The thing about olden times is that they were tough. Even if you had money (which you probably didn't), the threats of war, famine, and disease were ever-looming. It was common for families to lose multiple children, and not just at the mall.
We are here today because our ancestors survived, so it's reasonable to assume that we all come from fairly tough stock. But some are made of tougher stuff than the rest.
Take Heinrich "Henry" Holle, for example—a rather memorable ancestor of one of our clients. Old Henry came to the United States from Germany in the mid-1800s with a dream and—we're guessing—some pretty deep pockets. Settling in Washington County, Illinois, he bought 80 acres and soon after married Maria Keister, whom we refuse to make the butt of any joke.
They had several children together, whom they named "Herman," "Friedrich," "August," "Catherine," and "Anna," like all Germans at the time did in order to confuse and frustrate future genealogists.
Henry did well as a farmer, which he liked to flaunt around town, as evidenced by this census record.
Federal agents mad cause I'm flagrant, read my mail, tap the telegraph in the basement...
Things took a turn, however, when Henry developed some beef with his neighbors, das Feaszlers (Fesselers? Fearslers? You tell me...). The nature of their dispute is unknown, but we can imagine Henry was angry that everyone in town shared the same set of 15 names. He would run into the field looking for his daughter, yelling, "Anna!" and fräulein would magically appear from every nearby farm, irritated and asking, "Vaht is it, already?"
Okay, fine, we made that last part up. But on February 28, 1874, Henry Holle did shoot at and attempt to kill one of the Feaszlers, in what must have been an argument about whether it was or was not a leap year. Henry Holle missed, unfortunately, and days later, Feaszler marched himself down to the nearest police station in Nashville, Illinois and snitched.
Soon after, in early March, Constable William Lane showed up at Holle's residence to arrest him. Holle, however, drew his revolver on Lane and said, "You'll never take me alive, Constable," but in German.
"Es ist ein Schaltjahr, du Einzeller!" Henry Holle, caught in the act of not going to an 1874 Illinois jail.
Apparently, the constable was a spry little thing, and was able to run and jump to avoid Holle's fire. After what we can only hope was literal minutes of near misses set to the tune of Yakety Sax, Constable Lane finally drew his own gun and told Holle his options were surrender or die. Holle, who always hated Cheap Trick, chose the latter, and turned his revolver on himself.
Heinrich "Henry" Holle, you left us with a great story... but, like, probably you should have just gone to jail, right?
Rest in peace, Henry.
Nashville Journal, 11 Mar 1874
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