For a number of years I have had a great desire to know something about my early ancestors. When my mother, Cora Leota Gloer Loy1 became widowed I was sure that an interest in such a venture would help to fill the empty place in her life and at the same time provide a fine inheritance to pass on to her descendants. Several times I urged her to set forth upon the task and now, too late, I realize it should have been an enjoyment shared by the two of us. How she would have enjoyed answering the many questions that have perplexed me concerning her people: the Mellingers and the Gloers:
As the years pass my desire has seemed to grow into a real need to search deeply for those responsible for my very being. Heretofore. It had been but a dream. I had never seriously dedicated myself to the task until the second semester of my return to Central Michigan University to take up graduate work and I had the opportunity to study the methods of genealogy under the direction of Dr. Dennis Thavenet I have found it a most rewarding experience.
At times, it has seemed no less than miraculous the way things seem to fall into place as I continue sifting and sorting. I shall be ever grateful to Dr. Thavenet, to Joy Pastucha and her staff in the Interlibrary Loan Department1 the staff of the University's Clarke Historical Library, and fellow students for their valued assistance.
I have decided to hesitate here long enough to record my findings to date for you who are also the descendants of my Great-great-grandparents, Daniel and Sarah Cusac. It is my one great wish that you as descendants of Charles William and Cora Leota Gloer Loy will treasure the fruit of my search as much as I have enjoyed and will continue to enjoy the pursuit. It is a never-ending project.
I trust that you will add to this your own family history as Will and Cora's family of Mae (myself), Laureatte, Augustus (Gusta), and Charles, Jr. have married and branched off into their own families of which, somewhere, each of you is a part.
To various of you, I am Mother, Non. Nonnie, Grandma, Aunt Mae, Auntie Mae, Great and Great-great Aunt Mae and Sis. Whichever it be, let us join together in our pride of these early pioneers who came to America and gave us our roots in this great land of freedom. And always remember: I love you all even more as I have grown to love and respect the memory of all those who have been responsible for the being of each of us.
My son, Rex, Jr. and I recently spent several days researching records and seeking out habitations of these early ancestors in the Ohio counties of Hancock and Putnam. We visited court houses, old family cemeteries, many areas in McComb and the Hancock County townships of Pleasant, Portage and Liberty. Charles W. and Cora Gloer Loy established their early married life in McComb and surrounding areas before moving to Michigan in 1919.
Margaret Loy Poe was born in Perry County, Ohio in 1818. She married George Loy, born in 1816, and was widowed when he1 died at age 40, leaving her with a young family of five,2 one of whom was to become my paternal grandfather Martin Augustus Loy. Margaret later married Robert Poe, a widower with six children. To Margaret and Robert Poe were born two sons, James F. and Robert N. The latter married Martha, a daughter of David Sherrick, an early settler.
During our years spent in Ohio, my family enjoyed a close friendship with the Robert N Poe family (there were eight children) and it was through recent correspondence with one of the daughters, Inez Poe Smith, that I learned the maiden name of my Great-grandmother Poe, who was her grandmother. This opened up a whole new world for me.
Margaret Loy Poe was the only great-grandparent I was ever to know. The combined Loy-Poe family had numbered fifteen and it was small wonder that when I visited her in later years, she would be living in the smaller of the two houses on her farm. Her maiden daughter, Melissa, was living with her and my father's older brother, Frank, with his wife, Mary, and son, Ray, occupied the second dwelling. Uncle Frank was farming her large acreage and my cousin, Martin Ray Loy, had the distinction of having been born on the old Loy-Poe homestead.
My son, Rex, and I visited the farm on our recent trip to Ohio. The large barn still stands and the larger house has been restored and remodeled. The land which lies in Liberty Township, near Findlay, is being subdivided.
I recall two incidents on my several visits to the farm. There was little to interest a four-year-old in Grandma Poe's home. I have no memory of words that might ever have passed between us but she, quite likely, would have patted me on the head and inwardly have praised my mother for keeping me scrubbed and well-dressed.
On my first visit, she looked about for something that might keep me occupied and came up with a collection of orange covered periodicals which I judge to have been of a religious nature. As I carefully leafed through, page by page, I found not a single picture. Finally, as I came near the end, I came upon a small round likeness of a man, head and shoulders. What a find.' I studied it for a few seconds, then quite hopefully hasten on but to no avail. So I decided to make a game of it. The next visit we made to the farm, I set out for Grandma Poe's house to find "the man."
In my years of "growning up," I found that often, we resorted to such tactics for furnishing our own amusement and through necessity we became quite resourceful. This practice through childhood led to adulthood and "imagined pleasure" has become a major part of my philosophy for today's living. It can be ours to savor minus the oft-disappointing outcome of "real pleasures."
