My mother was very sad, but to my pre-adolescent mind the airplane ride she got to take was worth whatever calamity summoned her to Pittsburgh. Sometime later I realized that my grandpa would not be in Waynesburg to give hugs in 1965. Sometime later I felt the sadness: My mom’s daddy, Donald Corbley Minor, was dead.
By Kay Strickland
I am a keeper of my family's lore, chasing after my ancestors' tales in south central New York, southwestern Pennsylvania and Southside Virginia. The stories and photographs that I share on this blog are my intellectual property. While I do my very best to provide well researched posts, I do not pretend to have reached genealogical proof standards. Therefore, much of this work is to generate conversation among interested parties. If you would like to share my work or my records, please contact me: dkaysdays (at) gmail (dot) com.View Archive →