The Landrigan Puzzle, Part 1: The Hunt for Kathryn Hunter

Elusive Ancestors: The Hunt for Kathryn Hunter

In 1976, at the age of 81, my great-grandmother died. Her name was Kathryn Hunter Voke, and she left behind an array of conflicting facts, a mysterious past, and some very confused children.

"Papa Nana" (as she was called) was born April Fools Day 1895 in Baltimore, Maryland. Of course, according to her sister, the family was from Winthrop, Massachusetts. She apparently loved to tell stories, yet a family historian, this made things difficult for me - my grandfather truly had no clue where his mother was from. When asked about his grandparents, he would tell me all about his grandfather's days on the railroad, how they were cut short in the 1918 influenza epidemic, and how his wife, Catherine Spalding, had died shortly thereafter. His name was John Hunter, and much to my surprise, the Vokes had kept his picture in the basement for almost 100 years.

John J. Hunter, ca. 1898
The only Hunter family picture
prior to the 1930s.

Kathryn Alicia Hunter of Baltimore turned up no results. All my family knew was the two younger Hunter sisters - Sister Mary Evelyn and Sister Ann - who had both entered a convent in their early lives. My cousin Eddie threw in another child, James Louis Hunter, who died at a young age. It was thanks to these ladies that I made my first discovery: the 1910 census from Massachusetts with three girls named "Hunter" listed in a Dorchester orphanage, all of them born in Massachusetts. At just 16, Catherine was the oldest, followed by Evelyn G. Hunter, and then Mildred, born ca. 1899. I had long hoped to find extended family full of warm feelings and southern hospitality, yet for three girls in a Boston orphanage, this notion seemed unlikely.

Hunter girls, 1910 Federal Census

A phone call to my grandfather confirmed these names - the second sister became "Mary Evelyn" as there had already been a Sister Evelyn in that convent, and Mildred became "Sister Ann" due to her dislike of the name Mildred. It was still possible that this wasn't the family, as Hunter was such a common name, yet the likelihood increased with each repressed story the various Voke cousins told me. As it turns out, Papa Nana was born in Winthrop, she had been in an orphanage at one point, and the Sister's of Charity - not family connections - had brought the girls down to Baltimore. The icing on the cake came in the form of the 1900 Federal Census:

1900 Federal Census, Winthrop, MA

This seemed to answer a lot of questions. I eventually discovered the Massachusetts State Archives (this was a long time ago), and from there I found the death of John Hunter in 1899, Catherine (Landrigan) Hunter in 1906, and the birth record for Katherine Alice Hunter on April 1, 1895. Her marriage to Edward J. Voke had listed these facts as well, and with the examination of guardianship documents, I was no longer skeptical. It appears that, after 100 years, we had finally found Catherine Hunter, and while the truth may not have been pretty, it was nice to finally know the facts about somebody so revered by her descendants.

In reality, Kathryn Hunter's early life had been one of extreme sadness, or so I would imagine. Her father died a horribly painful death at a young age (according to his obituary in the local paper), and after seven years of a stretched income, she became an orphan at age ten. Despite having seven aunts and uncles, a grandmother and various other relatives in the area, she found herself in St. Vincent's Orphan Asylum for the destitute, left with the responsibility of two younger sisters. She spent her 18th birthday petitioning for guardianship of Evelyn and Mildred. All three girls joined the convent - though, evidently, my great-grandmother left at some point in the 1910s. My mom said that Papa Nana was always rather closed about her emotions, and any mentions of family besides the two Sisters were few and far between. People often mention how difficult life was for our ancestors - I can't even imagine the suffering Kathryn Hunter endured, not only in childhood, but also the many years to come. My great-grandfather, Edward Voke, was a largely respected man in the area, and keeping up with the high-society life was likely very difficult for a woman with such a haunting past.

My grandfather died knowing nothing about his mother's true life, though he died two years after I made my initial discoveries. In this case, the truth was better left unsaid...