Archive for July, 2013

Hartmann – Online Family Tree‏

Two years ago I found our very distant cousin Caleb from Canada. Caleb has spent a lot of hard work and time constructing this on-line family tree. I am very grateful for our cousin for this tree goes back centuries in time. On first click the Family Tree seems trivial but CLICK AROUND – you will be amazed at your absolutely incredible heritage! There is a row of links across the top. They say Index | Descendancy | Register | Pedigree etc. I would suggest clicking on these.


-HARTMANN ONLINE FAMILY TREE- Click here to discover!

Some notes from Caleb: “Any mistakes in the gedcom online can be fixed and updated later. I do not post info on living people on there to protect peoples identity.
My mom was Leatrice Robarge, she was the daughter of Frank Robarge and Margaret Hartman, they are on the online gedcom too. Tillies line is the one the Vanduzers are from. The Vanduzer’s and my mom put the Hartmann Book together with info they had on the family and stories from my grandmother Margaret, back in the 1980’s. I was given my copy as a child. I have held onto it ever since. It covers a lot of Margarets siblings and what life was like back then in New Jersey and New York. In the book it describes Poppa (Charles Richard Hartmann or Dick) passing away, and Momma (Clara). It describes the other hartmans too and the siblings of Poppa helping with the printing and music business.”

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Time traveling DOES exsist.

hold still now, smile! +click+

hold still now, smile! +click+

When I first saw this photo, given to me by our cousin Robert (Jaybird) I was taken back. A very rare shot of our young family with our uncle Jay. The smiles and expressions are priceless BUT damn, who took this photo? Who cut off Bernadette? The photo is ruined!!!
But it’s not.
The photo exists and that’s good enough. I can not condemn the photographer for at least trying. In this case my assumption is that Aunt Gerry (Uncle Jays wife) took the photo. I have criticized her in the past for taking blurry photos but here’s the thing: Gerry was a picture-taker. If we didn’t have the picture taker…we wouldn’t have pictures. There is always that one or few in a family that always took the photo. They always tried to get everybody together for a photo. People hate when it’s picture time. The family picture-taker has to fight that. The family picture-taker has to coral as many people as they can in a short amount of time and take the photo. Taking photographs can be hard work but somebody has to do it. The picture taker is usually the unsung hero. In some cases a “timer” on the camera will get everybody in the shot but in most cases planning photographs can be very difficult. Sometimes (ok, all the time) when I look at old family photos I wonder out loud, “Who took this photo?”
Thank God for these people. They cared. They tried. In the back of their minds, “these people” knew that moments in life don’t last forever. People don’t last forever. If you grab a micro-second of life on film and have it forever that is PRICELESS. Most people don’t realize that. Looking at a photo that is now over thirty years old will make you realize it NOW but not at that time….most people don’t give a crap.
Gerry was very very special like that. She cared about keeping the family torch lit! Her name is on the “credits” page of the (see last Blog post) Family Memories. She has “piles” of family photo albums. (I know because I saw them when I went to Las Vegas right after she passed away) Not only does she have the photos but they are very well taken care of and arranged. If she had the negative, she kept it taped to the back of the original photograph!!

Joan Gill Hartman, Barb Hartman, were all very good early day picture takers.
How do we know who the picture takers were? I had a box of photos from when my boys were growing up. They are currently being held captive somewhere in Central Jersey. My kids were looking thru them and they happened to ask me: “Where were you in all these photos dad?” Well, my boys, I was the one taking the photo!
I was the picture-taker.

My Current Status: 7/13/13 1:52AM- Some people expect a lot out of me, I can change that. My Current Statement: Constantly being tuned into the alternate digital universe can create a false sense of urgency and dominate your mental freedom. My random Memory: One day I was out on the front porch with Brenda my sister and something stupid happened and I got so mad at her that I hit her on the side of the head with a huge 6 volt lantern battery. She was bleeding and crying and ran inside the house. I had forgotten all about this. I mean totally. Like blocked it out of my memory. Many many years later when I took her to a Giants football game and we were tailgating out in the parking lot she reminded me of it. At first I was shocked and sad and guilty. She forgave me at that moment. Days later and up to today, I think about how powerful my brain was to block something that traumatic in my memory.

