The Family Tree Falls Down
February 3, 2011
My family tree is more akin to a tangle of poison ivy than a tree with methodically organized branches. With its hodgepodge of marriages, divorces, remarriages, step-siblings, and half-siblings, I have trouble sorting out the current generation much less those who have come before.
Nevertheless, from as far back as I can remember, the family story has always been that we are direct descendants of Major General Nelson Appleton Miles. General Miles was a decorated Civil War hero, but his real accomplishments came from chasing Indians out of their territory. He drove Sitting Bull across the Canadian frontier, broke up Crazy Horse’s band, and summarily “took care of” the Sioux after they defeated Custer at Little Big Horn. Kind of like being related to Charlie Sheen. He was very good at what he did, but it’s hard to be proud of him. Still it’s as close as any of us will ever come to being related to a well-known figure.
When I was nine years old, my family piled into the station wagon and drove across country to visit relatives in New York. Along the way, we made a stop in Washington DC to visit the Smithsonian. General Miles’s Civil War medals were on display, and we felt it was our filial duty to go see them. Frankly, it was impressive.
Fast-forward a few decades. I was having a conversation with a friend who is an amateur genealogist and mentioned my notable great-great-grandfather. He chuckled a little and said, “Every person I’ve ever talked to who has a Miles in their family tree claims a direct bloodline to Nelson Miles.” He continued, “I have yet to find one who could substantiate it.”
It made me wonder. I’d never thought to question my family; I assumed they were telling the truth. But amidst all the poison ivy is a whole mess of secrets, missing documents, and things we just don’t talk about. Was it possible that I’d been misled all those years?
I resolved to get to the bottom of it. Among my mothers papers I found a huge batch of genealogical information. Jackpot! I made my way back from the current generation to where General Miles should have been. Sure enough, there was his name in the proper position as my great-great-grandfather—but it was crossed out and a different name was written above it in my mom’s handwriting.
That alone was a pretty good indication that the family story was a myth. But to be sure, I went online and did a little research. What I found was clear evidence that there’s no way Nelson Miles could have been my great-great-grandfather. It’s possible that he’s a distant cousin, but I haven’t been able to verify it yet. And in truth, we’re probably all distant cousins to one another, so my claim to fame is officially meaningless.
The real mystery is why my family has perpetuated this myth for so many generations. My mom’s papers had a date on them: 1984! So she knew the story wasn’t true for twenty-five years before taking it to her grave. In a way, that’s just like her. I doubt she had the heart to burst anyone’s bubble and figured it was a harmless deception. Surely, her father knew the truth, though, and it a way, it was just like him to play a practical joke that would extend for generations. I have a sneaky feeling he’s the one who started the family myth. Good one, Grampa! I wish he were still around so that we could have a great laugh together.
