About 1996, Joan and I decided to go to Europe and look for the Zott Family Birth place. We were doing some genealogy and I don’t remember why but we decided to go and see where Zott’s came from. As far as I knew, it was in France, Alsace Loraine. City—St. Louis. Aunt Josephine had said the city was on a hill with railroad tracks on the low level and when she went there with her parents in about 1923, after they got off the train, they had to carry their luggage up the hill. She said it really tired her out. (Recently discovered it was about a 3 mile trip. Tough for a young girl.) She said there was a church in the center of the intersection on the top of the hill and the houses had barns as part of the house. She said her Father had bought a bell for the church. When church members fell asleep in long sermons, the usher would go around poking them in the ribs and waking them up. Not much useful information and I could not figure out what a poke in the ribs had to do with church bell.Today, as I read the lack of information we had and the fact we could not speak any of the local languages, Joan and I had lots of guts, to seek the Zott birth place. We had said a few prayers asking for Gods help to find it.
We had bought a map of France including highways in the United States. I carefully studied the map and found 3 cities that might be the goal. Remembered thinking, if the first one we see is not right we will go to number 2 and then number 3. Yes, we had a plan. How many cities do you think there are on a hill with a church in the intersection on the top of a hill and railroad tracks at the bottom of the hill?
As we approached the city from the west, we discovered the church steeple on the sky line. Weather starting to look bad. Light rain—scattered. Parked the car by the church. Catholic Church filled one requirement. As Joan and I started looking around , I noticed a bulletin board in back of church and I started to read. I notice an announcement that there was a mass scheduled for a Zott. When we entered the church, Joan had noticed a woman working on her front lawn and or flowers located across the street to the side of the church. She wanted to talk to her. Told her to go ahead. I was trying to get some information off the bulletin board. Realized Joan and woman were ducking rain below the trees. Woman was yelling and waving her hand for her husband. He and I arrived by the two women at the same time. They wanted to know who were we looking for. I kept saying Zott and he kept saying what I thought was Zoat. Finally he grabbed my arm and started pulling me down the street in mild scatted rainfall. I finally got Joan to speed up and join me.He dragged me to a fence with gate. He opened the gate and started knocking on the door. Lady answered door and my guide wanted to speak to her husband. We were in an entry way and out of the rain. Door answerer called her husband and went to go get him in other part of house. When he arrived my guide grabbed his hand and put it and mine together and in a pleased voice said Herr Zoat meet Herr Zoat. And I realized two things, one I had found my relatives and two, my name is Zoat.
Coincidence
I just returned home from work and from a meeting. After work, I had gone to a meeting that was on genealogy. My wife and I had been discussing our back ground. The meeting was on finding your fore fathers etc. We knew that it would be interesting to learn a little about our fore fathers. I knew a limited amount about my grandparents. To do this orderly, we would start with the male parents first. Starting with my grand-father male side first. So my grandfather would be first line and my father line no. 2.
Not sure if this would work but we would try it. First problem, my grandfather was dead. He had come from France. My grandmother would write to them on occasion but war had interfered. The last time my grandmother had written a letter there was no response. She was dead now. My aunt to the rescue.
When she was a small child she had visited with her parents, in France before the war. She had memories. Had several talks with her. She was a small girl when she had gone. She had to drag her suit case up the hill. Terrible job. There was a railroad track at the bottom of the hill. The house they were going to was toward the top of the hill. Knowing my grandmother, I knew my aunt had a heavy packed suitcase. Oh yes, a church sat on top of the hill.
So knowing the general area, my wife convinced me we could find it. I figured she was looking forward for a trip to France. Hey, it sounded like an interesting time. So, my wife and I planned a trip to Europe. Yes, we had a lot of people laughing at us. People look for places with a map and other type of information. Here I am looking for a church with a steeple with a bell located on a hill. Believe that I was laughed at by many when they heard of our trip and goal.
I bought a road map of France. I studied locations. For some reason, I had a feeling the area we wanted to see was in eastern France. So, to Europe. One Monday morning I found my wife and I on a highway to eastern France. Beautiful day. Joan and I were headed east in southern France, full of hope.
We began to approach the eastern border. Looking forward, on the horizon appeared what looked like a hill with a road headed upward. Yes, there was a steeple. Looked like a church. Finally drove up to the side of the church and parked the car. I headed to enter and see what I could learn. My wife saw a woman working in her yard across the street from where I parked. Off she went. I headed to the church. On the wall in the back were names of people and “mass” data, names of people who were going to have a mass said for them.
