It Runs In Your Genes

(Published in the Janesville Messenger, 5-18-2014)

Had things gone differently in 1362, this column might have been written by Jim von Heinsberg.

I like to dabble in my family's history and genealogy. There is something fascinating about knowing what ultimately led to your existence. Thanks to the miracle of the Internet, this information now is much easier to find. Maybe web browsing lacks the romanticism of rummaging through courthouse files or graveyards – both of which I have done – but sites like Ancestry.com or a well-worded Google search can pan more gold with a fraction of the effort.

Recently, when I was searching for some background on my great-grandfather, I stumbled upon something totally unexpected – a photo of my father's tombstone on a website called FindAGrave.com. Most of my Rock County ancestors and relatives were cataloged as well, complete with family information. Do your own search and you might be surprised at what you find.

The Lyke family's presence in Rock County dates back to 1856. Prior to that, we were in New York for the better part of a century-and-a-half, in a part of the state settled by a large contingent of Germans from the Palatinate region.

When I was vacationing out east a few years ago, I made a side trip to New York to search the archives for data on my ancestors. What I found in the files was five different spellings of our last name. My great-great-grandfather, who is responsible for us being in Wisconsin, was most often listed as “John Like.”

The Lyke name has had a crazy history of revisions, from minor letter transpositions to major overhauls. All American roads seem to lead to Johannes Leick as the original Palatine emigrant around 1710. He was followed by several generations that included a John Lyke (the Anglicized version of Johannes' name).

But before Lyke and before Leick, there was Everhard von Lieck, who first showed up witnessing a document in 1362. According to the online entry, “his seal of 1380 shows the lion of Heinsberg...the same design that the brothers Lambert and Everhard von Heinsberg had. From this we can draw the conclusion that he was...the descendant and legal hier (sic) of Everhard who was fiefed with Oberlieck, meanwhile having laid down the name 'von Heinsberg' and named himself 'Lieck' after his residence.”

I like the sound of “von Lieck.” Had I known about that sooner, I might have even adopted it. It conjures up images of epaulets and swords. But wait...a coat of arms, too?

Score!

I found the Leick coat of arms, as well as the earlier Heinsberg, both with the same snazzy medieval lion. I am no longer Jim Lyke, ad salesman and part-time writer...I am armor-clad James von Leick, laying waste to castles. It is much more satisfying than finding out your ancestors were ax murderers or horse thieves. Or in the case of Albert Brooks in “Defending Your Life,” discovering your past life as a lion's lunch.

As soon as I got excited about my noble ancestry, however, I discovered that unlike most of Europe, in Germany you didn't need to be a member of the aristocracy to have a coat of arms. Any burgher could have one. Nein!

Genealogy research can also create questions rather than answer them.

On my mother's side, the story was that her Danish grandfather changed his name from Jacob Rasmussen to Rasmus Jacobson once he came to Wisconsin. Information I found now sheds doubt on that. Rasmus' father was named Jacob Pedersen. According to the Scandinavian naming traditions that were still in place at the time, Jacobson would have been his last name at birth. What we always regarded as fact is now a mystery.

Curious about what mysteries and stories lie in your past? The answers might be a click away. One thing I have concluded from my research: “Heinsbergminded” just doesn't have a ring to it.

The Ultimate Sport

(Published in the Janesville Messenger, 4-27-2014)

I recently watched some colleges play the Ultimate sport. Literally.

"Ultimate" is now the official name for what my friends and I used to call "Frisbee football." Unlike my school days, however, Ultimate is a far cry from the fluid free-for-all we played that at times resembled Calvin and Hobbes’ Calvinball and once included an infamous tackle version played in the parking lot at Milwaukee County Stadium (ouch).

For the uninitiated, Ultimate -- or Ultimate Frisbee, if you prefer -- is played seven on a side on a field that has dimensions similar to that of football. Also like football, you score points by advancing the Frisbee (technically, a disc) into the opponent’s end zone. The football similarities end there, as there is no tackling or running with the disc.

You can only move the disc by passing it to a teammate -- once you have possession, you are limited to pivoting on one foot, like a basketball player who has picked up his dribble. If a pass is incomplete, intercepted or out of bounds, the other team immediately gains possession and moves in the opposite direction. On the college level, the game is generally played up to a certain number of points rather than timed.

It goes far beyond having organized rules, however. There are positions, there are different strategies on offense and defense, and similar to hockey, there are lines that take the field as a group on substitutions. One thing there is not, at least in most college tournaments, is a referee. The players self-officiate.

Ultimate has yet to become an NCAA-sanctioned sport, but it continues to grow on the college level. My son, Rob, is a member of the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point Ultimate team. But just because it’s not an NCAA sport doesn’t mean the team is limited to friendly get-togethers with nearby schools. The team has traveled to tournaments as far away as Georgia and Texas and played against the likes of TCU, Oklahoma, UMass and Kansas State, as well as several Big Ten schools.

As a club sport, the team has a budget that allows them to purchase jerseys and pay for transportation. Beyond that, however, cash is a bit tight. Charter buses and hotel rooms are not in the budget. So like a struggling rock band, the Ultimate players jam themselves into a van and crash wherever they can. When inclement weather recently forced the last-minute relocation of a tournament from Appleton to Fitchburg, one player’s Madison-area grandmother suddenly found herself hostess to 20 young men.

The college clubs generally choose team names separate from the school’s. For example, the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee team is not the Panthers; their name is Black Cat Ultimate. Northern Michigan eschews Wildcats for Riptide. And rather than Pointers, Stevens Point is Homegrown. The fact that Homegrown’s most recent tournament was held at Stoner Prairie Park in Fitchburg gave birth to more pot jokes than a Cheech and Chong album (e.g. "How’s the grass at Stoner Prairie?").

But the athletes are anything but dazed and confused. Ultimate is a sport that involves a LOT of movement. I get tired just watching them play. Conditioning is a must. The Stevens Point team has been known to train by running flights of stairs in campus buildings at night.

The recent Fitchburg tournament was the first one I personally had witnessed. As a spectator sport, it was much more entertaining than I imagined it would be. And apparently, I’m not the only one who thinks so. You see, Ultimate has gone professional. The American Ultimate Disc League (AUDL) fields 17 teams, including a franchise in Madison, the Radicals, who play at Breese Stevens Field. A second league, Major League Ultimate, fields four teams on each coast.

And I’m relatively sure none of them play on concrete prior to Brewers games.