This is a continuing series on my genealogical adventures in obtaining family records for a dual citizenship application. You can read my previous blogs here and here.
By early afternoon, I decided to head straight for Crown Point, the county seat of Lake County, Indiana. According to the website, the building that housed marriage and divorce records was located directly across the street from the one with birth and death records. Efficient, right? I actually thought to myself, “Wow, Lake County has it together!”
Think again, Lori.
Crown Point Confusion
Our GPS led us to… a juvenile detention facility. No address numbers anywhere. Hoping for better luck, we crossed the street to a large, official-looking government building and went inside.
That’s where I was able to obtain one record: a marriage certificate. After six hours of effort, that felt like winning the lottery. The staff promised to research the divorce record and contact me if, yes if, they found it.
Next stop: the County Health Department, which, according to an officer, was “the white building next to the juvenile facility.” Turns out the reason we hadn’t seen it was because it was set so far back off the road it might as well have been hiding.
My husband noted, “Hey, we got the first free parking space right in front of the door. That’s a good sign!”
Narrator: It was not a good sign.
Enter: The Wall of Gary
The moment we walked in, we were greeted by multiple signs declaring that the health department did not have records for Gary.
Wait, what? This is the Lake County Health Department, and they don’t have records from one of the cities in the county?
I double-checked the website later, no mention of this. I asked the clerk at the window where I could get Gary records. She looked at me like I had just uttered profanity in Latin. “At Gary’s Health Department,” she snapped.
“And where is that?” I asked.
Without a word, she pointed to a sign with an address on it, turned, and walked away.
Wow.
The Ethnic Club and the Mystery Man
My original plan had been to stop at two more locations that day, a local ethnic organization where my family had once been active, and the Diocese to pick up church records. But it was nearly closing time, and now I had three stops to make, clearly, that wasn’t happening.
We decided to do as much as we could, spend the night and continue the next day.
We started with the ethnic club, since it was close by. A car was parked out front, but the building doors were locked. I had tried to reach out to them previously with no success. No website. No returned Facebook messages. At this point, I figured I'd just mail them a query and hope for the best.
As we were pulling away, a man opened the front door. I jumped out. He wasn’t affiliated with the group but rented office space there. Still, he was helpful, gave me two phone numbers and admitted that the organization wasn't exactly known for its communication skills. No kidding.
He also offered advice on dual citizenship. Turns out, he was trying to apply, too but his info was wrong. He’d tried to get his birth certificate through VitalChek. I’ve used them before. They happily took my money and never delivered a record. (Pro tip: if you use them, pay with a credit card that’ll support you when you dispute the charge.)
This man told me he had made 37 phone calls to try to track down his birth certificate because, brace yourself, Gary wouldn’t give it to him.
Why not?
“You’ll figure it out,” he said.
Oh boy. I could hardly wait.
A Warm Welcome in Gary
Next stop: the Diocese. They informed me the church records I needed had been transferred to another parish. I called. They had just closed, literally two minutes earlier.
So we decided to head straight to downtown Gary to try and retrieve the birth and death records I needed.
When we arrived, a shirtless man was being confronted by a police officer on the sidewalk. And in my head? Back Home Again in Indiana was playing. You can’t make this stuff up.
We parked quickly and headed inside the same building I had visited as a child to get my birth certificate before starting school. The elderly security guard greeted us warmly and directed us upstairs.
The First Hint of Hope
There were two employees at the counter, and one immediately asked what we needed. Miraculously, we received two birth certificates almost right away. After seven hours of driving, detours, and dead ends I finally had three documents in hand.
Then things went south. Fast.
The Death Certificate Debacle
I asked for three death certificates, dated 1919, 1966, and 1970. (See pic above) The woman behind the counter asked for the deceased individuals’ birth certificates.
I calmly explained: they were born in the 1800s, outside the U.S., and their countries didn’t issue birth certificates at that time.
Her response? “No birth certificate, no record.”
That is not Indiana law. That is a clerk making up her own rules and digging in.
I showed her original death records issued by that very office. She didn’t care. She asked for death certificates of their children which I provided. I also gave her birth and baptism records for one child.
Still no.
I tried to show her obituaries naming the parents and just for fun, me. Nope. She wasn’t having it.
Then she turned and walked away, loudly repeating, “Birth certificate, birth certificate, birth certificate” as if chanting it would magically make them appear.
We left empty-handed.
At this point, we checked into a hotel in nearby Porter County because I had one more shot at records the next day.
Spoiler: Things get weird. Again.
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