Day 41 -- Mogadore to Delaware, Ohio -- 144 Miles

It rained this morning to inaugurate our first travel day in 11 days and promised to do so all day long. But as fate would have it, the rain lasted only long enough to accompany Collin Martin and me to the rental car agency and back. Taking the car back was the final thing we had to do before Concetta and I hit the road. I had already pumped the tanks, put away all the cords and hoses, and stowed all the gear but the drive-up blocks.

Concetta and I had spent the last 11 days pursuing a whirlwind agenda of eating, drinking, visiting, and party-going -- everything that goes with seeing people you only see a couple of times a decade. The first thing we had to do was attend her 60th class reunion, which turned out to be wonderfully great fun. Concetta got to talk to a large number of high school friends whom she seldom sees, and I got to chat with and make friends with quite a few people I'd never met before as I wandered the room taking photos. Later I would post the better part of 125 photos to the reunion Facebook page which made quite a hit.

The other major activity in which we were slated to take part was the wedding of Concetta's sister Phyllis' grandson, Trent, and his fiance, Callie. But this was not to take place until the very end of our stay in the Mogadore, Ohio area.

In between these two events, Concetta spent much of her time with her sister Phyllis baking cookies for the wedding and catching up on family events. This left Yours Truly to find activities to occupy my time.

One of my plans was to meet with a long-time buddy of mine who once lived in Carson City but recently moved to the Cleveland, Ohio area. An equally important plan was to try and locate my great grandfather, George Davis, who was supposed to have died and been buried in Akron. Since I only knew of one cemetery in Akron, I headed downtown to the Eastside Cemetery on Market Street.

When I arrived at the cemetery, I found that no one was in the office so I could not find out where, if anywhere, George and his wife were buried. So, I did the next best thing: I began walking back and forth among the tombstones

After about an hour, and three trips across the grounds north to south, I was about to give up. But something told me to make one more circuit just slightly to the east of my first path. Incredibly enough, about halfway down I stumbled over a tombstone that seemed familiar. It wasn't of great-grandfather George, but was Charles and Bessie Davis. A little voice in my head told me that Charles was my grandfather's brother, and I immediately set about taking photos.

Before I left the cemetery, I happened into a piece of good luck when I met the son of the original managers of the grounds, and he agreed to wade into the horribly antiquated computer system in the office and tell me if George and his wife were present there.

After about twenty minutes of futile searching, the son told me that it appeared they only had two George Davis plots, and neither one appeared to be my great grandfather. But he told me to come back on a Monday, Wednesday, or Friday, and the regular secretary might be able to discern something more from the records. I wasn't totally successful, but I sure wasn't a failure as Charles and Bessie Davis did, in fact, turn out to be my relatives.

The next time I appeared at the Eastside Cemetery the secretary was working. Her name was Wendy, and it was an easy task for her to determine that the man I had met on my previous visit had been correct. No other Davis family members appeared to be buried in Eastside. But before I left, Wendy gave me a very crucial suggestion. She said, "Why don't you go check at the Glendale Cemetery" on West Market Street near Saint Vincent's Church.

Without further ado, I jumped into the rental car and raced right over there. Wendy said they probably wouldn't help me without an appointment, but as it turned out, the young lady in the Glendale office, Jen, was more than eager to assist me. Almost immediately she found George Davis and his wife, Isabella Brown.

But as I eagerly jumped from the car and dashed over to pace back and forth in the area Jen had indicated George and Isabelle were supposedly buried, I couldn't find them. After a few minutes I began to get discouraged. That's when fate stepped in and rescued me. Suddenly there was Isabella right at my feet. The stone was small, easy to walk right by, and the inscription was down near grass level. And then I grew puzzled. I could see Isabella, but George was missing. In his place was someone named Jennie Chapman.

And then I stopped short. Isabella died in 1899 according to the stone, and I had already researched and discovered that George didn't die until 1937. Maybe he was never buried next to Isabella. AND THEN I remembered that George was married again in 1910 to a Louise Bockstedt. I realized then that there was a distinct possibility that George was buried somewhere else, even in a different city or state.

I took a step back and studied the rather poor, makeshift stone for Jennie Chapman. "Jennie," "Jennie," I repeated to myself. Then it came to me. My Grandfather, Thomas Davis, had a sister named Jennie. With a start I realized that not only was George probably not buried next to his first wife, but George and Isabella's daughter Jennie had probably been interred in the spot that had once belonged to George. That would explain why the cemetery record showed both Isabella AND George's names on the plot.

And that's when I made a major discovery. While I was busy taking photographs of the two stones that had initially evaded my search, I suddenly looked up and noticed a huge granite marker with the name "Brown" on it. As I've said, Isabella's maiden name was Brown. Realizing that I had made a significant discovery, I began to explore around the Brown Family plot marker.

