This was a rather backward school. Most of the children did not learn very well, and their moral status was very low. You could not believe what many said, and their fingers were so sticky. Yes, and they knew nothing about property rights. When I went to school the first day, the glass was broken out of more than half the windows and the roof was torn off the coal house. The children said the teacher watched them tear it off at noon and recess. The sash was broken out of some of the windows. One of the board told me that they gave me that school because I had taken such good care of the house at Poplar Ridge and maybe I could care for that one, too. There were no windows broken out while I was there.

Selling Fruit Trees: I began to sell fruit trees for Stark Brothers. I had fine luck. In the next few years I sold several hundred dollars worth besides getting our own trees much cheaper. I sold trees for at least 15 years and enjoyed it very much. I liked to get out among the farmers.

Weasels and Hawks in our Poultry: Elmo came up again and spent the summer with me. It was this summer that Pepper decided to clean the farm of weasels. He started by finding four in a rock pile. We got them all, an old one and three young ones about three-fourths grown.

We had two old hens and 24 little chickens in a coop up by the new house we were building. One morning when we went to work, we found one old hen dead and all the little chickens gone. I told Elmo that it was a weasel and told him to go down and get the guns and we would get the nasty thief before night. About 4 p.m. Pepper said he had found it in a brush pile. I asked Elmo if he would shoot it if I scared it out; he said he sure would. I scared it out, but no shot was fired. I asked him why he didn’t shoot. He said it went so fast he didn’t have a chance. Then I asked him if he would shoot it if I scared it out again. He said he absolutely would, but no shot was fired when it came out. I told him he had let it get away, but Pepper soon said it was up a bushy, leafy poplar. You ought to have heard that pup rave!

We soon located the thieving murderer. Elmo tried the .22, but he was so nervous that he missed. Then he grabbed the shot gun and rolled him out. So ended the weasels’ first attempt to sabotage the Randolphs’ poultry business in the death of the saboteur.

Three more times our poultry were raided. The next time I had gone to the lower hen house late in the evening to feed the hens. When I came back, I found a nice big young rooster dead. I picked it up to see what was the matter and found its throat was out. I went into the house. The cat came in and ran under the bed. Something squalled, and I smelled a weasel. Just then I saw a weasel run from under the bed. It got behind a board in the other room, and I shot it. So that was number two properly avenged.

The third time a weasel killed five young guineas in about one minute. When the old hen squalled, Archie, Mamma, Pepper and I rushed out. Pepper chased it up a bush, and Archie shot at it and missed. As that was the only shell we had, Archie went to Ira’s and got a shell and killed it. So five little guineas were most perfectly avenged.

Now comes the fourth attack on the poultry industry. One morning when we went out where about 300 young chickens were in open shelters, we found a chicken with its throat cut. Pepper took the weasel’s trail and holed it under a stump, but we couldn’t get it. That night I told Pepper to watch the chickens. When we went out the next morning, the chickens were all right. Pepper ran under the hill and said that he knew where the cowardly little thief was. We went down and dug it out. Pepper at once showed that blood-thirsty varmint that he was more than a match for any four-footed blood-sucker that ever lived. Never again did the weasel clan challenge our ability to protect our kingdom.

Before we conquered the weasels, we had another enemy to meet. I had a flock of 13 lovely young chickens. When I came home one Wednesday, there were only 12; on Thursday evening there were 11; and Friday there were only 10. When I saw how my flock was being destroyed, I said, “You have got your last chicken.” I watched all day; about 5 p.m. I heard a fuss from the chickens. I saw the hawk coming and waited till it was right over the chickens; then I let him have it. He dropped to the ground with such a surprised look on his face. He took a step or two and ceased to exist. He had paid the penalty for trying to destroy all the poultry on the farm of the Randolphs. The next morning just after daylight, I saw the mate of the hawk I killed sitting in a tree, so I shot it. This ended the threat to my little chickens.

Soon after this I found a hen had been killed by a hawk. This kept up till they had-killed three or four hens. I tried every way I could but failed to get it. One day after school was out Bee Huffman and I were up by the three walnuts when he saw a big hawk on the fence. I ran and got the gun. When I shot, Bee said I got it for it could hardly fly. I lost no more chickens, so I guess I did. This ended my trouble with hawks, but I had a few chickens stolen.

One evening when I came from school, I saw one of my roosters (worth at least $24) and four hens were gone. I thought at first that someone had stolen them to get a pen of superfine Rhode Island Reds, but Brady found the rooster’s band near a house on the outskirts of Sutton. A girl with a very shady reputation lived there, and two boys from the Ridge were going to see her. They undoubtedly had taken them down to have chicken to eat. Brady gave the band to the state cop and told him to go and get them. The cop was sent to another beat the next day and took the band with him, so we lost the evidence and could do nothing about it. We never lost more than two or three chickens at a time, and that was by boys who ate them.

More About Pepper: Pepper was a great hunter, but the trouble was he would go out before hunting season and get all the possums on the farm. The boys who hunted said there was no need to hunt on our farm for Pepper got them all. (I failed to tell that Elmo left Pepper on the farm when he went back to Salem the second summer.) Many a night I would hear Pepper barking and would know he would stay till daylight when the possum would come down and then he would die.

Pepper went everywhere with me. One night as we came from Sutton he found a fine big possum near the road. He went with me to Upper Wolf School every day but two. The children loved to have him there. Two or three times someone tried to claim the pup, but I said, “No,” very emphatically.

He had one very bad fault. He would go courting. One time he went down to Sutton and was gone for two weeks. Nearly all dogs in the country were poisoned, and I gave Pepper up, but he came home. As is sure to happen, he went once too often; and a man down on Buckeye who had a gyp shot him. He was very old, so he would not go out with me to work in hot weather but would come down to me in the evening. So died a noble dog, whose one fault, if it was a fault, was overshadowed by the finest nature and greatest intelligence with the truest loyalty, with no fear nor the least care for what might happen to him while he was doing what he felt was his work. I am no child nor have dealt with but few dogs but have owned some very fine dogs (in fact, I owned a very fine dog since Pepper died). But with all due respect to other dogs I ever owned and all dogs owned by anyone else, to my mind he stood head and shoulders above all of them. I declare of all dogs I ever knew, he was prince of them all.

Back at Poplar Ridge, 1929-30

The winter of 1929-30 I taught at Poplar Ridge, which was my last term for several years as I wanted to teach nearer the farm on Bug Ridge. This winter I did not board at Hosey’s. Instead I bached in a shanty out at Curt Hosey’s.

There was quite a mix-up about my assistant. The board hired Clyde Facemire’s girl (one of the board said she had been loafing on the job and they thought I would make her teach), but on the first day there was no assistant. I let a high school girl who wanted to teach that day take charge. At recess an auto drove up and a lady got out. She said she was Mrs. Skidmore, a sister of the girl who had the school, that Clyde’s girl let her sister have the school when she decided not to teach it. Her sister (Miss Ann Baxter) had been in an auto wreck and could not come to teach her school for a month. Mrs. Skidmore said she would come at the first of the next week and teach for three weeks till her sister could come. About 9 p.m. Clyde’s girl came up and said she was the teacher of the Cleveland School and that she would be up the next morning to teach. She did not come, and Miss Baxter taught the school. She was a very bright girl, but I found from her own account that she was tricky and thought it was smart to cheat.

Trouble at a Christmas Program: This year we planned a Christmas program, and one of the toughs bragged he would break it up. I had never asked for help, but I decided that two rooms, a hall and a big porch were more than I could handle by myself. I decided I would need two to help me. The trustee agreed he would help, but I didn’t believe he would be much help. So I went to Ed Davis (a big able man who was a special friend of mine), and he said, “Mr. Randolph, I’ll do anything you tell me to do. If you tell me to knock a man down, I’ll knock him down. If you tell me to throw him out of the house, I’ll throw him out.” I said, “All right, we’ll have a program.” A few days later Ene Perine (another big man) sent me word if I needed help he would help. I told his boy to tell him okay.

But as so often happens, when I needed help, none of them were there. A drunk man came onto the lot and began to swear. I allowed no swearing on the school grounds, so I said to him, ”We allow no swearing on the school grounds.” His reply was, “That’s the way we are in the habit of talking when we are out in the woods.” “Pardon me, you are not out in the woods tonight.” He kept on talking, and I told him there was no use talking, that he had to stop swearing. He wanted to know what I would do if he didn’t stop. I told him I’d put him in Sutton jail. “Sutton jail? That’s a pretty bad place, isn’t it?” he said. I told him there was no use talking about it, just stop swearing. He turned to Hans Hosey and said, “That’s the way we talked out in the woods, ain’t it, Hans?” Hans told him yes, but that no swearing would be allowed there.

I felt that I was in a tight place as he was considered a dangerous man and there seemed to be no help near. There were two Hosey boys (about 20 years old) standing on the porch. After Harris left, one of them said to me, “Mr. Randolph, we boys don’t want any trouble. We came here with our mothers and sisters to have a nice time. If there is any trouble, call on us.” This made me feel good!

One who said he would help me was out in the woods with another man. I guess they thought there was likely to be trouble so they were getting them a cudgel apiece. When they heard what had happened, one of them said, “We’ll fill Sutton jail.” The other spoke up, “Don’t say a word about Sutton jail. We’ll give ‘em a hospital bill.” That settled the whole trouble.

A little later the man came out and said he didn’t mean any harm and that he would like to stay in and listen to the program. His nephew told him, “You’ve got too much, Charley.” “Yes,” he said, “I’ve got too much. I’ll just go on out the road,” and he did. His nephew told me he’d see that Charley didn’t bother us.

I expected trouble later, but he said when he sobered up that he got a bottle of whiskey when he got off the train at Centralia and drank too much and that I treated him exactly right by making him behave himself. So this ended happily, and I found I had the backing of the whole neighborhood.

This was the last program I had here for several years. I had a warm spot in my heart for these people. Whenever I went back, which was often, or whenever I met any of them, they had a warm welcome for me.

