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Hall Surname History
Published in Home Life Magazine
copyright @ March, 1974
My name is Barbara Diane Donald (Hall) I was too young to remember my grandmother - LILLIAN MAY HALL, but through my sister's own recollection, I have a beautiful vision of who my grandmother. I hope you will enjoy this true story.
GOD'S SPECIAL GIFT
She was 71, and she lived alone in the cluttered attic of an old, two-story frame building with her easel; her paints; her brushes; and sometimes, me.
When neighbors spoke of my grandmother, they said, "A nice woman." Then, frowning and in whispers, they added, "But kinda funny." And in the late forties, to the people who lived in our small, unsophisticated town, there was something indeed "kinda funny" about an old lady who sat alone in an attic room and painted pictures. At first glance, she was not unlike a million other grandmothers of her time: the same iron-gray hair drawn back in a bun, steel-rimmed glasses; a dark, high-buttoned dress with long sleeves and detachable lace collar; and a cameo brooch clasped modestly at her throat. But there was the end of similarity. Granny, a tall, angular-boned parcel of nervous energy, was not the average storybook grandmother.
Everyday Granny lost a prized possession. It might be a valued brush, a particular tube of paint, or a piece of canvas. And while I stood on the sidelines, she would tear through her private disaster area, sending papers, books, talcum-coated hairpins, an unmated stocking, and her pink garters helter skelter - all the while looking remarkably like an enraged bird.
Almost always she would find what she was looking for, but occasionally I would spy the object of her frenzied search. "Here it is Granny!" I'd say, proud of my Sherlock Holmes ' tendencies. She would smile sheepishly, relief and gratitude flooding her face.
"Now, wasn't that foolish of me to get so upset," she would apologize. "I'm just a silly old woman, Dear. Don't pay me any mind." Then, calm and serene once more, with the canvas arranged on the easel, she would begin the gentle strokes of her brush.
I often stood at the small, rickety table beside her, a piece of bristo board and a brush in front of me. I was even permitted to use the valued paints (which she could barely afford for her own work) so that I could play artist.
After hours of painstaking work, Granny would lay her brush to rest, stand back with a critical eye, and appraise the completed painting. When it had dried sufficiently, and she was satisfied that it was of some worth, she would don her coat and hat and place the painting under one arm. Then off the two of us would go, door to door, in an effort to sell it.
She walked with a brisk, sure step. Many times I found myself breaking into a run to keep up with her pace. But we never had to walk far before making a sale. Although her neighbors found her way of life strange, they liked and bought what she painted. The return for her efforts was meager, yet sufficient to pay the rent on the attic, buy a few groceries at the corner store, and keep the coal bucket filled during the long, winter months.
Granny was not consciously aware that she was a senior citizen, nor had she ever known the small comfort of cashing an old-age-pension check; yet she managed happily without either.
As for being the kind of grandmother who tantalized the neighborhood with the aroma of her freshly baked bread, or kept the cookie jar filled to the brim, it never happened. I don't recall ever munching on a single cookie baked by Granny. But she was warm and kind. If you were a child and you poked your head inside her kitchen door, you would immediately be greeted with a bright smile. Then you would be called inside. Thereafter you would be feasting on stale bread topped with honey, which you hastily washed down with boiled tea.
Perhaps I'm being unfair, so I'll mention the one exception to her culinary talents. She made great pea soup! I was always ferociously hungry, so maybe this has something to do with my attachment to her soup; but it amounts to the same thing, doesn't it?
The year I went to live with Granny, I was thirteen and in my first year of high school. Things weren't good at home, and my short visits to Granny's house lengthened each time. One day I just didn't go home again; which brings me back to her culinary talents.
One day I made the mistake of mentioning to her that I liked deviled-ham sandwiches. For the next two-hundred-and-some-odd days (I kid you not), I opened my brown paper bag at lunchtime to a deviled-ham sandwich. Poor Granny! She just wasn't a typical grandmother who spent all her time in the kitchen.
