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revisited by bones

Introducing Mary Elizabeth Beyl (1879–1916)

She was born the daughter of a French immigrant and a woman who changed names like seasons. Raised in a modest house on Jackson Street in Columbus, Indiana, Mary Elizabeth Beyl lived a life that rarely made headlines but quietly shaped the generations that followed her.

The records call her Mary, while her grave calls her Mollie. Her death certificate names one woman as her mother, while the census suggests another. And somewhere in the shuffle, a baby girl named Helen appeared in the household before Mary had her own children.

She married a wagon driver. She bore a daughter late in her twenties. She died too young, with illness written on her death certificate and love written on her stone.

Hers is not the story of a scandal or a rebellion—but of a woman who left behind just enough questions to keep a genealogist curious.

🕯️ Want to meet Mollie properly? Her full story—names, mysteries, and all—is waiting on her family page.

🔗 Read Her Full Story »

💬 Did you know Mary? Hear stories about her, or her daughters, or the Blake family? We’d love to hear what you remember. Leave a note in the comments—every memory helps bring her closer.

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Beyl, Grover Thomas - Person Profile

Introducing Grover Thomas Beyl

🧵 Meet Grover Thomas Beyl: The Meandering Butcher of Marion County

Today would have been Grover Thomas Beyl’s birthday—born July 25th, 1891 (or possibly 1892; the records squabble about it). He was a butcher by trade, a husband and father by heart, and a man whose journey through Columbus and Indianapolis left a trail of addresses, trades, and—eventually—tragedy.

Grover’s life wasn’t grand in the traditional sense. He didn’t leave behind books, buildings, or fame. What he did leave behind were butcher knives dulled by honest work, sidewalks warmed by decades of footsteps, and a family stitched into the fabric of Indiana history.

From carpentry to meat cutting, city directories to censuses, Grover’s story is one of movement—up Jackson Street, down Bates and Cruft, over to Kelly and Tabor. A map of his life reads like a humble heartbeat across Marion County. And his final chapter? A car crash on a late August day in 1938, ending his life but not his story.

This month, we’ve revisited Grover’s life in detail—from census records to draft cards, addresses now lost to parking lots, and one very poignant obituary. You can view the full timeline, explore his mapped journey, and dig into his story in the complete profile post here ➤.


🕯️ Did You Know Grover?

If you’re a descendant, distant cousin, neighbor, or just someone with an old family story tucked away—we want to hear from you.

Did your grandparents ever mention Grover? Do you have a family photo or recipe that might relate to this branch of the tree?

Drop a comment below or send a message. Sometimes the smallest detail—a tool brand, a street name, a whispered memory—can help us bring someone back to life more vividly than any document ever could.

Grover’s story is still unfolding—and you might just hold the next piece.

~Kris
🕵️‍♂️ Someone Peed in My Gene Pool

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