Friends on Poplar Ridge: I think it would be well for me to mention a few of my friends up on Poplar Ridge. Ed Davis was one of my stanch friends who got me the school again in 1939 and I would like to see him again. He sent nine children to me.

Martin Lynch was a good friend. He sent seven to me. Hans Hosey was another friend. Although he could not read, he sent his girl to me till she got an eighth grade diploma. Uncle Sell and Aunt Nancy Hosey were among my splendid friends. Their girl Gladys got a diploma. Dave and Sarah Hosey were where I boarded for three years and were among my best friends during my first four years of teaching there. Four of their children went to me. The youngest graduated from high school. Dave’s youngest brother was a good friend who sent five children to school to me.

I don’t want to forget John Dillon, who told me when I went there that he was 72 years old and the father of 22 children (there were two born after that) and that he hoped to have children in school as long as he lived. He sent eight to me. He died at the age of 90 and had two still in school.

A. C. Hosey was a friend with whom I spent one winter in a shanty and roomed one winter in his home. I boarded one winter with A. C.’s boy, who married Lexie Lynch. They were very nice to me. I think this is about enough to show I had a lot of friends.

I should mention Ene Perine, whose two boys went to school to me and then graduated from high school. Preacher Heron was a splendid friend, although none of his children went to school to me. I feel that I did good work in that school.

Spruce Lick School, 1930-31

I will now go to the winter of 1930-31, when I stayed at the Spruce Lick School. I will not write much about this school, for I am ashamed of it. If I had known what I was getting into, I would never have taught it-never, never!

You may wonder what kind of school could have such an effect on one who had taught where he had the worst, most disobedient, the vilest, the worst liars, the degenerate, and the immoral. But where others disobeyed, these didn’t know the meaning of the word obey. Where others were vile, these were below beasts. Where others were liars, these did not know truth. Where others were degenerate, these were reprobates. Where others were immoral, these knew not what the word moral meant. You ask, “How can children be so low?” That’s easy; they drank it in from their parents, from other people, and from other children as a baby drinks in its first breath of air.

Now don’t get the idea that there were no respectable people in the neighborhood, but they were so very scarce. Their children had grown up in the riffraff so that there were no high grade students among them.

I have had some filthy children in school, but I never saw anything like these children. An 8-year-old girl would write filthy stuff on a piece of paper, throw it down on the floor, then pick it up and bring it up to me and say she found it on the floor. I finally told her she wrote it herself and not to bring any more to me or she would be in bad. That stopped it. They would steal out chalk and write filth on stones and fences. I would not have taught that school again for twice the wages.

One of the toughest of these girls married Harm Sanson the next winter, when she was hardly 15. One of my friends speaking of her called her, “Harm’s little Hell Cat.” I thought this was a perfect description of her.

No School, 1931-32 This school cost me dearly, for one member of the board refused to give me a school. Brady went to him about it, but he denied it. Brady said to him, “You are a dirty, stinking skunk, and I believe you are a dirty liar.” Brady then went over to the secretary and to another member of the board, who told him no one else had said a word against my having a school except Marshal Skidmore. So Brady went back and told him, “Marshal, I told you, you were a dirty stinking skunk and that I believed you were a dirty liar; now I know it.” Marshal went off waving his hand back and saying, “Brady, I didn’t have a thing to do with it.”

The next winter I saw him (he was running for re-election), and he came up and shook hands and asked me if I was going to ask for a school. I answered very firmly, “I am.” He said, “That’s all right. Maybe you are mad at me. Your son is very mad at me.” I told him I was; not because he didn’t give me a school but for denying he was to blame when he was. He tried to dodge, but I gave him no consolation.

He tried for a solid hour to keep me from getting a school when the board met, but my friend Barnett stayed with him and got me a school. I did not electioneer against friend Skidmore, but I heard of numbers of people whom I had never known saying, “I won’t vote for Skidmore for the way he treated Randolph.” When the voting was over, both the other candidates beat him badly.

Improving the Farm: While I had no school, I built fences, cleaned up the farm, and began to keep stock on it. Brady let me have a cow to keep that he bought and did not need. We kept Old White Face (that was the cow’s name) for eight or ten years. She raised eight or nine calves and made Brady $200, although she only cost him $25.

In the spring of 1932 Pud Gillespie and I drove the posts and strung the wire from the Stout line to the road just below where the house now is, thus separating the orchard from the pasture. A little later Clyde Garrison and I ran the fence down the road to the Huffman line. After that we cut the timber for 18,000 feet of lumber. Hezzie Tharp hauled the logs. He had enough lumber to build a house, where Archie’s lived, and a good barn.

Upper Wolf School, 1932-33

The winter of 1932-33 I taught the Upper Wolf School. I had a very successful term except there was not enough money for but 4½ months of school. I taught an extra month as the children were badly behind in their grades and I wanted to promote them.

At Christmas time we invited the parents in to a little program. I had them do some spelling, some ciphering, some reciting of poetry, and writing on the board by the first grade. In fact, I gave them a fair idea of what they were learning. There was a fair number of the parents, both men and women, present. I called on each of them to speak, and three or four did. Ev Facemire said he knew that his two girls had made between one and two grades. He thought they must be an exception, but he saw that the others were doing the same. He went on to say that a first grade girl wrote better than half the teachers in Braxton County.

Jim Davis told us that he was more than pleased with the school; then in less than a month he was trying to get the patrons to work to get Zena Hartley to teach their school the next winter. He went to one of my friends and said, “We can get Zena Hartley to teach our school next winter.” His reply was, “I’m very well suited with the teacher we have.”

Of course there was a good reason why Jim wanted Zena to teach there. His son Bill, a widower with three children, was courting Zena. She would board at Jim’s and Bill could court her. A lot of people are selfish, and Jim was very selfish.

I taught four weeks free and built the fire and swept the house most of the time. As soon as they found I would teach some extra time, a few of them asked, “Can they make us go?” Only about 14 came, and about 10 quit. I told them when the government offered ten pounds of meat free, worth about 75 cents, they would go 15 to 20 miles and spend all day to get it. But when they were offered a free education for their children, they would keep them at home. “Oh, consistency, thou art a jewel.”

An Orchard on Our Farm

When school was out, I went back to work on the farm. About 1930 I set a piece of ground across the road from our place, on Clyde Facemire’s farm, in fruit trees. There were about seven acres of it. Clyde furnished the trees; Brady and I were to take care of the orchard and get all the fruit and crops that grew on it for ten years. We did not get much fruit, but we did get a lot of crops. When Clyde took it over, it was a very fine orchard, and it has since developed into one of the best orchards in Braxton County. I set out an orchard on our farm also. It is also a fine orchard, but it was slow to develop as it did not have the care it should have had.

Archie and Avis Move to Our Farm During the Depression

In March of this year Archie came up and wanted to build a house on the farm and work for some things on the farm when he didn’t have work on the W.P.A. or some government job. We had the lumber, so Brady and I both said okay. So Archie and I said we would build the house in a jiffy, which we did and soon had it ready for them to go to housekeeping.

The committee would not give Archie any work, so Brady wrote to Charleston and told them about it. He reminded them that the president had advised young couples to leave the cities, go out on farms, get work with the W.P.A. part-time and work on the farm to help out. He told them Archie had done this and they wouldn’t give him a day’s work. The next day the lady who had charge came rushing into the post office and said to Brady, “What in the world did you write to those folks down at Charleston? I just got a letter that would burn you up.” Brady answered her, “Why didn’t you give him work?” Brady told her he must have at least three days a week, and he got it. We sure stick together.

Archie and I worked together and raised a fine crop. The children ran loose on the farm and got fat.

More Snakes: One evening the Swigers were going to a neighbors but forgot something and sent Alois (he was four years old) back after it. He soon came back and said there was a snake by the door. Archie went back and found a copperhead lying by the door. Archie immediately sent it to the land of forgetfulness.

This was a small one, but I killed two or three very large ones. I killed two between the garden and the hen house-both were large. One of these crawled across the path and stopped with its head on one side of the path and its tail on the other. If it had gone ahead, it would have been safe, for there was thick grass just beyond. But it stopped to watch me, so I called Mamma. She brought me a hoe, and I killed it.

I think the largest snake I ever saw was in the corn near the Stout line. The bull dog we got from Archie was trailing, and every little bit she would jump back as if there was a snake. I went to look, and a snake was coiled up in a low place two rows above the one I was hoeing. I killed it quick. I am sure it was as large as my wrist and 3½ feet long. It sure was some snake!

I am sure of all the copperheads I ever saw, I only let two or three get away. This is quite a record as they stay in big grass or filth. I think this will be enough to prove that I lived in a rather wild section.

Archie worked on a high school project until in the fall, when they started building sanitary toilets. He got a job as foreman on a gang on Bug Ridge. This let him get to his work without walking so far, and the pay was very good. When they quit building toilets, he went back to Ohio and got a job. Avis soon went to him.

More About Schools

I taught the same school the next winter. This winter I had a good school and a number of very good friends. Among whom were John Woods, Jim Hosey, Barnett the mailman, and Ev Facemire.

In the late winter a new school law was passed in West Virginia making the county the school unit. The state superintendent of schools appointed the new school board until an election was held. The son-in-law of John D. Sutton was appointed as president, and he got the other members to agree they would hire no married women nor old teachers. So I was left out for the two years he was in office. Brady went to see if he couldn’t get him to change his mind and give me a school. He told Brady to tell me to get another job as I would never get another school. He was running for a second term, and Brady told him he had better be careful as another man tried the same thing and was not elected. He said he was not afraid of that, but he was defeated just the same.

No School for Two Years: For two years I had no school (1934-36), and things were rather tough. I sold some fruit trees, got a few days teaching, raised my own meat and potatoes and had my butter and eggs. In the term of 1934-35 I got some teaching to do as substitute, but they got another teacher to do some of it. I got along but was not able to pay any on the farm. Neither was Brady, but they did not crowd us.