I had a friend whose grandmother spun for her many fascinating tales of her girlhood. But even there, Granny fell short. In fact, our roles were quite reversed. It was I who spun the tales for her. One story still causes me to cringe when I remember it. It was during summer vacation, and I had just returned from a day at the beach.
"Granny! Granny!" I shouted excitedly as I flung open the door. "A man fell off the diving board at the lake today, and I jumped in to save him. He almost pulled me under with him, but I punched him on the jaw and knocked him out, and then I swam back to shore with him under one arm. Everybody on the beach cheered," I finished breathlessly.
"Oh, my dear child," Granny said with concern. "You certainly did have a busy day, didn't you?" Then abruptly the concerned expression changed to amusement, and she broke into a gale of laughter. Rocking back and forth in her wicker chair, she laughed and laughed, absolutely delighted. Every few seconds she removed her glasses to wipe the tears from her eyes. By this time I was writhing inwardly and tried in vain to twist my story into something more plausible, but it was no use. I was caught in the web of my lie.
Perhaps there was a bit of of a psychologist in Granny. Although she was quietly but devoutly religious, she never preached to me then or ever about the perils of sin. Her methods of dealing with my wild tales were obviously more effective than any threat of fire and brimstone.
But she was not so lenient with herself. One cold winter morning we got up to find that ice had formed during the night on the floor beneath the windowsill. As Granny started across the kitchen, she skidded on the ice and accomplished something that would have won her recognition if she had been on skates. Thankfully, she regained her balance in time.
" " she shouted, stamping one foot soundly in keeping with the bad word.
Shocked, I clapped my hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle. A look of absolute horror replaced Granny's rage over what she had said. Calmly, she clasped her hands together and looked heavenward. "Lord, forgive me," she pleaded. "I don't know what came over me."
That was one incident that tells something about Granny's religious beliefs. Here is another I still delight in remembering.
My grandfather passed on while Granny was still a young bride, so it was impossible for me to visualize her as anybody's mate. Any thought of Granny being romantically attached to a member of the opposite sex seemed ridiculous to me. When the minister uttered "Till death do us part" to Granny and her young man, I believe Granny thought the minister meant her death explicitly.
Anyway, I remember one time when Granny came in from gathering an armload of wood from the shore along the bay. As soon as she opened the door, I could see she was distraught. Her face was highly flushed, and she was acting nervous.
"What's wrong, Granny?" I asked, taking the wood from her and placing it in the wood box beside the stove.
"Oh, dear!" she gasped and clutched her breast like the heroine in an old movie. "A man came up to me while I was picking up wood, and he said terrible
2 cups yellow eyed beans 1/2 teaspoon salt
1 small onion 1/2 teaspoon dry mustard
1/8 pound salt pork 1/4 cup molasses
Soak beans in cold water overnight. Simmer until skins begin to burst. Turn into the bean pot over onion. Bury the pork in the beans, leaving only the rind exposed. Mix salt, mustard and molasses in a cup, fill with hot water, stir until well mixed and pour over beans. Add water to cover and bake in a slow oven (300 degrees F.) 6 to 8 hours, adding more water to cover until the last hour. Remove cover and raise pork to the surface to brown.
Our Dad, William Abner Seelye, was born November 27, 1872 in Pekin, Illinois, Just off Court Street in the center of town. He was the only son and child of Josephine Hays and William Henry Seelye. The Seelyes' originally came from the Isle of Manx, A small island off the coast of Ireland.
This was not a happy marriage. They separated while Dad was still a baby and sometime later, were divorced. Grandma brought her small son to Peoria to her sister, Armint, (Mrs. Levi Gilstrap). Armint promised to care for Dad while Grandma worked, but after a short time told Grandma that she, too, had a job and other arrangements would have to be made.
Johnny Atherton and his wife, Sarah, moved in next door to Gilstraps and , as they had no children Mrs. Atherton offered to care for Dad. There had never been any mention of child support from Grandpa as far as Dad ever knew. Grandma was a very proud, independent and industrious person and wanted only to be free of him. Grandpa had completed two hitches in Grant's army during the Civil War. There was little or no assist in rehabilitation in those days and Grandpa drank heavily and took his responsibilities lightly. He was a cooper by trade. Not long after the divorce he married Clara Kuhn, whom he had known before meeting Grandma. they went west to the state of Nebraska where they settled on a homestead site. Here Grandpa promptly forgot he had a son. Clara was a good influence. They worked hard and worked together and made a good life for themselves. Time was granted them to right the injustice they did 'Our Dad'.
