Gettysburg and the Genealogy Tour
My love for American history and genealogy collided on this trip. In the autumn of 2009, I began researching my dad's ancestry and discovered that it was a lot more interesting than we ever knew. My 5x Great Grandfather William Slick fought in the Revolutionary War. He was a Sargent who served alongside General Washington at the battles of Trenton and Brandywine. His son, Jesse, owned a large farm in southwestern Pennsylvania and served as a Justice of the Peace. Using historical documents, birth and death records and newspaper clippings I found, I decided it was time to research a little deeper in local historical libraries and cemeteries. Since my research was going to take us to Pennsylvania (so far, my favorite state), it was a perfect opportunity to visit Gettysburg.
Gettysburg was not exactly what I expected. Having visited many historical towns and cities, there is always a feeling of emotion that I experience, mainly because I am a sap who gets very sentimental and excited about walking in the footsteps of our Founding Fathers and all of the emotion that goes along with the stories surrounding the idea of America. Gettysburg was different. It was as if the entire town and surrounding farmlands were hallowed ground. Despite the tourists and the quaint shops and restaurants, the town of Gettysburg still carries the heavy emotion of death, conflict and loss. It was as if at any moment troops would come marching down the middle of the street, or cavalry would come riding across the farm fields. One evening, at dusk, we saw a group of four men in Union uniforms riding horses across a field. We stopped and watched in silence. The mist and the setting sun caused us to wonder if they were real or just the ghosts of men who bravely fought and sacrificed their lives to save our Union. Had those men been ghosts, it would not have seemed strange in this town.
After our tour of Gettysburg, we traveled along the Lincoln Highway, and all its twists and turns, to my ancestors' hometown of Hooversville, Somerset County, Pennsylvania; modern day population of about 800 inhabitants and known for being the town divided by the Stoneycreek River and connected by the swinging bridge. I visited Hooversville as a child of about 3, but have no memory of it, only pictures. My parents joined us on this leg of our trip because my dad was interested in going back to Hooversville. He remembers going there with his own father when he was a boy. We rolled into town in the middle of a hot summer day and parked our cars. An elderly man came walking by, and we began a conversation with him. Turns out Bill owned the local "antique" store. His antiques were a mix of old things he didn't want to throw away and stuff he salvaged from local folks' garbage cans. Lucky for us Bill saved everything. After explaining to Bill that we were here because my dad's family came from these parts, we figured out that we were actually distant cousins. It also turned out that Bill saved an old photo album from someone's garbage and pictures of my great grandma and my dad's father, along with other relatives, were among those pictured. Until this day, sitting in front of Bill's antique shop, I had never seen a photo of my great grandma Ivy (who was Bill's aunt). Here we all were at some stranger's home, to whom my dad and I were actually related, and he was showing us pictures of our family. I turned one page, and my dad said, "That's my dad! I remember that truck!" My dad was never close with his family and did not know much about them until I had started all of my research. To have experienced this moment with him is something I will never forget. It was truly meant to be, and we had the best time in, of all places, Hooversville, Pennsylvania.
A brave Union Officer, his modest wife, and their delightful child. :)
The swinging bridge.
I read about a place known as "Slick Cemetery" which was a family burial spot on the old Slick Farm. I found the GPS coordinates in the library. We drove to it and ended up climbing up the side of a fairly steep hill. My dad has his hand on his great grandfather's headstone monument.