Squire Baughman got the Lower Stony Creek School the term of 1935-36 and died in February. The superintendent told Brady that I was to finish the school, but the substitute teacher cut such a fuss about it that the board let her have it. They told Brady not to act mad as they could not help it, but that I should have a school the next winter (1936).

A Hard Winter: The winter of 1934-35 was a very hard one, and we had three or four very deep snows that lay on a long time. Jennie and Elmo planned to come to the Ridge for Christmas, but the snow was so deep a car could not get on the Ridge. They wrote for me to come down to Sutton and Elmo would meet me there. The snow was very deep, but I waded down Buckeye to Sutton. When I got there, Elmo was not there. So I trudged back through the snow to the Ridge. They wrote me that the roads were so slick and covered with ice that everyone said it would be all any one’s life was worth to go on the road afoot, much less in an auto. It sure was so, and I expect it was very lucky he did not try it.

The snow lay on for several weeks, and it was very cold. It finally went off and got some warmer, but it was still cold. I had to carry the fodder from across the road (about 150 yards) and go into the woods nearby and saw wood-I had become an expert one-man sawer-and carry it up to the house.

One day I had no wood nor fodder either. It seemed to be going to get warmer, so I decided to wait till about 3 p.m. and get fodder and wood to last two or three days. Just before 3 p.m. I noticed the sun had ceased to shine and it was getting dark. So I grabbed my hat and coat, picked up a rope, and ran for the fodder. The wind was howling. Before I got to the fodder, the snow was a regular blizzard. When I got a load, the wind would almost pick me up and take me to the barn. I carried fodder, took care of the stock, cut wood and piled it in the house till after dark. By that time it was cold. I got my supper, made a roaring fire, and sat by it till nearly midnight. I could not go to sleep, for the wind shook the house and the cold seemed to penetrate every place. We had a thermometer that would register 10 degrees below. When I got up the next morning, there was more than a foot of snow on the ground. The mercury was down in the bulb, and it never came back in sight for three days and nights. It was 17 degrees for some time.

I had between 10,000 and 12,000 feet of lumber, and I got Cliff Gillespie to snake it up through Olta’s place on the snow. He brought a big team he had one Friday morning. I went down and uncovered the lumber and helped him load till 11 o’clock. Then I went up to get his dinner. It was very cold, and he said I froze out. I went back after dinner, but we did not get along very well as we were dragging it on the ground. The snow went off over the end of the week, so we did not get to haul right away again.

In about a week we had another fall of snow just about as deep as the other one (this made three snows of over a foot) which laid on the ground for some weeks. Cliff came back and cut a forked sapling, nailed a 2 by 4 on the back end, and put the end of the lumber on this and chained it fast. This way we took it out, as Father used to say, “like a hen a walking.” Cliff told me when he got in that first night and began to get warm that he began to ache and that he didn’t get over it for several days. In fact, he was nearly frozen. After the first day we got along fine. Some of the neighbors wanted the job and said it was worth $10 per M. I got it done by the day for about $1.75. I was lucky to have a fine snow to skid it on.

Raising and Selling Pigs: I kept a sow and raised two litters of pigs (one in the spring and one in the fall). Then I would butcher her and keep a pig to raise more pigs. It got so people would speak for pigs and not take them. This would leave them on my hands, so I quit raising pigs.

One time I had four hogs to kill. Elmo and Ashby came up one morning and butchered one of them and took it to Salem. About the middle of December Cliff and I butchered the others. While we were butchering them, a man by the name of Collins, from Sutton, came to buy some potatoes to take to Burgoo. Cliff told me to let him take one of the hogs, pay for what he could sell and bring back the rest. Cliff said he was all right, so I let him have one cheap. He came back with the money and wanted another, but a cent less. I let him have it, but he never came back. He paid Brady all but $11. He said he couldn’t sell it all and the snow was so deep he couldn’t bring it back. He took it a second trip and sold it on time and would pay it as soon as he got it. But he never paid. He was all right, Brady told me, for he owned a house in Sutton and was a big church member. The house belonged to his wife and he was a dirty rascal.

Cliff said he would get it for me as he was to blame for his getting the hog. But Collins would not pay. I finally traded it on a billy goat. I offered him a fair trade, but he wanted some boot. He thought he could get the money from Collins, so I let him have an order and told him he could have all he could get out of it. He never – got – a – cent.

Loans Never Repaid: I should not complain, for I loaned money to a number who were in need and never got it back. A Sutton boy borrowed $3 to meet his girl and get married. They lived together about three months, and she left him. I never got the $3.

I loaned $10 to Boo Cutlip during World War II to go into Ohio to a job. I never got it. I loaned Wilson Stout $25 to take his family to a war job; I never saw a cent of it. I did loan to some who paid. I just charge it to profit and loss.

Jennie Came to Bug Ridge, 1936

In the spring of 1936 Jennie came onto the Ridge to stay, and was I glad! Elmo had gone to the Seminary at Alfred, and he did not come to stay with us any more. We raised a fine garden and had fruit-strawberries, grapes, peaches, cherries, and apples and some years, plums and apricots. We raised potatoes and corn. We always had one or two hogs to kill besides having plenty of eggs and chickens. Jennie worked hard and helped raise things, so we had plenty to eat. I had a school this winter, and we had two cows and several chickens, so we got along very well.

This was one of the mildest winters I had ever seen. We had only two little snows (not enough to track anything) till March. Peaches and plums were in bloom in February. Of course, we had none of them as a snow fell the first of March (six inches deep), and it was 10 degrees above.

Things were much easier this winter as Mamma was here and I only had to do the chores and get the wood.

More Improvements on our Farm: In the fall we cut a lot of logs for a barn. That winter I hired Cliff Gillespie and Worthie Thorp to build the barn. Ira helped some. I had some trouble about the roof. I wanted a galvanized roof. There was only partly enough in town, so I had the hardware man order it. It was supposed to come in three days, but it didn’t. A week passed; a big snow came, and still no roofing. After two weeks I bought rubber roofing and finished the barn. I got a very good barn that was warm and very handy. Cliff did a very good job and did it cheap. This was one of the best improvements I had made on the farm.

A few years later I got a fine cellar with cement walls and floor. Charley and Ed Davis built it for me. I got George Thorp to move a house that stood by the side of it over on the cellar, so we had a cellar and a cellar house.

I could keep all the stock in the barn, feed them there and never have to milk in the cold, snow, or rain. Oh, it was grand! The cellar was also grand. We could keep the milk and butter nice and cool, keep the airtights in perfect shape and also keep the apples, potatoes, turnips, and all kinds of vegetables in fine shape-and we didn’t have to be bothered with rats. We now had a good barn, a good cellar and a good hen house, and a fairly good house. We also had a good well, but it was very unhandy. It looked as if we were about ready to live.

Pine Grove School, 1897: The spring of 1897 I taught a select school of small children in the old Pine Grove meeting house. I had a fair-sized school, which paid me well. They were a bunch of bright children and did good work. One day Jennie taught, and some of the larger girls tried to scare the little children by telling them they saw a ghost. John Bee (the doctor’s boy) just said, “All magination, all magination.” I enjoyed this school very much.

Lower Bone Creek School, 1897-1899: The next two winters I taught the Lower Bone Creek School. The winter before a girl had taught it, and she had not been able to manage it at all. They would not mind her at all and annoyed her every way they could. I had no trouble and enjoyed it very much.

February 12, 1898, was the coldest time I ever saw. It was clear as could be, but the air was full of frost-that is, the moisture in the air was frozen into snowflakes. I had a black cow in a barn by herself, and she was covered with frost until she was white. We could hear the trees cracking in every direction. I had to go one-half mile to feed my sheep, milk the cows, and feed the stock, and then go to school. It was 10 a.m. when I got to school, but there was no one there. The fire builder had stock to feed by the school house; so he had built a fire, fed the stock, and gone home for his breakfast. In one-half hour one came; in an hour three more came; and at noon Rupert and Arlie came. So we had six that afternoon-all boys. It registered 44 degrees below zero. Most of the orchards in the valleys were killed. All of the beech trees half way up the hills were killed, and nearly all of the dogwoods also were killed. Nothing like this was ever seen here before nor since. That afternoon it got much warmer, and by Monday the snow was gone and it was warm and nice.

Measles Outbreak: Erlo Sutton came to the last day of school that spring with an awful cold, felt bad all day, and in the morning he had the measles. He gave them to everyone he saw that day, which was at least 75. One girl about 15 in my school died; also, an old lady in Berea. Jennie, Brady, and I had them at the same time. Erlo had no idea where he got them. The next spring the trustees asked me to close the school a day early to avoid the danger of spreading disease.

Farming Enterprises: That spring I cut the dead trees on a field for Ellsworth and raised a fine crop of corn; it was worth only 35 cents a bushel when I husked it. Some different from what it is now!

In the fall of 1898 I bought an interest in a cane mill with Dad Sutton and made molasses until late fall. The next fall we began to make molasses the 29^th of August and finished the 6^th of October. After that we never made so many, for people quit raising cane. I enjoyed it, but it was hard work. We would begin before daylight and work until 9 or 10 at night.

About this time I bought an interest in a reaper and binder with Ellsworth. We did a lot of work for three years. Then people began to quit raising so much wheat; and I sold my share to Uncle Sam Stalnaker.

The Stansburry School, 1899-1900: In the school year of 1899-1900 I taught on Spruce (the Stansburry School, and may I receive forgiveness for teaching in such a place). There was just one family which was interested in an education (George Brissey’s), and they were the only ones coming at the end of the term. Mr. Brissey said he always had to furnish all the scholars the last month of school.

I had 59 in school, and 19 of them were in the first grade. Of these one was a 16-year-old boy who was almost as heavy as I was One was a girl of 6 who wasn’t larger than a pound of soap after a hard day’s washing or a minute and it half gone.