The Athertons, with whom Dad was now firmly entrenched , decided to move to Waynesville, Illinois, taking Dad along. Grandma consented to this arrangement so Grandpa would not know where to find him. Not long after moving to Waynesville, the Athertons received word from a brother-in-law in Richardson County, Nebraska, that Mrs. Athertons sister had died leaving a big family. He wanted them to come and care for the children in return for which he would provide a home and board. They hurriedly left Waynesville, taking Dad with them. Grandma knew nothing of these plans. She wrote them. The letter was forwarded but never answered. At that time Grandma was working as a domestic and had no finances to trace the Atherton. Thus - - at the age of four, Grandma's son was lost to her and "Our Dad" was to be with strangers from that time.
Mrs. Atheron was a minister's daughter. She could neither read or write, but had a very domineering disposition. She chewed tobacco constantly. Because of her disposition, it soon became impossible for them to stay in the brother-in-law's home. They then moved in with an old uncle. He bought them a team of horses and Johnny worked when the spirit moved him. Here Dad started school. Sarah was not good to Dad. She expected far too much from a small boy. She often beat him with a piece of stove wood. the old uncle, who like 'the kid' intervened, and finally told her he would have her arrested, so they moved again. This move took them to Salem, Nebraska, a small town Dad learned to love. He never forgot people he knew here and years later, with Mother, visited this town he called 'home' in his childhood.
There was a good school in Salem, a combination grade and high school. As Dad was busy to earn his keep, he was allowed to attend school only during the winter months. The professor, a Civil War Veteran, took interest in him. He seated him right in front and tried to help him so he keep up with the other scholars. This was the best schooling Dad ever received and the only encouragement he ever had. Here, he finished the fifth grade. All this time he was known only as Billy Atherton. He did know his name was Seelye, as he often heard Johnny and Sarah talking but they told everyone he was their son.
When Dad was about fifteen years old, the Athertons moved again into a part log and part frame house about a half mile out of Salem an a few acres of ground. Sarah's disposition had not improved with the years. She worked off her anger against her husband and the world by beating Dad. One day during an extra heated session she hurt Dad's back so with only the clothes he was wearing , he left.
Now April 7, 1887, he was really alone. He just walked until he became tired and then decided to stop at the next farm house. A Welsh family resided there by the name of James. They were good people to Dad. He worked there all that summer and enjoyed the family life which was free of rancor and hasty cutting words. Mr. James paid him twelve dollars in cash and gave him some wheat. He allowed Dad to use his team to take the wheat to the mill. He got several sacks of flour, some bran and shorts. Then he took sick with 'fever and ague.'
This was a malarial fever accompanied with violent chills. Not wanting the responsibility Mr. James took him with his summers earnings back to the Atherton's. He stayed with them through the winter. Sarah used his wheat, also his twelve dollars and then, again became abusive. Dad slept on an old couch and periodically, the illness returned. Sarah insisted it was only laziness and one day, she spit in his face. Dad, in a very weakened condition, made his way to a neighbor by the name of Wilson where he stayed until he was able to travel. Here we bid a not-too-fond farewell to the Athertons. From this time on Dad used his own name.
Billy Seeyle's nest stop was at the two room home of Mr. John Nelson. He said he could not pay any money but would put a quilt on the floor and Dad could stay there if he would help mix and carry mortar while Nelson laid brick. The evenings were a joy as there was never any fussing and the old man fiddled. Dad listened and watched and here his love of the violin was born. He vowed some day to have one of his very own.
