Back in 1998, I briefly fulfilled a dream of taking tap dance lessons. I found a small dance studio in Brooklyn and learned to “shuffle, ball, change” across the floor. Much to my disappointment, I just wasn’t a natural. I wanted to glide like Gregory Hines, and the many greats who preceded him. Little did I know that I was distantly related to one of those renowned hoofers: Leslie “Bubba” Gaines, my great-grandmother Florence’s half brother who had died the year before I took my first tap class.

Bubba and Florence, who shared the same mother (my ancestor Annie), were 25 years apart. According to the 1910 census, by age 38, Annie had given birth to 12 children, eight of whom survived. Census records show she would have at least two more offspring by 1920, the youngest being Bubba. Florence, the eldest of Annie’s kids, was the mother of my maternal grandfather.

In my family history research, Leslie Gaines had initially been just another name pulled from U.S. census records. About a decade after my tapping phase, I learned about Leslie Gaines the dancer thanks to a genealogy-centered conversation between my aunt and a rediscovered cousin, who asked her, “You’ve heard of Bubba, right?”

Since that day, I’ve discovered a plethora of information about Bubba Gaines, in print and video, including his 1997 obituary in The New York Times and the 1977 documentary Great Feats of Feet, in which he danced, joked, and reflected on his life and career. He spoke about performing with his early dance partners at the Cotton Club in Harlem (thanks to Bill Robinson a.k.a. Mr. Bojangles) and being on the same bills as Cab Calloway and Louis Armstrong. The documentary also shows Bubba playing the trumpet.

Born in Georgia, Bubba was an amateur boxer who competed in the Golden Gloves in his younger days in New York City, where he and his family had migrated in the mid-1920s.

As part of the tap dance group The Three Dukes (also known as The Aristocrats of Tap), Bubba performed in Europe at the start of his career, fresh out of his teens. (You can catch this trio in the 1934 movie short Mills Blue Rhythm Band.) He served in WWII, and said in a New York Magazine article from 1979 that he had earned five battle stars. In addition, Bubba was an emcee and a performer with the U.S.O. for two decades, traveling the world on a diplomatic passport.

Bubba is known for his jump-rope tap dance routine. (His protégée, Deborah Mitchell, founder of the New Jersey Tap Dance Ensemble, has kept the routine alive as a tribute to her mentor.)

Throughout his career, Bubba collaborated with many esteemed dancers (including Gregory Hines!). From 1979 through 1994, he was a member of The Copasetics, which was composed of celebrated, veteran tap pros. (Here they are on The Dick Cavett Show in 1979.) He also appeared in the 1979–1980 retrospective musical revue Black Broadway and this scene in the 1984 Francis Ford Coppola film The Cotton Club. Bubba was inducted into the International Tap Dance Hall of Fame in 2023.

My half great-grand uncle on my mama’s side was described as an “athletic virtuoso” (New York Magazine, 3/15/82) and a “delightful conversationalist” (Tap Dance: A Beginner’s Guide, 1983).

I regret that I didn’t know Bubba existed until it was too late to meet him. The stories he must’ve had! And with both of us residing in New York City, maybe I could’ve gone to see him perform on stage. I’m grateful for the recordings that exist, which show him in his element.

It’s fascinating how a seemingly random ancestor can turn out to be someone who left behind a legacy still felt today. I’d love to hear about a discovery from your own family research.

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To provide jobs during the Great Depression and conserve America’s public lands and natural resources, President Franklin D. Roosevelt proposed the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) as part of the New Deal.

This public works relief program, which operated from 1933 to 1945, gave single young male citizens employment as laborers, paving roads, planting trees, constructing buildings, and more. Over the course of the CCC’s existence, the ages of the enrollees ranged from 17 to 28. However, WWI vets didn’t have an age restriction and they didn’t have to be single. (If you’re interested in information about Native Americans and the Civilian Conservation Corps, click here for the history of the CCC Indian Division.)

Established in 1935, the Works Progress Administration (WPA)—later renamed the Work Projects Administration—was another major New Deal agency created to provide jobs and income to unemployed Americans (both men and women) during the Great Depression. While the WPA focused mainly on public works projects such as building roads, bridges, and schools, it also supported the arts and education. For example, the Slave Narratives project, which collected interviews with formerly enslaved people, was commissioned by the WPA.

The WPA did not have a nationwide age limit like the CCC did. An applicant had to be at least 18 years old. Eligibility was based on unemployment, financial need, ability to work, and often being the head of a household.

Growing up, I had heard that my late maternal grandfather had worked for the CCC, but my family did not have the specifics. I never met him, so I could not ask him myself. When the 1940 census was released in 2012, I learned that he had also worked for the WPA. Having these leads opened a paper trail documenting part of his young adult work history.