The second incident I shall never forget. It was more exciting but it led to dire results. Better we had just dreamed about it and imagined what fun it would be. It was a rainy Sunday in late summer at the farm and we had grown restless' with adult conversation. So my cousin, Ray, quietly spirited us out of the house and into the big barn.
It was not our first trip there but we never ceased to be overwhelmed with the sight. The barn was so large with its seemingly endless floor of heavy oaken planks, worn hard and shining with much wear and we were so small--my sister, Laureatte, and I, two little "town girls." Either side was lined with large wooden bins filled with the new crop of wheat and oats. Our response to all this display of Ray's possessions most likely inspired him to greater disclosures for next we climbed into a bin of wheat which he must have considered a size we could manage. Handful after handful of the newly harvested grain, we threw out onto the barn floor. It was as though we were intoxicated by the sweet aroma of the harvest.
Gleefully, we watched it dance as it hit the polished floor. All of a sudden, Ray stood at attention. Turning to see what had happened, we found ourselves face to face with Uncle Frank and Papa. I think I threw my last handful out to show Papa what fun we had been having, not realizing the enormity of our misbehavior.
Uncle Frank marched Ray, gingerly, to the house. Papa followed Uncle Frank and we followed Papa. Once inside the kitchen, down came what we learned later was a razor strop. Uncle Frank applied several hefty strokes to Ray who made quite a fuss. I think his pride suffered most. Just a few minutes before he had been a most entertaining host and now having to come to this. How humiliating'
I could see that there was no face-saving way out for Papa and he wouldn't hurt a flea, anyway, so I walked right up and presented myself before the bar of justice. We didn't own a razor strop and Papa was pretty awkward at handling it so it really didn't hurt much. I think that was my first "legal" experience. Ray knew the rules of the farm. We did not. But ignorance of the law excuses no one. This we learned. I think I paid the penalty for both of us for Laureatte escaped altogether. How could you apply a razor strop to a little three-year-old, brown-eyed girl? The barn had lost its enchantment and that, I recall, was our last venture beyond the house.3
My paternal grandfather, Martin Augustus Loy4 (he always signed it N. A. Loy) was born 5 September 184?, in Liberty Township, Hancock County, Ohio, the oldest son of Margaret Loy Poe by her first marriage. I cannot recall ever not feeling his influence upon my life. Through these many years his spirit has been a veritable anchor. I was the first grand- child in either of my families but it was among my paternal relatives that I would spend my formative years For the most part, the Loy family lived in the small town of McComb, Pleasant Township, Hancock County, while my mother's family lived in Putnam County, bordering on the west.
At our Christmas family gatherings, we grandchildren would stand in line, the younger ones first, watching patiently as Grandpa Loy searched his pockets for that elusive penknife. Would he ever find it? Of course, he would and once found he would set to work marking into segments the peel of the only orange each one would receive until the next Christmas and there were no second helpings. No one ever mentioned that we could not survive without our daily portion of orange juice. Each was quiet as he stood waiting his turn for all of Grandpa's concentration was needed in this exacting performance. Once Grandpa had done his part, we were left with completing the task. Then began the dripping of juice from chin and elbow and being the oldest the job of mopping up fell to me. When it came to peeling an orange, Grandpa Loy was an expert.
Increasingly, as the years pass, I feel his guiding presence. To a great extent, I have gradually come to feel what life is really all about as I try to further some of the ideals I think he may have left unfinished. At times, when I have struggled with a difficult decision or I have had occasion to speak to others of his deep and abiding faith, I pay him further tribute by asking, "Are you listening, Grandpa?"
Who or what was responsible for the great quality of life that was his? Of all his ancestors, only his mother, my Great grandmother Loy Poe was I ever to know and then so briefly. However, my relationship to each of them has evoked a deep respect that has sustained my very existence. The few conversations between us are so deeply buried that I am unable to recall a single expression. But somehow, I have gleaned from their very presence, the meaning of life and their importance to me has become inestimable.
But who were their ancestors. . those who were responsible for the qualities I prize in them? Only recently have I discovered that I can look to Liberty Township for, at least, a part of the answer. And I hear you ask, �Where is Liberty Township?"
I was born in rural Blanchard Township, Hancock County, Ohio, 22 January 1898, just about the time the world was making ready to drop over into the Twentieth Century. My Great-uncle Daniel Oscar Loy, then lately of Chicago, had composed a ballad, When the Maine Went Down, occasioned by the Spanish sinking of our battleship Maine. I am not sure of its popularity elsewhere but it was well accepted and I might add, with pride, by my families. It still enjoyed that popularity when I had reached the singing stage and I still remember some of it.
