The Wayback Machine for My DNA: When Genealogy Gets Gritty

I’d recently subscribed to a newspaper historical archives service in order to do research for an article. In a fleeting moment of a little too much free time and nothing on TV, I put the names of a couple of my family members into the search box to see what would happen.

To my surprise, my dad and uncle (both now deceased) had made it into the local papers—the former in 1959 and the latter in both 1955 and 1959.

It was the history researcher’s version of Googling yourself. Obviously, since the articles were there for the reading—thanks technology, you’re outstanding—I had to stop my other project and read them.

The "Stolen Car" Myth

Growing up, I was told that my dad and uncle, twin brothers born in 1935, were both knuckleheads. They did dumb stuff, but were otherwise great people. My uncle told us they’d spent time together in prison—but only because they got caught returning cars they’d stolen for a harmless joyride. Heck, he even had pictures of the two of them playing together on the prison softball team.

How bad could it have been?

Well, the articles I found weren’t "Capital B" bad, but they definitely made two major leaves of my family tree out to be a little more than silly hooligans in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Dad and the "Youths"

Let’s start with dad. Turns out in 1959 my father, at the definitely-an-adult age of 24, was arrested with a “gang of youths” across the border in Wisconsin. It seems, at least according to the newspaper, he was part of a gang going into the neighboring state to settle a score or two.

Here’s the kicker: the local news was rather carefree with personal information back in the day and listed the ages of the gang members in the paper. There were some 16, 17, and 18-year-olds, maybe a 19-year-old, and then there was dad... at the “youth” age of 24.

He was the Matthew McConaughey character in the movie Dazed and Confused without the coolness of Matthew McConaughey to fall back on.

My old man was way too old to be hanging out with the youths. My dad passed away in 1978, but if he were alive today, I’d definitely be making fun of him for this story.

The Tire Track Trail

On to my uncle, who—at least as far as this story is concerned—is saving the best for last. In 1955, at the tender age of 20, police arrested him for holding up local gas stations with five other dummies. How did they know it was him, you ask?

Tracks in the dirt were discovered as the getaway car was fleeing the scene of one of the crimes. Later, while the police were investigating the scene, the gang of robbers drove by. After a short chase through downtown, my uncle’s car was stopped. The tire tracks matched his tires.

How could the authorities be so sure? Prepare to roll your eyes and chuckle: He had mismatched snow tires on the back of his car.

Like a narcissistic arsonist, he drove by the scene of the crime while investigators were doing their thing. They vaguely recognized the car and figured out they were right when they compared the unique tracks. Here’s the best part: there were three people in the car, and when my uncle was questioned, he implicated the others. My dad’s brother, ever the criminal stalwart, ratted out everyone involved in his crime spree.

A Lifetime of "Sobriety"

I know what you’re thinking: that’s crazy, but an experience like that had to have set him straight. You’d be wrong.

In 1959, a police officer in western Minnesota stopped to help two young men whose car had broken down on the side of the road. One of them was my uncle—now 24 (and no longer a “youth”). After looking around a bit, the officer discovered the car had a bag of $20 in change and 8 cases of whiskey reported stolen earlier in the day.

My uncle, who’d always worked his lifetime of sobriety into every story he ever told, once robbed liquor stores.

I’m assuming that the liquor store heist was the reason he ended up in prison. I’m not sure about dad, but I’m willing to bet it had nothing to do with "returning" stolen cars after a night of joyriding. Just like with dad, if he were alive I’d make fun of him for those incredible episodes of idiocy. Since he isn’t, my younger brother and I got a kick out of it on his behalf.

Is there a lesson here? Probably not. I guess, if you really need one: Don’t go digging into your past because you never know what you’ll discover. Or do—because your family may have been absolutely insane.

Either way, it’s fun to know.