I know what I'm gonna do tomorrow, and the next day, and the next year, and the year after that.

I know what I’m gonna do tomorrow, and the next day, and the next year, and the year after that.

The photography art medium has been changing at a crazy pace in the last 15 years or so. I remember film. The cost. The limits. The wait. No redo’s. Today, everyone has a camera in their pockets or there could be one watching you. Our world has become image saturated. If you go to google images and type in sunsets you will get 33,800,000 matches in just 0.19 seconds.
Surveillance cameras capture the image of an average city dweller 300 times a day.
Desk top publishing and photo editing software is at the fingertips of anyone that owns a computer. Musically it’s the same thing. It’s become a digital overflow of digital compositions. Some bands that have actually gotten their start in the oil stained garage floors of a real garage are being replaced by “Garage Band” on the Mac.
There are now fewer limits to express yourself and you can show yourself off to the entire planet earth!

Apparently the actual living of our lives doesn’t seem so “wonderful” sometimes. In one of the top ten movies of all time “It’s a Wonderful Life” the hero, George Baily leads just an ordinary life. Yet he is the seeker of a wild exciting life and even desires to attend college for which he is denied. He ends up living a mundane and simple life. It takes an angel from heaven to open his eyes to the fact that his life truly is extraordinarily meaningful and impactful. (impactful is not a word but I like it)

Thank you for all your uploads! Thousand upon thousands. I have downloaded and opened your photos for the past four years. Thousands of RGB memories. Miles and miles of canvas. I haven’t become desensitized by your weddings, sunsets, celebrations, family portraits, pets, and children. Because of YOU, I have seen the amazing moutains, forests, oceans and cities of the world! I have sat in my windowless Macintosh corner of the world and seen the world, thanks to you. Still, after all this time your photos MOVE me, make me LAUGH, give me goosebumps, and sometimes bring a tear to the corner of my eye.
Like George Bailey I yearn to travel. Crave excitement. Unexpected paths, twist and turns. I know there is only one thing better than your photo. The print is beautiful on canvas but in all cases of printed images-“You really had to be there!”

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Fear Of Abandonment

If people think nature is their friend, then they sure don't need an enemy. -Kurt Vonnegut

If people think nature is their friend, then they sure don’t need an enemy.
-Kurt Vonnegut

While many family historians struggle to discover any tiny piece of information that they can, we have been blessed (on the Hartman side at least) with a recent slew of photographs and now documents of our early nineteenth century beginnings. These new “Family Memory” documents are a really fun and interesting read. I would recommend downloading the links below and printing them out. Find a nice chair and enjoy. You are about to individually meet every one of our Great Grandfathers kids, his wife and him. The “industrious” Jersey City printer with a sense of humor. These words were originally taped and then transcribed with keeping curious future generations like us in mind. I’m thinking, how very generous and nice of them. These were recorded by the youngest of our Great Grandfathers children, Marie Elizabeth. She was also the last one to pass away.

Family Memories Of Marie Elizabeth Hartmann
Pages 1-17 Part One Memories (PDF) DOWNLOAD
and here are pages 18-45: Part Two Memories (PDF) DOWNLOAD

In her opening statement Marie writes:

“It may help you understand yourself” – I truly believe that this can be one of the benefits of heritage discovery.
“I am not planning on recording gossip or family scandals”
– Wow. How much does that suck! After reading this, I find it interesting that gossip or scandals even exsisted in this family!! Marie was very kind and honest in this document. But of course human nature dictates such things inescapable. And the bigger the family–the more gossip and scandals there will be! We can tell you that first hand experience!

