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(Headline Missing)
February 13, 1986


pix # 1 - Alvira Williams

pix # 2 - Isaac Newton Wyant

pix # 3 - Charity (McDougle) Wyant

pix # 4 - Mr. and Mrs. Willis Wyant

Several years ago, a Potluck article divulged how McDougal Street got its name from a pioneer family who settled in Seneca County. I discovered, later, that the street name on the sign was not spelled the same as the family after whom named "McDougle."

When Mr. and Mrs. Willis Wyant were packing to move to California in 1985, I was at their home on West South Street and inquired about the two ancestral photos on the wall waiting to be packed.


Those photos, used with today's article, are the grandparents of Willis Wyant. Charity Jane McDougle married Isaac Newton Wyant and from that union came Willis, a grandson.

Some of that family are buried at Fountain Cemetery, but Isaac and his wife Sarah Jane are buried in Liberty Cemetery as will Willis and his wife, where a marker is already placed.

Isaac Newton Wyant was born Nov. 28, 1827, in Mifflin County, Pa., son of George and Barbara (Snook) Wyant. He died Jan. 14, 1870, in Jackson Township, near Amsden, where he was a farmer.

Charity Jane McDougle was born April 21, 1830, in Culpeper County, Va., Benjamin and Nancy (Updike) McDougle. She died June 26, 1873.


The Wyants moved to Tustin, Calif., to be close to their daughter, their only child. From correspondence I know that Willis, especially, misses his many Fostoria and area friends, but he is a good mixer and is making new friends there, especially in the circles of people who are interested in genealogy and history.

Willis' last letter revealed that he was chairman of a table of people from Ohio living in Orange County, who attended a genealogical meeting, the subject being Ohio.

On Jan. 25, Willis was a speaker at the Southern California Chapter at the Ohio Genealogical Society, his subject being "Climbing The Buckeye Tree."

The one thing the Wyants miss greatly is the regular arrival of The Review Times. Willis says delivery service through the postal service is poor.

The Wyant's address is 14400 Newport Ave., Apt. 17, Tustin, Calif. 92680. I know they will be glad to hear from old friends in this area.



A letter from former Fostorian Alvira Williams, about The Review Times special edition, was surely welcomed...and brought back many memories for me too, since she grew up in the same part of Fostoria I did...the east end, close to the railroads.

Whether readers knew Alvira or not, I believe you will enjoy her memories.

"Dear Friends (of long standing), Helen Roby Williams just sent me the Anniversary Edition of The Review Times. She and I were very close childhood friends. Then time and separation kept us apart and we just lost track of each other. Then when you wrote about Sandusky Street she got my address and wrote me. Later came to see me. What a wonderful time we had talking together. Thanks to you.

"And this many memories it brings to mind. I remember when the soldiers came through on the Lake Erie railroad...then it ran down Sandusky Street. Sometimes there would be a train on the Hocking Valley and they would have to stop. The soldiers would have to pile out and pick roses from our house and Aunt Mary Stahl's who lived beside us.


"I suppose those roses were the last some of them ever saw. Mother and aunt Mary took to keeping doughnuts and cookies to give the soldiers. Some of the soldiers would put me on their shoulders and make a fuss over me. I suppose I reminded them of little sisters they had left at home. We had sons, brothers, fathers, nephews in all the wars, but thanks be to God that they all came home.

"Christmas was very special and happy for me. Then came my birthday and it was made special by my great niece and her husband and kids. So it was a joyful day in spite of being an oldster. Yes, I'm 78, but really don't feel it.


"They tell me I'm growing old, I tell you that's not so. The "House" I live in is worn out, and that of course I know.

"It's been in use a long, long time. It's a weathered many a gale. I'm not surprised they think it is getting rather frail.

"The color changing on the roof. The windows getting dim. The walls a bit transparent and looking rather thin.

"The foundation not so steady as once it use to be. My "House" is getting shakey. But my "House: isn't me.

"My few short years can't make me old. I feel I'm in my youth. Eternity lies just ahead. A life of joy and truth.

"I'm going to live forever there. Life will go's grand. They tell me I am growing old. They just don't understand.

"The dweller in my little house is young and bright and gay. Just starting on a life to last throughout eternity.

"They only see the outside, which is all most folks see. They tell me I am growing old. They've mixed my "House" with me!

"Yes, one day I'll meet everyone on the heavenly streets and prove I'm not growing old...still young for all eternity."

(Author's Note: A most welcome letter and such beautiful thoughts in the poem...God bless you. Alvira...and all the oldsters. Her address is 230 N. Main St., Swanton, Ohio 43558.)


"For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them." (Ephesians 2:10)

That short verse from HIS word should be enough to make every reader of this column stop and consider if he or she is really of HIS workmanship, and using endowed talents to further God's plan for salvation.

Are you just a Christian in name, or one dedicated to fill a particular place in God's plan?


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