Among those with whom I have spoken about the purpose of family myths and legends, the consensus has been that they serve to communicate and transmit the traditions, customs, and values of a family from one generation to another. We also agree that myths may well be fictitious but that legends are based on facts. According to Webster's New World Dictionary of the American Language, myths are traditional stories of unknown authorship, ostensibly with a historical basis, serving usually to explain a phenomenon of nature or the origin of humans. Legends often tell the story of a wonderful event, are handed down for generations, and are popularly believed to have a historical, but not verifiable, basis. The two words seem interchangeable, and I use both in this article. I feel that there are more reasons for the perpetuation of family legends than the fact that they serve as models of behavior and establish moral and social prohibitions. Legends provide clues as to the ethnic origin of a family and may relate stories of a progenitor's immigration, occupation, marriage, children, and death. Such legends grant a sense of solidarity and belonging and, thereby, a sense of one's identity within a family structure. Myths and legends often project an emotional impact, the meaning behind the stories transcending their veracity. They may take into account certain inherited characteristics: physical appearance, stubbornness or intellectual prowess, musical or artistic ability, etc. The Irish poet William Butler Yeats wrote:

I made my song a coat covered with embroideries out of old mythologies.

One effect of a myth may be to enhance the status of a family by creating larger than life heroes. In The Dictionary of Cultural Literacy, E.D. Hirsch, Jr., writes, "If we did not inherit myths, we would have to invent them: since we have inherited them, we should learn to use those we have inherited."

Certainly, the achievements of ancestors, whether embellished or not, can add interest to what might otherwise be a dull heritage. While such legends can cast an aura upon the character of an ancestor, the manner in which the legends are repeated reveals much about the character of the teller. A legend can be detrimental if it becomes a preferred substitute for reality and is used to aggrandize the importance of the descendant.

How do we, as genealogists studying family history, deal with these "twice-told tales" that may well have started as flights of fancy and became distorted, embellished-even grossly exaggerated-over the generations? Should we attempt to validate the authenticity of a myth, to prove its basis in fact through documentation? If research does not present a historical basis for a legend or even refutes the tale, how do we handle the situation? When recounting the legend, we might discuss its possible accuracy and express our doubts without absolutely debunking it. Such a debate in itself can add a lively spark of controversy to a family history, leaving the question open to speculation and individual interpretation. We could ignore the myth and simply relate the facts gathered through our research-perhaps a safer route.

A persistent legend within the Weisbrod family claimed an ancestor who had been burgermeister, or head magistrate, of Marburg, Germany. The legend did not indicate in which generation or when the ancestor served; nor did it relate a tenure of office or a given name with the surname Weissbrodt. Without intending to prove or disprove the legend but merely to document my sons' American Weisbrod heritage, I began my search in Towson, Maryland, where great-grandfather Conrad was buried in 1912.

The 1900 census listed Conrad Weisbrod, age 55, born in May 1845, married 31 years, as a cooper by trade who immigrated in 1850. The 1880 census listed Conrad Weissbrodt, age 35, born in Germany, as living at 120 Battery Ave., Baltimore, Maryland.

Using that information as my point of reference, I wrote to the Enoch Pratt Free Library in Baltimore, asking for a search of city directories from 1850 to 1870 for the name Conrad Weisbrod/Weisbrodt/Weissbrodt. A response from the head of the Maryland Department resulted in a list of street addresses dating from 1858, including the appropriate Baltimore City Ward numbers, which were helpful in searching a large city census. I found no 1850 census record for Conrad Weisbrod Sr., but one did appear in 1860: Conrad Weissbrodt, age 58 (giving me a birthdate of around 1802), a cooper by trade who was born in Germany, with a son, Conrad Jr., age 15, also born in Germany.

Knowing that the Weisbrods had been devout Lutherans, I asked a fellow researcher living in Baltimore to send me information about churches in the older section of the city. My correspondent immediately sent me the name of Saint Stephen Lutheran Church at Hanover and Hamburg Streets. Further correspondence with the parish secretary resulted in two pages of church records; baptisms, marriages, and deaths of Heinrich, 3 December 1867; Juliana, 21 January 1886; and Johann Conrad Weisbrodt, 6 August 1886; all had been born in Roth, Kurhessen, Germany. From the German Connection of San Diego, I obtained a detailed map of Kurhessen that showed Roth as a small village to the west of Marburg. Through the assistance of a professional genealogist in Germany, I obtained the name of the minister and the address of the Lutheran Church in Roth. Much time and many letters passed before I received copies of parish records and a typed translation showing the baptisms of Johan Heinrich, Juliana, and Johan Konrad (yes, spelled with a K), children by the second wife of Johannes Weissbrodt. Born 26 September 1749 in Roth, his occupation as an adult was-town bailiff. Among the hundreds of Weisbrods who lived in the villages surrounding Marburg, perhaps one had the honor of being the Lord Mayor. Only a thorough study of the history of Marburg would reveal the truth. I found it interesting enough to learn that in 18th- and 19th-century Germany, "pre-names" were used commonly within a family. Hence, Johannes had sons Konrad, Johann Heinrich, and Johannes by his first wife and Johann Heinrich and Johann Konrad by his second.

