwise, I would have chosen “Who Knows Where the

Time Goes?” by Sandy Denny

Chapter 1: Prologue

“Come on the amazing journey and learn all you should know”

“Amazing Journey” by Pete Townsend (The Who), from “Tommy”

It’s how I saw my research. I have always believed that we should all know where and

from whom we came. The more you know about your past, both individually and

collectively, the better able you are to live your present and future. I have always had a

fascination with history in general and my own history in particular so, for me, this was

truly an amazing journey.

Chapter 2: Jacob & Thomas

“We come in the age’s most uncertain hour”

“American Tune” by Paul Simon

Our story starts just 3 weeks after the signing of the Declaration of Independence. The

British had occupied Boston and were now marching on New York. While the Patriots had

squeaked out an improbable victory in Boston, the British were kicking Washington’s butt

all through New York and into New Jersey. Even Jacob’s will mentioned the “uncertainty

of the time.”

Chapter 3: Jacob & John

“I am a living legacy to the leader of the band”

“The Leader of the Band” by Dan Fogelberg.

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39

At the time that I chose this subtitle, John was the earliest known Roat ancestor, so I

considered him the leader of our band. I have since discovered 3 more generations so I now

consider Jacob, Thomas, Jacob, and John to be the leaders of our band. And that means

that we all are living legacies of Jacob & Susanna, and Thomas, and Jacob, and John &

Margaret, and Andrew & Hannah, and Harry & Marion, and……….

Chapter 4: Andrew

“The sun’s going down and the moon’s just holding its breath”

“Mexican Home” by John Prine

The 19th century wasn’t pleasant. No one in our line lived long. No one lived to 70, and

few lived to 60. The women were particularly affected. John’s wife Margaret died at the

age of 54, William’s wife Hannah died at less than 50 and his daughter at 18, Andrew’s

wife Elizabeth died at 39 and his wife Hannah died while giving birth at the age of 33. And

we’ve already discussed the high mortality rate among the children. As the sun went down

on the 19th century, it did indeed look dark, and one could not help but wonder at the time

if the future would just bring more suffering. So it was hold your breath, cross your fingers,

and hope that the next century would at least be marginally better.

Chapter5: Epilogue

“We’re captive on a carousel of time”

“Circle Game” by Joni Mitchell

I was looking for something a little less obvious, but it works well in describing the

unending progression of generations. As difficult as the 19th century was, we had a pretty

good 20th century and we’ve since moved on from there.

Chapter 6: DNA

“We’re all gonna be here forever”

“The Family Reserve” by Lyle Lovett

You try coming up with a song about DNA or genetics. Can’t be done. But DNA is forever.

Or at least 25,000 years. So far.

Chapter 7: The Records

“I will always be telling this story”

“The Story” by Shawn Colvin

The records are all we have that can still tell the story. Luckily, they always will.

Subtitles

“I want to tell you...”

“I Want to Tell You” by George Harrison.

The next line is “My head is filled with things to say.” I found all of this stuff and I wanted

to share it. I even wanted to share the reasons for the subtitles.

Map

“All these places have their moments”

“In My Life” by John Lennon

If I had a favorite song, this might be it.

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40

Descendant Chart and Index of Names

“What were their names, tell me what were their names?”

“The Sinking of the Rueben James” by Woody Guthrie

It was hard to find something that fit; this came closest.

the roat family history - dharma9.com family history-2nd ed.pdf · 1874 andrew is discharged from...

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