Heirlooms' Tale: A Family Story Told by Its Treasures

By Benedicte Grima

Six heirlooms – a portrait, a table, a parure, a whiskey label, a set of books, and a building -- tell the stories of six branches of a family whose possessions lived through three centuries and eventually came together under one roof before dispersing again. These items have survived through generations and witnessed their owners as they evolved through history. In addition to the lives of their individual owners, the stories also cover certain historical and cultural figures, both American and French: slave traders and plantation owners, merchants and financiers of New York, whiskey distillers, Creoles of Louisiana, wreckers off the Florida Keys, drafters on Napoleon’s mission to Egypt, French lawyers and politicians, World War II fighters, and CIA spies. The book pays homage to the heirlooms’ past owners; it also examines the culture that surrounds families of wealth and status and the fierce struggle to retain these advantages through marriage ties. The stories pay homage to the heirlooms’ past owners.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781984581914

Book preview

HEIRLOOMS’ TALE:

A FAMILY STORY TOLD BY ITS TREASURES

BENEDICTE GRIMA

Copyright © 2020 by Benedicte Grima. 813428

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of historical fiction. Apart from two created characters the names and locales are real, while the frame for the story, the dialogues, and some of the anecdotes are the result of the author’s imagination.

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

ISBN: 978-1-9845-8192-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9845-8191-4 (e)

Rev. date: 06/23/2020

Contents

PREFACE AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Chapter 1 A Painting Tells the Story of the Shaws, Savages, and Pughs

Chapter 2 A Building Tells the Story of the Aymars

Chapter 3 A Parure Tells the Story of the Grimas

Chapter 4 The Southern Comfort Label Tells the Story of the Johnsons

Chapter 5 A Set of Books Tells the Story of the Querenets and Guyot Sionnests

Chapter 6 A Writing Table Tells the Story of the Buffets and the Langlades

APPENDIX

For my family: my deceased parents, who passed on the knowledge and treasures from their past; my children and grandchildren; my siblings and their children and grandchildren; my cousins and their children and grandchildren — so that they may appreciate their heritage.

PREFACE AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

What is a family history if not a coll ection of stories, including the lore passed down from one generation to the next? Not only our genes, but also the items passed down, the faces preserved in portraits and photos, tell our family story. It is an unending, ongoing story, to be continued by following generations. It represents not one single branch, but multiple branches from whom we are descended, with each one contributing to who we are. The today of this story may well be the yesterday of another teller down the line.

In addition to the published sources I have cited in this book, I would like to acknowledge the many valiant efforts made over time to assemble information about a single person or family branch. These efforts are collected here to provide the what, embellished with lore and speculated fiction; the how; and the why. Special thanks to all these unpublished efforts, including but not limited to:

• Jeff Bernard’s copy of the Grima/Montegut family lineage chart

• Jeff Bernard’s preserved journal of Edgar Grima as a child during the Civil War in New Orleans.

• Marie Sainte Claire Buffet’s extraordinary notes recounting the roundup of Jews in the Velodrome d’Hiver in Paris in July 1942, and the tension preceding the liberation of Paris from June through August 1944, provided by Elisabeth Olivieri.

• Alfred Grima Johnson’s collected and assembled family portraits of the Shaws, Savages, Dicksons, Pughs, Aymars, Monteguts, Johnsons, and Grimas. These not only offered visual connections to the individuals but also charted their connections so as to provide a constant reference point.

• Alfred Grima Johnson’s typed compilation of letters of Paul Grima to his brother and father during the Civil War, 1939.

• The founder of the Bradish Johnson Facebook page, who has provided a channel for his descendants to remain connected and informed about each other.

• Francine Buffet Johnson’s elegantly composed family history of the Buffet and Querenet branches, and for all the letters, photos and newspaper clippings she held onto so preciously throughout her life. She also shared her life story, recorded and written by me in her last years, during which we spent much time together.

• Leilani Johnson’s recorded video, an oral history of her grandfather, Alfred Grima Johnson, in 2009, a wealth of delightful stories.

• Jacques Perrin’s unpublished three-volume genealogy of the Buffet family, with portions provided by Elisabeth Olivieri.

• Simone Querenet’s many unpublished writings, including travel descriptions, plays, drawings, and family research.

• Mariette Russell’s reprint of Elizabeth Aymar’s Journey from New York to Havana and a Tour through the Southern States in the years 1847–1848.

• Mariette Russell’s formidable family history of the Johnsons and Aymars, including photos, diaries, and news clippings, composed for her nieces and nephews so that they may better know and remain connected with their American heritage.

• Sylvianne Whiting’s photo essay, The Chapel at Branitan, 1982–2008, 2010.

