After the entry yesterday I spoke with my brother-in-law who reminded me of the tales my dad would tell of deer camps in Northern Michigan with the Alpena branch of the Quantz family; his cousins.
This branch of the family was headed by Patriarch John Quantz who was born in Canada in 1837 and died and was buried in the Spratt County Cemetery in 1924, next to his wife Catherine who died in 1917.
His grandfather Melchoir, called Michael by his neighbors, left Hamburg, Germany in 1772 – some say under duress from a pursuing constabulary – and joined the English army that fought against the American rebels in the Revolutionary War. When the war ended, he returned to England where his son Frederick, was born. At some point after that, he returned to the New World and settled in Philadelphia but left for Canada with one William Berczy, known as the founder of the town of Markham, Ontario, Canada.
After establishing the town, Berczy left and lived the rest of his life in Montreal.
At some point after Berczy’s departure, someone in the Quantz family decided to change the spelling of the last name to a more anglicized Quance. Melchoir died – I am not sure when – and is buried in the Buttonville Cemetery.
The area settled outside of the town of Markham by the Quantz family became known as Quantztown, despite the new spelling of the last name.
Over the next few years the several of the children migrated to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan seeking work in the iron mines. When the mines played out, John Quantz went south and homesteaded a farm near the Alpena area of Michigan. One of his sons, my grandfather, William Robert Quantz, left for Iowa when he was in his early twenties to work as a hired hand on a farm. There he met my grandmother, Alma Christiansen, who was working as an indentured servant to pay off a debt her parents made while she was a little girl in Sweden.
My grandfather kidnapped her and they were married and had a daughter and a son before they moved to Comstock, Michigan on the banks of the Kalamazoo River in southwestern Michigan. Their only son, William Robert, Jr. was my father.
The Alpena branch of the family was legend in ours. They were really primitive people. I remember once, when I was seven, we visited their home where we had to use an outhouse for our business… even at night… when it was dark and spooky. I seem to remember their lamps were all oil lamps but I could be wrong about that.
There were stories of moonshine and murders and at least one suicide in that group. These tales made for goose-bump nights when my father told them. Mostly though, he talked of deer camps with his dad, uncle and cousins.
This branch of the family was headed by Patriarch John Quantz who was born in Canada in 1837 and died and was buried in the Spratt County Cemetery in 1924, next to his wife Catherine who died in 1917.
His grandfather Melchoir, called Michael by his neighbors, left Hamburg, Germany in 1772 – some say under duress from a pursuing constabulary – and joined the English army that fought against the American rebels in the Revolutionary War. When the war ended, he returned to England where his son Frederick, was born. At some point after that, he returned to the New World and settled in Philadelphia but left for Canada with one William Berczy, known as the founder of the town of Markham, Ontario, Canada.
After establishing the town, Berczy left and lived the rest of his life in Montreal.
At some point after Berczy’s departure, someone in the Quantz family decided to change the spelling of the last name to a more anglicized Quance. Melchoir died – I am not sure when – and is buried in the Buttonville Cemetery.
The area settled outside of the town of Markham by the Quantz family became known as Quantztown, despite the new spelling of the last name.
Over the next few years the several of the children migrated to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan seeking work in the iron mines. When the mines played out, John Quantz went south and homesteaded a farm near the Alpena area of Michigan. One of his sons, my grandfather, William Robert Quantz, left for Iowa when he was in his early twenties to work as a hired hand on a farm. There he met my grandmother, Alma Christiansen, who was working as an indentured servant to pay off a debt her parents made while she was a little girl in Sweden.
My grandfather kidnapped her and they were married and had a daughter and a son before they moved to Comstock, Michigan on the banks of the Kalamazoo River in southwestern Michigan. Their only son, William Robert, Jr. was my father.
The Alpena branch of the family was legend in ours. They were really primitive people. I remember once, when I was seven, we visited their home where we had to use an outhouse for our business… even at night… when it was dark and spooky. I seem to remember their lamps were all oil lamps but I could be wrong about that.
There were stories of moonshine and murders and at least one suicide in that group. These tales made for goose-bump nights when my father told them. Mostly though, he talked of deer camps with his dad, uncle and cousins.
Although I don’t remember many details I do remember a seeing in my mind’s eye, thin, bearded men, who chewed and spat through stained teeth with gaps between them. I saw red wool shirts with green trousers, also of wool and pie pans with beans heated on a campfire; the same fire that heated cast iron pots full of thick, tar they called coffee.
By the time I would have been old enough to go to this sacred camp, most of the Alpena Quantz men were either in or just out of the state penitentiary or found hanging in the smokehouse. My dad had also become Mormonized to the point he would not have wanted me to hang around that kind of riff-raff. What a shame…
What a damn shame.
By the time I would have been old enough to go to this sacred camp, most of the Alpena Quantz men were either in or just out of the state penitentiary or found hanging in the smokehouse. My dad had also become Mormonized to the point he would not have wanted me to hang around that kind of riff-raff. What a shame…
What a damn shame.
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