The most of these first graders had no book but a speller! I told each of them to ask their parents to get them a First Reader, for I couldn’t teach little folks in the speller. The next morning I asked the children what their parents said. Some said their mother said she would get a reader that day; others said she would get one at the end of the week. The little girl before mentioned said that her mother said whenever they learned what there was to learn in the speller, she would get them a reader. I thought, “Poor kids; they will never see a reader.” Their father was working in Ohio. When he came home, he got them a reader. Think of a country school of eight grades and 19 in the first grade!

Now this little girl I wrote about had a sister 7 and a brother 8, and the girls were too mean to live. One day I was hearing a class when they got very much amused, and I asked what was the matter. One of the class told me that Flossie was spitting on Donie; so I told Flossie to go up and sit on my seat. She began to cry and said, “Donie was spitting on me, too.” I then told Donie to go up and sit there too, which tickled her for she thought she would have a lot of fun. But when I told her I would sit between them, she said, “No.” I tried to get her to sit on the bench, but she wouldn’t so I held her on my lap. She fought and kicked and tried to bite, but I just held her while she yelled, “Let me down mister; let me down.” I held her for about a quarter of an hour; then she sat on the seat all right. They did not come back, and the mother said I was holding the girls on my lap so she had to keep them at home. When the father cane home, he sent them back.

They were liars and had little idea of honor or right. I don’t think they were as much immoral as they were unmoral. They had a very low order of intelligence; in fact, they did not want to know much. I will give one instance of lying without cause or reason. A boy got mad at a boy behind him for putting his feet under his desk and said to him, “If you don’t keep back, I’ll cut your guts out.” I whipped him. A girl got excused to go home at recess (she was 14 years old) and stopped at a house on her way home and told them we had had an awful time up there that afternoon. She said that Okey Bird had taken a knife and ripped Russell Haddox right down his belly and then cut him right across. Of course, she was bound to have known they would find out she was lying, but she just wanted to tell a lie-probably to keep in practice, but I don’t think she needed any practice.

I had trouble with a McDonald who told that I had hurt one of his boys seriously. I sent him word to show up or shut up. When I saw him, he agreed to shut up. Of course, he didn’t, because that is not the nature of such people. But it did me no harm, for I still got schools without any trouble.

Harold was born-January 1, 1900. He was a very happy little fellow who endeared himself to everyone. Of course, we did not know that he would not be with us for only two short years. (If we could only know about these things, we might be so different.)

Lower White Oak School, 1900-1901: This next summer I bought the Parker place of Aunt Polly Kelley and moved over there that fall. I taught the Lower White Oak School the winter of 1900 and 1901. This was a rather long trip, but I had a very nice school. I had a very nice First Reader class of four. They each tried very hard to be the best in the class, so I told them one day that the next day I would tell them which was the best. The next day they were all excited about who would get the honor of being the best in the class. Of course, I was likely to get in bad; but just watch what I told then. I told them that the best one in the class was the one that studied the hardest. Everyone was happy, and each one studied his best to let no one in ahead of him. One has to try many things to get the best results.

Watie and Elzie Sutton (Jennie’s brothers): Watie came home from New York with Maggie this winter. They lived in Berea for a while, and Watie got a job with Fox and Meredith. The next summer he got a chance to buy Steve Bee’s farm by the Deep Ford. I got the money for him to pay for it. He stayed here until he went to work for Flanigan. From there he went to Doddridge County to an oil pumping job, which he kept till he retired. He was a hard-working, honest, truthful man who could be depended upon every time. He and I were great friends. Every time I go to Salem, I go to see Wilma, who is his only daughter and a very nice woman with a very nice family.

While I am writing about Watie, I will also write about Elzie, who was one of the finest boys one would want to see. He went to Salem when he was a young man and went to work for Uncle Lloyd Randolph about 1902. He then went to work in Uncle James’ store. He stayed there until Uncle James broke up, when he went to work as a carpenter. In the meantime he married Ethel Lynch. He was so industrious that he exposed himself by working in the rain to finish a job and took pneumonia, which ran into tuberculosis. He went to Colorado, where he lived for ten years. Ethel and two girls are still living in Boulder, Colorado. Ethel is very industrious, saving, and a fine manager. She is a loyal worker in the Seventh Day Baptist Church at Boulder. Bobbie (the third boy) died at Berea nearly fifty years ago.

Typhoid Malaria: In the summer of 1901 Jennie was very sick for several weeks, so that we had to have a hired girl. Watie and I raised a big patch of cane, and it was very fine. A good deal of the cane was down, and it rained nearly every day. We were wet nearly all the time while we stripped it. There was lots of typhoid fever in the neighborhood, and I felt sure I was taking it. So I went to the doctor and got some dope before we got the molasses made. We had 115 gallons.

Sabbath noon, after we got through, I took a chill, went to bed and sent for the doctor. He said I had typhoid malaria. As soon as the doctor said I had the fever, the girl went home. Jennie could just walk about the house a little, and Brady was five years old. John came down that evening and gave me a sponge bath. He said he would be back the next night, but the next night he had the fever. Ellsworth had always helped, but Arley and Aunt Mat each had the fever, so they couldn’t help. The neighbors were so afraid that they would not come near. A neighbor boy (Creed Collins) came and offered to go and get me a school (I had no school), but he would not come into the house. He got me the Upper White Oak School. I was glad for that friend.

Brady gave me the medicine and water, and Mama got us something to eat. I was up in two weeks. It was in late September, and I had to stay in bed for a few days as there was no wood to warm the house until Riley Davis (our pastor) came down and cut some wood. A friend in need is a friend indeed, so I have never forgotten Creed Collins and Riley Davis.

One more I must mention. Someone (I never found out who) went to one of my trustees and told him that I had got me another school. At the same time I was in bed with the fever Tom Bee was carrying the mail in that neighborhood, so they came to the post office to ask him. He told them I had the fever, but when the time came I would be there and teach them a good school. The first chance I got, I thanked him for it; I have thought more of him ever since. Jennie’s father had the fever, and I went there and waited on them. I think there is where I got it. There were over 30 cases of fever about Berea that summer and fall, and only one death.

Whooping Cough-Harold Died, Ashby was Born: I had a fairly nice school this winter. But it was a very sad winter, for Brady and Harold got the whooping cough. When I came home at the end of the week (January 17) Harold did not come to meet me. Jennie said he was sick, that she had had the doctor and that he said it was brain fever. Just one week later (the day Ashby was born) Harold died. That was a sad day for us. We kept Brady in another room in hopes Ashby would not catch the whooping cough. It worked, and Ashby did not get it.

We had a very nice girl (Edna Campbell) working for us. Brady would get lonesome as he could not go into the room where Jennie was; so Edna would take him up and sing to him. In fact, she taught him to sing.

This winter I boarded with a Baker near the school. They had five children in school. Mrs. Baker would help them in their studies every evening after supper. There were three in the same class, and the youngest was the best of the three. They treated me very well.

Middle Fork School: The next winter I taught on Middle Fork. The winter before a girl had taught who could do nothing with the children at all. When she said anything to the big girls, they would jump up, shove up their sleeves, and tell her to look at their muscles and that she couldn’t do anything with them. They took a B-B gun to school, put a mark on the blackboard and shot at it in time of school. I soon tamed them some and had a very nice school.

I fixed up a house on Elva and Dow’s farm and lived there as it was too far to go from home and there was a river to cross. This was a very pleasant winter for us although there was some deep snow and some cold weather. We were all well and happy. We kept the house good and warm, with the best hickory wood you ever saw; and we had plenty to eat. So what more could anyone want?

Friends in Ritchie County: Yes, and we had good friends near, which made it still nicer. I wonder if we ever appreciate friends as we should. We have always had friends, but I still think of the friends back in Ritchie-Mr. Haddix, Mr. Colgate, John Meredith, Mintee Fox, Mr. Wagoner, John Bee, all the Maxsons, Jack Hudkins, Mr. Kelly, Karl Bee, Art Brissey, Maynard Brissey-yes, and so many more that I can’t begin to name them all. But I must mention Uncle Frank and Uncle Herman, Reuben and Albert Brissey, Ves Collins. Yes, and I mustn’t forget Jess Kelley, with whom we used to hunt so much.

Sun Rise School-Avis was Born, October 30, 1903: The next winter I taught at the Sun Rise School. This was a long trip, so when Marshal Ehret wanted us to move into his house and feed his cattle and let me have hay for my horse, I agreed and moved up there. Before we could move, our only girl (Avis) was born. We had a very pleasant and profitable winter there.

I will tell one thing that happened at the house while I was at school. The stove pipe went up through the roof without any flue. One day when Jennie was alone with the baby, she saw that the roof was afire. The spring was a quarter of a mile from the house. She had a pan of dish water on the table and a rung ladder set against the side of the house. She grabbed the pan, climbed the roof, threw water on the fire, and put the most of it out. Then she took her hands and scraped the coals off the shingles. She burned her hands some, but she saved the house. This took lots of grit, but she did it. The baby was only a month or six weeks old.

We did not take our cows with us as there were several there. He promised to pay for the feed for the hens if they didn’t lay enough to pay. Snow came right away, and they didn’t lay enough to amount to anything; in fact, not a dozen all winter. He did not pay me anything as he said he had left some flour and meal, which he thought would pay for the hen feed. This was no pay at all, but I didn’t say anything as I expected to stay there some more because it was handy. I fed nearly 30 head of of cattle and calves. He came out and saw his stock just before school was out and was very well pleased with them. School went very well; but, as in most of the schools, some of the children would not try to learn.

Father Died, Fall 1903: The fall of 1903 Father came to Salem for Conference, where he and many others got ptomaine poison. He got better and came out to Berea. On the train he got worse and was never out of bed after he got to Ellsworth’s. We had two doctors, but they could do nothing. As the children were all there except Virgil and Cleo, they decided to settle the estate at once. There was no will nor debts, so each would share alike. Mother Randolph said she only wanted enough to keep her while she lived; if the children would give her 4 percent of their share per year, she would be satisfied. This was very generous of her, and I feel sure the children all appreciated it.

