The name Nordmeyer has its roots in the German language–Nord means north. Meyer is a German take on a Latin word meaning “master” or “great one.” Together, these components reflect a sense of authority and geographical significance, highlighting the origins of the name in regions associated with northern landscapes and governance. Nordmeyer is an old name in German and the former East Prussia area–in use since the Middle Ages, indicating a deep historical lineage that connects modern bearers of the name to their ancestral roots. Like the Hoffmeiers, the Nordmeyer surname was associated with being in charge of estates or overseeing vast lands for royalty in Northern Germany, signifying its bearers’ roles as trusted stewards of the land. This responsibility often required not just administrative skills but also an understanding of agriculture and the management of resources, which were crucial during that era. One of the earliest times the name Nordmeyer was written down is in the port town of Lubeck in the 15th Century, an important hub for trade and culture, suggesting that the family may have been involved in significant economic activities and connections within the region at that time. These historical ties paint a vivid picture of a lineage that has contributed to the rich tapestry of German history and its social structure throughout the centuries.
Researching the first Nordmeyer to emigrate to America is not without challenges. Many of the dates of birth, immigration, and marriage are different as the records were written by hand; therefore, mistakes can be made, leading to discrepancies that can complicate the tracing of lineage. Additionally, some children did not survive infancy, which further muddied the waters, as the same name was often used when another child was born. This repetition in naming conventions was quite common, especially among families eager to honor a deceased relative. However, that was not the case for me. My five siblings were named after family members, each name steeped in history and familial pride, while I, curiously, was the only one not given such a connection. This distinctiveness sparked an internal desire within me; I began to ponder why my name was different and to what extent my family’s roots extended. I figure that the lack of a connection to a name fostered a deep curiosity and a relentless drive to unearth as much as I can about the family’s genealogy, leading me down a path of exploration filled with archival research, interviews with distant relatives, and countless hours spent poring over old documents.
The first Nordmeyer to come to Dearborn County was Henry Joseph Nordmeyer, (1817-1902) in the year 1829. His occupation was a carpenter and farmer, a trade that was vital in the developing American landscape of the time. Like the Hoffmeiers, Henry left his native born country due to revolts and lack of opportunity, seeking a better life in a land that promised prosperity and growth. America held promise for him, representing not just a new home but also a chance to build a future for himself and his family. After arriving, Henry settled in New Alsace, Indiana, which provided a peaceful environment for him to establish his roots. He married Maria Theresia Schulte (1821-1902) on February 13, 1844, in a ceremony held in Cincinnati, Ohio, probably surrounded by friends and family. Together, they shared a life filled with both challenges and rewards, as they navigated the complexities of frontier life. Some records indicate that they had five children, while other records say seven, reflecting the common uncertainties of historical documentation. One of the children born to this union was Herman Nordmeyer, Grandma Dorie’s father, who would go on to shape the family’s legacy in America, ensuring that the Nordmeyer name would endure through generations.
Herman Nordmeyer (1856-1923) was a skilled carpenter and a proficient shoemaker, whose craftsmanship was well known in his community. He married Mary Magdalina Folzenlogel (1859-1946), on October 1, 1878, a union that would be blessed with many joys and heartaches. Mary, born near Yorkville, Indiana, a nurturing mother, as she and Herman dedicated their lives to raising their children in their quaint little town. Together, they welcomed eleven children into the world, though tragically, some did not survive to see adulthood—a heart-wrenching aspect of their family life. Herman and Mary endured their own share of personal tragedies, which I will delve into in the upcoming blogs, as their resilience in the face of hardship paints a vivid portrait of their lives.
Before I begin those poignant stories, there are several noteworthy details you should be aware of. Herman became the Postmaster (possibly the first) in Yorkville on March 29, 1889, taking on a role that reflected his commitment to the community. Herman crafted shoes, ran a molasses mill and made baseballs. He also built a sturdy and welcoming home on the corner of Leatherwood and Yorkridge, a monument to his hard work and determination, which still stands today, serving as a reminder of his legacy. His life was documented in the Lawrenceburg Press, which reported on November 17, 1892, that he was ill, shedding light on the challenges he faced even at that time. Lastly, Herman passed away at the age of 67 due to a cerebral hemorrhage, leaving behind a history filled with love, labor, and the undying spirit of a man who faced life’s trials with unwavering resolve.
