Where to start?

I will pick up the Henderson saga where Nelson Mason, my dad’s uncle, left off. He, of course, knew his sister’s husband, Raymond Oliver Frederick Henderson, and all of his sister’s children (my father and his siblings). He had also learned the name of his sister’s father-in-law, Charles F. Henderson, but he knew little more. He knew that Charles’ had a wife whose name was Clara, but he was not sure of her maiden name because she is listed on the birth certificate of one of her sons as “Johnson,” and on another birth certificate as “Gustafson.” He did, however, have two more interesting clues about the Hendersons. He was in possession of a short narrative written by John Victor Henderson, Raymond Oliver’s brother, and an old photograph of Charles F. Henderson sitting on a wagon in front of the Keokuk Ale, Porter, Beer & Cider Bottling Works, in Keokuk, Iowa. (sitting highest on the wagon)

Here is the narrative written by John Victor Henderson, the son of the man on the wagon:

JOHN VICTOR
Born 1885 - Died 1968
Louis Simpson, a colored man, was in business for himself at 12th and Johnson Streets in Keokuk, Iowa. He made his own hot tamales and roasted his own peanuts. His work was made more difficult by his handicap (he walked with a limp) and since he couldn't find employment otherwise, he prayed to the good Lord for help. God never fails those who trust him and this business was his answer.
Brother Simpson rented a large room in an old two story frame tenement building which housed six other families. There, he read his Bible and prayed for God's blessing to others. How the Lord did prosper him in his business. It seemed that everyone wanted Louis Simpson's hot dogs, Hot tamales, peanuts, and popcorn, so he had to hire boys to sell for him. Even boys as young as seven years old could earn some money that way. Whenever anyone in the neighborhood was hurt or sick or in need, he did all he could to help, even paying for food and fuel and doctor bills. Most of these people were white folks.
In the rear apartment, containing one large room and one small bedroom, there lived a family of eight. The father, [Charles F. Henderson] was strong, kind, and worked very hard [at the Keokuk Ale, Porter, Beer & Cider Works] for his wife, [Clara (Gustafson) Henderson] and family until he began to drive a beer wagon. Familiarity breeds contempt, and soon he was spending all his money on the stuff and before long he was in trouble and in jail. From then on, it was the rat race of drunk, sober up, in jail, out and do the same thing all over again.
His family almost never saw him sober. The mother was compelled to take in washings to keep the children [Oscar Carl, Raymond Oliver, John Victor, Harry, Edward, and Eleanor] from starving. Many times there wasn't enough money to buy fuel. The school was only a block away but she found it very hard to keep her little boys in classes. The two younger ones (including the only daughter) died in infancy. The colored man helped her all he could. The white people and the authorities would not. Even the church turned a deaf ear, but even so, she gathered her four boys around her knee and read the Bible to them and prayed that God would help care for them.
The strain of hard work and worry proved too much for her, she caught a cold and developed consumption. Soon she was too weak to care for her children, so two of the boys were adopted into families [in Keokuk] and the other two, aged seven and eleven years, were sent to the Orphan's Home [in Stanton, Iowa]. Again, it was the colored man, Louis Simpson, who came to the rescue. He bought the clothes for the boys, paid their train fare from Keokuk to Stanton, Iowa, and gave them plenty of food to eat on the way. It was dark that winter morning when he took them down to the train but as it pulled out of the station, the boys could see his familiar figure as he waved them good-bye.
Within a short time the young mother (she was only thirty-two) died from the dreadful disease and yes, the colored man paid for all the funeral expenses. No one else seemed to be concerned. Afterwards, he gave the boys all this information. Every Christmas, he would send them a big box of fruit and clothing. One day he stopped at the home en route to California and spent a whole week with the boys. After that they heard from him once, and then never again. No doubt, he has gone to his heavenly reward long before now.
I was one of those boys and their mother was mine.
John Victor Henderson

With this information, I started my search at the library in Keokuk, Iowa. So as not to bore you with long stories, I will save what I discovered for tomorrow’s post.