Ashby had Scarlet Fever, 1904: We went to Commencement at Salem in 1904 and left the children at their grandpa’s. When we came back, Ashby had the scarlet fever. He was very bad for two weeks. In fact, it did not look like he could live at all. He did not cry or make any noise except when we doctored him, which was every half hour; then he would make a very peculiar noise. When he began to get better, he was too cranky to live. When we gave him a drink in a cup, if he wanted it in a glass, he would throw it as hard as he could. If he wanted it in a cup and we brought it in a glass, the same thing happened-we never knew which one he wanted.

The first day I left the house I went a half mile to hoe my corn and stayed all day. When I got home, I found Jennie scared nearly to death. Aunt Sarah Colgate had been there and told her Ashby was deaf, for he wouldn’t notice when they called to him; in fact, he wouldn’t notice anything they said or did. I told her of course he would do nothing they wanted him to do. This did not convince her, so I stepped out in the dark, picked up a board, hit the side of the house; and he nearly jumped out of the cradle. This settled the question of his hearing. He did have a lot of trouble with his ears and nose that fall and later. I think this will be enough about Ashby for the present.

Ellsworth died in 1905: Ellsworth did not have his farm all paid for. He told me in the spring of 1904 that he could pay out by selling his stock. He was killed in the spring of 1905 logging for Zeke Bee. This changed many things for me, as we had always worked together. I would help him when he needed help, and he would help me.  When Blondie was a very sick baby, we went night after night and sat up with him. Then when Ashby had scarlet fever, they came for two weeks and sat up with him. As I said before, “Never did any one have a better brother”. It was during this winter that Ashby was so very sick that he would not notice anything. We were alone for two or three days, but Ellsworth came up as soon as they heard of it and stayed all night. It was this night that he really began to improve. When something did not suit him, he cried for the first time he had made any noise for three days. Never was there a brother that stood by better than Ellsworth.

Middle Fork School: That winter I taught again at Middle Fork. A young man had taught the winter before. He had paid attention to Ada Knight, which had made the Zinn girls very angry. When school began, I found that I had a job on my hands. If I smiled at the Zinn girls, the Knight girl wanted to kill me; if I smiled at the Knight girl, the Zinn girls would try to kill me. They would not sit near each other at class. In two months they decided that Zinns and Knights were all the same to me; so we got along all okay.

One boy gave me a lot of trouble the first winter. He was easily influenced, and a big boy and girl put him up to mischief. But the second winter I got him interested. He studied hard and decided to go on to Salem, which he did and got a good education. I am always very glad when I can get a boy or girl interested in going ahead to school. I feel the school a failure if no one is inspired to go ahead along the road toward education. Every teacher should be able to fill his pupils with such a thirst for knowledge that they will never be satisfied until they have drunk deep of that fountain. I am proud of the fact that I have inspired many to go on in their studies. I am especially proud of the fact that, where no one had ever gotten a diploma from the eighth grade in one school in Braxton County, now more than a dozen have finished high school. I am proud because I know that I was directly responsible-but more of this later.

My First State Teaching Certificate, 1905: My certificate expired in 1905, and I did not try for a school. In July Mr. Mason sent me word to come up and get the Sun Rise School. He said that Port Campbell was wanting the school but that the district did not want him. Mr. Mason, Mr. Hayden, and Mr. Campbell were the trustees. Mr. Campbell could not help hire Port, so he resigned and tried to get someone else appointed who would help Mr. Hayden hire Port. Mr. Hayden said he would be glad to sign my contract. I went up to see Mr. Mason and then to Mr. Hayden. We ran him down, and he squirmed like possessed. At last he said that I could have the school, so I got a certificate. This was my first state certificate.

When Port heard I got the school, he said I could not get a certificate for I couldn’t get anything on “Grammar.” He got 65 percent on grammar, and I got 93 percent. He said the grammar didn’t suit him. It sure didn’t. Since that time Port and I have been good friends.

In spite of all handicaps, I had a fairly nice school; indeed, it was above the average, so I think.

Working in New York for Gene Jordan

Randal was Born: On February 3, 1906, our fourth son (Randal) was born. He was a delicate baby; soon after we got to New York he had a serious case of pneumonia. We were lucky to get a very fine doctor for children (Dr. Loughbead), who fixed a formula for feeding him, and he did much better on it. He was a Seventh Day Baptist at Nile, and we were very lucky that we got him.

We sold some of our household goods and left some. Very little of what we left was to be found when we got back. We took some bedding with us, but little else. The weather was fine, and we had a very nice trip. A livery man took us from Cuba (seven miles) to Gene’s. We stayed there for over a month before they could get our house ready. We had a fairly comfortable house to live in. We put in several potatoes and some corn. Gene drilled a gas well near our house, but it was not much good. Soon after this, he got a contract to drill several wells in Pennsylvania. The boys went down there with him.

He bought a new horse and came up to start harvest. When he tried to work the horse, it proved to be an awful kicker. He went back and told me to work her and they would come back and help me put the hay up when I got a lot of it cut down. They came back and put up 35 acres. He had 30 acres he wanted to get put up on the shares. I told him Brady and I could put it up (Brady was nearly 10 years old). We put the 30 acres up, for which I think Brady got about $7. This wasn’t much, but it was dear gain, and it paid Gene very well.

In the early fall Gene’s family went down to Pennsylvania. We spent the winter in their home so we would have a warmer house and be closer to the feeding and milking. We had a fine lot of winter apples. I had so much work to do and no help that I only got a start when 8 inches of snow came (the 8th of October). It only lasted a day or two, when I went on with the picking. Before I got them picked, we had hard freezing. I would just wait till they thawed out and go on picking. I finally got them all in the cellar, and we had apples till after the middle of July. Two years later the tenant did not get the apples picked till after a freeze and lost them all.

The first summer we were there, Brady caught 25 woodchucks. He would hide near their den, wait till they got away from it, then beat them to it and get them. There are a great many woodchucks in New York.

Brady had a lot of trouble in school. Some of the larger boys would beat up on him, and the teacher would just laugh at him. I, or we, got tired of this (he was having a headache all the time) and took him out of school. The teacher reported him, and the truant officer came. I was prepared for trouble, but he said that the former teacher, who lived in the district, told him the way Brady was treated and said she would not send him a day. A neighbor told him it was a shame the way he was treated and that the trustee said he told one of the boys to let Brady alone, but the boy said he would do as he pleased and he couldn’t help it. The teacher denied this, but the officer told her if she wouldn’t take care of the children he wouldn’t make them come. So he said he would get his stepson, who was a doctor, to give him an excuse. The teacher tried again, but the officer paid no attention. He told her he didn’t do his work twice.

Trading a Kicking Horse: I spoke of a horse that could kick. We called her Maud, and she could kick! She took it by spells. Sometimes she would work for several days without kicking any; then she would kick things all to pieces for a few days. Oh, she was a honey! I saw a man in Nile who wanted to trade for her. I told him she would kick some but that I had worked her at everything I tried but one and that was plowing. He wanted to know what she did. I told him she kicked, ran back, acted the fool, and did everything but plow but if we didn’t trade, I would plow her. We traded even, and he had new shoes put on the horse I got. The blacksmith where we traded told me that the man I traded with said he wouldn’t take less than $125 for her. There was a number by, and he thought he would have some fun at my expense. I just looked at him and said if she had suited me I would not have taken less than that, but she did not suit me so I let her go. The crowd roared. I never saw the man I traded with again, but I learned he was a regular horse trader so I presume he came out all right. The horse I got was a fine worker but very slow, so I came out all right, thank goodness,

Ashby and Avis: The first summer we were at Gene’s, Ashby and Avis went with me up there (Ashby was 4 and Avis was 2). When I got the team ready to go to work, I told them to run on home, which was one-fourth mile away. It was thundering, and they were afraid; so Cleo went along. Avis said, “We’s too good for thunder to hurt us, ain’t we, Auntie?” They were very good just then.

This next story was told by a doctor. He asked Cleo about her little children. She said she had no little children; they were all grown up. Then he told her that he was going by there the year before when he saw two little children playing in a swamp and he said to them, “What are you doing, little children?” The boy said, “We are catching bullfrogs.” Then the little girl piped up, “You mustn’t say that, Ippie; you must say cow frog.” Cleo knew who they were, for Avis always said “Ippie.”

Ashby had a lot of trouble with a gobbler that Cleo had. He could make it too much for Ashby. Gene had a collie pup he called Romulus which thought a lot of Ashby. Whenever the turkey would see Ashby, he would jump on him, and Ashby would say, “Come on here, Romulus, he’s coming.” Romulus would right off and run the turkey away. As soon as the turkey saw the dog was gone, back he would come; and the same talk would happen again, “Come on back here; he is coming again.” He never called for any of us to help, and the dog always ran the turkey away.

Back to West Virginia, Fall 1907

It was not a very successful year. The cows Gene bought did not prove to be fresh in the spring, as the man he bought them of said they would. We did not get much milk (which is the chief money crop in that neighborhood). Jennie was sick most of the summer and fall, and things did not look good for the future. Therefore we decided to come back to West Virginia, which we did in the fall of 1907. I sold the team and some other stuff to the renter Gene got to take our place. Gene took the man’s note for the team. For the rest of the things I got some money, a cheap railroad ticket, and a little surplus which he promised to send-but of course he never did. On the whole I made a good deal with the man, so I never worried about the unpaid balance.

Coon Hunting before We Left New York: The renter said he had a good coon dog, so Gene and the boys and I went out before we left. We got a coon in a little while, and later we treed another in a slump of trees. We decided to watch it. As it began to get daylight, we decided the coon had gotten away, so we started home. But the dog struck a track right away and in a few moments treed. Gene said he saw one and shot it out. I told him to let me have the gun, and I shot another one. This made us three coons in one night, which we thought was quite good.