A family lived in Salem by the name of Graves. Pleasant Graves, Every-one called him 'Plez", had three sons, William, Millard, and Joe and two daughters, Alice and May. This was a close knit family and they made a lasting impression on Dad. The accepted him and he almost felt that he belonged to some one at last. Mrs. Graves was motherly and kink. She had a carpet weaving machine and Dad never tired of watching her. Mr. Graves had a brick yard which he ran with the help of his youngest son, Joe. The oldest son, William, had a general store and saw-mill. Millard worked in the store. Dad worked with Joe in the brick yard for sixty cents a day and his board. He slept in the hayloft over the livery stable. As no bricks were made in the winter time, he was again out of work. Finally, William said hw could use him at the saw-mill. Here Dad carried lumber and shoveled saw -dust. In the years ahead, he was to become well acquainted with these two products. Our Dad was this time sixteen years old.
Looking for excitement , he joined a group of six young men who were heading West, but had no definite destination in view. The Graves boys did not go. During this aimless journey they worked on the railroad and any odd jobs they could get. One young man in the group had quite a reputation for foot racing. Whenever he could challenge anyone to a race, he usually won and in this fusion they earned enough to travel almost to the Colorado line. They were driving a team of mules. Here the group split up. The foot racer went back home and Dad and the two brothers traveled on into Kansas. They started back East through Northern Kansas. Dad never regretted this trip. They slept in the covered wagon and cooked fish from streams. Squirrels and rabbits were plentiful. Here Dad learned to make sour-dough biscuits.
They parted company in Netawaukee, Kansas. Roaming around in a strange town alone, Dad met a man whom at one time had lived in Salem. He was lonesome and hungry for news from home, so Dad had a new friend. He sighted Dad to a job that paid eighteen dollars a month and board. He cut hedge and helped with the chores until the first of the year. Then he drew what money he had coming, bought some clothes and headed back to Salem. Salem represented home and the Graves. He had no place else to go. they welcomed him as one of their own and when they had no work for him they fed and kept him.
In the Spring of 1889, Bill Graves decided to go to Oklahoma. He offered to pay Dad's expenses, so Dad eagerly agreed to go along to see the country. The party consisted of Bill Graves and his fourteen year old son, Charlie, Dodd Cummings, and John White, an elderly man who drove the team. The provisions consisted of a side of bacon and a 'slab' of salt pork, McLaughlin's XXXX coffee and a starter for dour-dough biscuits. They had to put the coffee beans in a sack and pound them on the wheel to make coffee. they went first to Kingfisher, Oklahoma, from there to Guthrie. Bill bought a saw mill in Guthrie and sent for the family. His father and mother, Alice and May came. They all got busy and built a house. Dad never had a regular pay-day but kept track of wages in a little book. He stayed there two years. In the evenings Alice played the piano and the old gent played checkers with any one of the boys who would play with him.
One day Mr. Graves asked Dad about his family. Dad told him all he knew, which wasn't much. The old man listened and then told Dad if he were in his place, he would make every effort to find his Mother - - or her grave. That remark stayed with Dad and he made up his mind to try and locate Mother. He could remember the Athertons talking about Peoria, Illinois, so he wrote to the Chief-of-Police. Thinking his mother may have left Peoria, he made the inquiry for his cousin Ellen Gilstrap. She had married Lincoln Foster but was traced and her address immediately forwarded to Dad. He wrote to her asking about his Mother and by return mail was informed that she stayed in Peoria and was keeping house for her father and brother, Cicero. She gave him an address on Washington Street.
Dad then told Mr. Graves he had taken his advice and was going to Peoria. The old gentleman told him he thought he was doing the right thing and that he could always come back there if he did not like Illinois. Accordingly Mr. Graves went to Guthrie bank and drew out Dad's money, ninety dollars. After he returned home, he said he had forgotten to draw some out of his own account so he borrowed ten dollars from Dad. This ten dollars was never paid back as Dad never saw him again, but this was of no consequence. He was the finest old man Dad had ever known. The Graves family seemed more his own than anyone he was seeking to find.
Our Dad was twenty-one years of age when he came to Peoria in 1893. He had good health and two good hands and the future held no forebodings. He found his Mother, as his cousins had said, living with her father , who was quite the old man, and her brother. She was completely over-come at his return and seemed to want to show him off to everyone. He always had a feeling that, while she was surprised , Ellen had told her of his letter. Well, he moved in with them and in due time obtained a job at Allaire-Woodward Company, in Averyville. He walked back and forth to work every day.