At about the same time he had helped design an artistic setting, made entirely of grains and grasses for the 1900 World's Fair held in Chicago. For years, I "Oh'd" and "Ah'd" over a photograph of this masterpiece. How do we account for the loss of such treasures?
With all these happenings it is small wonder that my arrival on this Planet Earth went quite unheralded abroad. But not so in the neighborhood of that once-thriving little Brick and Tile Works in Blanchard Township with its brick kilns, the pond that supplied the clay and the two small houses that sheltered the Loy families. my grandparents' and my own.
As previously stated, I was the first grandchild and for a time, at least, I received all and perhaps more attention than the situation really merited My reign was very brief, however, as I was soon called upon to share these attentions with brother, sister and cousins. Later and rather unwittingly. I assumed the role of Atlas by taking on the responsibility of the oft-times out-of-hand performances of my Juniors. It was one way, I must have felt, of cushioning the loss of my former status and of securing for myself, or so I thought, a place at the right hand of Grandpa Loy. This position made for a pretty difficult life at times and I have often wondered why I let myself fall heir to such a task.
But getting back to Liberty Township! I think first I should tell you that before I had any interest in much less any control over events, my two families left "the Pond" and moved into McComb. Now McComb did not turn out to be the capital, nor even the county seat but it has always been the second largest town in the county. To my knowledge, its growth through the years has been minimal, although at times there have been aspirations to greatness. I remember when my younger sister, Laureatte, and I were in grade school, an underwear factory gave some thought to locating in McComb. One enterprising resident. a Dr. (not M.D.) L. G. Herbert, who lectured with the "Chatauqua" in season, composed the words for a promotional song which the school children learned to sing to the tune of Maryland, My Maryland.
After stating in no uncertain terms how we were going to put the town on the map, each chorus ended with, "Home, Sweet Home, McComb, McComb." The project never did get off the ground or maybe we should say, 'on the ground' and we did the song so well the day we marched in the parade. I think it may have been for the best that it failed to work out for I dread thinking what a factory might have done to that peaceful little village
An early history of Hancock County, Ohio,5 states that McComb was formerly called Pleasantville" but I recall hearing years ago that it was first called "Toddville." I have reasons to believe this for a few pages later, the same history relates that one Benjamin F. Todd contributed a part of his acreage on which to start the new town. A little farther on I read that Benjamin F. had a son Elisha who later had a son, Benjamin F. As if by magic, I discovered these two beloved neighbors of my early childhood: Grandpa Todd and his bachelor son, Uncle Ben, who kept house with him.
They were not related to us but we were taught never to call our elders by their given names, which led to a lot of grandparents. uncle and aunts, who really weren't. This made for much confusion in my later years, for some we called "Uncle" thinking they weren't, really were. That was how I came to lose track of my great-great grandparents for so many years.
Here we were, unaware of the fact, living on the spot where McComb had its beginnings and we were even neighbors to its donors. Looking back, with deep affection1 it seems that we had, unknowingly, lived on "hallowed ground."
Grandpa Todd used to spend hours in his "chicken park," crushing small stones which he told us would make grit for his chickens. Often he would let us take a turn with the hammer and we came to feel that we were having a great part in his chicken- raising project.
Our first home in McComb was on what I have always known as Church Street. Within the two blocks in which our homes were located (we were still close neighbors to my grandparents) there were four churches so it sounds reasonable to call it so although I have been informed of late that it has always been South Street.
Grandpa Loy moved his family into a very spacious house when we left "the Pond." It must have been of quite recent vintage for to this day it is a sturdy structure and for that early period, it might have been considered palatial. They spent the rest of their married life there and as I was too young to remember living at the "Pond," I never knew them in any other setting. Recently, I learned that the property belonged to my Great-grand- mother Loy Poe who was living on her farm at the time.6 Later, she would move into the west half of the first floor where she would quietly spend her last years.
A semi-private drive on the east side of the large frame structure connected Church Street with Main Street. The front and 'side entrances were sheltered by an overall covered porch. A similar one ran across the entire width of the rear. This not only gave much privacy to outdoor living but sheltered the distance between the house and the summer kitchen. This was a large uninsulated, one-room building into which all household activities were moved during the summer months to "keep the heat out of the house." There were times during July and August when the summer kitchen could compare favorably with a Swedish sauna but it did keep the heat out of the house.