The stories I will be relating to you will not be in order for various reasons, as they are woven together by complexity and emotion rather than chronology. The first story is about Herman and Mary’s eldest son, Joseph Nordmeyer. His story answers one of the many puzzles that have lingered in my mind for years, nagging at the edges of my curiosity. Grandma Dorie, a woman of strong family convictions, named my dad, Robert Lee, a name that carried weight and mystery to me. I could not find a family connection with that name, which seemed odd given our family’s rich history. Moreover, the Kirchgassners did not have any roots in the South, which made the name Robert E. Lee seem like an inexplicable anomaly. It has always been a mystery I wanted to unravel. I never knew why she named her only son Robert, until I dedicated time to researching the life of her older brother, Joseph, whose experiences and lessons could shed light on this familial enigma. This exploration not only illuminated the connections I had been searching for but also deepened my understanding of the family legacy that shaped who we are today.
Also, it is important to note that Grandma Dorie told me that one of her brothers died while I thought she said, “Working on the railroad.” I always thought it involved her brother Charles, but here is the story……from primary sources.(I just wish I had asked more questions from my younger self.)
Joseph Nordmeyer (1879-1935) was Grandma Dorie’s older brother and the first Nordmeyer to be baptized and receive his First Communion at St. Martin’s Church in Yorkville, Indiana. Having been a resident of Yorkville till he reached adulthood, he left Yorkville and moved to Lawrenceburg, Indiana. The 1900 Census states that Joseph was a boarder in Lawrenceburg and was a baker. He resided with the Elizabeth Siemental family on Short Street. He met and courted Charlotte Briggemeyer (1882-1924) who lived on Walnut Street with her parents, Bernard and Margaret (Coleman) Briggemeyer. Bernard was a confectioner and surely assisted Joseph in his goal to be a baker.
On April 29, 1906 Joseph and Charlotte were married Catholic by Father Sonderman even though Charlotte was Baptist like her mother. Prior to her marriage, many years before, Charlotte experienced the untimely death of her mother in 1894. The following is an excerpt from Margaret Coleman Briggemeyer obituary.
In 1910, a child named Robert Leo Nordmeyer (1910-1916) was born on 11/19, the same birthdate as dad (Robert Kirchgassner), but by then, Charlotte and Joseph were leading separate lives, both emotionally and physically distanced from each other. Charlotte had relocated to Chicago, seeking a new beginning with her sister, endeavoring to support herself as a chambermaid while forging a path that was entirely her own. Meanwhile, Joseph found himself as a boarder at a home in Butler, Ohio, a place that symbolized not just a geographical separation but also the fragmentation of their family. Robert Leo, despite having entered the world with such promise, had a tragically brief life, passing away 1/15/1916, with his final resting place on 1/16/1916, in Oakwoods Cemetery, Chicago, Illinois, marked by solitude. His cause of death remains a mystery, creating a stark contrast to the lively joys typically associated with childhood. What I do know is that his grave is not surrounded by Nordmeyer relatives or any extended family, as would be expected if he were interred in Yorkville. Instead, his grave stands, a poignant reminder of his brief existence–and isolation from family. This little boy’s untimely departure must have tugged at Grandma Dorie’s heart, resonating deeply within her just as it does mine upon reflection. Grandma Dorie was a single mother when she gave birth to my dad, a year following Robert Leo’s death, which makes me ponder the emotional landscape she navigated during such a tumultuous time. And I wonder what the odds are that Dad and Robert would share the same birthdate, a curious twist of fate that adds another layer to our family’s narrative? In fact, I could hardly move on to the next sentence when I saw the shared birthdate. Moreover, it is fascinating to consider why Grandma chose Robert and a version of Leo as the names for Dad, perhaps reflecting her lingering affection since she never truly got the chance to know her nephew. Through these names, she may have sought to honor the memory of Robert while simultaneously creating a new legacy for her own child amidst the complexities of their family history.
