On May 19, 1909, the city of Brockton, Massachusetts, welcomed a brand-new resident to 23 Glenwood Street—Hazel Elizabeth Quinn. The paperwork might be official and straightforward, but this simple birth record holds more than just names and dates. It gives us a tiny window into the lives of her parents, the place she was born, and even a few genealogical breadcrumbs that tell us where to look next.
A Gas Fitter and a Canadian Bride
Hazel’s father, Marshall G. Quinn, listed his profession as a gas fitter. While that might not sound glamorous today, in 1909, gas was still a primary source of lighting and heating in many homes, and the transition to electricity was only just beginning. So, in a way, Marshall was in the business of bringing light to the world—a fitting metaphor for a man welcoming his firstborn daughter.
Her mother, F. Pearl Sabean, hailed from New Brunswick, Canada. The Sabeans were a well-documented family in the Maritime Provinces, and Pearl’s family had made the journey south to Massachusetts in her infancy.
Brockton: More Than Just Shoes
Brockton was a booming city in the early 20th century, known as the “Shoe City” due to its thriving shoe manufacturing industry. It was a city of opportunity, drawing in skilled workers and young families. Marshall and Pearl, like so many others, were part of this community—seeking work, stability, and a future for their growing family.
A Curious Case of Geography: Where Was Marshall Really Born?
One peculiar detail in Hazel’s birth record is her father’s reported birthplace: “Newton Centre.” While this might seem like a simple fact, it’s actually a genealogical curveball. Marshall George Quinn was not born in Newton Centre—he was born in Nova Scotia, Canada.
This isn’t the only time he claimed a Massachusetts birthplace—during this period of his life, Marshall frequently reported being from the U.S. instead of Canada. Why? There are a few possible explanations:
Was It About Appearances? — At a time when immigration status could influence social standing and employment opportunities, Marshall may have chosen to present himself as more American. A Massachusetts birthplace might have made life a little easier in a country where Canadian-born workers sometimes faced discrimination.
A Family Connection to Newton Centre? — Marshall did have relatives living in Newton Centre, so perhaps he used the name of a familiar place. If he had spent time there growing up or visiting family, he might have claimed it as his own to simplify things.
A Misunderstanding or Phonetic Mix-Up? — Another intriguing theory: Could “Newton Centre” have been a misunderstanding of New Annan Center? New Annan Center is a real community in Nova Scotia, just about 9 miles from Tatamagouche, where Marshall’s family was consistently enumerated in Canadian censuses. If he mentioned “New Annan Center” aloud, a Massachusetts clerk unfamiliar with Nova Scotia geography might have misheard or assumed he meant Newton Centre, a well-known town much closer to home.
Whatever the reason, this is a great example of how records—even official ones—aren’t always 100% accurate. For genealogists, it’s a reminder to verify information across multiple sources before taking any single document at face value.
A Delayed Paper Trail
Another interesting detail: Hazel’s birth wasn’t officially registered until February 1, 1910—more than eight months after the fact. While this wasn’t unusual, it does highlight the need for genealogists to check a broad range of dates when hunting down birth records. Life gets busy, and sometimes parents (or city clerks) didn’t rush to file paperwork.
What This Record Tells Us
At first glance, this birth certificate might seem like a routine document, but it’s packed with valuable information:
Hazel’s exact birth date and place (critical for tracking future records).
Her parents’ names and birthplaces—even if one of them requires further scrutiny.
Her father’s occupation, which hints at the kind of life the family led in Brockton.
The family’s address, which allows us to track them in census records or city directories.
With this foundation, we can now follow Hazel’s story forward—through childhood, marriage, and beyond. But for today, we’ll pause to appreciate the moment she entered the world, a tiny but significant addition to the Quinn and Sabean family trees.
And so, with an official signature and a stamp on a ledger page, Hazel Elizabeth Quinn took her first step into history—whether her father’s birthplace was correctly recorded or not!
As genealogists, we often find ourselves piecing together fragments to solve historical mysteries. For Marshall George Quinn, born Patriquin, the question of his birth date and place has sparked debate among his descendants.
Evidence strongly supports that he was probably born 21 April 1871, in Tatamagouche, Nova Scotia.
I have searched the civil birth registrations available on the Nova Scotia Archives website for the relevant time and place, and have found no record of Marshall Patriquin’s birth, or that of any of his siblings. It is possible that the community his family belonged to were non-compliant with registration.1 I have also searched extensively through the Colchester County school papers available in the “Nova Scotia school papers, 1789-ca. 1959” collection on FamilySearch.org,2 with no mention of the Patriquins being found.
With no direct birth record yet found, different kinds of sources must be analyzed and corroborated.
Birth Year: 1871
The 1871 Canada Census: Marshall is not enumerated with his family in their entry on the 1871 Census of Canada, even though it was dated between 24 and 26 April, 1871. This absence is expected, as the census instructions required that all answers reflect individuals’ statuses as of 02 April 1871. Since Marshall was likely born on 21 April 1871, he would not yet have been alive as of the reference date and was therefore not recorded.
1881 Canada Census: Marshall is listed as 9 years old. Since this census was taken on 04 April 1881, he must have been born between 05 April 1871 and 04 April 1872. If his birth date was 21 April 1871, this fits perfectly.
1891 Canada Census: Marshall is recorded as 20 years old. This census, taken on 06 April 1891, would place him born between 07 Apr 1870 and 06 April 1871. Because he was not enumerated with his family in 1871, but was in 1881, this still suggests the 21 April 1871 is correct.
Reconciliation: The 1881 and 1891 censuses, taken closer to Marshall’s birth and likely reported to the census taker directly by one or both of his parents, are more reliable than later documents, which often contain inconsistencies influenced by personal or situational factors.
Specific Birth Date: 21 April
Despite discrepancies in the year across records, Marshall’s birth day and month—21 April—are consistent in key documents, including his WWI Draft Card, his Naturalization paperwork, and death certificate.
His reported age in the 1881 Census aligns perfectly with this date, further strengthening its credibility.
Birthplace: Tatamagouche, Nova Scotia
Self Reported: Marshall himself reported his birthplace as Tatamagouche, Nova Scotia on his Naturalization papers.
Family Residence: The 1871, 1881, and 1891 Canada Censuses places Marshall’s parents, David Patriquin and Elizabeth McIntyre, in Tatamagouche with their children.
Addressing Conflicting Evidence: Later records introduce errors, such as the claim that Marshall was born in Newton Centre, Massachusetts, on his marriage record, or simply in Massachusetts in the 1900 U.S. Census. These inaccuracies likely stem from his adaptation to a new sociocultural context or misinformation provided by others. Notably, Marshall’s reported age became consistent starting with his marriage to Flora Pearl Sabean in 1907. He may have adjusted his age to minimize the age difference between himself and his wife.
Further Research
This is still labeled a theory, as the first criterion of the Genealogical Proof Standard—reasonably exhaustive research—has not been fully satisfied. There is one final avenue to pursue, which would likely involve hiring a researcher at the Nova Scotia Archives to examine church records available only on microfilm, and the scope of my current research block is more limited than what would be ideal.
Census records reveal the family of David Patriquin and Elizabeth McIntyre consistently reported their religion as Methodist. Most of the records for Methodist churches proximal to Tatamagouche are not yet available online. Particularly of interest would be any Methodist church records from Tatamagouche, however it is entirely possible that they belonged to a neighboring congregation. Investigating church records might yield a baptism record for Marshall, which could prove his date of birth.
Of particular interest would be the “Sharon Presbyterian (United) Church (United Church of Canada) — Tatamagouche, Colchester County” microfilm collection at the Nova Scotia Archives, which contains 5 reels (nos. 11928, 11929, 11927, 11926, 11930). According to the description at the archives website, this collection contains Methodist and United baptisms from 1855-1956.3
Conclusion
The combined weight of early, parent-reported census data, consistent geographic evidence, and the contextual absence from the 1871 Census due to timing establishes 21 April 1871 as Marshall Quinn’s birth date and Tatamagouche, Nova Scotia, as his birthplace.
What’s your take? Have you encountered similar puzzles in your genealogical research?
“Nova Scotia Births, Marriages, and Deaths,” database with images, Nova Scotia Archives (https://archives.novascotia.ca/vital-statistics/). Civil birth registration lasted from 1864 to 1877, and was not mandatory again until 1908. Compliance was inconsistent during this period, leading to gaps in the extant records. ↩︎
“Nova Scotia school papers, 1789-ca. 1959,” database with images, FamilySearch.org (https://www.familysearch.org/search/catalog/1022101). This include an image by image search of the film entitled “Colchester County school papers, v. 7-8, file folders 15-32, 1832-1849; v. 9, file folders 1-19, 1850-1959.” ↩︎
In Part 2, we followed Marshall and Pearl Quinn as they left the industrial bustle of Massachusetts for the promise of a quieter life on a farm in Canton Point, Maine. This bold move brought moments of joy, including the birth of their eighth child, Eloise, but it also tested their resilience in unimaginable ways. From a devastating house fire that destroyed their home and belongings, to the tragic loss of their newborn son and a series of illnesses that swept through the family, the Quinns endured profound hardship. Yet, amid these trials, Pearl’s creativity and determination shone through—whether sewing garments to support the family or earning a rare legal victory over unpaid work. By 1921, however, the weight of these challenges prompted the family to leave rural Maine behind and return to Massachusetts, where they sought to rebuild their lives once more.1
By 1921, the Quinns embodied resilience, yet challenges still lay ahead. Their departure from Maine was marked only by a brief mention in the Androscoggin County directory: “M.G. Quinn, removed to Mass.”2 This understated note closed the chapter on their time in rural Maine and began a new one in Randolph, Massachusetts.