The National Archives’ National Personnel Records Center (NPRC) holds records related to federal relief agencies, including the CCC, WPA, Civil Works Administration (CWA), Federal Emergency Relief Administration (FERA), and National Youth Administration (NYA).

Not sure if someone in your family tree participated in a relief program? You might find the name of a male relative in the Civilian Conservation Corps Enrollee Records on Archives.gov, which has free digitized images of workers’ files. (Or you could fill out request forms for researching CCC and WPA employees.)

Another angle is the 1940 U.S. census, which is an especially useful launchpad for tracing relatives during the Great Depression. Question 22 asks whether a person worked on, or was assigned to, public emergency work projects conducted by the WPA, NYA, CCC, or state and local relief agencies during the week of March 24–30, 1940.

When I found my grandfather in the 1940 census, taken April 4, 1940, he was listed as a laborer in “building construction” for the WPA.

You can also check if a male relative worked for a relief agency by examining World War II draft registration cards, which might list a relief agency as the employer. My grandfather’s WWII draft registration card, dated October 16, 1940, notes that he was employed by the WPA in Pelham Bay Park, which is in the Bronx.

His WPA records reveal interesting details, such as his individual earnings statements (his salary for an assignment was $52.80 a month); notices of work projects (including a job in November 1938 on E. 177th Street and Ferris Avenue in the Bronx); and my personal favorite: a list of his New York City addresses, which helps me better understand his timeline.

Among the CCC records I received were the results of his physical examinations, including his height, weight, vision, hearing, and other observations—such as flat feet and a small scar on his lower back. As part of their preparation, enrollees were inoculated against typhoid-paratyphoid and smallpox. Another form noted that my grandfather’s usual occupation was a truckman.

I also received a list of my grandfather’s CCC work history. In April 1935, at age 19, he went to Camp Dix in New Jersey for conditioning, which included manual labor and physical exercise. The U.S. Army was in charge of constructing, supplying, and running the CCC camps. CCC laborers earned $30 a month, of which $25 was sent home to a parent or guardian.

I came across an informative firsthand account of a Black CCC enrollee from New York City, which appeared in the August 1935 edition of The Crisis magazine. Titled “A Negro in the CCC” and written by Luther C. Wandall, this article gave me an inkling of what my grandfather experienced at Camp Dix. For example, the writer shared the typical menus for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He also described the temperaments of the officers in charge.

According to my grandfather's work record, his first CCC assignment lasted for four weeks in the spring of 1935 in Blauvelt, New York. There, he worked as a laborer on road construction projects with Company 1251 at Camp SP-29.

Then, in August 1935, he was among a group of Black CCC workers stationed in Elmira, New York, as part of Company 1251-c (the “c” stood for “Colored”) at Camp SP-46. The previous month, CCC director Robert Fechner had ordered racial segregation among CCC camps. (The segregation wouldn’t be foreign to my grandfather: He left Georgia as a boy with his parents and siblings during the Great Migration to live in New York City.)

My grandfather spent three weeks in Elmira working on road construction in Newtown Battlefield State Park, where the CCC workers built many park facilities. According to an article in the spring/summer 2007 issue of The Preservationist, a publication by the New York State Office of Parks, Recreation, and Historic Preservation, newspaper reports at the time said that the company’s officers claimed they were “very familiar with commanding ‘colored men.’” In 1937, Black officers replaced the white officers in charge of Company 1251-c after pressure from critics, which included some members of Congress and the NAACP. This groundbreaking appointment of Black leadership was preceded by Company 1355-C in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. Check out this video to learn more.

Below are a couple of newspaper clippings that help paint a picture of my grandfather’s life during his time in the CCC.

Don’t forget, even temporary jobs can leave a lasting historical footprint that can reveal unexplored chapters in your ancestor’s story.

*Recommended websites: CCCLegacy.org and LivingNewDeal.org

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: Sit with your elders and ask questions. Collect anecdotes, ancestors’ names, physical descriptions, timelines, and identify people in old photos. Don’t let holidays pass by without adding to your family’s memory bank.

My father passed away two years ago, on Mother’s Day, almost a month shy of his 91st birthday. During his lifetime, he shared many stories about growing up and the people who had a lasting impact on him. I am so glad that he wrote this short essay almost 20 years ago for our family newsletter about his paternal grandmother, whom he revered.

He met her in 1946 when he was an adolescent. Eleven years later, she departed this earth—but her influence remained a guiding force in his life. In the spirit of Mother’s Day, here are my dad’s precious memories of my great-grandmother Ruth.

The Martin family has its origins in Jamaica. It all began when my grandfather, Charles, who was said to be tall and was quite an imposing figure, succumbed to the charm of my grandmother, Ruth. I did not know my maternal grandparents who were also from Jamaica, because they died in Colón, Panama, before I was born.