There is another one of these documents written by one of Marie’s sisters that I possess and will share in a future posting. There will be no information overload on this blog.(that’s a sarcastic joke based on my last post date of 6 months ago) Actually it’s been quite the opposite. The family web site is slowly being worked on. Dead links. Outdated photos. Missing people, most in particular, Blake on the family tree.
Here is a list of things I have been working on in my spare time:
+ Redesigning the web site. Cutting a lot of the fat. Leaner, quicker and cleaner. More use of Adobe Flash.
+ Finding and interviewing John Karst our step brother. Last presumed residence Elizabeth NJ
+ Finding the grave sites of the two infants that Charles and Clara lost. 1892 Emma (9 months old) and Charles 1895 (3 months old) There are 5 cemeteries in Jersey City. I’m assuming maybe Holy Name cemetery and it is huge!
+ Create a family tree that begins with our mother and father. This has become quite extensive over the years.
+ Call and speak to my fathers brother, William Hartman, who is currently residing in California. (another fantastic discovery through Jaybird and Diane, as I had been looking for him unsuccessfully on the internet)

The reason this document is available to us is because of a chain reaction of events from finding our long lost cousins through this blog resulting in the rejuvenated friendship of cousins Diane Jones and Barbara Hartman. Since we have been reunited, Barb has visited Diane down south where she lives now and recently this past Spring, Diane came up here to visit what is barely left of the New Jersey Hartman’s. She also wanted to attempt to revisit some of her deep New Jersey roots. When I heard this I truly understood her desire for this. As a military child, her family stayed where ever her father, Jay Jones, was stationed. A huge part of our families childhood is visiting our cousins on these bases. Particularly Fort Hamilton in Brooklyn and Fort Dix in south Jersey. While Diane was here we planned a trip to Brooklyn for Diane. Unfortunately due to high security we were unable to get into the bases (despite the pleading by Diane to the security guard at the gate) but we did mange to see the house from outside the confines of the Fort on the Belt Parkway.

Childhood is the most beautiful of all life's seasons.

Childhood is the most beautiful of all life’s seasons.

Yes, even just this drive-by glimpse was all we had. Yet it had initiated a flood of memories from all of us on that heritage journey. My sister Barb and I are old enough to remember driving over the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge in the station wagon.
We have so many wonderful memories of this place. Diane was almost bubbling over with flash-backs, friends and memories as she was the second oldest of the family. It was also a very interesting drive around Brooklyn. For some people that have at least a certain degree of sentimentality in their hearts, it is warm feeling to revisit your childhood. To walk down the old streets that slowly change over the years. It ignites old feelings and “where are they now” friendships.

Diane Jones and George Hartman in front of Whitman Street in Carteret. Spring 2013

Diane Jones and George Hartman in front of Whitman Street in Carteret. Spring 2013

What now seems like many moons ago a “super” storm smashed into this side of the country doing things to us that I never thought possible. This time all the hype and warnings were very correct and most people that lived anywhere near any kind of water were devastated! Our little family was in a tiny room on the second floor of an old wooden house, many miles in-land and north, yet our house was actually BENDING.BLOG_gaslines I will never forget that helpless feeling of being in that moving house. I had fears of being homeless or someone getting hurt. A tree fell down on our street. That was it, and oh yeah, we lost our power for a week. (that really sucked) but that was it. As the days unwound afterwards, the images and stories that unfolded before my eyes made me feel very grateful. This was one very serious ass kicking by nature and yet while I was embedded in this swaying room I had no idea how serious it really was.
Coming home to darkness everyday and the sound of the neighborhood generators echoing in the backyards became very depressing. No refrigerator, no TV, no lights, no heat until we were granted a single extension cord snaked up into the apartment. We lived in a room with candles, one extension cord, and glued to the images on the TV.
When something like this happens you can feel a compassion in people that overflows into all the nooks of your life. Most people care. Most people will help you. The human race is temporarily changed into a caring kind soul. I haven’t seen this since the 9/11 terrorist plots. For months after that the northeast was greatly humbled. The “mean” streak was lifted. It lasted for quite awhile. Then people returned to what they were. I have been to many different areas of the USA. The northeast is mean. I took that photo while waiting in a gas line. People would wait in those gas lines for HOURS and HOURS on end. I met the greatest, funniest people in those gas lines. I actually began to look forward to waiting in some kinda gas lines. Even in a gas line for cars that usually went around the block three times and hardly moved, people would get out of their cars and talk and laugh and shake hands. There was a sense of community there. We were all just human beings. Nobody was rich, nobody was poor, nobody was black, nobody was white and so on and so forth. This is what disasters and tragedy do to people. Damn, I miss those gas lines.