• Sylvianne Whiting’s digital compilation of a Johnson family album, including an entire generation of photos of Grima and Francine Johnson’s home and family.

This story could not have been produced without each of these individual painstaking efforts, all for the love of family. I also want to thank all those family members from various branches, both in France and in the United States, who shared their time and family stories and documents as well as photos and descriptions of family heirlooms.

Family heirlooms narrate this story. Each family branch’s story is told by an item—a painting, building, piece of furniture or jewelry—that has survived through the generations and witnessed its owners as they evolved throughout history. In some cases, an item is paired with another item that has accompanied it through the generations. If you are a descendant of these families and your name does not appear, perhaps the items did not travel down your branch and did not know you.

Interestingly, as they knew I was writing this book, my children offered me a gift of a DNA testing kit, which I submitted. It was returned to me with the following results: 53 % of me is from England, Wales, northwestern Europe, 38% from Germanic Europe, 7% from Ireland and Scotland, and only 2% from France despite my maternal affiliations. Go figure! For now, I will rely on family documents.

Special thanks go out to all those who helped make this project possible. My husband Paul, who patiently took and retook photos of old prints, for his assistance digitizing and reworking these on Photoshop. Kevin Delinger at the Georgetown University Library for his photos of the Egyptian books. Rod Lincoln, historian for Plaquemines Parish in Louisiana, for his time and information on the Delta area and Woodland Plantation. Cousins and family in New Orleans who helped me discover that side of my family: Jeff Bernard and Anne, Patricia and Camille Strachan. Gregory and Leilani Johnson, who accompanied me on an exploratory journey through southern Louisiana. All those who spent hours reading and editing the manuscript: Nancy Bouwsma, Janet Goldstein, Rod Lincoln, Sara Robertson. Mita and Gerry Bland, who hosted me and allowed me to plow through Mita’s aunt’s—Mariette Russell’s—unfinished manuscript of Aymar and Johnson family history: boxes filled with letters, diaries, photos, etc. Family members who provided me with letters and documents, and who took photos of treasures in their possession, especially my two sisters, Manita Coggins and Sylvianne Whiting, and my cousin, Immacolata Bland. Thanks also to Elisabeth Valois Olivieri, who provided the notes by Marie Sainte Claire Buffet. Apart from the images of the Egyptian books, provided by Kevin Delinger, and that of the Southern Comfort label, permitted by Sazerac Company, all images are from private family collections. The portraits collected and arranged by family in the Appendix are the work of my father, A. Grima Johnson.

Chapter 1:

A Painting Tells the Story of the

Shaws, Savages, and Pughs

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I am a painting, oil on canvas, 36 by 28 inches, of John Shaw. When people see me, they often comment to my owner, What are you doing with a painting of George Washington? They ask because both portraits were painted by Gilbert Stuart, a famous 18 th century artist. In both paintings, the men are shown at an angle, their left side closer to the front and more illuminated. Washington’s coif puffs out on each side of his face, while Shaw’s long, thick hair is pulled back to what could be a ponytail, showcasing his curly sideburn. And although the men have pronouncedly different facial features, their eyebrows, thick and dark, arch in the same manner. Washington’s entire face is clearly lit and milky white, with rosy cheeks, while in the lower half of Shaw’s face, you can detect a hint of a darker shade than the pink and white on his upper cheeks and forehead. Shaw’s long, thin nose dives straight down to just above his lower lip; he could touch his nose with his upper lip without grimacing. And the eyes: Shaw’s eyes are rounder and slate blue, looking straight at the artist or his viewer, despite the angle of his face, while Washington’s dark brown eyes follow the angle of his face to gaze toward his outstretched hand.

Both men’s throats are turtled in the white cotton neckwear worn at the time, with the same knot and bow, although Washington’s is clearly more elegant: ruffled, with lace at the bottom. Shaw wears a yellow button-down vest under his black coat, which flares open except for a single gold top button. The coat is open to accommodate his seated pose in a dark burgundy velvet armchair, where he holds a closed book in his left hand, his index finger inside to mark a page. The ruffles do not emerge from his coat sleeves, as do Washington’s. The painting of Washington is typically seen from the chest up, although that is only a portion of the entire Stuart portrait, which shows the man standing and gesturing to a table with ink and papers. Both men wear the same long coat with the stiff neck raised in back to cover the white scarf. Washington’s coat is closed, as he is in a standing position.

So much for my appearance, as painted by Gilbert Stuart.