I was fortunate to know Granny when I was 12. Everyone called her “Granny.” Some, who knew her better, called her “Granny Ruth.” To me she was Granny, my grandmother. Ruth Ann Martin was her name. A grand old lady who befriended everyone, young and old. No wonder an English prince, on a trip to Jamaica, could not resist from asking her to dance with him! When friends visited the home, and played the large Victrola, after winding it and placing a record to play, she would often be asked by one of our young friends to dance with them, and she obliged.

Granny was married to Charles Martin, who is listed on my father’s birth certificate as a planter. Together with their large brood, they lived in Jeffrey Town, in the Parish of St. Mary in Jamaica. They settled in an area of the place [informally] called “Martin Town,” where relatives still reside today.

After my grandfather’s untimely death, Granny packed up with her seven young children and moved to Panama, where they resided in Colón. My father was 12 years old when he landed on the Isthmus.

Granny was one of those who helped to organize the “Brothers’ School,” (Colegio San Jose) and Saint Joseph’s Church, and she supported her family as a midwife and seamstress. After seeing her children married and settled, she returned to Jamaica.

Many years later, my brothers and I were privileged to be sent from Panama to live with her in Spanish Town, Jamaica, while attending school. She was strict, but she was fair and caring. Granny was always willing to offer some advice or lend an attentive ear to your problems.

Her faith in God was without limit, and she could be cool under the most trying circumstances. I recall during a most destructive hurricane, when everyone in the house was fearful and excited as the zinc sheets were heard to be ripped off the roof and the strong winds bent the coconut trees and the boughs repeatedly whipped the top of our house, she sat calmly and asked us to trust God.

Granny died in 1957 at the good old age of 94. I credit her for helping shape the person I have become.

Minnie’s death was always part of the family story. Because of that, I grew up wanting to know more about her—who she was, what her life was like, and what exactly happened to her.

What we knew was limited: Minnie died at about 24 years old. She had been tending to a younger relative’s hair when her dress caught fire. She ran outside, was badly burned, and died soon after. My grandmother was just under two months old.

We had such little information because the incident was too traumatic for Frank or Minnie’s sister to discuss in detail. As a result, the story was never fully passed down to my grandmother. There was also a major gap in the official record: We were unable to locate a death certificate for Minnie in West Virginia, where she died. (Years later an archivist told me that this may have been due to a 1921 fire that destroyed many records, or because no certificate was ever filed.)

As I began my own research, I was able to confirm several details and build a fuller picture of Minnie’s brief life. I found her in the 1900 and 1910 census records in Virginia, and located Minnie and Frank’s marriage record, which took place in Huntington, West Virginia. They’d left their birthplace of Virginia to settle in a new city, where they started a family.

A helpful researcher with access to a funeral home log book in Virginia later informed us that Minnie’s body was transported by train back to Augusta County, Virginia, on Saturday, Nov. 22, 1919, for burial in a family plot in a church cemetery. That cemetery still exists, though there are no surviving headstones for my family members.

The 1920 census shows that my great-grandfather and his infant daughter had relocated to Staunton, Virginia, where they were living with relatives.

Even with those findings, key questions remained. Where exactly did Minnie and Frank reside in Huntington, West Virginia? What were the circumstances of Minnie’s death? Was there any written account of the incident?

The turning point came after I watched an episode of Who Do You Think You Are? featuring Rosie O’Donnell in 2011, in which she uncovered details about an ancestor who died in a household accident. That episode prompted me to revisit my own search and focus more directly on local newspapers.

On Feb. 22, 2011, I posted a request on Ancestry.com’s Cabell County family history and genealogy message board asking if anyone could check Huntington newspapers from November 1919. I didn’t have to wait long. On March 12, 2011, a volunteer responded that he had located an article published on Nov. 21, 1919, the day she died (see below).

The article confirmed my family’s account, but added important details.

Minnie had been cutting her nephew’s hair and then began preparing a late-night meal on an open gas stove. As she turned, her dress caught fire. Neighbors responded to her screams and helped extinguish the flames. Two doctors examined her and determined that her injuries were severe. She died within three hours.

The article also provided additional context. One of the physicians listed, Dr. Martin, was the same doctor who delivered my grandmother, matching the name on her birth certificate. It also identified my great-grandfather’s employer as the Imperial Drug Company.

The newspaper account filled a major gap in the record. In the absence of a death certificate, it serves as the most detailed contemporary account of Minnie’s death.

This research reinforced an important point: Missing records do not always mean the end of the search. In this case, an article—found through a simple request—provided information that official documents did not.

For our family, it also clarified the circumstances surrounding a loss that had been discussed for decades, but never fully documented.

On my must-read list: Black Huntington: An Appalachian Story by Cicero M. Fain III

On my to-do list: Black Huntington History Trolley Tours