There Are Outlaws in My Genes

First, I need to make an apology.

A couple nights ago, I spent about 5 fruitless hours working on family history. (Sure, you could say it was productive if you like to identify your ancestors by eliminating each the other 10 billion people who have ever lived on the earth. One-at-a-time.)

When I was getting ready to wrap some things up, the FamilySearch servers crashed, and I was frustrated. I put the following on Facebook:

“I wonder if FamilySearch has driven anyone to drink.”

Um. Sorry about that. I got much more positive feedback than I was anticipating. In my defense, I must tell you that I posted it at around 1:00am…

Just so you know, I LOVE the folks at FamilySearch, I love the amazing progress and improvements they have made. I love the green temples, and am grateful for the work they do. It’s God’s work, you know.

I am also confident that they will all accept my apology, because:

a) They are good people with very kind hearts, serving the Church and the world. (Refraining from making a “server” joke here.)

b) They have to.  Jesus said.  Repeatedly.

Now that we have that behind us, let me tell you about my heritage. Sure, I’ve talked before about all the Church History-famous relatives I share DNA with – names like Smith, Pratt, Haight, etc. But as I dig further back into my family history, I have been finding a lot of ancestors that seem to have a commonality that- perhaps – has found its way into my DNA as well.

Outlaws.

Now I am not admitting to being an outlaw in any way, shape or form, but I will confess that it occurred to me today that I could steal a bag of ice every time I leave the grocery store for the next twenty years, and no one would ever notice.

I will also confess that I figure out crime dramas on TV far too easily. I usually just spot the washed-up actor who you are surprised to see on the show, and you can bet that the has-been is the bad guy.

My EC worries about my ability to think like a criminal. My response? It is surely a good thing that I am a Mormon.

Back to my heritage…

It appears that every line I follow back ends up with someone fleeing their homeland to come to America. Part of my problem is that it seems most roads lead from Scotland, and, well, those Scots seemed to have a knack for getting themselves into trouble.

I did have some ancestors who ran away due to religious reasons – Huguenots from France, and Covenanters from Scotland- they seemed to be coming for good reasons – or fleeing from a fight they picked, but couldn’t win. Most of these ancestors came long before the county was founded.

One of my favorite ancestor-outlaw stories is about Richard Pell, who emigrated to the Colonies from Surrey, England, back in about 1735.

When Richard was around ten years old, he and some friends were playing an “old-time” ball game, (cricket, I suppose) when one of the boys knocked the ball over the fence into a neighbor’s pig sty.

Inside the pig sty was a mama sow and her piglets. None of the boys wanted to climb into the pig sty for fear the mama pig would attack. (Anyone recalling the movie “The Sandlot” about now?)

Finally, Richard Pell gathered up his courage and hopped the fence. What they feared is exactly what happened: The mama sow, protecting her piglets, charged at the boy. In self-defense, Richard picked up a rock and flung it at the sow.

He missed.

But he hit, and killed, one of the piglets.

Richard and two of his friends were immediately arrested on the charges of “Pig Murder.” Yes, my ancestor was a murderer. Of a pig. I did not know that “Pig Murder” was even a crime.

Here is the amazing part: Apparently, the English considered killing a pig a pretty serious crime. Richard and his two friends were taken from their families and shipped to Virginia – yes, that Virginia – as indentured servants – or what they called “Bound Boys.”

Ten. He was ten years old. Never went home again.

He worked as the servant to an iron worker in Virginia until he was 21 years old. At that time he was released. In the meantime, he had become a highly-skilled iron worker himself. Upon his release, he married, got himself some land, and had some kids.

And THAT is how one of my ancestors came to this land.

Just to clarify, I am not a murderer. Although I will admit to being tangentially responsible for the death of numerous pigs. Simply because they are delicious.

And a reminder: Just because some of my ancestors were troublemakers and murderers does not mean that It will impact my outcome on Judgment Day. Nor do I expect the halo-effect of my righteous ancestors to “save my bacon” at Judgment Day.

I’m responsible for what I do.

Is it wrong that I’m craving tiny pork chops?

Now go spend some time on FamilySearch.org and find your own stories!

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