A board walk led to the out-house and a neatly kept barn. On both sides of the walk was space for many growing plants. Rhubarb, sheltered in half-barrels, gooseberry and currant bushes, multiplier onions, all permanent plantings, and still room left for the summer vegetable garden. Nostalgically, I recall the large clump of bleeding-heart that thrived beneath the east kitchen window.
When I had reached the age of five, Mildred Smila, a neighbor girl in the second grade, who at that early age had set her mind upon a teaching career, took me in hand and set me on the road to reading. Before I entered the first grade I had become an eager reader, taking on everything in sight. I was quite intrigued with the sign on the church across the street from our M.F. (Methodist Episcopal) Church which read, I learned later because of lack of space; "St. John's Ev. Luth. Church." I pronounced it as it was spelled and while it conveyed no real meaning to me--quite a bit of what I read then didn't-- I came to feel real comfortable with its "smoothness." As I grew older I was somewhat saddened to learn that it was really "St. John's Evangelical Lutheran Church." But like Church Street it will always be "St. John's Ev. Luth. Church." The church still stands and the sign reads the same.
We began in the first grade to learn about patriotism. This was before Kindergarten was introduced into the educational system. My Baldwin Primer, page 1, introduced the subject. Under the three-quarter page picture of the Father of our Country ran the following stanza:
I love the name of Washington
I love my country, too.
I love the flag, the dear old flag
Of red and white and blue.
My mother, whose formal education had, by necessity, been not only basic but brief, took great interest in our school activities from the very beginning. She must have thought I didn't go far enough for she composed four more stanzas and helped me to memorize them. I felt real proud of my mother.
Gradually we came to understand the principles of patriotism. First, during a presidential campaign, most anything could be said about a candidate and I recall when we became a bit more "mature," we carried home some pretty silly slogans. Once the election was over, however, we had to be body and soul for the winner. There were no popularity polls and it didn't even matter on which side the president parted his hair. How the years have changed all that:
Each year, on May 30th, known then only as Decoration Day (when I forget and call it that today, it so dates me that I run for cover) we renewed our patriotic vows by assembling at the school house where we were given small flags and at times fresh garden flowers which we would place on the "Old Soldiers'" graves.
McComb's oldest living "Old Soldier" was Captain William Bensinger who was born in 1840. Each year he was honored in these ceremonies but I never knew how much he contributed to the Union cause until in my research. I ran across this information: At the breaking of the late war of the Rebellion, William Bensinger promptly enlisted in Company G, Twenty-first Ohio Volunteer Infantry, and was in active service until 1862 when he, with twenty-one others, volunteered to enter the enemy's camp in disguise. This they did and captured a train of cars which they succeeded in running one hundred miles. But they were finally captured and eight of the party hung. The others broke from the guards and got away though most of them were recaptured. Bensinger was among these and was kept a prisoner for one year when he was exchanged, then promoted to a captaincy. At the close of the war he commenced railroading.7 McComb Cemetery has an impressive monument to the memory of Bensinger and "a Porter" who were members of the Mitchell Raiders in the "War of the Rebellion."
We marched the mile to the McComb Cemetery and were fortunate if we made it one way before the rain fell, as it did consistently on every Decoration Day. Rain and Decoration Day were synonymous.
My mother always dressed us in white for the occasion and one year for good measure she tied our hair with red, white and blue ribbons The dyes in those days were not always reliable and, yes, it rained as usual. The result was that when the exercises were concluded, my parents picked up two small girls with red and blue rivulets streaming down faces and white dresses.
In the early 1900's, May 30th was always a holiday. It mattered not on which day of the week it fell and everyone had the day off. If the rain had cleared we would make our usual pilgrimage to "the Pond" where we would enjoy a picnic dinner. Then we would fish. There were no fish in the Pond, but that didn't matter. Occasionally someone would pull up a minnow and I think mostly we used bent pin hooks. It was always a happy occasion.
We owned no means of transportation so for our infrequent trips out of town we would rent a "rig" from the local livery stable. For our family of five, this would mean a two-seated carriage drawn by two horses. The metal rimmed wheels made a grinding noise on the gravel roads but I don't believe we minded. I recall, however, what a relief it would be when we would come upon an ordinary dirt road where the wheels would roll softly in the dust.
In late 1904, my great grandmother Loy Poe moved into McComb. She brought with her Aunt Lissie, her rubber-tired phaeton and her favorite driving horse. I had always looked upon her as someone very special She seemed quite regal with her quiet manner and the phaeton made her seem even more so. She was in her eighties when I knew her and as I look back it is difficult to imagine this slight, quiet little woman in the role of a pioneer. But that she was, rearing three sets of children and in her widowed years managing her large farm. She was not much older when I first knew her than I am at this time. There is no comparison between our lives as far as activity is concerned. I believe she had a great faith in her maker and that she was a strong influence in the life of her son, Martin, who was my Grandpa Loy.