We stayed in a hotel the first night in Pittsburgh. The next evening Elva met us at Pennsboro with a wagon. We lived in a house on Uncle Elisha’s farm, where he had lived for many years. I taught the Upper Otter Slide school. This was a very pleasant school with one exception. Tom Gribble got mad at me about his son Paulie and took him out of school. He raised a fuss about my being partial toward my children. I called the trustees in and demanded a hearing. They failed to get Tom to come, so they came in and told the school that there was nothing to what he was telling so I let it go. The trustees were Al Kelley, Tom Ward, and I’ve forgotten the other one. Tom Gribble objected to Ashby’s going as he wasn’t quite 6 (Tom sent his children before they were 5, and Ashby was there once).

More about Ashby and Avis: As I have already said, Ashby did not go to school the latter part of December and until January 24. One cold day Jennie got to wondering what the two were doing. She found them playing meeting. Ashby was the leader, and he told Avis to get up and speak. She said, “I don’t know what to say.” He told her to get up and say, “The Lord has gone from me, and the crows are carrying my chickens away.” How quickly children can learn to imitate older people!

Avis was very successful in getting her way with children, but Ashby had a fine way to get her to do as he wanted her to. He would say, “Avis, if you don’t do this, I won’t watch the snakes off of you.” She would always say, “I’ll do it, Ippie, if you’ll watch the snakes off of me.” She feared snakes very much and was certain that Ashby could keep them off of her. Children are so trusting, but they soon learn to doubt us for we fail to do as we say exactly all the time.

Randal Died: We were to move into Pa Sutton’s house in Berea as soon as school was out. Aunt Rachel had not moved out yet, so we had to wait a few days. I was working for Dow and had just gotten back to work after dinner when we heard Jennie calling that Randal (our baby of two years) was dying. She had carried him for about one-half mile. He was dead. Jennie thought he had choked to death, but he hadn’t. He had taken some kind of fit or spasm and died without a struggle. Had he choked, he would have struggled for breath and his face would have turned black, none of which happened. He had never been strong. We were glad he went without suffering rather than being sick and suffering for weeks. It was a terrible blow to us, especially to Jennie. Although she did not talk much about it, I doubt if she really got over it until after the birth of Elmo. Even now it is a sad thing to write about, so I will write no more about it.

A Big Bass: We moved to Berea and raised a garden down at the Polly Place as well as in Berea. One day Brady and I were down there working in the garden when Brady got tired and wanted to go down to the river. He said he heard a big fish on the riffle. I told him to go on as he had worked very well, and I thought he was tired. As soon as he got down there, he began to holler, “Come down here quick! There’s a big fish here.” I knew there was no big fish that we could catch, but I went to please the kid. When I got there, what do you suppose I found-a bass one-half as long as your arm in a hole of water 10 feet long, 3 feet wide, and 6 inches deep, with very shallow water on each side.

I told Brady to drive him up to the upper end where I had put a cross tie so he couldn’t get away, and I would kill him with a club. I didn’t think he would go below, but he seemed to be afraid of me and only came part way. All at once he went by Brady on the dead run. I yelled at him, “Now you let him get away.” The water was so shallow that he had to turn on his side and flop. Brady rushed for it and hit it on the head with all his might. That was the end of the bass! It was 18 3/4 inches and weighed 3 lbs. 14 oz. and made more than we could all eat in a meal.

A Home in Berea; Lower Room at Berea School: That fall I sold the Polly Place and bought the house and lots where we lived in Berea. I got the lower room to teach at Berea, and Ernest Campbell was principal. I did not ask for a place at Berea. When the one they gave the lower room to would not teach, I got it and had a very nice time. I had to teach the first five grades as Ernest would only teach three. He would not try to keep his boys from running over those in my room. One day at noon my room and some of the upper room were playing trim a Christmas tree when Orin Hammond came down and began to tear it up. Then Hose Brake made for him, and they had a time. Orin never bothered my kids again.

I had a bunch of girls from 8 to 10 who were said to be so badly spoiled that they could hardly be controlled. I found them as good students and as nice to get along with as one could ask. They were Guerney Brake, Jessie Hayhurst, May Douglas, Darla Bee and some others. They would do anything I wanted them to do. They each wanted to do more than the others. This winter Guerney Brake came to school the first day with the mumps. We all had them but me, and I still have not had them. Brady had them very hard, for he took a backset on them.

Auburn School, 1909: The summer of 1909 I taught a school for advanced scholars in Auburn. I had a large school, which paid me quite well. I had 40 students. I did so well with the lower room that they gave me the principal’s place the next winter. This was a much harder job, but I got along fairly well. I got the ill will of Tom Jackson and Ell Douglas, which caused me a considerable trouble.

The Grange: About 1908 they organized a Grange, which did a lot of good for a few years. Two years we had a Farmers’ Institute with fine speakers from other parts of the state. This was very fine. Then for two falls we had a Farmers’ Picnic with fine speakers. The fall of 1912 we had five or six of the best speakers in Ritchie and one (a very able speaker) from another section. There were hundreds of people there, and it was a very successful affair. I was lecturer and had charge of the program, and I think I had a small part in its success. We tried to start a Grange store. We bought a suitable building and lumber to fix it up, but we failed to find a manager. We sold the property, lumber and all so that we did not lose anything. Mr. Wagoner moved away, we went to Salem, and the Grange died.

Building onto our Home: After finishing my school at Auburn, I decided to add another story to my house as it was a one-story house. I took some of the ceiling and upper floor from the Polly House, which I still owned. This was red oak and hard maple, very fine, tongued and grooved. I also bought some fine dressed lumber at a sale very cheap. This way I was able to have a good two-story house.

Lost on a Visit to My Girl: I got home Wednesday and went to see Jennie Friday night. It was raining, and they had cleared out a piece of woods that spring that I was used to going through. Erlo was with me, so I didn’t pay any attention to the road. As I came back late that night, I got lost! It was still raining and very dark, but luckily I had a lantern. I suddenly found whichever way I went I would go down into a deep hollow instead of coming out onto the ridge road. I thought for a short time and decided as I had followed a fence out that I should find where I had missed the road by following the fence back, which I did and was soon on my way home. I never got lost again when I went to see my girl.

Bartlett School, 1893-94: I taught the Bartlett School on Spruce this winter. The teacher the winter before had not been able to control the big boys (there were eight over 15 years old) at all. I had a little trouble but not much. I saw some of these boys at church the next winter and asked them how school was coming. They replied, “We are having no school of any account. We wish you were back.” This made me feel very good, for one of these boys had given me a lot of trouble.

Summer at Ellsworth’s, 1894: The next summer I stayed at Ellsworth’s, and we raised a crop of corn together. But the summer was so dry that the corn was no good. Stock of all kind was so low that it was hardly worth anything. There was almost no work to be had at any price. I was lucky and got a week’s work at 40 cents a day cutting filth for Uncle Elisha! (Now, what do you think of that?) And we worked from sunrise to sunset. When I was 75 years old, I made 65 cents an hour for picking apples, and I picked from the ground and did not climb into the trees-but this will come later, for I was not 75 at this time.

Moon Rise School, Winter 1894-95: The winter of 1894-95 I taught at the Moon Rise School north of Auburn. I had a very nice school there, but it was a very cold winter, The snow was deep; the house was very open and on a high hill far from any road. This was not a very large school, and several of the scholars did not learn as well as very high intellectuals should. Indeed, several of them were dumb! I would go up to Uncle Elisha’s Sunday evening, stay all night and go to school. Then I would come home on Friday, stay all night, go to church Sabbath, and maybe stay down and work on the farm Sunday (I had the home farm rented) and go back to Uncle’s Sunday evening. I paid Uncle for my board. One Friday evening when I got home, my feet were so badly frozen that Aunt had me put them in cold water and soak them.

I had one family that was rather hard to control, so I whipped one of them for not getting his lesson the second time. This made the parents very mad, and they took the children out of school two days before school was out. The father said he would whip me the first time he saw me, and the boy said he would whip me when he grew up. Some years later the boy got drunk, came to church at Otter Slide on Sunday night and inquired for me. He said he didn’t want to whip me because he liked me. I am glad he got over being mad.

There was a family of several children who never came to school. They were very poor. I told the children one day, near the end of the term, that I was going down at noon to enumerate them and that I intended to talk to them about going to school. They said the woman would run me out. I talked to them, and they were very nice. The woman said they were too poor to buy the books. When I told her how little they cost, she was surprised and said they would send them the next winter. She was as nice as could be. So you see that you should not cross a bridge till you come to it-nor ever meet trouble half way.

Our Wedding, March 28, 1895

School was out March 15, 1895, and we had planned to get married March 28. So I hurried to fix up the house, get some furniture, and get ready for housekeeping. I bought a bed, a cook stove, cooking utensils and chairs. We had some bed clothes, pillows, etc., and felt we were ready for housekeeping. I bought a horse and cow, and Jennie had a heifer that would soon be fresh; so we would have two cows. We also had a half dozen hens. Jennie and her mother had raised a calf together. When Jennie told her mother that she was going to get married, her mother gave Jennie her share of the calf, which was then two years old. This cow proved to be very fine, and we kept her till she was 10 years old and sold her for $30, which was a good price for a cow at that time.

Elder Seager was holding a meeting at Roanoke, but we hoped he would be back in time for the wedding. I got our license on Tuesday and waited till Wednesday to get a preacher. When Elder Seager was not at home Tuesday night, I got a preacher named Robinson. When I got back, I found that Elder Seager had come home at midnight that night. So you see, if we had gone there that morning, we would have had Elder Seager marry us. I have told this so that you may know why Seager didn’t marry us.

