My Courageous Immigrant Ancestors

One of the nice things about being on the East Coast now is that I'm closer to some of my relatives who know all sorts of interesting things about our family history.

For example, I recently found out that my first ancestor to come to the U.S. from Ireland was a fellow named Patrick Keegan, who was born around 1775 in the Sligo-Roscommon area. He came to New Jersey around 1800, and the way the story has been handed down, he wasn't here for more than about 5 minutes before he was run over by a team of horses and killed. In all fairness, if you've chosen New Jersey as your destination how much better could you really expect?

I know what you're thinking-- that's sad and you shouldn't make fun of the guy. Well, he was my relative, so that legally means I can make fun of him all I want. You may also be thinking what I was thinking when I heard this story-- If he died as soon as he got here, how did he have time to father children who would in turn father other children that would eventually lead to me?

The answer is simple: When he came to the U.S. he left behind a wife and children. (Since he was from Ireland I'm guessing he left behind A LOT of children). The plan was to make some money here and then either send for them, or for him to return there eventually. His oldest son was named Patrick MacDermot Keegan (because just plain "Patrick Keegan" didn't sound Irish enough) and a few years later he followed in his father's footsteps and came to the Maine coast (a much, much better decision already). Unlike his father he didn't get killed immediately. He got a job doing something and was eventually able to bring the whole family over, just in time for them to enjoy drinking Guinness and attend St. Patrick's Day parades in the U.S.A., while their fellow countrymen back home geared up for another famine and continued oppression from the British.

Patrick (PMK) eventually moved to Boston and raised a family. To give some historical perspective, PMK had several daughters, one of whom was named Sarah. Sarah Keegan was my grandmother's grandmother.

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My first ancestor ever to come over here came from England. His name was William Shurtleff and he arrived in Plymouth in 1636. He did well for himself, apparently, and had a big family and lots of heirs, despite the fact that you don't come across the name Shurtleff too often. One day around 1665 William was sitting in his house, in front of his fireplace watching-- the fireplace, I guess-- when a bolt of lightning came down the chimney and killed him.

So there you have it. Quite an impressive pedigree, wouldn't you say?