My father was born 110 years ago
today—or maybe yesterday. He was born at home. It was late at
night. Nobody was looking at the clock. Those on the scene decided
to call it the 24th. There was no birth certificate—no
need for one at the time. It only became a problem some time in the
60's when he needed a birth certificate to apply for a passport. He
had to find a couple of witnesses to attest to the fact that he was
born when and where he said he was.
Had my father had a birth certificate
in 1904, it would have shown that he was named Charles Carrol
Hays—after his grandfather. (Yes, the Civil War grandfather of the
captured flag story.) My grandmother Hannah wanted her son to have his father's name: Thaddeus Stevens Hays. But my
grandfather was having none of it. Having suffered with that name throughout his life, he was
adamant. He would not saddle his son with such a name. But a few
months later he died suddenly, and his widow renamed their son with
the name she'd wanted in the first place. She was reported to have said that she missed
having a Thad around the house. And so it was that my father became
Thaddeus Stevens Hays.