Wasting no time, Pearl took charge of their fresh start by advertising her skills in The Boston Transcript. She offered services in sewing, repairs, and alterations, along with crafting and trimming ladies’ hats, catering to private clients in the Randolph area and beyond.3 Her resourcefulness and determination were evident as she sought to reestablish herself and her family.
Pearl’s want ad ran on 20 June 1921, but just weeks later, she faced another profound heartbreak. On 03 July 1921, Pearl gave birth to a stillborn son, whose brief existence was documented in vital records simply as “Infant Quinn.” According to the return of birth, the child was delivered at the family’s home on West Street in Randolph by Dr. F. C. Granger. The death certificate noted the cause of the stillbirth was “unknown,” and that the infant was laid to rest at Central Cemetery in Randolph on 05 July, with Cartwright K. Hurley serving as undertaker. Family lore suggests the baby might have been called David, perhaps in honor of Marshall’s father, who had passed away just six months earlier in Nova Scotia.4
Life carried on in Randolph as the Quinns focused on rebuilding their stability. Marshall resumed his position as a foreman at the Brockton Gas Light Company, while the family settled into a more permanent home on North Main Street. They reconnected with their community through the Randolph Grange, a vibrant center of agricultural and civic engagement, and became members of the local First Baptist Church. For Pearl, faith remained a guiding cornerstone, offering strength and purpose amid life’s challenges.5
The following summer brought heartbreak to the Quinn family with the loss of an infant son, Roy. Born at home on North Main Street in Randolph on 03 August 1922, Roy survived for only 12 hours due to a congenital heart defect. The attending physician, Dr. Augustus L. Chase, recorded the details of his brief life and passing, and Roy was laid to rest at Central Cemetery in Randolph.6
Yet the summer of 1926 brought another complicated pregnancy. On 27 August, Pearl delivered a baby girl at Brockton Hospital. Tragically, the child succumbed to hemorrhagic disease on 30 August, a rare and fatal condition that prevents blood clotting. This marked the sixth child the Quinns had lost and the fifth buried at Central Cemetery in Randolph.7 The depth of their grief was beyond comprehension, yet the relentless demands of life, and eight thriving and active children, required them to find a way to carry on.
Marshall and Pearl remained deeply involved in the Randolph Grange, contributing their time and talents to the annual fairs. Marshall served on the committee for manufactures and appliances, while Pearl and their daughter Hazel worked together on the art and needlework committee. The fairs also offered moments of joy amidst life’s challenges. In 1928, Pearl won a prize in the flower department, showcasing her skill as a gardener. The following year, her talents extended to the kitchen, earning her a ribbon in the bread and pastry display.8
Marshall’s work with the Brockton Gas Light Company occasionally placed him at the center of unexpected events. In 1923, he reported the theft of a company truck from his garage, an incident that made local headlines. Later, in 1929, his steady professional trajectory was reflected in his promotion to inspector, as noted in the city directory. However, not all news was routine—he was also present during a weekend heist that left the company’s office safe discarded behind a hedge, emptied of $50. These events painted a picture of Marshall as a man navigating the unpredictable nature of his work with resilience and perseverance.9
The 1930s ushered in a whirlwind of change for the Quinn family, marked by marriages, mischief, and moves. The Quinns had planted roots in Randolph, Massachusetts, and the 1930 U.S. Census painted a clearer picture of life there on “Maiden Lane” (or perhaps North Main Street—the jury’s still out on that).10
The 1930 Quinn household consisted of Marshall and Pearl, along with their seven children. Marshall rented their home for $25 per month, and yes, they owned a radio—the 1930s version of a family Netflix subscription. Marshall worked as a laborer for the gas company, while Pearl managed the household. The eldest at home was now Hazel, age 20, working as a waitress in a lunchroom. Arnold, 18, followed in his father’s footsteps as a gas company laborer. The younger kids—Muriel, Handley, Phyllis, Melba, and Eloise—ranged from 17 to 11 and were all attending school.11
Life in Randolph wasn’t without drama. In September 1931, Melba, then 14, made headlines alongside her friend Daisy Smith. The girls vanished after planning to attend a movie in Brockton. According to The Boston Globe, Melba and Daisy weren’t keen on returning to school and hinted they might run away. The article described Melba as a striking young lady, wearing a black dress with white lace collar and cuffs. Thankfully, the runaway adventure didn’t last long, and Melba returned home to resume her studies (and presumably some serious grounding).12
Despite the hustle and bustle, Pearl found time for her musical talents, delivering vocal performances at Grange gatherings and community events. Her soprano renditions of “The Old Refrain” and “Ashes of Roses” garnered applause,13 showcasing her ability to brighten even the dreariest New England days. Marshall had reason to celebrate too, when on 13 January 1939 the superior court at Brockton granted him United States citizenship—nearly five decades after he first arrived in the country.14
Starting in 1932, the Quinn children began marrying and embarking on new chapters of their own. Bernard tied the knot with Louise Sawtelle in Boston at Tremont Temple.15 In 1933, Hazel followed suit, marrying Thure Emanuel Bergquist, a machinist originally from Sweden. Their wedding was officiated by Rev. Eugene S. Philbrook—a close family associate—at the First Baptist Church in Randolph.16
Not to be outdone, in 1934, Phyllis Quinn married Eldon Lindberg, a second generation Swedish shoe worker from Brockton, in a ceremony in Salem, New Hampshire.17 Muriel wed next in 1935, Melba followed in 1936, and Arnold married in 1937.18
One of the Quinns again made headlines in August 1936, when Phyllis was reported missing by her husband Eldon Lindberg, sparking a police search. According to the articles, Phyllis, then 20 years old, had been working as a caregiver for a family on Torrey Ave and was last seen leaving their home around midnight. She had even called for a taxi, but seemingly vanished.19 The papers never seemed to follow up on this, but Phyllis was obviously eventually found.20 Nevertheless, the incident offers a glimpse into the kinds of worries Marshall and Pearl faced as their children became young adults.