Life went on in the fashion for some time. Dad met young people and made friends. His favorite companion then and for many years was Ed Cody. Every week saw them at the Rouse Hall on South Adams Street where they both knew everyone and danced many the evening away. At home, where he really spent very little time, he paid the grocery bill and Cicero paid the rent. The grandfather, who was sort of a cantankerous old gent at times', told Dad that he was just like his no good father and besides, he ate too much. Dad had felt that as long as he was paying the grocery bill he could eat all he wanted. His Mother was a good cook. Thinking the place too small for him and the "old gent' he moved into the Smith Hotel, corner of Washington and Chestnut Street. He paid four dollars a week room and board. The Smith family were good people. Dan, a son, became a close friend. He was Peoria policeman for years.
In April, 1894 our Dad went to work for August Wahlfeld. He met Lillie Conner in 1897. She was dearer to him than he ever had words to express and in the years to come, she filled Dad's life and her four children's lives with laughter and joy, goodness and love. She was in every sense the heart of our happy home.
About this time Dad decided to look up his Father before settling down. His Mother knew Grandpa had married again and had moved out to Nebraska. He asked for his savings, which Grandma kept for him in an old trunk. As she did not want him to look up his Dad, but could not dissuade him. She threw the money sack at him . She had always had a quick temper and expressed herself in no uncertain terms. I remember her well and loved her dearly. After her Father's death she went back to work for the Dickson family on Knoxville Avenue where she made her home for many years. She was neat about her person, never idle. Dad inherited much of his nervous ambition from his Mother and her grandchildren. She died in our home in August , 1923, at the age of seventy-four.
Dad went to Dickens , Nebraska , the very state where he had spent his childhood. He said when he got off the train at the small station in the middle of the prairie, there was one man sitting on the platform. there was only a small general store across a dusty road from the depot. Dad asked the stranger if he knew a Bill Seelye who farmed some place around there. He said he did and asked Dad what he wanted of him. Dad told him and after some conversation, the man pointed down the road to a team and wagon approaching, followed by a little cloud of dust. "That," he said , "is your Father. He brings eggs into the store and exchanges them for groceries and coal oil." When the team stopped in front of the little store, Dad sauntered over. The man followed. Grandpa remained seated in the old wagon. He was smoking a pipe and scanning a piece of paper he held in his hand. This was probably the grocery list . With no hesitation, the stranger Dad had talked to said, Lo. Bill, this young fellow's from Illinois. He says he's your son." Grandpa, always easy-going, stared incredulously. After what seemed a long time, he said , "Billy, get in the wagon". The groceries were forgotten and the eggs were taken back home . Clara was over-joyed at the reunion and said they had talked and wondered a lot as they grew older about Bill's boy.
The little sod house which Grandpa had built was neat and comfortable. Their existence had been a never-ending battle with the elements. The summers were dry and hot and the winters long, cold and lonely. Here, for the first, Dad saw the old clock with the ornate shelf , ticking the hours away. They had brought it to the ranch with them and it was a precious possession. Grandpa wanted Dad to stay, telling him he would stake a claim for him but Dad told him he had met just the right girl back in Peoria, so already had his claim staked there.
Dad returned to his job at Wahfeld's and just before he and Mother were married, he had a bad accident at the mill. His right hand was severely severed. There was doubt for a while that the hand could be saved. He later cut off half of the little finger on the same hand. This happened in 1904. After the first accident, he offered to release Mother from their marriage plans. He was afraid he could not make a good living. They were married June 14, 1899. Dad's medical expenses were all taken care but there was never any financial settlement. He even lost the time he could not work.