There was a Zott name on the board. I headed to tell my wife. She tried to introduce me to a gardener she met. Neither of us spoke French. Gardener spoke French. I
By now the husband showed up. He spoke French too. We had made great progress. Don’t laugh. Lots of thoughts rushed thru my head. I realized he wanted me to follow him. He wasn’t going to rob me. He grabbed my arm with a tight grip and pulled me down the street to a gate, yard, and to the front door of a house where he sounded their door bell. Man came out and French was being spoken. I was introduced to Herr Zott and was called Herr Zott. Guess I just found out my name was Herr Zott and I had relatives in France. You think I had “good luck” to find the steeple, the church, and “the Zott” family. Hah. Their daughter came home. She spoke English. She worked in Southern France and came home because she had some business to do in her former home area. Information flowed. Thy were excited that we had come looking for them.
They had to tell me about the church bell. It seems they had lost their church bell. Don’t remember why or how. My Grandfather gave them money for a new bell. They still had the “new” bell. Summary: Joan and I had a great trip to France and I found relatives. Yes, there was a railroad track at the bottom of the hill, and a Church at the top of the hill. And there was a church tower with a Zott paid bell they were still proud of. Joan and I took the “new” relatives to dinner at a local restaurant. We had and great visit. They were really happy that we had come looking for them. A few years later my son and wife visited them. Other family members have also gone to France and visit our French “Section”.
One of the surprises. Our new family friends (relatives) had a daughter who lived and worked in the area along the south border of France. She had come home early because she had some business in the area. She was very fluent with English so she acted as interpreter. So, we took the family and daughter to dinner at a restaurant that evening. She did interpreting. A pleasant time was had by all. We spent a couple days and then continued on to Paris. A year or two later my son and his wife went to France and spent a few days with them. Since then. other sections of the United States Zott family tree contacted and became friends with the French Section.
When I got involved with genealogy, people would ask me, "What was my nationality?" With both parents and three grandparents born in the United States, I would reply, "American"; It didn't take me long to realize that this was not the right answer. What people wanted to know was what male on my paternal side, ie., (my surname) was the first to come to United States and his nationality or Country of origin. Since that was the one grandparent not born in the United States, I wasn't sure what was the right answer. Naturally I didn't take an interest in Genealogy until my father was in his eighties and remembered minimal information. Two things he did tell me was his father made wine, and he had the stem personality of a German. Family tradition said my Grandfather had come from Alsace Lorraine. Family stories also indicated the name had been shortened.
My research consumed lots of time with limited results. I did discover that my Grandfather Zott first appeared in the City of Detroit directory in 1892. My Aunt, now in her seventies, also was a source of information, even though her father had died while she was a teenager and family history was never discussed. She told me when she was eight years old (in 1926), her parents had taken her to Europe so her father could visit his family. She thought the area they visited and stayed in was St. Louis in Alsace Lorraine. Her memory revealed that they arrived by train, and had to walk up a mountain and her legs began to hurt and she cried and her father made her go on. She remembered that there was one street and the houses were all connected. Also, they had a barn as part of the house. To those of you who have been to Europe, or have seen pictures of small European communities, this scene is quite familiar. She also remembered there was a church in the town and it had three aisles. She thought that there were seats between the side aisle and the church walls. During the sermon portion of the service there was a man with a long pole who would walk up and down the side aisles and poke the people who fell asleep. Finally, she had worn out her shoes and her father had bought her wooden shoes. This latter information is quite useful when searching for your Grandfather's village, right?
When I joined the SGGS a few years ago, I had just found out about the St. Louis story. So looking in a book, I don't remember the title, I discovered that there were eight cities named St. Louis in France; I didn't discovered how many were in Alsace. (After I returned, I was informed that there were four.) But I did go to Tower Book Store and bought a road map of Alsace Lorraine, and started looking for a St.Louis. Since my Grandfather liked to make wine, I figured he must have lived close to the wine region near the Rhine River. After an hour or so of looking, I found a St. Louis near Saveme, about half way between Strasbourg and Nancy.