With three children enumerated at home for the 1940 U.S. Census, the Quinns did not have to worry about an empty nest. After about a decade in Randolph, they had moved to 13 Park Street in Brockton, Massachusetts, where Pearl maintained the household, while Bernard, living back at home (claiming to be a widower while actually divorced), worked as a salesman. Handley, 25, was a welder at a local shipyard. Eloise, at 21, was seeking work. Marshall continued working for the Brockton Gas Company, earning $1,664 annually (about $38,000 in 2025, adjusted for inflation).21 Handley would marry later that same year to Arlene Lindberg—the sister of Eldon, Phyllis’ husband—marking another marriage between a Quinn and a Swede.22
The family’s stability was soon tested. On 10 March 1943, Flora Pearl passed away at the New England Baptist Hospital in Boston after a prolonged battle with chronic myocarditis and nephritis, conditions that had plagued her for two years. Her final week was marked by the tragedy of a uremic coma, a devastating turn that left her family powerless to ease her suffering. Marshall, acting as both informant and grieving husband, faced the unimaginable loss of his wife of over three decades. At just 56 years old, Pearl’s passing surely left a profound void in the family. Two days later, she was laid to rest in Melrose Cemetery, Brockton, mourned by loved ones grappling with the weight of her absence and the heartbreak of her final days.23
In the following decade, Marshall’s circumstances began to change as well. By the late 1940s, he was living with his daughter Phyllis and her family in Stoughton, Massachusetts. No longer working, he was now supported by his son-in-law Eldon Lindberg. The 1950 U.S. Census lists Marshall as a “father-in-law” in the Lindberg household. He was no longer working and was noted as being unable to do so, the toll of his years catching up with him.24
Marshall George Quinn’s life came to a close on 03 November 1951 at 17 Ninth Street in Stoughton, where he lived with his daughter Phyllis and her family. His death certificate noted hypostatic pneumonia as the direct cause, preceded by an abscess of the face and a long history of arteriosclerosis.25 In his 80 years, he had seen considerable change. Born in Nova Scotia, Canada, he emigrated to the U.S. in search of better opportunities, like many others of his time. This proud Canadian-born man who had worked hard all his life and raised a family, was buried in the Melrose Cemetery in Brockton, beside his wife Flora Pearl.26
1920-1921 Androscoggin County, Maine Directory (Auburn, Maine: Merrill & Webber Co., 1921); “Androscoggin County (Maine) directories,” imaged database, FamilySearch (https://www.familysearch.org/search/film/009180085); entry for “Quinn, M.G., removed to Mass.” ↩︎
Want adds page, The Boston Transcript, 20 Jun 1921, p. 15. ↩︎
For the birth record see, Norfolk Co., Massachusetts, 1921 birth return no. 60, Quinn [male child], 03 Jul. For death see, Norfolk Co., Massachusetts, 1921 death certificate no. 42, Quinn [male child], 03 Jul. Family lore dictated to the author by Brenda (Bergquist) Pickett in 2013 indicated that the child was called David. For Marshall’s father David Patriquin’s death date, see “Nova Scotia Death Registrations, 1864-1877; 1908-1973,” imaged database, Nova Scotia Archives (https://archives.novascotia.ca/vital-statistics/ItemView/?ImageFile=98-711&Event=death&ID=178903), death certificate for David Patriquin, registered no. 711, 31 January 1920, New Glasgow, Pictou Co. ↩︎
R. L. Polk & Co., Randolph, Holbrook and Avon Directory, 1926-1927(Boston: R. L. Polk & Co., 1926), p. 97, entries for Hazel E. Quinn, r. rear 547 N Main, and G. Marshall Quinn, foreman, Brockton Gas Light Co., h. rear 547 N Main; imaged in “U.S., City Directories,” database with images, MyHeritage.com (https://www.myheritage.com/research/record-10705-17210106/g-marshall-quinn-in-us-city-directories), image 53. ↩︎
For the birth record see, Norfolk Co., Massachusetts, 1922 birth return no. 51, Roy Quinn, 03 August. For death see, Norfolk Co., Massachusetts, 1922 death certificate no. 47, Roy Quinn, 04 August. ↩︎
For newspapers referenced see, “How and Whence Safe Vanished: A Puzzle, But Chief Solves It,” The Boston Globe (Boston, Suffolk, Massachusetts), 27 November 1928, p. 15; OldNews.com (https://www.oldnews.com/en/record?record_id=record-12013-644875335). As well as, “Truck Stolen From Randolph Garage,” The Boston Globe, 11 June 1923, p. 20; Newspapers.com (https://www.newspapers.com/image/430297331/). For Marshall’s occupation see, 1929 Brockton Directory (Boston: W. A. Greenough Co., 1929), 97 and 321, entries for Marshall Quinn. ↩︎
There was a building on the corner of North Main Street and Maiden Lane, owned by Mrs. Erasmo Camelio, which was burned in a fire October 1, 1931, see “Randolph Fire Believed of Incendiary Origin,” The Boston Globe, 1 October 1931, page 3. The building consisted of two stores, and two tenements, which were vacant at the time. The Quinn household may have been proximal to this building. I speculate that the home address may have been on North Main and not Maiden Lane. ↩︎
1930 U.S. census, Norfolk Co., Mass., population schedule, Randolph, ED 11-120, sheet 21B, dwell./fam. 321/349, Marshall G. Quinn household, lines 85-93, enumerated 14 April 1930; digital image, Ancestry.com (https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/6224/images/4607673_00583); citing National Archives and Records Administration microfilm publication T626, roll 2340672. ↩︎
“Dorchester and Randolph Girls of 14 are Missing.” The Boston Globe (Massachusetts), 11 September 1931, p. 4; digital image, Newspapers.com (https://www.newspapers.com/image/431266512). ↩︎
City of Quincy, Massachusetts, certificate of marriage, registered no. 164, intention no. 150, Office of the Secretary, Division of Vital Statistics, Hazel Elizabeth Quinn and Thure Emanuel Bergquist, 19 May 1933, Randolph, Massachusetts; received 20 December 2024 from the Quincy City Clerk’s Office; for the families relationship with Rev. Philbrook see, “Committees Named…,” Boston Globe (Massachusetts), 13 August 1928, p. 4. ↩︎
“New Hampshire, U.S., Marriage and Divorce Records, 1659-1947,” database with images, Ancestry.com (https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/5241/images/41267_309277-00796) > Marriage > 1901–1937 > Langevin, T – Lapointe, A > images 797–798 of 3426, marriage of Phyllis P. Quinn and Eldon R. C. Lindberg, in Salem, Rockingham County, New Hampshire, 14 March 1934; citing “New Hampshire, Marriage and Divorce Records, 1659–1947,” New England Historical Genealogical Society and New Hampshire Bureau of Vital Records, Concord. ↩︎
Her life is thoroughly documented after this incident. ↩︎
1940 U.S. census, Plymouth County, Massachusetts, Brockton Ward 2, population schedule, enumeration district (ED) 12-28, sheet 4A, lines 23-27, Marshall Quinn household, house number 13 Park Street; digital image, Ancestry (https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/2442/images/m-t0627-01635-00750 : accessed 26 December 2024); citing National Archives and Records Administration microfilm publication T627, roll 1635; for inflation calculator see, Federal Reserve Bank of Minneapolis, “Inflation Calculator,” (Minneapolis, MN: https://www.minneapolisfed.org/about-us/monetary-policy/inflation-calculator), “$1664.00 in 1940 is worth $37353.17 in 2024.”; for proof of Bernard’s separation from Louise see, “New Hampshire, U.S., Marriage Records, 1700-1971,” database with images, Ancestry.com (https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/5241/images/41267_312143-02005), marriage of Louise Almira Quinn and William Anthony Joyce, 12 August 1940, Portsmouth, New Hampshire. ↩︎
“U.S., Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, Swedish American Church Records, 1800-1947,” database with images, Ancestry.com (https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/61584/images/47830_554717-01047) > USA > Massachusetts > Brockton (Campello) > First Lutheran Church (Bethesda); record for Handley S. Sabean and Arlene Julia O. Lindberg, 28 November 1940. ↩︎
The Commonwealth of Massachusetts, Department of Public Health, Registry of Vital Records and Statistics, death certificate no. 2480, Flora Quinn, 10 March 1943, Boston, Suffolk County; received 13 January 2025 from Registrar, via VitalChek; also “Massachusetts, U.S., Death Index, 1951–1955,” database with images, Ancestry.com (https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/3659/images/41263_2421406273_0086-00316) > 1941-1945 > Naan-Sheehy > digital image 317 of 590, entry for Flora (Sabean) Quinn, 1943, Boston, referencing vol. 10, p. 415, index vol. 104. ↩︎
1950 U.S. census, Norfolk County, Massachusetts, Stoughton, enumeration district 11-308, sheet 71, lines 28-30, and sheet 72, lines 15-16, Eldon R. Lindberg household; digital images, Ancestry.com (https://www.ancestry.com/search/collections/62308/records/156776391); U.S. Department of Commerce, Bureau of the Census, Population Schedules for the 1950 Census (Washington, DC: National Archives, 1950), NAID 43290879. Note: these are “out of order” sheets, per the enumerator. ↩︎
Stoughton, Norfolk County, Massachusetts, death certificate no. 93, Marshall George Quinn, died 3 November 1951; filed 5 November 1951; Town Clerk’s Office, Stoughton. Certified copy received by Christopher M. Lather, 23 December 2024. ↩︎
Find a Grave, database and images (https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/150039430/flora_pearl-quinn: accessed January 10, 2025), memorial page for Flora Pearl Sabean Quinn (1887–1943), Find a Grave Memorial ID 150039430, citing Melrose Cemetery, Brockton, Plymouth County, Massachusetts, USA; Maintained by LogicalGMW (contributor 47846471). ↩︎
In the first installment, we explored the formative years of both Marshall George Quinn and Flora Pearl Sabean. Born in Nova Scotia in 1871, Marshall’s path led him to Massachusetts, where he began his career as a gas fitter. Pearl was born in New Brunswick in 1886, and would become a skilled milliner. Their lives intertwined in 1907, with their marriage at the First Baptist Church in Brockton. As Marshall continued to work as a gas fitter for the Brockton Gas Light Company, Pearl balanced motherhood with various occupations, laying the groundwork for a life of industry and resilience. However, growing labor unrest and rising tensions during World War I would eventually prompt Marshall and Pearl to leave Brockton and seek new adventures, setting the stage for the family’s next chapter.1
With the purchase of their farm confirmed in the local newspaper, the Quinns faced an exciting yet uncertain transition.2 The choice to highlight Pearl as the grantee in the deed raises intriguing yet unanswered questions about their partnership and decision-making. After settling into their new surroundings, Marshall turned his focus to agricultural work. Just a few weeks later, on 19 June 1918, in Canton Point, Maine, the family welcomed their eighth child—a daughter who would be named Eloise Marian Quinn. This addition meant that Pearl had not only been managing the move, but also navigating a pregnancy while caring for seven children, ranging in age from ten years to just fifteen months old. This made their journey to Maine all the more remarkable.3