Dad stayed fourteen years at Wahfeld’s but never liked the son, Earnest. One day, after a controversy with Earnest, he left. He went right to work for Bert Best Mfg. Co. He later left Best and went to E.M. Smith Machine Shop. This was not Dad's line of work but Earnest Starbuck encouraged him to get in on some of the big money. This was about 1916/ We entered the first world war in 1917 and wages were booming. He received fifty dollars a week , which he felt he never earned. He left there to go back to the planing mill, this time to Carr-Johnston's. They paid good and treated him fine. Business was slow and being new, he figured he would be laid off. About that time, August Wahlfeld sent word through George Stickelmeier that he wanted to see him. He was offered foremanship of the sash door department, which he accepted. Later, he heard he could have stayed on at Carr-Johnston's. He went back to Wahfeld’s in 1921 and stayed there until his retirement in 1942. He was given a banquet at the Creve Coeur Club. He had worked until he was seventy years old. The son, Otto, came to see Dad about twice a year after Mother's death. Dad always enjoyed these visits.
Our Dad was always proud of his family and his home. He and Mother first went to housekeeping in a small rented house on Green Street. After a short time, they moved to the outskirts of town into a ten room house on Virginia Avenue. This house belonged to Phoebe Jackson and was moved to it's present location from Jackson's Corner's, later known as Knoxville and McClure. Here Arthur Henry was born, June 29, 1901. He had red hair and blue eyes and to his proud parents was certain to be no less then president of his country. With the strong urge to own his own home, Dad purchases a lot in three hundred block of West McClure. He borrowed money, at six percent interest, from Paul Disler and built a cottage, four rooms down stairs and two bedrooms up. Here Josephine Louise was born October 16, 1903, not too long after they moved into the new house. William Edward was born September 12, 1907 and eights years later, Jack Emmett completed the happy busy family. He was born May 8, 1915.
Always Dad worked, evenings, Sundays and Holidays. There were plans to make us more comfortable and for more conveniences. His crippled hand was never inactive long enough to stiffen and become a major handicap. We had as much as most our friends and more than lots of them. there was always a vegetable garden, fruit trees, grapes climbing over a huge arbor, chickens, and rabbits, a swing hanging between two poles, the PRIVY with a low seat for the wee ones and our own collie dog - DICK. This dog was considered one of the family and loved by all without exception. He was with us fifteen years and was Jack's constant companion.
Over the years Dad changed the little home, raised the roof and made of it a full two story house. He added a brick porch which had a vegetable cellar under beneath. A garage was built and our first car acquired, a Ford with side curtains, etc. This was Betty Lou. This car was purchased 1916 or 1917. Mother immediately learned to drive. She drove each of the seven cars we had and in forty years had only one minor accident.
In the Spring of 1927 (Dad then 55 years of age) a new home was planned and built. Arthur had married Helen Hoffman, September 19, 1923. Helen's Dad, a bricklayer, did the brick work on the new home and Dad did all the finish work inside. McClure Avenue had become a busy thoroughfare and Dad had acquired four lots in the three hundred block on Virginia. So the Seelye family, after twenty-five years was back on the same street where Mother and Dad had started with their one son.
Dad and Mother were blessed with 57 years of wedded life. God granted them health and ambition and a secure tie of love which made them the best Mother and Dad that four kids ever had.
Our Mother passed away on November 9, 1956, at Saint Francis Hospital after a nine day illness. She had suffered a severe heart attack.
Our Dad left us April 12, 1964, at the age of 91 years , 4 months, and 15 days. He died in the home he loved with his own around him, leaving four children, 5 grandchildren and 8 great-grandchildren.
God keep them both for they are thine. May we all be together again in the sweet bye and bye.
Dates and events above as given to me during the seven and a half years Joe and I made our home with Dad after Mother’s demise.
Josephine Louise Garrett,
June 18, 1964
Arthur Henry Seelye Helen Hoffman September 19, 1923
Josephine Louise Joseph Garrett January 14, 1936
William Edward Virginia Roskie August 19, 1948
Jack Emmet Beatrice Hayes July1, 1939
This story retyped in the exact format as was written by Josephine Louise Garrett. In order to preserve the integrity of our family history.
Gregory Garrett Hall
February 5, 2005
My Great Grandfather was ? Hall, who married Amelia Babcock in around 1889-1890. Their son Clarence was born in April of 1890 named Clarence. Clarence list his birth in Washintonville, NY. in 1893-1894 ? Hall was killed in a Railroad Pick Accident near Slousberg, NY. In 1894 Amelia remarried, Jerry Gannon. Amelia's Parents James and Matilda Babcock raised Clarence.