When his family was young and living in Blanchard Township, Grandpa Loy acted many times as a lay preacher for the Dukes Church or Chapel when the church would be temporarily without a minister. When the family moved to McComb, he became affiliated with the Methodist Episcopal church where for years he taught a Senior Adult Bible class. He was the lone one of his immediate family who attended church services there. We three children would always look for Grandpa who would be waiting for his class to assemble.
I often wonder what he was thinking of as he sat quietly in the midst of our activities. Was he managing the harvest with Joseph in Egypt, pouring over the Commandments with Moses on Mount Sinai or, for the moment, had he joined Noah in wondering if that rain was ever going to stop? Wherever his thoughts had taken him, he seldom seemed a part of the passing scene, just a quiet onlooker.
Three times each day in my grandparents' home, the dishes were washed and the table reset for the next meal. Plates were turned face down and a clean white cloth was spread over all. Not until Grandpa Loy had "asked the blessing" were they turned right side up for the meal to begin.
After I learned from Inez Poe Smith that my Great-grand- mother Loy Poe was a Cusac, I began my search. Through the early Hancock County histories which I found in Clarke Historical Library, through Micro-film of many older U. S. Censuses which I was able to borrow through the Inter-Library Loan, and reminiscences, I have pieced together quite an account of these early ancestors. And where did I discover the early Cusacs? In Liberty Township, Hancock County, Ohio, and they were numerous.
Daniel Cusac, my great-great-grandfather, was born in 1790 in Mifflin County, Pennsylvania. His parents were natives of Ireland and were married before leaving that country. He came to Perry County, Ohio, when quite a young man, and there married Sarah Sellers, whose parents came to Perry County from Pennsylvania. Sarah Cusac died in October 1881, at the advanced age of eighty-eight years, having survived Daniel by fourteen years. They came to Hancock County in 1839 and settled in Liberty Town- ship, on the farm where he died.
They had ten children, nine of whom are still living (1881): John Cusac and Sarah Cusac Cooper. reside in Portage Township. Two of them, Captain Isaac Cusac and Mary Ann Cusac Mulford live in Pleasant Township. The others, William, James, Sarah Ellen Cusac Reed, Jane Eliza Cusac Cooper and Margaret Cusac Loy Poe9 (my great-grandmother) reside in Liberty Township.
Isaac Cusac, the seventh born in the Cusac family, was reared on the farm and received a common school education. He followed farming and milling until the breaking out of the late war of the Rebellion when he enlisted in Company G, Twenty-first Ohio Volunteer Infantry, was elected Captain and later became a Major. He was taken prisoner by the enemy and was kept in confinement seventeen months and was twice wounded. He built the second flour mill in McComb, steam-powered, and ran it for three years. He was in general merchandising for six years. In 1858 he was Hancock County Commissioner and in 1866 was elected to the Legislature for two terms.10
The highlight of my search has been the discovery of my paternal great-great-grandparents, Daniel and Sarah Sellers Cusac who were among the early settlers in Liberty Township, Hancock County Ohio. They had taken up land, raised sons and daughters, who had married and taken up land and through the years the area became populated with the Cusacs and their kin, the Coopers, Poes, Martins, Reeds and Barnhills all of whom came to see and decided to settle. Their farms were in the Findlay oil fields and they became the landed gentry of the area.
I have always felt influenced by the spirit of my Grand- father Loy even to the extent that he may well be continuing his life through mine. I needed to know something about those who had inspired him to lead such a quiet, yet glorious life.
Through the years. he has been my anchor and my life has been no less than miraculous. In loving memory, I dedicate this search to him. Are you listening9 Grandpa?
1Indian Green Cemetery, Blanchard Township, Hancock County, Ohio.
2The Loy Family--Sarah Jane Loy (Barnhill), Mary E. Loy (Fluckey) Melissa Loy, Daniel Oscar Loy and Martin Augustus Loy.
3The several pages above--Reminiscence.
4Death record--Hancock County Court House, Findlay, Ohio.
5History of Hancock County, Ohio. Beardsley, 1881.
6Farm Journal Directory, 1916-18.
7History of Hancock County, Ohio. 1886, p. 823.
8History of Hancock County, Ohio.
9History of Hancock County, Ohio.
10History of Hancock County, Ohio. Warner, Beers & Co., Chicago, Beardsley, 1881. Beardsley, 1881. p. 829 1886. p. 829