On 12 September 1918, Marshall Quinn registered for the draft, providing a valuable snapshot into his life. Marshall, claiming to be 42 years old, was living at Canton Point in Oxford County, Maine, where he worked as a self-employed farmer on his recently purchased land. His birth date was recorded as 21 April 1876. The card also confirmed his status as an alien—specifically as a citizen of Great Britain, having been born in Canada. He had not yet declared intention for U.S. citizenship. His alien status disqualified him from being eligible to serve. Describing himself physically, he noted he was tall, stout, with dark blue eyes and light brown hair. His wife, “Pearl Sabean Quinn,” was listed as his nearest relative, and the draft registration includes his signature. This record situates the family amid their transition into rural life, signaling Marshall’s adjustment to a new identity as a farmer, even as the world around him was embroiled in war.4
The Quinns appear to have been warmly welcomed into their new community, quickly becoming involved with the local United Baptist Church and Grange Hall in Canton. Pearl, in particular, actively participated in various events, often singing as a soloist for the church and in other local performances, including her role in the play Granny of the Hills.5
Pearl became closely connected to the Baptist community in Canton, and local newspapers from the time highlight her association with the church and its pastor, Rev. Frank M. Lamb. A distinguished figure in both ministry and music, Rev. Lamb had a long career as an evangelist and composer. In the early 1900s he had preached at the First Baptist Church in Brockton, Pearl’s childhood parish, and was likely familiar to her and her family, possibly even serving as her vocal instructor. Before being called to the faith, Lamb studied voice in Boston. His musical talents took him to conventions and meetings across the northeastern U.S. and beyond. Known for his hymns like The Bird with the Broken Wing (also called The Bird With The Broken Pinion)—sung by Pearl herself—Lamb’s influence in the local faith community was significant.6
In spring of 1919 the Quinns entertained Pearl’s two brothers Clarence and Ernest Sabean at their farmstead, both of having served in the United States military during the Great War.7
The Quinn family’s transition to this seemingly idyllic rural lifestyle took a tragic turn in December 1919, marking the beginning of a challenging and harrowing chapter. On the cold evening of December 19, a defective chimney sparked a fire that engulfed their farmhouse at Canton Point. Pearl and the eight children barely escaped with their lives, aided by quick-thinking neighbors who helped salvage a few pieces of furniture. Marshall, working at the nearby Riley paper mill, returned to find his family safe but their home reduced to smoldering ruins. The loss was profound—nearly all their belongings and clothing were gone. The cold was extreme, with temperatures dropping to -10 °F that evening, and the family escaped with nothing but the clothes on their backs.8
The news spread quickly through the local papers. Headlines like “Woman and Eight Children Barely Escape from Burning Farm House” detailed the devastation, while neighbors and local organizations stepped in to provide immediate relief.9 Temporarily homeless, the Quinns moved into the Delano House in Canton Point before relocating to Jay, Maine, by mid-January 1920 to be closer to Marshall’s workplace at the International Paper Mill at Riley.10
However, the fire was only the beginning of their trials. Pearl had suffered smoke inhalation during the house fire, and just over a month later, on 21 January 1920, she gave birth prematurely to a son, who tragically passed away the same day.11 The smoke inhalation likely contributed to the complications and premature birth,12 further compounding the emotional toll of the recent fire. In the days following, seven of the eight Quinn children contracted scarlet fever, forcing the family into quarantine. Worse yet, Pearl, already weakened by the traumatic events, and her eldest son Bernard, both developed tonsillitis.13
As if their burdens weren’t heavy enough, Marshall himself became gravely ill with pneumonia. By February, the family’s condition was so severe that local health officials intervened, providing additional care and assistance.14
Amid these struggles, the family was enumerated on the 1920 U.S. census on 02 February in Jay, Franklin County, Maine.15 This record for the Quinn family, while valuable, contains notable errors, including misrecorded names and minor age discrepancies. The inconsistencies in information are prominent enough that in the past other researchers believed this to be a completely different family. Careful analysis does prove this is not the case. Given the family’s recent quarantine for scarlet fever and the traumatic events surrounding the fire and death of an infant, it is likely that a neighbor or official, rather than Marshall or Pearl, provided the information. These errors reflect both the challenges of accurate data collection during crises as well as the Quinn family’s dire circumstances
Remarkably, despite the odds, Marshall survived.16
Pearl continued to help support the family working for private clients as a milliner and seamstress. In the midst of her many challenges, she found herself embroiled in a legal dispute over unpaid work. Prior to the fire, on 26 September 1919, Pearl had filed a writ against Charles H. Buck of Canton, seeking payment for garments commissioned by him. Despite delivering satisfactory products, Buck had failed to compensate her. The court took up the case, and on 27 May 1920, nearly six months after the fire, an execution was issued in Pearl’s favor. Buck was ordered to pay Pearl a total of $75, along with an additional $42.60 to cover the debt, damages, taxes, and costs of the suit (Pearl received about $2000, adjusted for inflation in 2025 USD).17 This legal victory, though significant, was overshadowed by the Quinn family’s ongoing struggles in the wake of the fire and other hardships, yet it provided Pearl with a small measure of financial relief during a time of overwhelming adversity.
By summer 1920, the Quinn family relocated to Livermore Falls, where Marshall secured a new job at the pulp mill there.18 Yet, the emotional and physical scars from the fire, the illnesses, and the tragic loss of their newborn son continued to weigh heavily. Flora Pearl, having endured a string of devastating events, would never again carry a successful pregnancy.19
In 1921, the family made the undoubtedly difficult decision to leave Maine and return to Massachusetts.20 Their years in rural Maine, though filled with moments of community support and resilience, were overshadowed by profound loss and hardship. The fire, in particular, surely became a defining event in their lives, shaping their choices and future paths.
Despite these challenges, the Quinns exhibited remarkable strength, pressing forward with unwavering determination. Their return to Massachusetts marked a new chapter—a chance to rebuild and heal, even as they carried the weight of their experiences.
“U.S., World War I Draft Registration Cards, 1917–1918,” imaged database, Ancestry.com (https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/6482/images/005207060_00018) > Oxford County > ALL > Draft Card Q > image 8; Marshall George Quinn, serial no. 1925, order no. A-3967; citing World War I Selective Service System Draft Registration Cards, 1917–1918, Washington, D.C.: National Archives and Records Administration, microfilm M1509, roll 4,582. ↩︎
“Marshall Quinn and family, who were recently burned out, have moved unto the Delano house, so-called at Canton Point. They are planning to move to Jay so as to be nearer his work at Riley,” Lewiston Evening Journal (Maine), 23 December 1919, p. 9; OldNews.com (https://www.oldnews.com/en/record?record_id=record-12013-351216330). ↩︎
Basilio, Emilia, et al., “Wildfire Smoke Exposure during Pregnancy: A Review of Potential Mechanisms of Placental Toxicity, Impact on Obstetric Outcomes, and Strategies to Reduce Exposure,” International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health 19, no. 21 (2022): 13727; (https://doi.org/10.3390/ijerph192113727). ↩︎
“Marshall Quinn of Jay, formerly of Canton is recovering from pneumonia,” Lewiston Evening Journal (Maine), 2 March 1920, p. 10; and “Marshall Quinn is recovering from an attack of pneumonia,” Sun Journal (Lewiston, Maine), 11 Mar 1920, p. 8; OldNews.com (https://www.oldnews.com/en/record?record_id=record-12013-229137301). ↩︎
For Pearl’s occupation see, 1920 Franklin County Directory (Farmington, Maine: Franklin M. Strout, Inc., 1920), “Quinn, Mrs. M.G., milliner, North Livermore by Chisholm, call at Dry Goods in Jay.” See also, 1920-1921 Androscoggin County, Maine Directory (Auburn, Maine: Merrill & Webber Co., 1921); “Androscoggin County (Maine) directories,” imaged database, FamilySearch (https://www.familysearch.org/search/film/009180085). For the court case see, “Maine, State Archive Collections, 1718-1957,” FamilySearch; Supreme Judicial Court records, vol. 39, p. 155, no. 161, Quinn vs Buck; as well as, “Oxford S. J. Court N. E. Business Women,” Lewiston Daily Sun (Maine), 11 February 1920, p. 3; imaged, Newspapers.com (https://www.newspapers.com/image/828299745). For inflation calculation see, Federal Reserve Bank of Minneapolis, “Inflation Calculator,” (Minneapolis, MN: https://www.minneapolisfed.org/about-us/monetary-policy/inflation-calculator), “$117.60 in 1920 is worth $1845.09 in 2024.” ↩︎
“Marshall Quinn has come from Rumford and has a position at Livermore Falls. He will move his family to the rent owned by L. F. Whittemore in Jay,” Lewiston Evening Journal (Maine), 29 July 1920, p. 6. “Marshall Quinn and family are soon to move to Livermore Falls, where he has obtained employment,” Sun Journal (Lewiston, Maine), 04 August 1920, p. T1. “Marshall Qwinn [sic] has moved his family to Livermore,” Lewiston Evening Journal (Maine), 02 March 1920, p. 10. ↩︎
Four more infants were born and died between 1921 and 1926, see “Massachusetts, State Vital Records, 1638–1927,” database with images, FamilySearch (https://www.familysearch.org/), Film #105725536, digital image 354 of 547, Norfolk County, Randolph, “Standard Certificate of Death,” 3 July 1921, Infant Quinn; citing Massachusetts Death Records, small short volumes, Vol. 61 (Quincy–Rehoboth, 1921), State Archives, Boston, Massachusetts; and “Massachusetts, State Vital Records, 1638–1927,” database with images, FamilySearch (https://www.familysearch.org/ ), Film #106182262, digital image 262 of 537, Norfolk County, Randolph, “Standard Certificate of Death,” 4 August 1922, Roy Quinn; citing Massachusetts Death Records, small short volumes, Vol. 67 (Quincy–Revere, 1922), State Archives, Boston, Massachusetts. ↩︎
1920-1921 Androscoggin County, Maine Directory (Auburn, Maine: Merrill & Webber Co., 1921); “Androscoggin County (Maine) directories,” imaged database, FamilySearch (https://www.familysearch.org/search/film/009180085); entry for “Quinn, M.G., removed to Mass.” ↩︎
In my 16 Great-Greats Project, I will explore the lives of my children’s sixteen great-great-grandparents, beginning with Hazel Elizabeth Quinn, their direct maternal ancestor. This time-limited project involves a structured schedule for researching each ancestor, with an initial focus on Hazel’s parents to understand the context of her early life.
