I'm of the self-taught days of the 70s. Mom and I would make hand copies of the census, marriage licenses, death certificates, etc. When we had extra cash, we would make copies...at least 5 of each document because lord knows what plague or pestilence would befall us and take the only copy. I can only assume the other copies were an offering of some kind. I still have 20 copies of a news clipping of a baby who, as far as I can tell, is no relation whatsoever. One of the many mysteries she took to the grave with her. Damn it.
Emerging from the dusty cellars of the record rooms and basements of various municipalities, blinded by any natural light, we would then cemetery hop. With our notes from every death certificate copied in our fists, a full tank of gas, and enough film to shoot enough photos that if laid end to end would circle the globe. Also in our arsenal were gloves, whisk brooms, and brushes to clean of overgrowth on the stones. Mom also would bring her supplies to do stone rubbings.
I have learned the hard way over the years to be sure and cite everything I find. Today, of course, it is very easy to remember such a simple act. Software programs of today will either do it for you or won’t let you go any further in your entry until you do. Think of it as technology slapping your hand for not sending a thank you note for the information the internet has given you. In the beginning, however, in our excitement, we would sometimes forget to cite the back of multiple copies. A perfect example of this would be twenty copies of an article of a mystery baby.
I was bequeathed boxes, notebooks, and envelopes filled with over twenty years of research when mom passed. The family sheets have been labeled and filed; citations completed. Information has also been entered into my personal software and online. I consider this my five copies. The next project is to tackle umpteen copies of deeds, land parcels, and wills which need to be read, entered, scanned and filed.
And what, do you ask, am I going to do with twenty copies of an article of a mystery baby? I’m going to tuck them into a file in the back of the cabinet so my descendants will ask, “Who in the world is this kid?”
Emerging from the dusty cellars of the record rooms and basements of various municipalities, blinded by any natural light, we would then cemetery hop. With our notes from every death certificate copied in our fists, a full tank of gas, and enough film to shoot enough photos that if laid end to end would circle the globe. Also in our arsenal were gloves, whisk brooms, and brushes to clean of overgrowth on the stones. Mom also would bring her supplies to do stone rubbings.
I have learned the hard way over the years to be sure and cite everything I find. Today, of course, it is very easy to remember such a simple act. Software programs of today will either do it for you or won’t let you go any further in your entry until you do. Think of it as technology slapping your hand for not sending a thank you note for the information the internet has given you. In the beginning, however, in our excitement, we would sometimes forget to cite the back of multiple copies. A perfect example of this would be twenty copies of an article of a mystery baby.
I was bequeathed boxes, notebooks, and envelopes filled with over twenty years of research when mom passed. The family sheets have been labeled and filed; citations completed. Information has also been entered into my personal software and online. I consider this my five copies. The next project is to tackle umpteen copies of deeds, land parcels, and wills which need to be read, entered, scanned and filed.