We went together for nearly two years before we were engaged and a year after we were engaged before we were married. The morning of March 28 (Thursday) was nice and fair. I rode one horse and led one with a side saddle (there were no autos then). Sarah rode another, while Ellsworth walked across the hill. The guests were Jennie’s grandfather, grandmother, Uncle Frank, John, Callie, Ellsworth, and Sarah. We had a very nice dinner. (Mother Sutton was very good cook), and everybody seemed to have a good time.

Sarah fixed the Infore supper that evening. The guests were Father Sutton, Mother Sutton, Uncle Frank, Cleo, Sarah and Ellsworth. That evening several friends came to spend the evening. Those who spent the evening included those at the supper and these others: the whole Meathrell family, including Tom Ehret and Watie. Of all those who were at the wedding, none are left except the bride and groom. Those who were at Infore and at the reception that night are all gone except Cleo and Julia, Rupert, Conza, and Draxie. It does not seem possible that it will soon be 56 years since these events, but time does fly!

Our First Year-Gardens and Chickens: I have but little memory of the first summer we were married except that I raised some crop and Jennie raised a wonderful garden. We planted beans the 15^th of April, for she said she had plenty of seed and could plant again if they failed to grow. The neighbors made fun of her, but the beans came right up and grew right along. We had beans the 7^th of June, which was a full month before others had them. We had plenty of beans all summer. Mrs. Colgate came over one Sunday as soon as she heard that we had had beans and said, “Jennie, let’s go out and look at your garden.” When she looked at the beans, she said, “Now, Jennie, you can’t eat all those beans. Won’t you let me have a mess?” So Jennie gave her a mess. Poor thing, she just couldn’t see something good to eat and not try to get some of it.

I remember that we had 7 hens and got 7 eggs a day for weeks till one hen went to setting (we set her). Then we got 6 eggs a day. There had been no chickens on the farm for two or three years, so the hens did extra well.

After the hen we had set hatched, the crows began to take the young chickens. I saw a crow light down among the chickens, hop up to one, grab it in its bill, and fly away with it. This made me so mad that I said, “I’ll get you old sinner,” and I did. I borrowed Rupert’s shot gun. I knew about when it would come, so I went out into the coal house and waited for it. It soon came, and I fired. That crow began to fly in a circle and went higher and higher until it went out of sight. I knew I had gotten it.

I never lost any more young chickens from the crows. A hawk soon started to take them (they will usually come about the same time of day). So I took the gun out into the woodyard and began to split wood. Soon I saw it coming and again I fired. It never came back! So I soon got the drop on the varmints.

The first winter after we were married, as I came home from school, I saw where a mink had been eating a chicken along the river bank. So I got two of my traps and set them. They were too light; the next morning I found it had got away. I had a double spring trap which was loaned, so I got it. I staked a muskrat to the ground so it couldn’t pull it away and set the big trap. The next morning I had as big a mink, I think, as I ever saw.

At the last State Exam I took, I made 93 percent, which is not bad for a country bum. I took my first County Exam in 1891 and got a number two [teaching certificate], which was all I tried for. At that time you had to take a special exam if you wanted a number one. In 1892 I got a number one, with an average of 93 1/3 percent, which was one of the best in Ritchie County. I have held a First Grade [teaching certificate] ever since, which is now 59 years. I will hold it as long as I live (I don’t know how long that will be), as it is a Life Certificate.

My Early Teaching Experiences

Lower Otter Slide: I began teaching when I was 19 years old. I taught four months at Lower Otter Slide, for which I received $100 all told. I have often wondered that someone did not knock me in the head, for I was a very green boy. But I still believe that I taught school above the average.

This was a school of about 35 or 40, mostly children under 16. I had trouble with some of the children about stealing. One large girl was accused of stealing a stamped envelope. This was reported after school was out one evening. The girl’s sister said she hunted for the envelope after they got home and could not find anything of it. I told them she might have put it in her pocket. The girl’s reply was, “I don’t have any such thing, never did have; if you don’t believe it, you can examine and see.” Of course, this made the boys very much amused. The mother threatened to whip me if I touched the girl, but luckily nobody was hurt.

It was here I first became interested in the girls-or rather a girl. The next summer I began dating a girl, called Jennie, which resulted three years later in our being married. This marriage has lasted over 55 years.

As I said before, I fell for a girl in my school and began going with her in June, 1892, just before I was 20. Another fellow tried to cut me out by trickery, but I waited till he started to take her home from church one morning, and I walked up and told her to decide who was going with her. She said, “You are the only one who has asked me.” So I took her home and continued to go with her for nearly three years. Now, you can see why I stayed in West Virginia. I have never regretted it, although I do wish I had more education. But I have had a good life. My children have a better education than I have, and my grandchildren are getting a chance for an education.

After Father left, I made my home at Ellsworth’s. I paid straight board, unless I was away for a week or two at a time. I had the right to take company there any time I wanted to.

The first summer I went to school for ten weeks and worked mornings and evenings and Sundays. I went to exams that fall and got my first grade certificate with a 93 1/3 percent average. This lasted for four years. I taught at the Hall School that winter and boarded at John Lowther’s on Bone Creek. I had a very nice time and made one fine friend (Lloyd Hoff). This friendship continued until he left Bone Creek.

Working in New York in 1893

In the spring of 1893 I went to New York to work for Virgil. I only got $100 for seven months, but it was a very enjoyable summer. Cleo kept house for Virgil, and we renewed our old times together. It was as it had been in the past years when we had been at home. How we used to enjoy the evenings after supper when the others went into the other house while Delvia and I stayed in the kitchen until Cleo washed the dishes and did up the work!

A Peddler and Hot Tea: One night a peddler stayed at our house, and he complained of a pain in his stomach and wanted Cleo to make him some black pepper tea. In a little while he came back in and wanted to see that she made it good and strong. Cleo told him to go into the other house and tend to his own business and she would make the tea. Now Cleo was no hand to half do things, so she put in three times the required amount and let it boil in a tin cup. When we went into the other house, she took it off the stove, boiling, put a spoon in it, and took it to him. He just ran the spoon around it once, tipped it up and drank it down. We found the next morning that it had been so strong that it had taken the tin off the inside of the cup.

Another night we were in the kitchen when we noticed something moving the paper in a basket hanging to the wall. I took it down, thinking a mouse was in it. When I got it down, out jumped a big rat, ran up the inside of my pants leg, on up my shirt, and out at the collar. Did I holler? Did I scream? You bet I did!

Virgil would often go away at the end of the week and stay a day or two. We would be alone. Of course, I had the feeding to do and the cows to milk (there were ten of them) on Sabbath, but this left me some time to rest.

An Irish Woman and “Tae”: One Sabbath morning in April (it was cold and rainy) an old Irish woman, all wet and miserable, came in and wanted to make some “tae.” We let her sit by the fire and warm and drink her tea. When she started to leave, she began to pour out blessings. ”May the Holy Virgin and all the Saints bless you and keep you. May you have long life and happiness go with yea all yer lives, and may trouble and sorrow never come near yea.” She kept this up till she was out of the house and had shut the door. Such a life! She was tramping the roads in cold, rainy weather with no place to stay, wet and lonely, yet she still kept her Irish Blarney. She sure had kissed the Blarney Stone.

Chasing the Cows: Another time Virgil had stayed two days. When I got up that morning the cows were gone. I had to hunt them until nearly eight o’clock, milk the ten cows, and rush the milk to the factory (it had to be there by nine o’clock). While I was gone, Virgil came and wanted to know what I was doing. Cleo told him and said, “You’d better be very nice, for Pressie has been on the run since daylight, hasn’t had any breakfast, and you bet he’s mad.” Could any boy have a better sister?

Virgil was just as nice as could be and never said a cross word. The fact is, Virgil is a great guy, as honest as they come and as good a neighbor as anyone ever had. He hated to borrow so badly he would rather buy than to borrow. But he would loan anything he had, and in sickness or trouble he would be right there to help.

A Crazy Drunk Man: I will tell one incident to show what the saloon did for people who visited them (I had never seen a saloon till I went to New York). One day we were going to the hay field after dinner. Virgil was walking through the field while I went up the road with the wagon. I saw a man coming down the road in a buggy. It made me mad as soon as I saw him. He would hit the horse as hard as he could with a buggy whip; the horse would start to run; then he would jerk it down on its haunches, yell his best, and whip it again. He was just crazy drunk. As soon as he saw Virgil, he began to curse him and used such vile language before he came to where I was that I jumped up on the wagon and told him to shut his mouth or I would take him out of the buggy and beat the life out of him. He never said a word till he got past me. Then he began again and dared Virgil out in the road. Virgil told him he wouldn’t dirty his clean white hands with the likes of him. Then the fellow swore he would go into the field and get him. When he turned in, Virgil slapped his fork into the ground and told him if he came in there just what would happen. So he drove on. It still makes me mad to see a drunk man. Father sure did a good job teaching us to hate drinking.

Binding Oats: I helped bind over 30 acres of oats that fall. Virgil got a neighbor to cut part of our oats with a drop reaper, and we helped bind his. You had to use a double band in binding oats. As I had never made them, Virgil tried to teach me. Because I was slow to learn, he said I would never learn (Virgil was naturally a little impatient) and so would not be any use in oat harvest. He was just a little mistaken, for I could soon make a double band as quick as any one there and bind faster than the rest.

A Ruckus in the Night: During oats harvest we had a young lady visitor (she had been a small girl when Virgil boarded with them years before), and they sat up until late. Now, I would be very tired, so I would go to bed. One night I went to bed but could not go to sleep because of the noise down there. I got up, dressed and went down. I stayed till about twelve o’clock, when I went back to bed and right to sleep.

I was dreaming of a terrible racket when Cleo burst the door open and yelled for me to get down stairs quick. I jumped up and started down, but Cleo said it might be better under the circumstances if I put my pants on. So I proceeded to do so. When I got out there, I found our dog (a dandy collie) barking at someone in a hay barn and Virgil, with a pile of rocks ready, telling him to come out of there or he would knock the barn down on him (and he would have, too). The man began to whine. He said he was just a poor old man who had come in there to sleep. Virgil asked him where he had been while all the racket was going on. He said he hadn’t heard any noise. There had been noise enough to almost waken the dead!

