For Week 13 of #52Ancestors – Theme: Home Sweet Home
When we talk about “home,” what really makes a house a home? Is it the physical structure, the people inside it, or the memories created there? For my family, one special house in Brooklyn has been all of these things – and for an astonishing 120 years and counting.
In a city where neighborhoods transform faster than you can say “gentrification” and where most families move every few years, having a continuous family presence in one house since 1905 feels like something of a miracle. Yet there it stands, our family’s Brooklyn haven, still housing a member of my family to this day.
A House in a Changing Brooklyn
When my paternal great-grandparents, Thomas and Mary Dowling, first moved into their Brooklyn home in 1905, the neighborhood looked quite different. The area was transitioning from what had once been farmland just a decade or two earlier into a vibrant residential community. Church Avenue nearby would have bustled with trolley cars, their distinctive rumble and clang becoming part of the soundtrack of daily life.
Imagine Thomas Dowling walking home from the trolley stop after work, perhaps stopping to chat with neighbors as he made his way up the front steps of his new home. The house itself – like many in the area – was likely fairly new construction, part of the development boom that was transforming this section of Flatbush in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.
A House Full of Life (and Plunketts!)
The Dowling family wasn’t small, and they certainly weren’t alone in their new home. The household quickly expanded to include not just Thomas and Mary and their children (William, Marie, Julia, and later Gwendolyn), but also an assortment of Mary’s siblings – the Plunketts.
The Plunkett siblings – Julia, Bridget (also called Elizabeth), James, and Stephen – wove in and out of the household census records over the decades. I’ve often wondered about the family dynamics. Was it always the plan for the extended family to live together, or did circumstances bring them under one roof? Either way, the house embraced them all.
The old census records reveal a house that was truly lived in. By 1915, there were nine people recorded as living there, including four-year-old Marie, seven-year-old Julia, and baby Gwendolyn, just 28 days old. Yes, baby Gwendolyn was almost certainly born right there in the house, as were possibly some of the other children. Hospital births weren’t yet the norm in 1915, and midwives would have come to the home to assist with delivery.
A House of Celebration and Sorrow
If houses collect memories, then this one must be bursting at the seams. The newspapers of the day reveal it was quite the social hub, hosting birthday parties, surprise gatherings, and even a “supper dance” for William’s 21st birthday in 1922.
I can just picture the living room cleared for dancing, perhaps a Victrola playing the latest jazz records, young people dressed in their finest early 1920s fashions, and proud parents Thomas and Mary watching their son come of age surrounded by friends.
But the house witnessed the full circle of life. The same rooms that echoed with birthday laughter also provided space for grief. James Plunkett died there in 1915 after a tragic fall down the stairs. Having walked up and down those main stairs many times myself, I can attest they’re quite steep – and the stairs to the attic are positively treacherous! I can’t imagine how anyone managed to live up there, but my father did as a teenager.
Julia Plunkett passed away in the house in 1924, Ellen Mary Dowling (Thomas’s sister and something of an Irish Twin, born just months apart from him in 1871) died there in 1931, and both Thomas (1944) and Mary (1945) had their funerals from the home. In those days, the front parlor would have been transformed for the wake, with the deceased laid out for family and friends to pay their respects – a practice that seems so distant from our modern approach to death.
The House Passes to a New Generation
My grandmother, Julia E. Dowling, was likely born in this house in 1907 and spent her entire childhood there. The census records from 1910 show her as a 2-year-old child in the home, growing up alongside her siblings in these very rooms. In time, she married my grandfather, David Sten, and they made their home in the upstairs apartment with their children – my father and his sister.
Meanwhile, Julia’s sister Gwendolyn married William Panchak, the boy from the family who lived in the apartment downstairs, in January 1942, and they lived in the house with their three daughters. Can you imagine two sisters, their husbands, and five cousins all sharing one house? The place must have been constantly buzzing with activity! And all of them teenagers at the same time! It’s a wonder their parents survived! 🙂
The House I Remember
Like many Brooklyn homes from this era, the house has a classic layout with multiple levels that allowed for several family units to coexist under one roof. The home features the characteristic steep staircases typical of early 20th century architecture – including those infamous attic stairs that I’ve climbed many times, always with a bit of trepidation!