Suppose a forebear has left no legendary heritage, no wondrous stories of ancestral deeds, no titles or coats-of-arms, no anecdotes of stalwart pioneers? Such was the case of my believed maternal grandfather, a Baptist minister and one of the founders and first president of a California university. From a nephew in Ohio I learned that my grandfather had been interested in his family's history; yet no information he might have gathered has remained.

Why? Had no one inquired, or were his papers simply lost or discarded by an uninterested family when he died in 1929? I eventually discovered that he descended from a long line of Quakers. With delight I found these gentle people gracing my family tree, and from them I have crated my own legends. I would much prefer a connection with a courageous leader of the Society of Friends, meeting in secret on Long Island, than with any who denied them the right to worship.

For my grandfather, a deeply religious man, the point of departure from his family history may have been his grandfather, who was perhaps even a source of embarrassment (pure speculation on my part). This great-great-grandfather was disowned by a group of Pennsylvania Quakers. A renegade and an adventurer, he went west to newly opened lands in Ohio and was even a soldier in the War of 1812! I found this man and his story absolutely fascinating, and he plays as important a role in my family myth as does the devout grandfather. Yet, one person's hero is another's scoundrel.

At the beginning of this article, I suggested that family myths and legends can provide clues about the origin of an immigrant ancestor. And so it happened for our Webster progenitor-with surprising results and on the most meager of leads. Being the lone offspring of divorced parents, I knew nothing of the Webster family other than that I was born in the home of my paternal grandparents in Walton, Delaware County, New York. With the use of all the resources available in Delaware and neighboring Otsego County, my research on the line progressed from grandfather Arthur to great-grandfather David Sr. The names of David Sr.'s Grown children appeared in his will dated 25 March 1819: eldest son Robert, second son William, third son David, and youngest son James. Three daughters were mentioned only by their husband's names! Several grandchildren carried the names of Mary Ann, Susan, John, and Samuel.

As if created by some wily mystery writer, red herrings appeared frequently to challenge my research. The very small village of Westford, Otsego County, was inhabited by two groups of Websters from 1820 to 1850. Only after eliminating names that didn't fit-Theron, Aaron, Jesse, Joshua, Myron, and Charles-could I formulate my family. A biographical sketch of David Jr.'s eldest son, published in a history of Otsego County, stated that David had emigrated in 1796 (untrue) from Ireland (true) at the age of 16 (questionable). In census records from 1850 to 1880, including New York state's mid-decade enumerations, David Jr. was amazingly consistent in stating his age, yielding a birthdate of 1796.

The four brothers gave Ireland as their birthplace, verified by naturalization papers. The intent of each to "abjure all allegiance and fidelityÖto the King of the United Kingdoms of Great Britain and Ireland of whom he was before a subject" was dated 4 February 1829, and they swore they had been residents of the United States before 18 June 1812. The brothers had signed for one another as witnesses; among the names was that of Blackwood Hammond. He was also born in Ireland, according the census and his own naturalization papers. He was the son of Robert Hammond (later to be an important clue) and married a Webster daughter.

Having walked David Sr.'s hilltop farm, searched transfers of land deeds to family members, read his last will and testament, and noted the care with which he bequeathed his possessions, I knew I had found a remarkable old man. I wanted desperately to discover from whence he came. My only clues: that the Websters were Protestants, suggesting Northern Ireland; and boyhood myths repeated to me by the last surviving Webster male, my 96-year-old uncle: -"From the shore of Ireland, they could see Scotland where the Websters came from," and "They settled in Armagh, County Down."

My first objective was to obtain a map of Northern Ireland, which today consists of six counties: Antrim, Armagh, Down, Fermanagh, Londonderry, and Tyrone. Although there may have been a hamlet of Armagh in County Down, I found none, so I concentrated my search on the neighboring counties or Armagh and Down. I n a genealogical publication, a map of Ireland indicated geographic locations of some Irish family names; I was encourage to find "Webster" in Northern Ireland.