#62.Marshall George Quinn,1 born Marshall George Patriquin,2 was likely born 21 April 1871, in or near Tatamagouche, Colchester County, Nova Scotia, Canada,3 the son of David Patriquin and Elizabeth McIntyre.4 Marshall was the youngest of their nine known children:
John Wesley Patriquin
Johnston David Patriquin
Flora Gertrude Patriquin
Jessica Elizabeth Patriquin
Mitchell McIntyre Patriquin
James Henry Patriquin
Mary Ellen Patriquin
Stanley Murphy Patriquin
Marshall George Patriquin
In his youth, Marshall and family likely remained in the greater Tatamagouche area, with his father leasing farmland in New Annan, Wentworth, and Lake Road.5
Marshall Quinn’s paternal ancestors, the Patriquin family, were among the first settlers of Tatamagouche. They came from a region along the French-German border, seeking refuge from persecution in the wake of the Edict of Fontainebleau of 1685, which revoked religious freedoms previously granted to Protestants in France. Many sought escape, traveling down the Rhine to Rotterdam, where they were recruited by Scottish merchant John Dick to settle in Nova Scotia. This French-speaking Protestant population was often misidentified as Swiss in local records as a means to distinguish them from the French-speaking Catholics.6
Throughout the 1890s the Patriquins frequently traveled between Nova Scotia and Massachusetts by ship.7 Marshall’s father, two brothers, and brother-in-law were all recorded in the 1890 and 1891 Mansfield, Massachusetts city directories,8 while at the same time being enumerated on the 1891 Canada Census,9 suggesting regular back-and-forth movement. Marshall’s presence in Massachusetts during this period is confirmed in the Mansfield News of 9 October 1891, “Fred Lishman, who has been assisting J. L Brazzille, and Marshall Patrican have gone to Nova Scotia, where they propose spending the most of the winter.”10 Perhaps Fred and Marshall were headed home to avoid another Massachusetts winter, or simply to refuel with some of that famous Nova Scotia hospitality?
Marshall’s continued verified presence in Brockton, Massachusetts begins in 1899, and between then and 1903 he resided at 24 East Elm Street,11 a large tenement operated by Mrs. Kate Driscoll.12 The stories Mrs. Driscoll could tell about the comings and goings of her many tenants would be fascinating. The shop Marshall first worked out of as a gas fitter was that of T. J. Kinney, Dr., Plumber, Steam and Gas Fitter, located in the same building at 24 East Elm,13 so he didn’t have to go very far to get to work. However in 1901, Marshall began his work at the Brockton Gas Light Company, working as a gas fitter at their building on 46 Centre Street.14
In the early 1900s, gas fitters were responsible for installing, maintaining, and repairing gas lines and appliances in residential and commercial buildings. Their work ensured the safe and efficient delivery of gas for heating, cooking, and lighting, in a period where gas lighting was still the norm. Their work involved tasks such as laying gas pipes, connecting appliances, and conducting safety inspections to prevent leaks and hazards.15 The job wasn’t without its risks—one wrong move, and you might be cooking yourself instead of the evening meal!
#63. Flora Pearl Sabean—known simply as Pearl—was born 12 July 1886 at the home of her maternal grandparents in Bloomfield, Carleton, New Brunswick, Canada. It wasn’t just any house; it was the parsonage of the Wilmot Parish Baptist Church where her grandfather Rev. Adoniram Judson Cogswell served as the local Baptist minister. Pearl’s mother, Ella Penelope Cogswell, stayed with her parents while her husband, Handley Chipman Sabean, a butcher by trade, worked in Massachusetts to establish himself and secure a home for the family.16 Pearl was the third of their seven known children:
Bernard Stowe Sabean
Laura May Sabean
Flora Pearl Sabean
Royston Ellsworth Sabean
Ella Finston Sabean
Clarence Handley Sabean
Ernest Ewart Sabean
In early 1889, two-year-old Pearl entered the United States with her family via Calais, Maine. Like the Patriquins, the Sabeans also made frequent trips between Canada and the U.S. Despite this back and forth travel by 1894 the Sabeans were firmly rooted at 155 Belair Street in Brockton, where Handley operated his provisions store out of their home.17 Pearl’s beloved grandfather Rev. Adoniram Judson Cogswell passed away the day after her 11th birthday, on 13 July 1897 in her childhood home at 155 Belair.18 His influence surely lingered, shaping her devout Baptist faith—a foundation that would guide her throughout her life.
At a young age, Pearl became involved with the Baptist choir, and was a celebrated soprano vocalist in her community.19
Enumerated on the 1900 U.S. census, the Sabean family lived at 63 Wheeler Avenue in Brockton, where their household consisted of Handley, Ella, their seven children, as well as Ella’s mother Mary A Cogswell, the widow of the reverend. 13-year-old Pearl was listed as a student.20She would go on to complete four years of high school and apprentice with a local milliner (women’s hat maker), honing her skills in fashion. Born into a lineage of ministers and entrepreneurs, she was shaped by a balance of tradition and progress, seamlessly blending the influences of her roots with the new opportunities of her adopted American home. Between 1905 and 1907, she worked at E. E. Taylor Company Shoe Factory in Brockton as a clerk, bookkeeper, as well as a shoe trimmer and stitcher, showcasing her versatility and work ethic.21
On Valentine’s Day, 14 February 1907, Marshall George Quinn was married to Flora Pearl Sabean at the First Baptist Church, Brockton. The officiant was Reverend George Boice Titus. Perhaps Flora was charmed not only by Marshall’s dashing good looks and gas-fitting skills, but also by his apparent knack for choosing memorable wedding dates. The Sabean and Titus families became more than just associates when later that year Pearl’s brother Bernard Sabean married Reverend Titus’ daughter Leila.22
The former First Baptist Church at Brockton is now home to the Brockton Assembly of God; photographed by Aaron Knox, 2011.
Eight months and five days after the wedding, Pearl gave birth to their first child, Bernard Marshall Quinn, on 19 October 1907, at a home they rented on 23 Spring Street, Brockton. Nineteen months later came their second child, a daughter, Hazel Elizabeth Quinn, born 19 May 1909 at 23 Glenwood Street, also rented. While Marshall continued his steady work as a gas fitter for Brockton Gas Light Co., Pearl juggled motherhood with her industrious spirit, working as a milliner and seamstress between 1907 and 1911, both for private clients and out of Fraser’s Dry Goods in Brockton.23
In April 1910, the young family lived with Flora’s parents, Handley and Ella Sabean, back at 63 Wheeler Ave—a bustling, multi-generational home. Handley, operated his now prominent provisions shop, while Ella kept a steady hand over the household. The Quinns added to the lively atmosphere. One can imagine Marshall returning from his gas-fitting job to find his toddlers Bernard and Hazel underfoot, and his wife’s grandmother, Mary Cogswell, offering a watchful eye. Flora’s younger siblings still at home, Ella, Clarence, and Ernest, likely kept things lively, ensuring there was never a dull moment.24
When Pearl became pregnant with their third child in summer 1910, her parents may have started to wonder just how much longer the Quinns would stay. By spring 1911, Marshall and Pearl had saved enough to move to West Bridgewater. There at a rented home on Merritt Street their son Arnold Boice Quinn was born on 21 April 1911, followed by a daughter, Muriel Eleanor Quinn, on 30 December 1912.25
On 11 October 1913, Marshall Quinn made an unexpected appearance in the headlines of The Boston Globe, though likely not the kind of publicity he—or the Brockton Gas Light Company—had in mind! Marshall, at the wheel of a hefty gas company truck, skidded at the intersection of Main and Center Streets in Brockton, striking Wilbur Merry, a Bay State Street Railway starter, and August Christenson, a local resident. Merry was unharmed, but Christenson suffered a bruised leg and sore spots, though no bones were broken. Marshall likely never expected his skid to land him—and his truck—on page three of the Globe.26
By late 1913 the Quinns relocated to Bridgewater, and Marshall—despite his mishap—was promoted to foreman at the Brockton Gas Light Company. Life was busy and growing—literally. Over four years, Pearl welcomed three more children: Handley Sabean on 30 October 1914, Phyllis Penelope on 29 January 1916, and Melba Pearl on 26 February 1917. That made seven little Quinns underfoot.27
By early 1918, the Great War’s ripple effects—rising gas prices, labor unrest, and strikes—created uncertainty at Marshall’s job.28 For a family of nine, stability was paramount. Perhaps Pearl and Marshall, reflecting late at night, saw the mounting uncertainty of industrial life as a threat. Or maybe Marshall, raised on a Nova Scotia farm, longed for the rural simplicity of his childhood. Whatever the reason, the Quinns made a bold move. On 30 May 1918, the local paper out of Lewiston, Maine announced: “Frank D. Childs has sold his farm at Canton Point to F. Pearl Quinn of Bridgewater, Mass.”29 But why was Pearl, not Marshall, listed as the grantee? Was it practical, strategic, or something else? The answer remains a mystery. As the Quinns embarked on their Maine adventure, one thing was certain—this new chapter would test their resilience, resourcefulness, and faith.
