I have been thinking about my great uncle, Fred Goodwin (1888-1925). He was no one of note, lived a simple life in a small town. He appeals to me as a historian and genealogist. His life reduced to a few photographs and newspaper clippings, but this is not why I’ve been thinking about Fred. I’ve been thinking about him because 94 years ago today, he was murdered.
Years ago when my mother was reminiscing about her parents, Bina and Levi Goodwin, she handed me an article about Fred. Except it really wasn’t about Fred. It told the story of a train accident that killed three women in 1924, Mrs. George Shafer, Mrs. Harry Young and Mrs. Fred Goodwin. Three nameless women only remembered as the wives of their men. Individually they fade from the historical record as is typical for the times. However, Fred witnessed the entire event, and the following six months of life end with his death.
The gothic tale comes from the heartland in Michigan, unfolding stories of prohibition, money, treachery and malicious prosecution. While it sounds like an ancestry trope, perhaps Fred’s story is rather cherished as a niece, than scrutinized as a historian. Research, however, proved to me that this story is a many faceted window, and each story worked to reveal the true crime; no longer a whispered nuance of my now deceased family.
I’ve spent years trying to find the smallest detail of other’s lives, but I resisted my own family history. I’m wary of telling the wrong story and shattering the bucolic history of a small town. I have no intention of embroidering the fading fabric of the past. The hint of the foul deed can be found in the obituary of Fred Goodwin, “…some ugly rumors current about the village following his death, but an analysis of the contents of his stomach failed to indicate the presence of anything that might have caused his death. It is the opinion the death was caused from a cerebral hemorrhage, he having been a sufferer from high blood pressure for some time.”
Unable to gather information through my family, the story remained an anecdote for several more years, then technology caught up with my research. New sources began to emerge as I reset and verified the disjointed memories of many family members. Spreadsheets filled with anecdotes from the local newspaper archive. Tales of a family, very unlike my own, entrenched in various small towns near Detroit. An absolute network of elected officials, business owners, and fraternal organizations, all partners contributing to one individual’s overriding hubris.
The murder not only took Fred’s life but left him with an unfinished tombstone. The date of death has yet to be marked. During a typical family trip to the cemetery with my grandmother, we stopped at Lakeside Cemetery in Holly, MI. I distinctly remember walking past his grave and asking why we never heard from this relative. The answer I received was clearly not satisfactory, and my mind kept the file, waiting for more. I believe I have satisfied that question, and now the task ahead is to have the tombstone completed. If you have stayed with me this far into the story, click over to the GoFundMe and see the video I captured at the train crossing.
On this anniversary, in honor of Fred Goodwin, may he find some peace in knowing his story is being told.
Thank you for taking the time to read the short version of my WIP.
Cheers,
MJ