Echoes of the Past: The Story of My Ancestry (Newberry)

A Name Written True: The Birth of Virsel Loretaus Newberry

🖋️ Recorded and remembered—official State of Michigan birth certificate for Versel Horatio Wesley Newberry, dated May 5, 1914. Lists father Edward Newberry, a farmer, and mother Minnie Amandy, a housewife, with residence in Lathrop Township. This archival record marks the beginning of a life and the preservation of a name, spelling included.

Welcome to My Journey Through the Past

There are moments in ancestral research that feel less like uncovering facts and more like remembering something your soul already knew.

Today, I held one of those moments in my hands: the birth certificate of my father, Virsel Loretaus Newberry, born April 12, 1914, in Sanborn Township, Alpena County, Michigan.

Although the document was recorded weeks later, and although some historical records contain misnamings and uncertainties, this one confirmed what our family has always known: his name was Virsel Lortaus, but not Versel Horatius Wesley. His middle name he always thought and went by—Loretaus—was not a coincidence. It was a living tribute, inherited from the man who raised him: his grandfather, Loretaus John Franklin Newberry.

His mother is listed clearly as Minnie Amandy, and his father, Edward Newberry, a farmer. The quiet dignity of their names now preserved in ink, not only in memory.

It may seem like a small thing—to see a name spelled as it should be, a birthdate aligned, a mother’s name honored in full—but for those of us tracing stories through weathered paper and whispers, it’s everything. It anchors the truth. It gives the past a spine.

❄️ Frost and Family Captured in the stillness of winter, this photo shows my father, Virsel Loretaus Newberry, standing beside my maternal grandfather, Arthur William Birr, Sr., in a snow-blanketed yard. Virsel, dressed in a coat and hat, carries his signature sturdy presence, while Arthur—more formal in a suit and tie—stands with quiet dignity beneath the winter sky. They’re framed by a small evergreen tree and humble buildings in the distance, their breath visible in the crisp Michigan air.
It’s a moment of generational connection—two men rooted in different branches of my lineage, standing side by side in quiet harmony. A snapshot of warmth, even in the cold.

I share this not only for my own children and cousins, but for anyone navigating the winding roads of genealogy: the details matter, and they will find you when you’re ready.

Here’s to honoring the names spoken in love, held in memory, and now, finally, spelled just right.

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