In 1917 Clarence had registered for the Draft, he list the following people as his dependents, 1 Grandfather, 2 Grandmothers, 1 Aunt.
His mother did not have siblings, she was an only child, raised with her Uncle Daniel, So an Aunt would have to be his father sister.
We can establish that Clarence would list the Babcock Grandparents since they raised him, and a Hall family found in Cornwall, would leave a Mother and Daughter alone, Ann ? Hall b. in Ireland, widow of Horace Hall, and thier daughter Lydia Anna Hall ?
I hope as people filter to this site, someone might click with the information and help fill in the ? that linger leaving family unidentified.
Berry was born 12 Jan 1812. Berry was my greatgreatgrandfather. He was married 3 times. His first wife was Betsy Rowan born in DeKalb AL. Berry and Betsy had six children. John Hall, W. E. "Ned" Hall, Thomas Hall, James "Jim" Hall, Nelson N. Hall, Margaret E. Hall. John was born 14 Jan 1840 DeKalb county, AL. This is my greatgrandfather. John Hall married Winnie Elizabeth Hagewood/Hagwood. I have been told she was born in TN or Benton county, AR. John and Elizabeth married in 1866. They had six children. Sarah Elizabeth, Benjamin Berry, Martha Caroline, James Nelson, Mary Ann, Victorena. Victorena was my grandmother.
Any help or direction would be greatly appreciated
Charlotte Van Deusen
b. Jan 03 1804
Kinderhook, New York
d. Sep 05 1888
Hall Country of Origin, Nationality, & Ethnicity
Hall Meaning & Etymology
The Hall surname is habitational, and referrs to servants who worked in " Halls"
A branch of the Hall Family in England traces its history back to Fitzwilliam who was Marshall for William the Conqueror through a John Fitzwilliam. One of his descendents was named William Fitzwilliam atte Halle meaning "of the Halle" or main entry way to the castle. He had issue of a son named Simon atte Hall who had issue of a son named Thomas Halle. Some dropped the "e" off the name to simply Hall. Anglo-Saxon names include Aula and de Aula.
Hall Life Expectancy
According to our database of 192,755 people with the last name Hall that have a birth and death date listed:
Hall Family Tree
Famous People named HallNo has submitted any famous Halls yet. Click here to add your own.
Most Common Hall First Names
According to our database of 305,519 people with the last name Hall that have a first name listed, these are the most common first names:
- William 3.2%
- James 2.9%
- John 2.9%
- Robert 1.9%
- Mary 1.9%
- Charles 1.6%
- George 1.6%
- Thomas 1.2%
- Joseph 0.8%
- Henry 0.8%
- Edward 0.7%
- Richard 0.7%
- Elizabeth 0.7%
- David 0.7%
- Margaret 0.6%
- Hall 0.6%
- Frank 0.5%
- Dorothy 0.5%
- Arthur 0.5%
- Helen 0.5%
- Walter 0.5%
- Albert 0.5%
- Donald 0.5%
- Ruth 0.5%
- Willie 0.5%
- Harold 0.4%
- Harry 0.4%
- Alice 0.4%
- Kenneth 0.4%
- Clarence 0.4%
- Sarah 0.4%
- J 0.4%
- Raymond 0.4%
- Samuel 0.3%
- Annie 0.3%
- Anna 0.3%
- Michael 0.3%
- Roy 0.3%
- Florence 0.3%
- Ernest 0.3%
- Howard 0.3%
- Ethel 0.3%
- Mildred 0.3%
- Betty 0.3%
- Alfred 0.3%
- Fred 0.3%
- Ralph 0.3%
- Herbert 0.3%
- Martha 0.3%
- Frances 0.3%
Hall Pronunciation & Spelling Variations
Hall, Halle, Haul, Haulle, Holl, Holle, Aula, de Aula, atte Halle, de Halle, Halls, Hallam, Hull.