Great-Grandma Alter's Secret: She wasn't an orphan.

My great-grandmother, Helene (Herline) Alter, claimed to be an orphan—but that wasn't exactly true!

Helene was born in 1886 in Hoboken, New Jersey, just across the Hudson River from New York City. Her roots were deeply planted in a proud German-American lineage. Her grandfather, Edward Herline Sr., was one of the “Forty-Eighters”—a group of intellectuals and reformers who fled the German states following the failed revolutions of 1848. A Bavarian artist by training, he established a thriving lithography business in the United States.

Helene’s father, Edward Otto Herline, initially followed in his father’s artistic footsteps but found his skills less in demand as printing technology advanced. He pivoted to sign painting, a trade that took him throughout the Mid-Atlantic and Great Lakes regions.

Edward Otto Herline

But in June 1887, the family's story took a dramatic turn. According to the Pittsburgh Post, Edward fled the city with his wife and infant daughter, leaving behind a trail of unpaid debts. He owed his business partner $500 and his landlady $120 and had passed several worthless checks on his account at Duquesne Bank. The family soon resurfaced in Toronto, Canada—safely beyond the reach of U.S. authorities—where Edward was listed as a sign painter in 1889. But by 1890, Edward's name had vanished from the city directory. After that, the trail goes cold.

In subsequent years, there are scattered sighting of a similarly named man turning up in major cities like Cincinnati and Fort Wayne, but none can be definitively tied to Helene’s father. In 1918, Edward’s sister, Helen Lach, filed a legal claim against his property in New Jersey, summoning him via newspaper notice to appear in Hudson County Court. The implication was clear: Edward Otto Herline was either dead, missing, or in hiding.

But what of Helene and her mother?

By 1900, Helene’s mother—Elma Etta Ross—had remarried a man named Henry Truex and relocated west to Council Bluffs, Iowa, where Henry worked as a bartender at a local tavern. Helene, once a well-to-do city girl, was now a teenager in a rural town—and she wasn’t happy about it. At 16, she married a young man named John Kissel and moved to Denver, Colorado. Whether she ever saw her mother again remains unknown.

Elma Etta (Ross)
Herline Truex Becker

Tragedy struck in 1905 when John died at just 21. Helene was then taken in by John’s sister and her husband—a couple she always referred to as her Aunt Margaret and Uncle Dan. In 1909, she married my great-grandfather, Dr. Charles Alter, a dentist who would go on to run a thriving practice in Southern California. Together, they raised two daughters—my grandmother and great-aunt—neither of whom ever knew their mother had been married before. They also never knew that “Uncle Dan and Aunt Margaret” were not truly family.

Most remarkably, their mother never shared a word about her own parents. Helene claimed she was an orphan, and that was that. It was a story the family accepted without question for generations.

It wasn’t until I began my own genealogical sleuthing that the truth began to emerge. Elma’s marriage to Henry Truex seems to have lasted only a few years. By 1904, while Helene was living in Colorado, Elma had moved to Southern California with her aging parents, Hiram and Sabra Ross. Hiram, a Civil War veteran suffering from serious health issues, sought out the ocean air and nearby veterans’ services in Santa Monica.

Later that year, Hiram died, and Elma witnessed her mother’s application for a widow’s pension - signing her name as “Elma Becker” of Santa Monica. She was only 35 at the time and theoretically could have lived for decades more. But like Edward before her, after signing her name, she simply vanished from the records. We don’t know who Mr. Becker was, or whether Elma stayed in California. And we don’t know when—or where—she died.

Helene Herline, not an orphan!

We do know that Helene’s grandmother, Sabra Ross, remained in Santa Monica until her own death in 1917. At the time, Helene’s daughters—my grandmother and great-aunt Ruth—were just three and six years old, living in the city of Pomona, a mere 40 miles away. Yet they never knew their grandmother even existed.

So, what was behind Helene's attempts to erase her entire family from memory? What secret was she carrying that caused her to bury her past so completely that even her own daughters were convinced that she was an orphan. Was my great-grandfather aware of the truth? Was he complicit in the lies?

We may never know the entire truth – but it’s a mystery I will continue trying to solve.