All access dates are from a research period spanning December 2024 through January 2025.
Only three known sources reveal Marshall’s middle name of George. His 1907 marriage record in Brockton identifies him as “Marshall George Quinn,” as does his 1918 WWI draft registration card, both likely self-reported. His 1951 death certificate provides the same; see Brockton, Plymouth County, Massachusetts, Marriage Register, 1907, p. 3, entry 51, “Massachusetts, U.S., Marriage Records, 1840–1915,” Ancestry.com; Draft registration, Marshall George Quinn, Canton, Maine, 12 September 1918, “U.S., World War I Draft Registration Cards, 1917–1918,” Ancestry.com; Stoughton, Norfolk County, Massachusetts, death certificate no. 93 (1951), Marshall George Quinn, Town Clerk’s Office, certified copy. ↩︎
Marshall shortening his surname from Patriquin to Quinn reflects simplification after emigrating to the U.S. In Canadian records, he appears as Marshall Patriquin in the 1881 and 1891. By 1899, he is listed as “Marshall Quinn” in the Brockton, Massachusetts, Directory. His consistent use of “Quinn” in his 1907 marriage record and subsequent U.S. records confirms this name change. His sister Mary (Patriquin) Henry’s February 5, 1943, obituary in The Mansfield News further connects “Marshall Quinn” to their shared parents, “David Patriquin and Elizabeth McIntire;” see 1881 Canada Census, Tatamagouche, Colchester, N.S., p. 40, family 177; 1891 Canada Census, Tatamagouche West, Colchester, N.S., p. 27, family 110; W. A. Greenough & Co., 1899 Brockton, Massachusetts, City Directory, p. 380; Brockton…Marriage Register, 1907, p. 3, entry 51; and The Mansfield News, 5 February 1943, p. 7, OldNews.com, MyHeritage. ↩︎
No birth record for Marshall has been located, but indirect evidence supports this conclusion. The 1881 and 1891 Canada censuses record him as 9 and 20 years old, respectively, aligning with an April 1871 birth. His family was enumerated in Tatamagouche in 1871, confirming their residence there. Marshall’s WWI draft registration and death certificate consistently report 21 April as his birth date; see 1881 Canada Census, Tatamagouche, p. 40, fam. 177; 1891 Canada Census, Tatamagouche West, p. 27, fam. 110; 1871 Canada Census, Tatamagouche, Colchester, N.S., pp. 65-66, family 207; Marshall George Quinn, “U.S., World War I Draft Registration Cards, 1917–1918,” Ancestry.com; Stoughton, Norfolk, MA, death cert. 93 (1951), Marshall George Quinn. ↩︎
Marshall’s parentage as David Patriquin and Elizabeth McIntire (McIntyre) is established through his 1907 Brockton marriage record, which explicitly names them as “David Quinn and Elizabeth McIntyre;” census records list “Marshall Patriquin” in their household in Tatamagouche. His sister Mary Ellen (Patriquin) Henry’s 1943 obituary names the same parents and identifies “Marshall Quinn” as her brother. His sister Flora (Patriquin) Stratton’s 1954 obituary further confirms their shared parentage; see Brockton…Marriage Register, 1907, p. 3, entry 51; 1881 Canada Census, Tatamagouche, p. 40, fam. 177; 1891 Canada Census, Tatamagouche, p. 27, fam.110; The Mansfield News, 5 February 1943, p. 7, and 10 June 1954, p. 5. ↩︎
Marshall Quinn reported to have been in “Newton Centre” in two Massachusetts records, his marriage and the birth of his son Bernard. This may have been a misinterpretation of him saying “New Annan Center,” which is in the greater Tatamagouche area. His sister Flora (Patriquin) Stratton’s 1954 obituary cites her birth place as Wentworth, also proximal to Tatamagouche. His parents are buried at the cemetery in Lake Road, which was part of West Tatamagouche. ↩︎
Patterson, Frank H., A History of Tatamagouche, Nova Scotia. Halifax, N.S.: Royal Print & Litho Limited, 1917, p. 25. ↩︎
“Canada, Incoming Passenger Lists, 1865–1935,” database with images, Ancestry.com (https://www.ancestry.com/search/collections/1263/records/6895989 : accessed 31 December 2024) > Halifax, Nova Scotia > 1892 > 07 > (digital image) 34 and 45, manifest for passengers on S.S. Olivette, 27 July 1892; citing Library and Archives Canada, Microfilm Publication series RG 76-C, roll C-4515, Department of Employment and Immigration fonds; and “Massachusetts, U.S., Arriving Passenger and Crew Lists, 1820-1963,” database with images, Ancestry.com (https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/8745/images/MAT843_13-0054 : accessed 25 December 2024), digital image 54 of 702, S.S. Halifax, sailing from Halifax, N.S., arriving at Port of Boston, 11 October 1894, line 3, Marshall Petriquen, age 26, single, occupation Tourist; citing National Archives and Records Administration, Washington, D.C., series T843, roll 013. ↩︎
“Mansfield, Massachusetts, U.S., Directory, 1890,” database, index only, Ancestry.com (https://www.ancestry.com/search/collections/5486/records/869), entry for David Patriguin; citing A.E. Foss & Co. (Hopkinton, MA: A.E. Foss & Co., 1890); and A.E. Foss & Co., History and Directory of Mansfield, Mass., for 1891 (Needham, MA: A.E. Foss & Co., 1891), p. 93, entries for Abram, David, Mitchell, and Stanley Patriguin; imaged in “U.S. City Directories, 1822–1995,” database, Ancestry.com (https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/2469/images/10094830), image 94 of 124. ↩︎
“1891 Census of Canada,” database with images, Ancestry.com (https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/1274/images/30953_148113-00013); entry for David Patriquin household, including Marshall Patriquin, age 20, son, clerk in jewelry store, Tatamagouche West, Colchester, Nova Scotia, family 110, lines 7-12 ; citing Library and Archives Canada, Ottawa, Ontario, series RG31-C-1, microfilm reel T-6311. ↩︎
W.A. Greenough & Co., Brockton Directories, 1899–1903 (Boston: W.A. Greenough & Co., 1899–1903), entries for Marshall Quinn, 1899, p. 380; 1900, p. 386; 1901, p. 372; 1902, p. 394; 1903, p. 340; imaged in “U.S., City Directories, 1822–1995,” Ancestry.com. ↩︎
W. A. Greenough & Co., 1905 Brockton Directory, No. XXIII (Boston: W. A. Greenough & Co., 1905), p. 170, Driscoll Kate Mrs employment 24 ½ E Elm and lodging house do; imaged in “U.S., City Directories, 1822–1995,” database with images, Ancestry.com (https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/2469/images/9225528), image 92 of 492. ↩︎
Billhead for T.J. Kinney, Dr., plumber, steam and gas fitter, 24 East Elm Street, Brockton, Mass., dated 1 December 1890, ephemera, Historic New England, EP001: Ephemera collection, item 245354; accessed via Digital Commonwealth Massachusetts Collections Online (https://www.digitalcommonwealth.org/search/commonwealth-oai:bz60f8586). ↩︎
W. A. Greenough & Co., 1901 Brockton Directory (Boston: W. A. Greenough & Co., 1901), p. 372, Marshall Quinn; imaged in “U.S., City Directories, 1822–1995,”database with images, Ancestry.com (https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/2469/images/9645327), image 370 of 706. ↩︎
Two records explicitly give Flora Pearl’s birth as 12 July 1886, both with her husband being the informant, see “Naturalization declarations and petitions (1910-1945) for the Brockton, Massachusetts area,” FamilySearch, images 1092-1095, Marshall George Quinn citing wife’s birth date, and Massachusetts, Vital Records and Statistics, death certificate 1943 no. 2480, Flora Quinn, 10 March, Boston, Suffolk Co. Despite this, multiple other records created during her life, listed subsequently here, strongly corroborate the 1886 birth year, over the 1887 one engraved on her burial marker. For information about Rev. A. J. Cogswell in New Brunswick, see Baptist Missionary Magazine of Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, vol. 73, 1889; citing Halifax, N.S. : Novascotian Office. For reference to her father’s residence and occupation, see 1894-1896 Brockton City Directories (Boston: Littlefield Publishing Co.), entries for Handley C. Sabean, provisions, 155 Belair. ↩︎
“Naturalization declarations,” FamilySearch, images 1092-1095, for Marshall George Quinn, cites his wife’s arrival date and place. For examples of the Sabeans back and forth travel, see “Massachusetts, U.S., Arriving Passenger and Crew Lists, 1820-1963,” database with images, Ancestry (https://www.ancestry.com/search/collections/8745/records/989395) Roll > T843, Arriving At Boston, Ma, 1891-1943 > ALL> 063 > image 340; Handley C Sabean, 15 July 1903; (https://www.ancestry.com/search/collections/8745/records/340879) > Roll > T843, Arriving At Boston, Ma, 1891-1943 > ALL > 025 > image 82, H C Sabean, 05 Sep 1897. For their address see, 1898-1899 Brockton City Directories (Boston: W. A. Greenough & Co.), entries for Handley C. Sabean, provisions, 155 Belair. ↩︎
Brockton, Plymouth, MA death register 1897, p. 13, no. 277, 13 Jul, Adoniram J. Cogswell, clergyman; image, “Massachusetts Deaths, 1841-1915, 1921-1924,” FamilySearch (https://www.familysearch.org/ark:/61903/3:1:S3HT-DCTW-FM) > 0961522 (004225017) > image 584. ↩︎
