My valued friend Mike, a few years older than I am, was bored in his retirement from a successful business career and decided to start a small business doing family trees.
Mike’s grandparents came to the US from Italy before his parents were born and after retiring Mike spent a lot of happy time tracing his roots in Italy and here in the US. In the process, he became adept at genealogy.
Mike’s a fastidious, detail-loving guy, so this fit right in for him.
We talk often and Mike has been keeping me up-to-date on this family tree business.
All has been well. Mike spends hours on the computer and on the phone relentlessly following all the branches to dig out relationships that no one else could possibly have unearthed, and Mike and his clients have been happy.
When we spoke a couple of days ago, though, I could sense a troubled tone in Mike’s voice.
When I asked him what was troubling him Mike said “I walked into a snake pit. Bill. I took on a job from hell.”
A man had asked to find his branches and Mike had happily agreed.
A few searches revealed that the man’s great-great-grandfather had lived in Utah and had sixteen wives, forty-five children, one hundred and sixteen grandchildren and too many great-grandchildren to count.
Mike discovered that his client has enough cousins to populate an infantry battalion with some to spare.
Mike’s out of hard drive space.
He waits while thumb drives, ink cartridges and paper reams arrive via Fed Ex.
Ask a few questions before you bid.