GENEALOGY: Using a Y-DNA test to answer (some) questions about my family tree

Let me say this:

I know you don’t care about my family tree. That’s OK. My family tree is beside the point. I’m writing this in case you’re wondering whether a Y-DNA test can tell you anything about your family tree.

And the answer to that question is, “Kind of!”

Starting point

I had a working theory about my ancestry.

I had traced my paternal line to George Pack, my 5th great-grandfather. George was born around 1755 in Virginia and died in 1825 in Kentucky. I’m descended from George’s son, Samuel.

I mention this because the names of the Pack men are important to the working theory.

Several years ago, I came across a manuscript called “Ancestral Families of Robert Lee Pack,” by a college professor and professional genealogist named John Vallentine.

Robert Lee was John’s wife’s grandfather. Robert Lee’s great-grandfather was a different Samuel Pack. This Samuel was from the same generation as my 5th great-grandfather. He was born around the same time and in the same Virginia county.

John thought my George and Samuel might be brothers but couldn’t prove it.

He also hypothesized that George and Samuel were descended from one of the original English colonists of New Jersey, also named George Pack. The short version is there was a steady line of George and Samuel Packs beginning in New Jersey and ending 100 later in present-day West Virginia.

What the Y-DNA said

DNA is deoxyribonucleic acid, the molecule that passes genetic information from one generation to the next. Y-DNA tests look at the Y-chromosome, which passes virtually unchanged from father to son. Sometimes, at random, there’s a mutation, and these mutations can be used to estimate how recently two people share a common paternal ancestor.

My Y-DNA test results said there’s a good chance John nailed it.

Let’s start with the question of whether my 5th great-grandfather was brothers with the Samuel Pack who lived in West Virginia.

Two strangers who’d taken the test listed Samuel as their earliest known paternal ancestor. Counting backward, I’m the first generation, my parents, the second, etc. George and Samuel’s father, the earliest possible Pack ancestor I could possibly share with these strangers, would be the ninth generation.

Based on our DNA, the testing service estimated there’s a 99.41% probability that these cousins and I shared a common ancestor within nine generations. That meant there’s only a 0.59% chance that our most recent common ancestor was someone else.

The test didn’t say who their father was. It only indicates there’s a strong chance that George and Samuel were brothers. We think their dad was a trapper named Samuel based on local tradition, family lore and a decided lack of Packs in the area at the time, but there’s no way to prove it because there’s no paper trail.

According to John’s theory, George and Samuel’s great-great-grandfather was a colonist named George Pack who arrived in present-day New Jersey in 1665.

Counting backward, this colonist would be the 12th generation.

My Y-DNA was a close match with two descendants of the earliest George Pack. John’s theory is that my line was descended from George’s son, Samuel. The guys I matched with were descended from a son named Job, whose family migrated first to Canada and then out to Utah and Idaho.

There was a 95.42% chance that one of these cousins and I had a common ancestor within 12 generations. The other cousin was an even closer match. The testing service estimated there is a 98.31% chance we shared a common Pack ancestor within 12 generations.

What does it mean?

By itself, the Y-DNA test didn’t tell me much of anything. It told me who I matched, but it didn’t tell me why I matched.

Judy G. Russell, a genealogist and lawyer who writes The Legal Genealogist, says, “DNA only works with the paper trail research, not instead of it.” Without things like birth records, wills, and court records, we can’t say for certain whether my cousins and I are linked through the trapper Pack or the George Pack who lived in New Jersey.

We might be connected through the trapper’s brother or George Pack’s uncle.

But then there’s Jack’s hypothesis.

Serious genealogists follow the Genealogical Proof Standards, a set of best practices that the Board for Certification of Genealogists that allows you “to come as close as possible to what actually happened in history.”

Basically, you should:

1. Do reasonably exhaustive research.

2. Include complete and accurate source citations.

3. Analyze and correlate the evidence thoroughly.

4. Offer a convincing resolution of conflicting evidence.

5. Provide a soundly written conclusion based on the strongest evidence.

In other words, you should do the work and be able to defend it.