1906 Brockton Directory (Boston, Mass.: W. A. Greenough & Co, 1906), 341, F Pearl Sabean; image, “U.S., City Directories, 1822-1995,” Ancestry (https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/2469/images/9631299), image 363 of 598. For confirmation of Pearl completing high school see, 1940 U.S. census, Plymouth co., Mass., Brockton, ward 2, ED 12-28, sheet 4-A, household 204, Marshall Quinn. For an analysis on the contribution of women to the workforce in Massachusetts during this period see, Nancy Folbre, “Women’s Informal Market Work in Massachusetts, 1875-1920,” Social Science History 17, no. 1 (1993): 135–60 (https://doi.org/10.2307/1171247). ↩︎
“Two Struck By Auto,” The Boston Globe, article for Marshall Quinn of Bridgewater (Boston, Massachusetts), 11 October 1913, p. 3; digital image, Newspapers.com (https://www.newspapers.com/image/430644013). ↩︎
“Brockton Gas Prices Raised Again,” The Boston Globe, 19 March 1918, p. 11; “Brockton Engineers and Shoe Men in Conference,” Fall River Evening News, 22 March 1918, p. 11; “Discussing Wages,” Biddeford Daily Journal, 22 March 1918, p. 4; “Brockton Engineers Threaten to Strike,” The Evening Herald, Fall River, MA, 22 March 1918, p. 1. ↩︎
January 1st marks the first day of my 16 Great-Greats Project, where I’ll be documenting the lives of my children’s sixteen great-great-grandparents. Each ancestor is assigned a unique number based on their relationship to my children, and through this journey, I’ll uncover their stories—both triumphs and struggles—using records, memories, and historical context.
This is a time-limited project. For each great-great-grandparent, I have a set number of days to research, write, and post their biography. Once the clock strikes midnight on February 1st, my deadline, I’ll wrap up Hazel’s story with what I’ve collected, and move on to the next ancestor, her husband Thure Emanuel Bergquist. You can find the full schedule here. This does not mean in any way that I will be done telling her story, only that this specific scheduled block of research is limited to a time limit.
Now, I have a confession to make. I’ve had a head start on this research over the holiday. But a little foundational research can’t hurt, right?
To kick off the project, I’m starting with Hazel Elizabeth Quinn, my children’s direct maternal great-great-grandmother. I have introduced Hazel in this post.
As I dove into her life, I quickly realized I needed to understand the context of her early years, but Hazel appears explicitly by name, briefly, in only seven records before her marriage:
1909 birth registration (and index).
1910 U.S. census
1920 U.S. census
1926-7 city directory
1928 newspaper article
1930 U.S. census
1932 ship manifest
To build a full narrative, I have to place her within her family in her early years, which meant exploring the lives of her parents, and to a lesser extent her siblings.
And then it hit me—this is going to take forever.
How do I research all sixteen great-great grandparents and thirty-two third-great grandparents in one year?
So, I decided to split it up between two years. This allows me more time to research, compile, analyze, and write. With this new approach, I can dig deeper into each ancestor’s story without feeling rushed, and ultimately, provide a more thorough and thoughtful narrative.
Most of this research will be limited to my home, using online resources and some correspondences, such as county offices and vital statistics services like Vital Chek. While there are also financial constraints, the upside is that this project can grow over time. The stories, like my research, can only grow more informed and detailed over time.
In the next post we will dive into what I’ve learned about Hazel’s father, Marshall George Quinn, and how his life helps to shape the story of Hazel.
My wife Victoria’s earliest memories of her great-grandmother, Hazel Quinn Krupa, are full of warmth. As a child, she’d sit beside Hazel at the nursing home, holding her soft, delicate hands. Hazel’s snow-white hair framed a calm, kind face. The nurses, amused, spoke of her sly habit of “borrowing” small items from other patients.1 Another great-granddaughter recalls Hazel offering her orange Tic Tacs—a small, cherished gesture.2 To her great-grandchildren, Hazel was a quiet, kind presence.
Photograph of Hazel Quinn Krupa and her great-granddaughter, Victoria, taken in Whitman, Massachusetts, about 1993; digital image provided by my mother-in-law [name withheld for privacy], shown here with permission of photographer and living subject.
These memories paint a serene picture, but Hazel’s life was far from simple. Born on 19 May 1909, in Brockton, Massachusetts, she was the daughter of Canadian immigrants, Marshall Quinn and Flora Pearl Sabean.3 Hazel’s 91 years included two marriages, two daughters—Brenda and Elaine—and a life of fierce independence and complex family dynamics.4
Victoria’s recollections differ from her mother’s, offering a contrasting perspective. My mother-in-law remembers Hazel as stern, her once-red hair turning white after a workplace accident. Hazel’s sharp wit once deterred her and her twin sister from swimming in a hotel pool, warning them of alligators. Her memories mix humor and frustration, shaped by Hazel’s critical nature. For example, Hazel advised her to “listen to your husband” during a marital dispute—ironic, given Hazel’s two divorces.5
Hazel’s independence extended to her career. A granddaughter recalls her as head of housekeeping at a Nantucket hotel, managing staff with authority. The same granddaughter notes a sometimes complicated relationship between Hazel and her daughter Brenda, but it was Hazel who intervened when Brenda’s marriage became volatile, ensuring her safety and helping her rebuild her life.6
The death certificate of Hazel Q. Krupa offers only a skeleton of details: she passed away on 28 June 2000, in Abington, Massachusetts, from cardiac arrest, with diabetes and dementia contributing. At the time, she was listed as divorced and had worked as an executive housekeeper.7
But Hazel was so much more than these dry facts.
Hazel’s story is a reminder of the complexity of a human life. While her great-grandchildren experienced her as a figure of quiet kindness, earlier generations knew a woman of sharp contrasts: strict yet loving, independent yet flawed. Her role as a mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother spanned moments of conflict and reconciliation, disappointment and deep connection.
Her burial at Fern Hill Cemetery in Hanson, Massachusetts, on 30 June 2000,8 a hot summer day,9 marked the close of a life full of transformation and resilience. Hazel’s legacy, preserved through both official records and family memories, challenges us to see our ancestors in their full humanity. She was not just the elderly woman Victoria knew, or solely the strict matron her granddaughters recall—she was all of these things and more.
Photograph of Hazel Quinn Krupa with her great-granddaughter, Victoria, taken at the Colony House Nursing Home, Abington, Massachusetts, about 1998; digital image provided by my mother-in-law [name withheld for privacy], shown here with permission of photographer and living subject.
This is just an introduction to Hazel Quinn. It is the beginning of my exploration into her life, and the beginning of a broader project to uncover and share the lives of all sixteen of my children’s great-great-grandparents. Each ancestor left behind a legacy shaped by triumphs and struggles, and each story deserves to be told in full. I invite you to join me as we continue this journey, exploring individual records, family narratives, and the historical context that shaped their lives.
Recollections of Hazel’s great-granddaughter, Victoria, Dec 2024. ↩︎
Recollections of Hazel’s great-granddaughter, Dec 2024. ↩︎
Massachusetts, Plymouth County, Abington, certificate of death, registered no. 72, Hazel Q. Krupa, 28 Jun 2000; certified long-form copy from Abington Town Clerk’s Office, obtained 04 Dec 2024. ↩︎
For sources relating to these generalized statements, please see Hazel’s Research and Records page; Christopher M Lather, “#31. Hazel Quinn, Research and Records,” Christopher M. Lather Genealogy (https://cmlgenealogy.com). ↩︎
Recollections of Hazel’s granddaughter (my mother-in-law), Dec 2024. Name withheld to protect privacy. ↩︎
Recollections of Hazel’s granddaughter, Dec 2024. Name withheld to protect privacy. ↩︎
Alice Charron’s life, like so many of our ancestors’, is best understood in fragments—small but meaningful memories pieced together over the years. My earliest recollections of Alice, though hazy, are vivid in their own way. I was only three when she passed away, but the time I spent in her home, 783 Park Ave in Albany, New York, is etched into my memory. We lived in a multi-generational household where my parents, brothers, and I lived downstairs, and Alice resided upstairs. A constant presence in my young life, I recall her being kind but also witnessing the decline of her health, her frailty growing more pronounced, and at times, her temper becoming a sharper.1
Photograph of Alice Charron Danko and her great-grandson, Christopher, taken in Albany, New York, about 1989; image photographed by Mary Danko Wynn, owned by the author.
