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Price Family History & Genealogy

115,164 biographies and 107 photos with the Price last name. Discover the family history, nationality, origin and common names of Price family members.
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Price Last Name History & Origin

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Updated Sep 25, 2022

History

Price is Welsh- may have evolved from Apprice. It is a very common name in Wales. Also spelled Pryce and Preiss
MacPrice, Price more than likely came from Wales, Scotland & Ireland. Some found the Appalachian mountains in the Carolinas, it reminded them of home and they settled there eventually moving into what was later Georgia and Alabama. Other Price's settled in Connecticut.

Name Origin

We don't have any information on the origins of the Price name. Have information to share?

Spellings & Pronunciations

Apprice, Pryce, Preiss, MacPrice

Nationality & Ethnicity

Believed to originate in UK, probably Wales, Ireland or Scotland. It was originally Apprice or MacPrice but when settling in the USA, Price was used as last name. The Price family settled in Connecticut in the 1880's. The Price family who migrated from the Carolinas to Georgia and then to Henry County, Alabama, were named John B, and Mack Price.

Famous People named Price

Leonty Price, Vincent Price, Steve Price

Early Prices

These are the earliest records we have of the Price family.

Price Family Members

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Price Family Tree

Discover the most common names, oldest records and life expectancy of people with the last name Price.

Most Common First Names

Updated Price Biographies


Popular Price Biographies

Price Death Records & Life Expectancy

The average age of a Price family member is 71.0 years old according to our database of 87,605 people with the last name Price that have a birth and death date listed.

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Other Price Records

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EdnaCarroll Straus commented on Oct 27, 2012
El Gaitero
© Carroll Straus 1996


He was tall, with dark wavy hair and a dashing mustache, and a slight Southern drawl. All the waiters inn the Cuban restaurant in Tampa -- and its sub-city, Ybor City -- called him El Gaitero. I called him Daddy.

Ybor City is a neighborhood with its own soul, a soul rooted in Cuba. In the fifties, it still held sway as the heir to the Cuban cigar tradition in Florida. But I know nothing of that. All I knew is that I loved my Daddy, I loved the Cuban food, and I loved to hear the waiters call him "El Gaitero -- I loved that they knew him, my charismatic father.

The waiters there were even older than he was, and had been there for years. There was a permanence then, and there, that I have not found in Los Angeles, nor anywhere else I have lived since those days. The walls of this venerable institution were painted with murals, and in those murals, there was one panel I still remember. A young man stood, with an air of eternal optimism, holding the drone of a Spanish bag-pipe under his arm. This picture had been painted by my father's friend Harry Bearss, and was the reason all the waiters know him, and called him the Bagpipe Man.

My father was one of the aves so rare today -- a man born and raised in Tampa Florida, and who lived most of his life there. Many of the old oak trees standing in Hyde Park were planted by his father, with his help, in the early 1900's. According to family legend, his father brought the first klaxon horn to Tampa. Back then, horse drawn carriages were far more common in town than cars, and another family legend -- a tale oft-told by my father as he played out his self-assigned role as raconteur, (or maybe shenachie) was of preventing a beating being administered to a hapless horse by its driver.

Even as a child I think I knew some of my father's tales were a wee bit tall -- but the times they described were real enough. And where ever he went, people were drawn to him, and that was enough for me. he was life itself, smiling, vibrant and handsome beyond words. The eccentrics he knew! Dick Willis, the orchid aficionado, who lived in the delightfully ramshackle and decaying mansion on the far side of the Alafia River. I could never find that place today, but the air of mystery-- and of relaxation of the usual dreary rules of adulthood --made it one of my favorite places. And every year at the orchid exhibit at the Hillsborough County Fair, Daddy and Dick would talk, and I would wish we could visit Dick at his house again.

All that is gone, now, as is my Dad. But I think of my father whenever I hear a bagpipe played. I miss him, and I miss the slower pace of life we all lived then Play on, old bagpipe man, wherever you are!
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