Continuing on with the story of Joseph and Charlotte, in 1917 Joseph registered for the draft during World War I, stepping into a turbulent time that challenged the lives of many. He was still living in Illinois, where he spent his days working diligently and was physically described as having a medium build, black hair, and striking blue eyes. By 1920, Joseph found himself in the bustling city of Cincinnati, taking up work as a baker, harnessing his passion for creating delicious confections, and managing to find a modest room in a boarding house to call home. Sadly, despite his efforts to move forward, Joseph and Charlotte never reconciled, as in 1924, Charlotte’s unexpected death, like her mother before her, was attributed to a sudden stroke of apoplexy that left those who loved her in shock. The grief was profound, and Charlotte’s sisters took it upon themselves to return her body to Indiana, where she is interred in the serene Greendale Cemetery, a place that shares the memories of lives lived. Rev. Edgar Mullins, the pastor of the Baptist Church, held a gathering friends and family to be able to express their condolences.
Three years after the death of Charlotte in October of 1927, at the age of 48, Joseph married Katherine Kissling from Greensburg, Indiana. Katherine’s father operated a bakery in Greensburg where later records showed Joseph was employed there also. The following was printed in the Columbus Republican:J
Joseph and Katherine settled into their lives in Greensburg, Indiana, enjoying the small-town atmosphere and the familiar faces of their neighbors who made purchases at the family bakery. By 1935, Joseph skills as a baker were no longer needed and he was unemployed. Pre-packaged foods like Ritz Crackers, Spam, and Wonder Bread, along with the increasing availability of canned beer, revolutionized the way America accessed and enjoyed its staple foods. This new trend represented not just convenience but also a cultural shift towards a more fast-paced lifestyle, with consumers eagerly purchasing these ready-made staples for their families’ consumption, transforming meal preparation from a time-consuming chore into a quick and effortless task. As a result, kitchens across the country began to reflect this change, filled with boxes and cans that promised ease and quick solutions for busy households.
On October 1, 1935, Joseph left for Cincinnati to consult a physician, maybe showing troubling symptoms that required professional attention. On that same day, a tragic incident occurred: “Joseph Hedges, engineer, and Homer Henderson, conductor, both of Seymour, Indiana, believed the train they were in charge of hit someone in the vicinity of the right-of-way of the Baltimore and Ohio Railway, opposite of 4515 Lower River Road. A thorough search of the area failed to reveal anyone, raising inquiries and concerns among local authorities.” Days turned into a couple of weeks, and it was not until October 16 that a body was discovered tangled within the weeds, prompting an investigation into its identity. After the body was found, it was taken to the Hamilton County Morgue, where it was not identified for some time, leading to immense anxiety among the local community and the family of the missing individual. Apparently, Aunt Therese Nordmeyer Detzel, Grandma Dorie’s sister, who had lived in Cincinnati for many years, made the identification, bringing a somber resolution to a mystery that probably had shrouded the family in uncertainty. Joseph was ultimately interred at St. Joseph’s Cemetery in Cincinnati, Ohio.
Joseph’s life took a couple of tragic turns that shaped his existence in profound ways. It is difficult to say whether the train incident was a deliberate act intended to commit suicide or if he was simply so despondent that he did not see the train coming at that fateful moment. Nevertheless, it is vital to understand that he was unemployed for a significant period, a situation that undoubtedly contributed to his depression and sense of hopelessness. During the 1930s, treatment for mental illnesses was still in its early stages, leaving many, like Joseph, feeling isolated and misunderstood. However, this tragedy did not define our family. In fact, Grandma Dorie was remarkable and I will relate more to you about her in future blogs. In the meantime know that she exemplified resilience in facing the many twists and turns that life threw her way. She never complained about the path her life took; instead, she approached each challenge head-on, demonstrating a remarkable strength and unwavering determination to persevere through adversity. Never complaining. Throughout my life, I strive to embody the qualities of Grandma Dorie—her strength in faith is something I deeply admire, as well as her enduring love for family and Yorkville, Indiana that she instilled in me. I often find solace in the thought of the second coming of Christ; it fills me with hope and anticipation for a day when I will once again see her face and hear her voice, enveloped in the warmth and love she always radiated for her six grandchildren. Tell next time: “Fan Go Maith (“Stay well” as the Irish say) and Blessed Be God!