John Shaw (1750–1820)

and Elizabeth Long Shaw (1746–1797)

John Shaw, obviously my first owner, is said to be the first Irishman to request U.S. citizenship. Born in 1750, he traveled to America and became a New York financier and a merchant fleet owner, whose ships carried goods and supplies across the Atlantic. He operated from an address on Water Street in New York. While preparing his ship, the Drager, to return from Dublin in 1793, he entered an inn on the eve before his departure to review some last-minute directives with his captain and first mate. Following a discussion with his crew, the captain mentioned that a young man was asking about crossing with them, and he called the stranger over to their table.

May I introduce you to Gilbert Stuart, the captain nodded to Shaw, excusing himself from the ensuing conversation.

You wouldn’t happen to have a spot for an artist on your vessel, would you? asked the man after they had drunk an ale together. I don’t have the fare, but I could work for it.

Where are you from, my friend, and why are you headed to America? questioned Shaw, who was only five years older than Stuart.

Newport, Rhode Island, responded the young man. I’ve been studying portrait painting and techniques of the grand manner, both in London and in Dublin. I’m ready to return home and seek commissions among the rich and famous. He pulled some scrolls from his satchel to show Shaw, who was impressed, but said nothing until he had finished yet another ale.

Would you paint me, then? asked Shaw, eyeing the artist with mingled hope and doubt. I may not be a statesman, but I am a wealthy New York merchant, certainly worthy of a portrait by an aspiring artist in exchange for free passage.

The honor is mutual, Sir, said Stuart, grinning. He ran to get his satchel, and the two walked to the Drager together. That crossing in 1793 was spent most agreeably by Shaw, who donned his best attire and proudly posed, seated in a red velvet armchair in his cabin, dressed in his black high-collared coat and ruffled white neck scarf. This fortunate arrangement allowed Stuart to practice his portraiture, for which he would later become renowned. He named the painting The Sitter.

John Shaw hung me with pride in their New York parlor, where he and his wife, Elizabeth Long Shaw (1746–1797) could show me to their visitors and retell the story of how he had helped to launch Mr. Stuart’s career. Elizabeth loved to share her own Dutch family lineage, going back four generations to Wouter Van Twiller (1580–1646) and Katrina Van Rensselaer. Van Twiller had been Director of New Netherland; and John Shaw, an immigrant from Ireland eager to implant himself in the upper echelons, had seen a solid New York grounding in Elizabeth. A good marriage would enhance upward mobility.

Following the Declaration of Independence in 1776, the wealthy New York merchant couple always entertained on the Fourth of July, as the window from their parlor provided a perfect view of the celebration in the city. I never cared for the booming and crackling of bombardment, the flaring lights, or the red mist of smoke that hovered over the streets the following days and, with the slightest breeze, entered through the window, adding a layer of dust to my surface. To me, it was pandemonium leading to runaways, clothes and buildings set on fire, fingers blown off, eyes put out.

The noble spirit in New York during the 18th and 19th centuries was fastidiously focused on one thing: working hard to become and remain rich. If ever there was an energy that spurred Americans, it was this drive. It prompted Shaw’s attempt to diversify his assets and, apart from his own shipping business, acquire two shares of the Tontine Coffee House on Wall Street, among the busiest centers for buying and selling stocks. I’ve wondered since, when I’ve heard people refer to themselves as true East Coast personalities, if it is this side of themselves that they cannot relinquish: the eternal drive to work hard, accomplish greatness, and leave a legacy.

Alice Long Shaw Foley (1784–1858)

and John Edward Foley (1775–1829)

Alice Long Shaw was John and Elizabeth’s only daughter. Poor Alice’s hair proved frizzy and unmanageable, so that she could not wear the hairstyle of her time; as a result, she was labeled as quite homely by her peers. A painting of her reveals her dark, wavy hair twisted into a chignon and covered by a frilly headpiece. It accents her narrow face, long pointed nose, and pinched mouth. She is wearing a wide lace collar held shut in front with a large brooch to soften her harsh features and black dress.

Alice had the added disadvantage of possessing a high, squeaky voice that she never learned to control, covering it instead, or so she thought, with an even squeakier laugh. Thus, she laughed at herself constantly and had none of the composure expected of a lady of her status. Despite these defects in hair and voice, I knew she made up for them in her personality: gay, loving and generous. In 1810, when Alice Long Shaw married John Edward Foley (1775–1829), who had just immigrated from Ireland, her father gave me to her with the following condition:

I want you to have this painting of me that you have seen all your life in our parlor, John Shaw enunciated slowly, weighing the importance of his words. And with it the heavy silver filigreed tray bearing my initials, which I had made by the finest silversmiths in London.

What an honor, Papa, squealed the young woman. I will keep these items and pass them on to my children and their children, and you will be memorialized in them.

