Meet William Addington

A Genealogy Series:  (2) William Addington (who was a lot like me...)

He was a man whose name I had never heard, but his story moved me.  He was the ancestor who helped me realize that my interest in genealogy should involve more learning about the real life experiences of the real people who lived and died and built a world for me to live in.  He was an immigrant to Virginia whose final resting place is, coincidentally and ironically, only an hour’s drive from my home.  He was my great-great-grandmother’s great-great-grandfather, and his name was William Addington.

William was born in London, England in 1750.  He was one of many children, as was typical in those times.  His parents were wealthy and intelligent, so they made sure that William was well-educated.  When he was about 20 years old, over his parents’ objections, William decided to come to America. 

Following his arrival in Norfolk, Virginia (about 1770) he traveled for a while.  In 1774 took a bride, Margaret Cromwell from Fauquier County in rural Northern Virginia.  When the War for Independence broke out, William joined the Army.  He served honorably as an officer under General George Washington, and was present at the surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown, along with his eldest child.

William continued to live a full life.  He had several children.  He took his family first to Eastern North Carolina, and then to the far frontier beyond the Blue Ridge near the Clinch River in Southwestern Virginia.  His children included daughter Elizabeth, born 1789, who would eventually move to the hills of Eastern Kentucky and live to be about 95 years old.  Before she died the world would include the telephone and electric lights, although it is doubtful that she had either in her own home.

Although his family continued to live where they had settled in Russell County, almost 400 miles to the west, William Addington’s last three years were spent in Williamsburg, Virginia, where he died in 1805.

I developed a personal attachment to William Addington that I had rarely felt for an ancestor who lived before my time.  It wasn’t just that William was my newfound great-grandfather.  It wasn’t just that he had lived and died and been buried near my home; it was more than that.  Once I learned some of the details of his life, I began to identify with William.  I began to feel as if I knew him. 

The connection I feel with William is not based on a genetic connection, although we do have that in common.  It is not based on the fact that he was responsible for the arrival of one more essential player on the Appalachian stage where my family took shape, although he was.  The connection I feel for William is based on my belief, real or imagined, that William and I have experienced some similar life experiences, and share at least one significant personality trait.  Apparently, we both feel things deeply.

Despite his fascinating and, to all appearances, meaningful life, William in 1802, at the age of 52, found his life too overwhelming to manage.  The fact that I haven’t yet mentioned is that William was buried on the grounds of Eastern State Hospital in Williamsburg, the nation’s first asylum.  William was a long-term patient. 

When I first learned this I was shocked.  With the exception of an occasional case of geriatric dementia (Alzheimer’s) I had never known of a single instance of mental instability in my family until I learned about William.  When I dug a little deeper, though, and learned his diagnosis, I began to understand.  William had been admitted to Eastern State for what they used to call “melancholy.”  Today we would call it depression.  Not insanity, but an emotional condition serious enough to incapacitate him. 

I wonder whether William’s depression was mainly hereditary, or whether it might have been a result of experiences. Could events of his life been responsible for his melancholy?  Separation and maybe alienation from his parents in England?  The stress that a native Londoner might have felt about raising children on the frontier?  Perhaps post-traumatic stress relating to his experiences in the war?

I have never been so seriously depressed that I have needed medical help like William did.  On the other hand, I certainly do understand how depression might be triggered by life events such as alienation, stress, or war.

When I learned the circumstances of William’s last few years, my heart went out to him.  Knowing that Eastern State is still a functioning organization, I wrote to that hospital and asked what they could tell me about him.  I was surprised and impressed that Patricia, from the Health Information Management Department, took the time to do some research.  She wrote back to tell me more about my great-grandfather.  Her response emphasized to me all the more that William Addington was a very real person, a person whose records still exist in a functioning hospital here in Virginia, a person who had done important things, who had raised and provided for a family, who in the end had some emotional distress for which he received help. 

I began to think of William as more than a long-lost ancestor.  It occurred to me that William Addington might approximate a two-centuries-earlier version of me.  I guess the one thing that proves is my own narcissism.  I accept that conclusion.  I also continue to hold to the possibility that my idea about William and myself being similar might be reasonably grounded in reality.

It might seem counter-intuitive, but this is just the sort of story I had always hoped to find while poking around in my family background.  Oh, sure, I was delighted to learn that there’s a King way back there somewhere… but I knew that all the ancestors I would find were not going to be royal, or heroes, or even completely successful in life.  (I knew that just from looking at the family members I have known in my own lifetime.)  When I went searching for my ancestors, I went searching for stories left behind by real people.  I wanted to get to know them, because they are my family and they are important.  I also did hope that in the process I might discover something about myself.  In my once-lost, now-found great-grandfather William Addington, that is exactly what I did.

I intend to drive up to Williamsburg soon, and take a look at the field where he lies.  William’s final resting place is not marked with individual headstones but with a small monument on which there are many names.  It was erected by a decent bunch of people just 20 years ago.  They wanted to show respect for the 55 individuals who died at Eastern State and were buried in that field between 1773 and 1826.  I owe them.  They honored my great-grandfather.  I wonder if many of them are descendants of patients, like me.  I wonder if any of them are cousins. 

One final comment.  A couple of paragraphs ago I stated, “I knew that all the ancestors I would find were not going to be royal, or heroes...”  That is undoubtedly true.  But William Addington, immigrant, husband and father, pioneer, military officer and veteran of the War for American Independence, was a hero.  And a bout with melancholy in his later years does nothing to change that.  I am honored to know a little something about him and, in a small way, to carry on his legacy.  Besides all that, I think my great-grandfather William would be pleased to know that more than 200 years later his family still remembers him.

Gryphem