My eldest brother, who was closer to Alice than I was, has vivid memories of her too. For him, Alice was the maker of the best yellow Jiffy cakes with chocolate frosting, and her kitchen was a place of warmth and comfort. He remembers how she would use an old meat grinder that hooked onto the table to grind ham for her ham salad.2
Her home was always filled with comfort, and weekly Sunday dinners gave me a strong sense of family and belonging. We all remember the candy jar on her hutch, always stocked; and how she would cut apples for us, covering them with loads of sugar—small acts that filled our world with sweetness. A lot of our memories of Alice revolve around food! This seems to have been a way she displayed her love.3
A particularly funny story my brother recalls happened is when a bat somehow found its way into Alice’s house. She called our father, her grandson-in-law, and described it as a “bee” flying around the television. When he went upstairs to investigate, he discovered the truth—it was a bat! It was just one of those humorous, unforgettable moments.4
Shortly before her death, Alice dyed her hair red to look like Ariel from The Little Mermaid, my favorite movie at the time. She did this for me, her great-grandson, to share in the magic of my beloved Disney princess. But when the red wouldn’t come out of her hair, Alice was mortified. I remember her throwing my Ariel doll down the back stairs during a moment of confusion. I couldn’t understand it then, but I didn’t let it change the way I viewed her. She was still the honored family matriarch, my grandmother’s mother, a woman whose love and memory would remain with me.5
Alice was a complicated figure—firm, often critical, yet loving in her own way. I have heard stories of how, after Alice’s husband Jack died unexpectedly, she became estranged from some of her in-laws in the Danko family, holding onto that grudge for years. Family letters reveal Alice made a promise at her husbands casket to financially take care of his aged mother, and later went back on that promise. Why drove her to make such personal decisions? I can only speculate. I had also heard of the times Alice chastised her daughter for her divorce in the early ’70s, but later supported my own mother when she went through her own.6
These contradictions make Alice’s life all the more interesting and worthy of exploration.
Alice’s death certificate provides a factual account of her final years. She passed away on September 25, 1992, at the age of 87 in St. Peter’s Hospice in Albany, New York, from adenocarcinoma of the endometrium. Her history, as reported to vital statistics by her daughter Mrs. Mary C. Wynn, states that Alice was born on 01 Oct, 1904, in Cohoes, New York, and was the daughter of Paul Charron and Zenaide Patenaude. She was buried the following day at Our Lady of Angels Cemetery in Colonie, New York.7 The details of her death, though important, only tell part of her story.
Alice’s life was much more than these facts—it was a life of love and loss, of complex relationships and moments of joy.
I feel like I know Alice’s story because my first three years were spent in her household at 783 Park Ave in Albany, New York. I grew up around, and was so close to, the people who knew her best—her daughters, my grandma Mary and aunt Helen, and her grandchildren who knew her and loved her. Their stories, memories, and experiences with Alice were woven into the fabric of my childhood, shaping my understanding of who she was. And who I was.
But now I acknowledge that there is always more to discover, more layers to uncover about the woman who lived a life full of complexities, joys, and struggles.
While my memories of her are brief, they are no less significant. This post marks the beginning of my deeper exploration into Alice’s life and the stories that make her who she was. I invite you to join me as I continue to uncover the nuances of Alice’s story, and to reflect on the lives of all sixteen of my children’s great-great-grandparents, each of whom has left a unique and lasting mark on our family history.
Photograph of Alice Charron Danko and her great-grandson, Christopher, taken in Albany, New York, about 1990; image photographed by Mary Danko Wynn, owned by the author.
The authors personal recollections of Alice Charron Danko. ↩︎
Recollections of Alice’s great-grandson, Dec 2024. ↩︎
Wynn, Mary Danko. Interviews with the author, various dates, notes and recordings in the possession of the author. Also, family letters inherited from Mary Danko Wynn, Alice’s daughter, by the author. ↩︎
New York State Department of Health, Bureau of Vital Records, certificate of death, recorded district 101, register no. 1898, Alice C. Danko, died 25 September 1992; issued to daughter Mary Danko Wynn, then passed through her to the author, 2023. ↩︎
“Our ancestors’ lives are not intellectual property or collectibles. Instead, they’re shared stories that link us to one another, weaving a collective identity among the living.“
Genealogy is deeply personal. It’s a journey of discovery, a bridge across time, and often, a labor of love. As a family historian, I’ve spent countless hours piecing together the history of my children’s heritage. But before hitting “publish” on this blog, I wrestled with hesitations—not just about adhering to genealogical standards or ensuring the privacy of living relatives—but about a much deeper, more emotional struggle: the idea of ancestral ownership.
We genealogists invest so much into our work. We pour time, effort, money, and emotion into tracing our grandparents, great-grandparents, and beyond. And through that investment, a sense of connection forms. These people feel like our people. It’s a natural instinct, perhaps even inevitable, to feel a sense of ownership over the lives we’ve researched so deeply.
But our ancestors do not belong to us.
The Myth of “Mine”
Our ancestors are not just our ancestors—that’s right, they are not exclusively yours.
They lived, loved, and existed in a web of relationships that extended far beyond even just their direct descendants—a web that continues to link to many individuals living today.
And yet, it can feel solitary to uncover their stories. In the quiet hours spent sifting through census records, immigration manifests, yellow documents, and fading photographs, it’s very easy to forget that we share these ancestors with others. A cousin across the country, a distant relative on another continent, a long forgotten family friend—each holds an equal piece of them.
This realization is both humbling and, at times, unsettling. What if another relative has a different perspective? What if their version of events clashes with the narrative I’ve lovingly reconstructed? What if their memories, traditions, or interpretations of the past contradict my own? What if they are uncomfortable with me blogging about their ancestor?
These questions nagged at me as I considered opening this blog to the world.
Reconciling the Role of a Sharer
Upon reflecting, I realized, to step into the role of a family historian is not to claim ownership but to accept stewardship. Our ancestors’ lives are not intellectual property or collectibles. Instead, they’re shared stories that link us to one another, weaving a collective identity among the living.
Blogging about them isn’t about staking a claim; it’s about sharing the wealth!
This blog will not focus solely on my ancestors, but on the ancestors of my children—a lineage that intertwines with my wife’s family and extends into communities and histories that aren’t my own. It’s a daunting task, but it’s also an invitation to connect with others who hold pieces of the same puzzle.
I aim to tell their stories, not as a definitive owner, but as one voice among many. I will share what I’ve learned, recognizing that others may hold insights I’ve missed, or challenge interpretations I’ve made. And I welcome those.
Breaking Out of the Bubble
Genealogical research often feels like we work in a bubble. We dig through archives, interpret documents, and trace connections largely on our own. It’s easy to become convinced that we know best, that our research is complete, that our understanding is correct.
But genealogy doesn’t exist in a vacuum.
Each ancestor we uncover represents a link to others who are also deeply invested in their legacy. By sharing their stories, we acknowledge these connections—not just between past and present, but among the living descendants who share in that past.
When we blog, post on forums, or publish family trees, we’re not just chronicling history; we’re inviting collaboration. That collaboration can be messy. It can bring disagreements, alternate theories, and clashing narratives. It also will undoubtedly greatly enrich and add context to the life of an ancestor, enabling a deeper understanding, and reminding us that our ancestors were never ours alone.
Learning to Share the Space
To write this blog, I’ve had to reconcile my hesitations. I’ve had to embrace the idea that I am not an owner of the past, but a sharer of its stories. This blog will be my contribution to the ongoing conversation about our ancestors. It will be imperfect, subject to revision, and open to the perspectives of others who walk the same path. And that’s okay.
The past connects us. Although those that lived in it may be long gone, they too bind us together in the present, challenging us to navigate a shared heritage with respect, humility, and openness. By sharing their stories, we create spaces where connections can thrive—not just between past and present, but among the living who continue to carry their legacy forward.
This journey isn’t about claiming or owning. It’s about sharing—because in the end, our ancestors’ greatest gift is the way they link us to one another.
![Photograph of Hazel Quinn Krupa and her great-granddaughter, Victoria, taken in Whitman, Massachusetts, about 1994; digital image provided by [mother-in-law's name withheld for privacy], with permission of photographer and living subject.](https://i0.wp.com/cmlgenealogy.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/12/447cfafe-c25b-467b-937e-4e750e901a46.jpg?resize=736%2C598&ssl=1)
![Photograph of Hazel Quinn Krupa with her great-granddaughter, Victoria, taken at the Colony House Nursing Home, Abington, Massachusetts, about 1998; digital image provided by [mother-in-law's name withheld for privacy], with permission of photographer and living subject.](https://i0.wp.com/cmlgenealogy.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/12/57ef655d-7fbc-40b7-b8ef-4225f6f77ff1.jpg?resize=736%2C730&ssl=1)
