Edward Moulton - Family and Death

Family and Death

As a young man Moulton married 15-years old Emma Walter in Philadelphia on 13 January 1873. Emma later became an Indian Club swinger and toured theatres, also clog dancing and singing. The couple's engagements meant they were often apart and Emma filed for a divorce at Denver on 29 June 1893. The marriage was dissolved on 9 November 1893. (By then Emma had become acquainted with William B. Masterson, the noted lawman, gambler and sporting man, and she lived as Mrs. Bat Masterson for the rest of his life.) Moulton married cyclist Ida Peterson on 5 September 1901. and at the time of the 1910 United States Census, he was living in Palo Alto, California, with his wife Ida, a Minnesota native who was 26 years younger than Moulton, and their adopted son Edwin, who was born in approximately 1906. His occupation was listed as an athletic trainer. At the time of the 1920 United States Census, Moulton was still living in Palo Alto with his wife Ida and son Edwin. His occupation at that time was listed as a custodian. Moulton died in July 1922 at his home in Palo Alto. He was survived by his wife and son. He was reportedly in good health up to the day of his death when an "attack of indigestion caused heart dilation".

Read more about this topic:  Edward Moulton

Famous quotes containing the words family and, family and/or death:

    “O God, and the wedding! All her family and her friends
    and only a handful of mine all scroungy and bearded
    just wait to get at the drinks and food—”
    —Gregory Corso (b. 1930)

    “If you understand why a monkey in a family is always mocked and harassed, you understand why monks are rejected by all—both old and young.”
    —François Rabelais (1494–1553)

    “Night is a dead monotonous period under a roof; but in the open world it passes lightly, with its stars and dews and perfumes, and the hours are marked by changes in the face of Nature. What seems a kind of temporal death to people choked between walls and curtains, is only a light and living slumber to the man who sleeps afield.”
    —Robert Louis Stevenson (1850–1894)