The concept that you must know the village (town etc) of your relative before you can do research on your family was well known to me. But I had heard the wonderful research success stories of various members at SSGGS meetings, and with a blind faith, decided to look for my Grandfathers village while I was in Europe this year on vacation. I figured I would drive through the village and see if it had a train station,rowhouses, a church, etc. as my Aunt remembered it. I would ignored the war, the 71 years of time since her visit, and would trust in her memory. Since St. Louis was located out in the country, it may have not changed that much. From previous visits to Europe, minimal change in some areas was a reality, especially small communities. This concept was partially endangered by the fact that neither my wife or I spoke French or German.
A week before I was to leave for Europe this summer, I spent some time with my map and discovered a second St. Louis, south of Colmar near the Swiss border. So I figured I would check my No. 1 choice and if it was not the right one, I would drive south and check the second St. Louis. No. 1 choice was because I found it first and wished and rationalized it as 'my' St. Louis.
My wife, Joan, and I left Strasbourg by car and immediately got lost. If a marriage was ever in danger it was ours as we screamed at each other. Her map reading and road sign identification was one step from useless and my struggle with traffic, other drivers blowing their horns at me because I was slow making decisions at intersections, reading unfamiliar traffic signs, and trying to figure out where we were going had pushed me over the edge. Fortunately, we had a great lunch at a small French bar, and feeling better we mended our relationship and with appropriate apologies to each other continued to search for my St. Louis. Late in the afternoon, under threatening skies, we approached St. Louis and saw what looked like a train station at the bottom of the hill and a street of row houses directly ahead There was even a church in the middle of the road! We felt we had found the right St. Louis. We parked the car and started looking around We went into the church and found three aisles with seats between the side aisle and the walls. Our confidence in this being the right town skyrocketed. Looking at the back of the church on the bulletin board, there was a six month list of memorial services for various people. On the list I found the name "Jean Luc Zott" fourth year anniversary. I think the list was in French, but it was easy to understand. We felt 99% sure this was the area from which my Grandfather Zott originated.
So we left the church and I started taking some pictures. It began to drizzle lightly and my wife said we had to find someone to talk to and find the Zott's. Seeing an older woman looking at some flowers in her front yard and she called out "Parlezvous Zott". The woman looks at her as though my wife was nuts. She calls out again, "Parlezvous Zott". Then the lady calls her husband and I join my wife and we walk toward the couple. I point at myself and say my name "Zott" and he shrugs his shoulders and motions us to join him below his tree since it is drizzling slightly harder. My wife said to me, "Show him your driver license with your name, he may recognize it." So I got it out and showed it to him. He looks at it and says "Zoat". I said "Zott'. We are not getting anywhere here. Since it is raining harder, he motions us to join him in the entrance to his barn to get us out of the rain. He and his wife get into an excited discussion and the word "English" is the only one I recognize. I was about to interrupt and tell him we were American's not English, but decided to keep quiet. He heads out into the rain motioning my wife and I to follow.
Down the street we go, I'm trailing him by 5 to 10 feet and my wife is about the same distance behind me. He motions us to walk faster and up alongside him. Into a yard he goes, up to a door, and rings the bell. An older woman answers and he indicates he wants to speak to her husband. He shows up and my guide says Herr Zoat----Herr Zoat. I suddenly realize that Zoat is my name in the local language and I am meeting a relative. I didn't get excited because things were happening too fast and I wasn't sure what was happening. Both the older woman and my relative called to the back of the house where there were other people. A younger woman shows up and spoke to my wife and I in English. Now we were getting somewhere. She was their daughter and had just arrived with her family from southern France about three hours earlier for a four day visit. The gentleman turned out to be my second cousin, and his wife had considerable information on the male line of the family. Her records went back to the mid-1700"s. Our families lost track of each other during the Second World War.
I realize I didn't do it by the book but after listening to all those fabulous stories at the SGGS Meetings from other members, I had to give it a try. Many people say I was lucky in finding the area. I felt it was the result of knowing my grandfather, astute analysis of available data, detailed planning, and maybe some luck There was one question not satisfactorily answered, my Grandfather's nationality. He was not French nor was he German as many people suggested. He was an Alsacian, and the people speak a local dialect of French and German.
The name was spelled "Zott" back to the mid 1700's. The local language is a dialect of French-German. And one man frequently poked in church was my Grandfather's brother. He was a baker and worked all night before attending services on Sunday morning, and being tired, frequently fell asleep during the sermon. Jean Luc Zott was my second cousin's son. Finally, our families lost track of each other during the Second World War.