THE UTICA EXPERIENCE 

By Bill Potter 

Ever since discovering that my original Irish immigrant forebears settled in the Utica, New York area, around 1844, I had wanted to go there to see what, if anything, I could find.  The first week of September 1994, I finally made that trip. 

Christopher, my great grandfather, wrote an account which gave sketchy information about the towns of Westmoreland (pronounced “wesmerLAND” by the locals) and Whitesboro.  Although they are small villages, I soon discovered that the “towns” are really like townships, covering a much wider geographical area within Oneida County. 

Another complication, assuming they lived in the town of Westmoreland, was which of the two larger cities, Utica or Rome, each about ten miles from the village, might they have gone to for their needs?  I was suddenly thunderstruck by the realization that their only means of transportation in the 1850s was a horse and buggy, horseback or on foot.  What a chore that must have been.  On the other hand, that’s all they knew. 

County Clerks, Town Clerks, Village Clerks were interviewed for death records.  I tramped over six small old graveyards, checked the county deed records and found nothing.  The State of New York did not mandate death certificates or records until beginning in 1880 and most simply did not keep such information until law required it. 

In Rome as in Utica, nothing was found at the Historical Society offices.  The Rome public library did have copies of the 1850 Federal census and, fortunately, I was able to find the listing for John Potter, his children still living at home and that of his son William and his wife and children.  William must have lived next to John as they were the 36^th and 37^th dwelling enumerated. 

The time I had allotted for the search was running out and I had found nothing but the information in the 1850 census.  That information was discovered reviewing the microfilm at the Rome Public Library in the afternoon and into the evening of the last day I planned to spend in the area.  Next morning I planned to go to Cooperstown to see the Baseball Hall of Fame.  I ruminated all that evening and finally decided to give the Catholic cemeteries in Utica one last check before leaving.  After all, they evidently were good Irish Catholics and, despite the distance and the difficult traveling circumstances, they probably would be buried in “hallowed ground.” 

The first three of the four Catholic cemeteries I visited that next day hadn’t even opened until the late 1890s or early 1900s.  The fourth and last, St. Agnes, had opened in 1851.  Maybe this would be the one.  Cemetery offices are often hard to find; usually “buried” on the far or back end of the property and often no one is there.  The St. Agnes office was difficult to find but there was a live human being in this one, a very nice man, it turned out.  He was not, however, very hopeful when I explained what I was looking for. 

He hauled out a very big, old book which listed burials by year.  There was no Potter listed in 1852, the year Christopher said his father died.  And, the caretaker said, there were forty or fifty bodies brought from another cemetery when St. Agnes first opened but no records were kept of those.  In my mind I began to consider giving up.  But wait, there was a “John Potter/Walsh” listing on the 1853 page.  I didn’t understand the “Walsh” reference but did start to get excited.  There was a reference to the section and plot numbers.  “Just point me in the direction and I’ll find it,” I said to the man.  “You’ll never find it,” he said, “I’ll take you there.”  Now I was really excited. 

He jumped in his truck and I followed in my car.  After going some distance, he pulled over and  got out and started walking away from the road.  I quickly got out and followed him about one hundred feet and – there it was – unmistakably, the “Potter” monument.  I choked back tears of joy and feebly thanked the man for his help.  I just stood there for a long time, reveling in this extraordinary and deeply spiritual moment. 

This 140-year-old piece of our history was right there in front of me.  What a thrill it was to finally find it! 

It is an impressive monument, much larger than I expected, especially with my vision of their being relatively poor Irish folk.  As I approached it from the west, “WILLIAM” – Son of John & Mary Potter” stood out clearly.  Moving to the north side, there was the inscription for John and Mary.  This was it -- I was sure, despite the discrepancies in dates and ages.  I walked around it a dozen times, touched it, caressed it, cleaned off some of the moss growing on it and touched it again and again.   

Before leaving for this trip, I had to keep reminding myself that I could travel over 1200 miles and find nothing.  But here was the one thing I really wanted to find, the hard evidence of their presence.  What a joyful experience!