Next on my list of priorities was to study the history of Ulster, one of the four Irish provinces. It was divided into 58 baronies, ancient areas of over-lordship; within baronies and counties were ecclesiastical divisions, dioceses which may overlap counties and parishes with varying boundaries. The oldest and smallest land division was the townland, which averaged 300 acres populated by five or six families.

I realized my task would not be easy. Census enumeration did not begin in Ireland until 1813 and is not available for every county; civil registrations of birth, marriage, and death began in the late 1800s and early 1900s. Tithe records from 1823 to 1838 provided detailed accounts, parish by parish, of land occupiers in each townland. Griffith's Valuation, 1848 to 1864, was a government survey to determine tax to help support the destitute after the passage of a Poor Relief Act in 1838. Although all of the above were recorded after my Webster family left Ireland (1810-1811), I decided to search the latter two indexes to make a distribution study of the surname in Ulster.

During a visit to the Family History Library in Salt Lake City, I spent many hours in the section devoted to the British Isles. (Detailed instructions for searching the microfilms of the Householder's Index can be obtained from the information desk.) For County Down, I found two Websters; a John and a George. For County Armagh, nine Websters: two Samuels, three Johns, two Williams, one James, and one Thomas. I also noted baronies, parishes, and townlands named. The next step, of course, was a trip to Ireland. Traveling with a small group under the tutelage of a knowledgeable genealogist, we toured for several days before beginning our research in Belfast and Dublin. We spent hours in all of the appropriate places: the Public Records Office, the Ulster Historical Society Office, the Registry of Deeds, the Linenhall Library, and the National Library. In none of the records did I find the name David Webster.

Perhaps it was an intuitive hunch that had prompted me earlier to reserve a rental car at Shannon Airport. When the tour group departed, I headed northeast through the mid-section of the country toward Northern Ireland. In Armagh, the "city of seven hills," I telephone the two Websters in the telephone book. I received a warm welcome in each home, but these Websters could add no information prior to 1840: a William Webster with son Samuel, James, George, and John. We had no doubt we were all distantly related but had no proof.

I spent the following day in the library of the Armagh County Museum. I made notes on a number of interesting facts, among them the development of the linen industry in surrounding townlands, from flax farms to spinning mills, handloom weavers and bleaching centers for linen cloth. The earliest Webster names recorded were from the register of the First Presbyterian Congregation of Armagh:

David's birth date of 1720 was too early for him to have been my ancestor, who was born around 1744, but any one of the above could have been his father. Near the end of the day, I was almost ready to give up when I found a slim pamphlet: a "Tithe Account Book," dated 1785, for Derrynoose Parish, Cormeen Townland. Among the list of names were David Webster, Samuel Webster, and Robert Hammond. Created in 1709, Derrynoose Parish was shown on another map as being mainly Presbyterian rather than Church of Ireland.

It is natural, after such a discovery, to chastise oneself and ask "Why didn't I stay longer?"-but I had a plane to catch. At home, reviewing notes that I had hastily scribbled in Dublin's Registry of Deeds Office, I found the following: "Wills which no longer exist: Webster, Samuel, died 1825, Diocese of Armagh, Derrynoose Parish, Cormeen." What family secrets might have been revealed through his last testament?

A year later, in The All-Ireland Heritage: A Journal of Genealogical and Historical Research, I learned of the all-important "Index to the 1796 Spinning Wheel Entitlements Lists of Ireland," which contains names of individuals who were awarded spinning wheels for the growth of flax or hemp seed in the year 1796. I have a printed copy for the County of Armagh that includes the names of Robert Hammond and David Webster. Was the spinning wheel granted to David the same wheel listed in the inventory of his estate in Probate Court Records, Cooperstown, Otsego County, New York?

I had been a professional weaver for many years before learning that my maiden name was derived from the occupation of weaver: in Latin, textor. It was to be found spelled various ways, especially in old Irish and Scottish records: Wobstar and Wobistare, Vobstar and Vobster. In my historical research, I also discovered that one of Ireland's three patron saints was Saint Brigit, who legend says wove the first piece of cloth in Ireland. Her feast day for weavers and spinners was celebrated on February first-my birthday.

And the Websters in Scotland, reportedly an ancient sept of the Clan MacFarlane of Loch Lomond? Faith and begorra, that's another myth to trace.