Almost immediately I came upon the stones for my great, great grandparents, William and Hannah Brown. Mere minutes before I had no idea if my relatives would prove to be present at the Glendale Cemetery, and NOW I had discovered not one, not two, but THREE generations of my family tree. To say I was completely awestruck and humbled would be a huge understatement.

At this point I knew that George probably wanted to be buried next to his second wife rather than to his first wife. Now all I had to do was find George and his second wife. I dashed back down the hill to the office and burst in to give Jen the news. I was hoping that she would be able to tell me if a George and Louise Davis were located somewhere on the grounds. Unfortunately, she was busy then and was not able to help me answer that question. So, I left Jen my card, and I hope she will do the research when she has the time and let me know. If you're reading this Jen, I can't thank you enough for your kind and considerate assistance. You and grounds-keeper, Raymond, really made my day.

Aside from looking up dead relatives, I spent a lot of time in other pleasurable activities. One of those was getting together with my buddy, Tennessee Don, who had recently moved from Carson City to the wilds of Ohio near Cleveland. Don drove down, and we made a beeline for the tiny town of Hartville where I knew a flea market was in progress and also had a darn fine restaurant for our lunch.

The restaurant was needed because I was overdue buying Tennessee Don his traditional lunch for his birthday. It's become somewhat difficult to pull off now that he lives over two thousand miles away from Nevada.

At any rate, we had a great time prowling the flea market where I scored a new leather belt, a couple of vintage tools, and -- thanks to Don -- a very fine mortising chisel for my collection. Our lunch was great, and we had great time reminiscing. I even had a wonderful piece of coconut-cream pie, though I was unable to coax Don into sampling their birthday cakes.

Later in the week, I got to attend the Hartville flea market again, this time with nephew, Mike Morris. This time the flea market was wonderfully large and crowded, and had all the stuff I love. I ended up with several tools, include two vintage tire irons, and a 1929 Ohio license plate to decorate my garden shed back home.

What with all the mileage we were putting on the rental car, it was proving to be a very essential asset to us. One of the functions we attended was the wedding rehearsal dinner that took place in a cozy room above a supermarket known as the "Mustard Seed." There we got together with all the relatives, as well as as the young members of the wedding party. The food, both hors d' oeuvers and the dinner course, were absolutely excellent. In addition, we discovered a new Cabernet labeled "Katherine" that we just adored and intend to try and find in Nevada.

A few nights later, we attended Trent and Callie's wedding which was fun and took place on a hillside under the spreading trees. Later, we all walked a short distance away for the reception which afforded us another great selection of hors d' oeuvers and main course entrees to please anyone's tastes. Plus, father of the groom, Marc Morris, sprang for a hosted bar that seemed to please everyone. Trent and Callie made a cute couple, and we're sure they're destined for many happy years together.

And that's about it for our stay in Mogadore, Ohio. We got to spend some really quality time with all of our relatives, including one night out to karaoke with Collin, Phyl, John and Pam Montisano, Fred and Izzy Paonessa, and drinks later at John and Pam's house, We also had a night out with Collin and Phyl for fine dining, and a couple of get-togethers at Phyl and Collin's house for football and snacks. Definitely, a great time was always had by all.

In addition to those present for most of our stay, cousins Chuck and Toni and Concetta's sister Paula and husband Rick came for the wedding. Also, we spent much time with nephew Mike and Amy Morris, and nephew Marc and Nancy Morris. It certainly was with a heavy heart that we had to leave all those marvelous people and begin our trip back to Nevada.

But begin we did this morning after Collin Martin delivered me back from the rental car agency, and we broke camp and headed south on Route 43, the road that ran right by our camp called "Countryside." The camp was really marvelous and we have already determined to return as soon as we can.

Our plans today were pretty simple. We wanted to travel south on Route 43 until it intersected the Lincoln Highway. When we had gained the Lincoln Highway, we planned to travel that route all the way to Ohio Route 42 where we would turn south once again. Along the way we hoped to visit the Johnny Appleseed historic site. But when we got there, the gates were locked and it appeared to be closed. I was unable to reach the park by phone. Hopefully next time we'll be more lucky.

Aside from leaving some of our Nevada Lincoln Highway chapter brochures at the Chamber of Commerce office in the Lincoln Highway town of Wooster, we mostly just enjoyed the wonderful scenery along our rural route of travel. The weather was sunny with big fluffy clouds, and we had a fine time just cruising the two-lanes, appreciating all the 19th century architecture, and keeping an eye out for the ubiquitous junk shop full of rusty tools. Much luck on the first two, none on the third. But tomorrow is another day.

And when you head out on the two lanes, the Happy Wanderers wish you happy travels and exciting destinations!