Growing up, I spent many happy hours visiting this house, exploring its nooks and crannies, and creating memories with my extended family. I have such vivid recollections of family gatherings here – holiday dinners around the table, opening Christmas presents while sitting on the floor surrounded by cousins, and the wonderful feeling of security that comes from being in a place filled with generations of family love.
What strikes me most about the house is how it managed to evolve with the family’s needs over the decades while maintaining its essential character. Spaces that might have been formal parlors in the Dowling era became everyday living spaces for later generations. Rooms that once witnessed formal social gatherings later echoed with the sound of children’s laughter and family celebrations.
A Constant in a Changing World
As Brooklyn transformed around it – from trolleys to subways, from immigrant enclaves to gentrified hot spots – our family home remained a constant. The world outside changed dramatically: the deadly 1918 influenza pandemic, the stock market crash of 1929, two World Wars, the Great Depression, the civil rights movement, 9/11, and now even another global pandemic have come and gone, but the house has stood firm, sheltering generations of my family.
The neighborhood that was once home to Italian and Polish immigrants in the early 1900s has become one of the most diverse areas in Brooklyn, reflecting waves of immigration from around the globe. Church Avenue, once traveled by trolleys, now bustles with a different energy, and the recent creation of the pedestrian plaza nearby has given the community a new gathering place.
Through it all, our house has been there, adapting and evolving but always remaining “home” to someone in my family. Today, a member of the fifth generation still lives there, continuing an unbroken chain of family residency that spans nearly 120 years. Economic booms and busts, technological revolutions, and sweeping social changes – this humble Brooklyn home has witnessed them all while providing shelter and stability for our family through five generations.
Home Is Where Your Story Begins
They say home is where your story begins, but in our case, home is where multiple chapters of our family story have unfolded. Five generations have connections to this one building – a remarkable testament to both the sturdy construction of early 20th century Brooklyn homes and the strong family bonds that kept us tethered to this special place.
As I research our family history, I’m endlessly grateful for this physical connection to our past. Walking through those same doorways that my ancestors walked through, climbing those same (treacherous!) stairs, and looking out the same windows gives me a tangible connection to the past that no document or photograph could provide.
A note about photographs: You might notice this post doesn’t include pictures of the house or the people who lived there. This was a deliberate choice. While I treasure our family photos, they capture intimate moments that hold layers of meaning and context only our family would fully understand. Some stories are best told with words alone, allowing each reader to connect with the universal elements of home, family, and belonging that transcend any specific image. The absence of photos also helps preserve the privacy of family members who still call this special place home.
What about you? Does your family have a special place that has witnessed multiple generations of your family story? Or do you wish you had such a place? I’d love to hear about the special “home sweet home” in your family history!
Other Families Who Called Our House “Home”
While our family has maintained a continuous presence in the house since 1905, we weren’t the only ones to find shelter under its roof. Over the decades, several other families and individuals shared this space with us, renting rooms or apartments within the house. These names may help other family researchers connect the dots in their own genealogical puzzles:
- Henry Haussel (1913) – Lived in the house when he vouched for his friend Paul, a German immigrant seeking American citizenship
- George H. Barber and Alice A. Barber with their daughters Mildred and Marian (1910)
- Lucille E. Davis, listed as a servant (1910)
- Edwin C. Leavens and Ester W. Leavens (1915)
- Charles J. Kearney and Christina Kearney (1920)
- Robert Edward Stevens and Sarah Stevens, a newlywed British couple (1934)
- Michael Panchak, Pauline Panchak, and their sons William and George (1940)
- Klein family (1955)
And undoubtedly many others after 1950 whose names aren’t captured in publicly available census records.
I never knew about many of these details growing up—I wish I’d paid more attention when my older relatives were sharing stories about the house! I’m continually amazed at how much history is contained within these walls, not just of my own family but of others who found their way to Brooklyn and made temporary homes there along their journey.
Note: While this house holds special meaning for our family, I’ve omitted the specific address to respect the privacy of family members who still live there.
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