Current Status: July 12, 2013 3:28 PM Life has just become a series of moving from one air-conditioned spot to the next. I love potato chips.

And So It Goes
Billy Pilgrim was my hero when I was a teenager. This turned out to be a HUGE mistake.
I read Slaughter House Five by Kurt Vonnegut in my freshman year of High School. This book just really blew my mind wide open. It so greatly affected me that I became (or tried to) one of the characters. Recently I have witnessed this with a friend of mine but with the epic novel Catcher in the Rye.
I so loved Slaughter House Five, that I became obsessed with the author and began to systematically read every one of novels. It was also around this time that I discovered writing. I was a night owl and spent many nights pounding my old fashioned typewriter and scribbling long hand poetry in journals. I had some great teachers in a time a true turmoil at home. I began to write just like Vonnegut.

Billy Pilgrim 1972. a worthy reflection on the big screen. Punk ass bitch!

Billy Pilgrim 1972. a worthy reflection on the big screen.
Punk ass bitch!

Fear of abandonment is an anxiety disorder which is characterized by an acute fear of being alone or isolated. It is backed with the fear of having to deal with the difficulties of life all by yourself. I believe that in many ways, I am still a little boy waiting by the door for his father to come home from the hospital.
Billy Pilgrim was pretty cool in many ways. He was so humble that it was hysterical. He was smart. He was wise. He lived through a catastrophic fire bombing in Germany. He met so many cool people. But most of all… Billy Pilgrim could time travel.
The bad things about Billy Pilgrim mostly was that he let people push him around and walk all over him. I did this. I still do this.
I reread Slaughter House Five thirty-nine years later, cover to cover, as an adult now. My conclusion was that Billy Pilgrim was a punk who deserved everything he got. Even I wanted to kick his ass. WHAT WAS I THINKING? To model myself after this pussy. Oh yeah, I had issues but being Billy Pilgrim was the easy way out. I needed a father to grab me by the shirt collar, shake some sense into me and scream WAKE THE FUCK UP!
I was constantly seeking and finding father figures. I could list at least ten guys who I chased looking for a father figure. Danny Braza was a Daddy for me. And then he just disappeared one day! Abandonment comes in many forms, but leaves similar scars. The negative impact that this type of trauma can have on someone cannot be understated. The feelings of apprehension and anxiety that are associated with this form of loss can pervade every relationship that follows in that person’s life, whether intimate, social, or business. Fear of abandonment can cause significant impairment and result in a diminished quality of life.

-Diary Of A Sex Addict-
Act II scene III
Coco and Butch are on the balcony of an ocean front resort. The tops of palm trees surround them as they pour each other glasses of red wine. The sound of the ocean and seagulls can be heard. The lights are slowly lowered to simulate the on coming dusk. Red and yellow lights slowly light up the background “sky” as the sun drops into the ocean.