John did that. He acknowledged that there was “a scattering of colonial Pack families” and that “Pack families settled in several eastern Virginia counties between 1655 and 1700,” but “family records for these early-day Virginia Packs are sparse,” and, besides, no one had linked these random colonial Packs to Samuel or my 5th-great grandfather, George.

The Y-DNA evidence was imperfect, but I believed it strengthened John’s argument, so I gathered up everything and applied to the Descendants of the Founders of New Jersey.

There are a bunch of hereditary and lineage organizations out there. The most famous might be the DAR, the Daughters of the American Revolution, which is open to women who can prove descent from someone who supported the Revolutionary War. The group I applied to is for people who can show they’re descended from one of the original New Jersey colonists.

A few months later, they accepted. I now have a certificate showing that genealogists who don’t know me read the application, weighed the evidence I submitted, and thought, Yeah, that checks out.

So, Y-DNA tests can be tremendously helpful, but they can’t tell you everything.

Santa is kind of like FedEx

Thing 2 (who’s 7 now) is having doubts and asked me the other day whether Santa Claus is real.

I asked him what he thought, and he said he wasn’t sure but that he didn’t see any way that one man on one sleigh could deliver all those toys to every kid on the planet in just one night.

I said that’s not how it works.

I explained that Santa used to deliver all those toys personally. back in the old days, when the population was a lot smaller, but that he uses a lot of helpers these days.

Santa is kind of like FedEx, I said. One truck couldn’t possibly deliver all those packages to all those homes and businesses in all those countries in one 24-hour period, I said, but a fleet of trucks and planes certainly could.

I said Santa runs the operation. He’s like the CEO. The toys are made by the toy companies, not elves. These days, the elves run the warehouse and oversee distribution.

The toys are delivered first to Santa’s headquarters at the North Pole and then, on Christmas Eve, they’re flown on big cargo planes from the central warehouse to regional distribution centers all over the world and then to local distribution centers, where the toys are placed on trucks and driven to people’s homes.

That’s a lot easier and a lot more efficient than trying to pile all those toys on just one sleigh, I said. The delivery truck drivers drink the milk and cookies and send any leftovers to the North Pole, where Santa shares them with the elves.

Thing 2 thought about it for a moment or two. “I don’t get it,” he said.

That’s OK, I said.

In this 1927 photo, Santa Claus (left) receives his pilot’s license from William P. MacCracken (seated) and Clarence M. Young of the U.S. Department of Commerce. PHOTO: Library of Congress

My cousin’s make-believe hog farm

Collier's_1921_Hog_Hampshire_HogMy mom’s cousin died a couple of weeks ago. He was my cousin, too, but he and Mom grew up together and were about the same age, so I think of him as her cousin. I didn’t know him well, but I always liked him, and I’ll never forget the story he told about the time he threatened to open a hog farm and slaughterhouse in his backyard

Morris lived out in the country. I don’t know how many acres he had, but it was a big backyard, big enough for a hog farm, anyway.

Some developers bought the land behind his and applied for a change in zoning so they could put up a subdivision. The county said OK, as long as the developers built a berm around the subdivision and planted enough trees to give the surrounding homeowners some privacy.

The developers built the berm but planted only a few trees and called it a day.

Morris didn’t like that. He complained to the county and the developers, but they didn’t do anything. The developers said they’d followed the letter of the agreement with the county and they weren’t going to waste time or money planting any more trees.

Morris didn’t think that was right.

He lived out in the country, on land that was zoned agricultural, so he went to the county and pulled a permit to build a hog farm. Then, he paid a guy to make him a big sign that he mounted on his side of the berm, positioned so everyone who came to look at lots in the subdivision could see it:

Coming soon: HOG FARM and world-class SLAUGHTERHOUSE!

Ands he listed his phone number.

Pretty soon, the developers called.

You’re bluffing, the developers said.

I just pulled the permits, my cousin said. They’re on file at the courthouse, if you want to check.

You’re not really going to build a slaughterhouse, the developers said.

Sure I am, my cousin said. It’s gonna be great, too. State of the art. Gonna have a few hundred hogs, make a lot of money.

Pretty soon, the developers sent a crew around to cover every square in of that berm with trees, and Morris pulled down the sign.