John Foley convinced Alice to pack up and leave New York, as they ventured on the arduous journey south by stagecoach and riverboat to New Orleans, where their six children were born.

So, when Alice’s and John’s daughter, Elizabeth Catherine Foley (1806–1886), married Thomas E. Pugh (1796–1852), Alice kept her promise and gave me and my partnered tray as a wedding present to the couple with the same words her father had told her, Remember that you are not the owner of these treasures, but the steward, and that you must pass them on to your children to memorialize our past.

Thomas E. Pugh (1796–1852)

and Elizabeth, aka Eliza, Catherine Foley Pugh (1806–1886)

Thomas E. Pugh was descended from the Welsh squire Francis Pugh III (1692–1736), who had married Pheribee Savage (c.1702–1752), daughter of Captain Thomas Savage II (1663–1728), granddaughter of Captain John Savage (1624–1678), and great granddaughter of Thomas Savage I (1594–1627), about whom many stories were told in my presence. Three Pugh brothers, the youngest descendants of the last independent Prince of Wales, had sailed from Caernavonshire on the coast of Wales to Jamestown, Virginia in 1666, and Francis Pugh III became Justice of the Peace in North Carolina. Francis died in 1736, leaving a son, Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Pugh (1719–1813), who married Mary Scott and fathered Thomas E. Pugh.

As for Pheribee’s family, her great grandfather, Thomas Savage I, had sailed to America from England as an orphan boy and a servant on a supply ship in 1608. There, an English colony was being established in Jamestown, and the ship carried women to help populate it. Young Savage worked for Captains Christopher Newport and John Smith and was introduced to Pocahontas, who taught the boy the Algonquin language and life habits. As Savage became adept at these, the captains made him interpreter and cultural go-between with the Native Americans in exchange for his freedom. As part of his duties, Savage was offered as a son to Powhatan, who seemed pleased with his gift.

May he be a boy of your flesh and blood, proffered Captain Newport, as he handed over the boy. Savage, doing the job of participant observer, as anthropologists would label him today, lived with the Algonquins and learned their culture and habits. Pocahontas showed him the plants they grew, like corn and tobacco. As mediator, he helped to prevent skirmishes between the English and Algonquins and to promote trade between the two. Savage traveled back and forth between Jamestown and Powhatan’s village.

After a difficult winter buried in snow and besieged by angry Algonquins, the surviving colonists of Jamestown decided to return to England; but Tom felt rooted there and did not want to leave. He remained and subsequently became an interpreter for the new governor and settlers of Jamestown, who returned to the abandoned fort. As colonial secretary and interpreter, Savage I traveled in 1621 to the eastern shore of the Chesapeake Bay to initiate trade with the Indians. There, he settled in Virginia with his wife, Hannah, where he became a planter and landowner, and where his grandchildren and their children remained. His grandson, Thomas (1663–1728), raised his family in the home, and his daughter, Pheribee Savage, married Francis Pugh, the squire from Wales who had settled in Virginia in 1666. While Pheribee and Francis remained in Virginia, allowing Pheribee to continue to visit her natal home and family, their three grandsons moved in tandem to Louisiana, where they settled, each building his own plantation. One of these grandsons, Thomas E. Pugh (1796–1852), married Elisabeth Foley—aka Eliza (1806–1886), John Shaw’s granddaughter.

Thomas E. Pugh, who in 1818 bought and developed Madewood, a magnificent 10,000-acre sugar cane plantation on Bayou Lafourche near Napoleonville, with a sugar refinery and three hundred slaves to work it, brought his bride, Eliza Foley Pugh from New Orleans, to Madewood Plantation, where she became its First Lady. The mansion, modeled on Greek Revival architecture, was completed in 1846. Its front porch, complete with elegant, massive white columns, dominated the area. Eliza brought the silver tray and me as part of her dowry. I always had the feeling that my owner had married into greatness, and I was glad to share my own heritage with such a noble one.

It was at Madewood on the Bayou Lafourche that I once again occupied a prominent spot in the parlor, enjoying four generations amid other busts and paintings lit by crystal chandeliers, where descendants from the Shaw and the Savage families often gloated about their lineages over cigars and cognac after dinner. By then, since we were both descended from a common ancestor, the silver tray and I were an inseparable dual display. It was also at Madewood that I met the pot-bellied spindle-legged sewing table and spindled four-poster bed offered to Eliza as a wedding gift from her parents-in-law, the Pughs. Although I never shared space with the bed, the sewing table and I spent many hours in the parlor together, teasing each other about our pasts and our position in the current household.

You’re no more than a painting from an era past, a relic that signifies less and less with each passing day, huffed the sewing table. I, on the other hand, am functional, and will never lose my usefulness.

For years I witnessed a