Butch: As humans on this planet we are never happy enough. There is always something “wrong” with us. We are either too fat or not smart enough or we drink too much or work too hard. We never have enough money. We worry about the future, shun the past and forget all about what is happening in the now.
Coco: You’re always too serious.
Butch: Where were you last night?
Coco: (surprised at first but then recovers) Uhhh, what? I told you. I worked late. You know that design project in Brooklyn I’ve been telling you about.
Butch: Oh yeah, work. It’s always work.
Coco: It is. Yes.
Butch: There are always these gaps of unexplained time….
Coco: (interrupting) ..we have gone over this Butch. My job is very demanding. Sometimes I sleep there.
Butch: Yeah yeah.
Coco: I don’t like this conversation. Especially as we are someplace nice with a beautiful sunset.
Butch: I’m sorry. I care. I..
Coco: …lets just have fun. Live in the moment. Like you just said.
Butch: Yes! Here’s to us! (pours more wine in Cocos glass and raises his own glass. They touch glasses with a “tink” and smile at each other.) You really needed this. You work too hard.
Coco: So do you but don’t think about that now. Take a deep breath, suck in this air sip wine.
Butch: (grinning as he changes the subject) I just love your ‘daddy issues”
Coco: What in the name of god are you talk…
Butch: They say girls with daddy issues are good in bed.
Coco: I, I, I…don’t know whether to accept that as a compliment or should I slap you in the damn face.
Butch: (holds up his hands to block a potential slap) A compliment! A compliment!
Coco: Where the hell did THAT come from? Shit, you know how sensitive I am to my dad.
Butch: I’m sorry. (reaches out to stroke her face, she pushes it away) no, really baby, I’m sorry. I forgot. I know he left you but what happened? You never really told me.
Coco: My mom and dad lived life pretty roughly. They were always drinking and chain smoking AND fighting. All the time. It made me crazy. I never knew what “normal” was. Well, one day we were driving down the road. One big happy family. Me and my sister in the back seat. I knew something was wrong because I could just feel something very uneasy in the air. It was high noon. Bright sunny day. My mom and dad were fighting really bad the night before. It kept me awake. Well, on this day that we were driving it was TOO quiet. I knew something was wrong. We were going over a bridge. A big steel one, I remember and my dad, who was driving, just pulled the car over, very nonchalantly got out, walked to the side of the bridge, and leaped over the fence. That was the last time any of us ever saw him again.
Butch: (holding his hands against his open mouth) Oh my god! (grabs Cocos hands from across the small table) Oh my god! I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you ever tell me this.
Coco: Oh shutup. You never asked and I HATE telling this story.
Butch: Oh no, you should tell this story, you poor little girl. How horrible and you…
Coco: I said SHUTUP! (she slams her wine glass down) This is why I hate telling this story. I hate all the stupid sympathy that comes after it. I’m an adult now. I dealt with it. He was a sorry excuse for a man. A drunk. An ass. The funny thing was, my mom just sat there and watched him. Never said a word. She hopped into the divers seat and took off….like nothing fucking happened! Can you believe that? Me and my sister were waiting for him to come home that night. Probably soaking wet, but we were waiting every day for him to come thru that door like nothing ever happened. One day the cops came and they found his body and my mother threw away all his clothes and that was when I said, “He aint coming back”
I remembered then when I was a little girl before my sister was born I ran away from home. All I did was go in the shed and sit on the lawnmower but it was dark and I was angry and scared. I was there for about two hours before my father opened the shed door and came and picked me up.
This was the greatest feeling in the world. I had left home. And someone DID love me. Someone DID look for me. Someone DID find me.
So I did it again. After my sister was born and I felt neglected, so I ran away to the shed. This time it took a little longer but my father finally did come to get me. This time he was angry. My parents were stressed out with two kids and drinking all the time. I felt really lousy. If someone runs away they are not abandoning the people they love. They are NOT giving the people they love a hard time. Chances are that if somebody you love runs away, they are in desperate need of feeling loved. They haven’t been loved or hugged or talked to, or listened to in days….in weeks!!! Don’t neglect the people you love in your life. Get down to their level, look them in the eyes and tell them THAT YOU LOVE THEM.Then grab them and hug them and squeeze them and say “Don’t ever leave me again! Because I worry about you. I care about you AND I LOVE YOU DARN IT!!!!!!!!_*

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