[[David Randall > Mary Edna Alter > Helene Herline > Edward and Elma (Ross) Herline]]

Per and Elvera Johnson: A Story of Love and Loss

When it comes to couples, I’m fortunate to have photographs of my parents, my grandparents, all of my great-grandparents, and most of my second great-grandparents—some in multiple stages of life. But for this month’s “Couples” photo theme, I’ve chosen to feature a painting of my great-grandparents, Per and Elvera Johnson, the parents of my grandmother Leona Johnson, whom I wrote about in my previous post on “Language.”

This portrait has held a place of honor in my family for generations. It once hung at the top of the staircase in my grandmother’s home—a daily reminder of her parents’ legacy. After her passing, it moved to my mother’s bedroom, where it remained until her death last year. Today, it continues its quiet watch in my home, a silent connection to the generations who came before me.

My great-grandfather, Per August Johnson, was born on March 5, 1882, in Essex, Page County, Iowa, to Swedish immigrants James and Carolina (Peterson) Johnson. The third of seven children, he was raised on a farm in southwestern Iowa, where his family was part of the close-knit rural Swedish-American community.

Elvera Vendla Mathilda Bergren was born six years later, on March 23, 1888, in Grant Township, Montgomery County, Iowa—just a few miles from where Per grew up. She was the daughter of Gustaf and Christina (Anderson) Bergren, also Swedish immigrants. Like Per, she was the third of seven siblings and grew up on a rural Iowa farm, surrounded by the customs, language, and faith of her Swedish-American heritage.

Both Per and Elvera suffered a multitude of losses early in life. Per lost his 19-year-old sister Emelia in 1903 to what was recorded only as a “chronic illness.” Elvera’s eldest sister, Delia, died in childbirth at age 24 in 1907. She then lost both parents to consumption—now known as tuberculosis—her father in 1910, followed by her mother in 1911.

This portrait was painted from a photograph taken at their wedding on April 3, 1912, in Red Oak, Montgomery County, Iowa—just twelve days before the sinking of the Titanic. They settled in Fremont Township, Page County, where they began their family. Their first daughter, Leona, was born on January 16, 1913, followed by Eleanor on December 26, 1914.

The young family remained in Iowa through the 1910s, though sorrow continued to follow. Elvera’s brother Carl died of tuberculosis in 1913, her sister Edith died in childbirth in 1917, and Per’s mother Carolina passed away in 1919.

In 1919, Elvera herself contracted tuberculosis. At the time, there was no cure—her only hope lay in a change of climate. Like so many others afflicted with the “White Plague,” she moved west to Colorado, where the dry air, high altitude, and abundant sunshine were believed to offer the best chance of recovery. Per relocated the family to Boulder, and Elvera was admitted to the Boulder Sanitarium, a respected health facility modeled after Dr. John Harvey Kellogg’s sanitarium back East.

Located at the base of Mount Sanitas and operated by the Seventh-day Adventist Church, the Boulder Sanitarium specialized in holistic treatments for respiratory diseases. Patients followed strict diets, received hydrotherapy, and spent long hours outdoors in the mountain air. While Elvera fought for her life, Per was left to care for their two young daughters with the help of Elvera’s sister, the girls’ Aunt Esther. It was a difficult and uncertain time for the family—emotionally, physically, and financially.

Sadly, Elvera died on February 12, 1920. She was just 31 years old. Her death left Per a widower with two small daughters. Eighteen months later, Aunt Esther also passed away, leaving two young children of her own.

Later that year, Per remarried. His second wife was Bertha Johnson (no relation), the woman my grandmother would always call “Mommy.” Per and Bertha were married for 45 years, until his death on August 15, 1966, in Boulder. I was just nineteen months old at the time. Bertha lived another 18 years, passing away in April 1984.

Per and Elvera are long gone, but their legacy endures—not only in the century-old portrait that still hangs on the wall, but in the lives shaped by their experiences. Their love, losses, and quiet perseverance have left lasting imprints on the generations that followed—shaping us in ways we may never fully understand, but which continue to echo in our lives today.

Per and Elvera Johnson

[David Randall > Mary Welch > Leona Johnson > Per and Elvera (Bergren) Johnson]