NYC Death Index Results

NYC Death Index Results That is my maternal great great grandmother, Mary J. Diamond of Brooklyn, who died on July 29,1921. My Grandma never talked about her family, except to say that her Mother was born in England. Since my Maternal Grandparents were married in June, 1920, I wonder if Mary Jane was able to attend her Granddaughter's wedding, or if she, as an Anglican, refused to set foot in a Roman Catholic church.

According to freebmd.co.uk, Mary Jane Hignell was born in 1850--which would have made her 70/1 at the time of her death. Note that the age is given as 67. Fibbing about one's age, or failing to keep track of it seems to be a Hignell/Riley trait. My Grandma was born in May 1893, and my Grandpa in August 1894. For reasons known only to herself, Grandma was mortified at being 15 months older than her husband. Grandpa, being an Irish American Gentleman, fixed her age on the 1930 census so she was 15 months his junior.

Grandma kept up the pretense until my Grandfather died in 1964, and remained quiet until the 1970 census. My Mom was helping her fill it out, and began to write down 1896 as her Mother's year of birth. "No, you cannot lie to the government" said Grandma, confessing her dark secret.

Mind you, it was fine to let your husband do the lying for you, and it was permissible to fib to your daughters and grandchildren, but a Lady must never directly lie to the United States of America. Did that post hoc rationalization come from the Irish or English side of Grandma's family?  Mom has her own version of irrational rationalizations, which make me wonder:  which side of the family created such silliness?

I recall November 22, 1963, because Mom came to pick me up from Kindergarten, and we walked back to the house.  She was pushing my younger sister, Cathy, in a baby carriage ( strollers were not popular in the Mad Men era).  The truck from a local produce company pulled up in front of our house as we reached it, and the driver called  out "The President's been shot".  Mom got so upset that she rifled through her purse, but could not find her housekey.  Her solution was to walk around to the back door, take one of our roller skates, and smash the pane in the door, so she could open the latch.

Years later, I asked " why didn't you go to the Kildahl's house, phone Dad, and ask him to come and unlock the door.  Mom gave me one of her Great Lady glares--pure Hignell/Dimond/Burroughs, Westcott, etc--and said regally "What good would that have done?"