Virgil told me to take Romulus (the dog) and keep him from eating the man up. He was just a pup and harmless, but he sure was acting vicious. I took the pup away and waited for Virgil’s return. He soon came, and we heard the story.

When the girls went to bed, he went out on the porch, and there stood a man on the steps. The dog was barking out by the barn. When Virgil took after the man and called the dog, four men jumped out of the shadow of a tree and ran. The dog took after them, but Virgil called him back for fear the men would shoot him. As he came back he circled the old hay barn where the last man was found. So there were six men around the house at one o’clock at night.

What was it all about? Two days before Virgil was in the bank. There a young, clean-shaven man was sitting at a desk writing on the back of blank checks. Whenever anyone drew out any money, he would put the sum down; if the man’s name was called, he put it down and put it in his pocket. If not, he would tear it up and throw it in the waste basket. Virgil drew out quite a sum of money, and he saw the man put Virgil’s name down when he heard the banker call him by name. When the old man in the hay barn jumped to the ground from the hay barn, he turned his face toward Virgil for a moment, and he saw he was the young man he had seen in the bank. So I am sure it was lucky that they sat up very late that night, for all of us. This was in the panic year of 1893.

I helped Virgil pick about 400 bushels of apples. Before we got them all picked, I got word to come home and begin teaching. We got them all picked before I left, but we didn’t get them packed because they failed to deliver the barrels.

A boy got up one winter’s morn and came to breakfast rather late,
Yet raised a fuss because there was no nice, big pancake upon his plate.
His father took him o’er his knee and raised his hand up in the air,
And when that boy got loose again, he held his spanked ache in the chair.

This was all my experience as an actor until after I began teaching.

The summer after I went to Perie at Otter Slide, I went to school to Callie at Berea. Mr. Brake owned the land all around the school house. He came to the school one day and complained that the children were getting into his orchard and wasting his apples (which I expect was so). Callie told them that she would whip anyone that went into the orchard. A few days later one of the Brake boys and two of the Hise Davis boys got some apples, and she whipped all three. This stopped apple stealing.

Some Memories of a Teacher Named Hall: The winter I was 9 years old, a young man by the name of Hall was teacher. He could do nothing with the children. I will give you one incident that I saw myself. Four or five of the larger girls were in mischief, and he told them they would stay after school. When he dismissed school, they started to get their wraps. He said, “Girls, I told you to stay in.” Ocea Colgate said, in a voice that was plain for everyone to hear, “I don’t have to; I don’t intend to; and you can’t make me.” What do you suppose he said? “Well girls, you can stay in at recess tomorrow.”

When we got outside, John Meredith proposed, “Three cheers for Ocea,” which we all gave with all the power of our lungs. Then someone proposed, “Three groans for the teacher.” This we gave just as loudly as the other. We were up on the hill on the road to Auburn one half mile from Berea and could be heard there. We told about it at supper that evening; and Father said, “If one of my children was in such a thing, I would whip him.” We never mentioned that we yelled as loud as anyone.

Now this teacher had a rule that when he called the roll, if you came in late you were to answer, “Tardy.” Also, if you had whispered that day, you were to say, “Imperfect”; if you had not whispered, you were to say, “Perfect.” Ellsworth was 19 years old and was very careful to not whisper. But one day some of the big girls fooled him into whispering, so he had a time the rest of the day. The girls had lots of fun thinking he would have to answer, “Imperfect.” When the roll call came, he answered, “Tardy.”

The trustees planned to turn Mr. Hall out at the end of the second month (we only had four months then), but he promised Mr. Brake that he would quit his tarnal partiality and not whip his boys unless he whipped someone else. Father took us children out of school and sent Ellsworth and Alva to another school three miles away.

Another Teacher-Tom Brown: The next winter Tom Brown taught our school. He was entirely different from Fred Hall.

One day the trustees came in to visit the school. They were Father, Mr. Brake, and Mr. Colgate. They were seeing about getting some new seats. Of course, the children were watching. After Father left, Mr. Brake made a speech. He said, “There’s not enough studying, too much looking around. Give it to ‘em, whip ‘em. Give ‘em the rod; it’s good for ‘em. We had to take it.” Mr. Brake always said lick ‘em. But if he found the teacher whipping one of his boys, he would take them all out of school.

The teacher was mad. After Mr. Brake left, he told us if we didn’t study better he would get some hickories and whip anyone who looked off his book one minute. He soon got the hickories and told us not to look off our books one minute on penalty of a whipping. I was 10 years old and knew the difference between looking at a book and studying. I looked at the book, but I did not study. (There’s an old saying, “You can lead a horse to water, but you cannot make him drink.”)

(I have heard that there is a way to get many to think, but some will not for they have no thinker.) But during the evening while I was looking intently at my book, (with my eyes rolled up, looking at the front of the house), I saw the teacher looking at his clock on the wall, then jump and grab a whip from the wall. I suddenly glued my whole mind on my book. When I heard him pass my seat, I knew I was safe. A moment later I heard him say, “What are you doing?” The boy replied, “I was studying.” But the teacher said, “No you weren’t”; and he jerked him out of his seat and gave him a hard whipping. I didn’t look back to see.

Now, who do you suppose it was? You’re right; it was one of Mr. Brake’s boys. I am sure he had watched all day to catch one of them. Mr. Brake always said, “Whip ‘em!”; and just as he did this time, he always took them out of school if the teacher whipped one of his kin.

More School Memories: I will go ahead and finish the account of my school days, and then go back to give an account of other happenings in my boyhood days. The next year Mr. Luzader (the father of Everett Luzader) taught part of the term. The children were so bad that he quit and Tom Brown finished it. I remember nothing important happening except his giving Elmus Bee a very hard whipping for looking out of the window to see how much snow was on the ground.

Mr. Wade taught the winter I was 12 years old. It was reported that he was very strict, so everybody was good the first month. The first morning of the second month he told us he had heard it was a very bad school, but he had never taught a better one. Poor man! That was the worst mistake he ever made, for the Berea school would not be bragged on. In the next three months he whipped not less than 10 or 12 times. Of these were the four largest boys in school and two girls. One of these girls was 15 years old, would have weighed at least 175 pounds, and was married in six weeks. He whipped her very hard. Mr. Brake again took his boys out of school because they got whipped.

At 13 I went to school to George Hoff for my last term at Berea. This was a very quiet term of school-never but one little flaw. He told us one morning that there had been some kissing games played and that there must be no more. A lot of us boys went down into Mr. Colgate’s field to play ball. We heard the bell in just a little while and went to school. He told us, “I told you this morning you were to play kissing games no more, and at noon you went down behind the house and went to playing them again. There will be no more of it.” And there wasn’t. Mr. Hoff boarded at our house and was a very nice man about the house.

An Incident at Upper Bone Creek: Before school began when I was 14, they had made a new school district at Upper Bone Creek and put us in it. Mr. Hoff was the first teacher. Things went along very well until he got into trouble with Frank Prunty. The school house was built on the Prunty farm. At recess one day Frank saw their sheep in the meadow, so he went to put them out without asking the teacher. He didn’t get back until 15 minutes after school was taken up. When Mr. Hoff asked him how he came to be late, he wouldn’t say a word. So Mr. Hoff told him he could stay in five minutes at noon. But Frank ran out.

Mr. Hoff got a whip at noon. Then before recess he got the key from the janitor and locked the door. Frank told the janitor, who was a boy about his age, that he would kill him if he gave the teacher the key. Before recess he was told that he could stay in all recess, but he just laughed at him. His older brother said at noon that he hoped Hoff would skin him alive as he was so mean none of them could do anything with him. Mr. Hoff proceeded to do what the brother hoped. Frank fought, but he was surprised to find himself jerked out of his seat, thrown to the floor, his hands tied behind him, pulled to his feet, and the whip worn out on him. Frank fought and swore he would kill Hoff, but George just threw him down on the floor and held him there all recess.

It was equal to any revival you ever saw. There was weeping and wailing, but no shouting. The girls all cried; the little children howled; and Frank kept swearing he would kill Hoff and the janitor. After recess he turned Frank loose, and Frank went out and got a ball bat and dared Hoff back there. He then went home, swearing to kill the two.

The trustees met the next day and expelled Frank. Mr. Prunty was away and did not return until the next afternoon after the fight. On being told why Frank was not at school, he went to the woods, got some hickories, and whipped him until he gave out. The next morning he got some more whips and began again. Frank finally said, “Father, if you won’t kill me, I will go back to school.” The trustees took him back when he agreed to behave in school and not bother young McClain (the janitor) while they were at school. He did not keep his word, but picked on him every chance he got and still said he intended to kill him.

One day the next summer, the McClain boy went down to get some sheep that had strayed onto the Prunty farm. Frank saw him and ran down and started a fight. The boy proceeded to cut him up, but not seriously. He was indicted for unlawful cutting, but he was cleared when Frank swore that he had said he would kill McClain but he had decided just to give him a good beating. The District Attorney said Frank got what was coming to him, which proves that justice is pretty sure to come sooner or later.

Another Teacher-John Lowther: I will write of one more teacher so that you may get a fair picture of the schools of that day, both good and bad. The next winter after the events mentioned above had happened, we had John Lowther as our teacher. He was a big man about 25 or 30 years old, but a teacher that kept no order at all. He would yell out so you could hear him for a half mile, “Cut that out,” or “You’re getting fresh back there.”

One cold wintry day, when Frank was the only one of the Johnsons who was there (now Frank had to be careful when any of the other children were there, for they would tell on him and Mr. Johnson would whip the life out of him), Frank was having a big time at the stove and Lowther told him to go to his seat. But Frank did not go. After Lowther yelled at him two or three times, he started back and Frank ran. Just as he got out the door Lowther yelled, “If you go out that door you’ll never come in here again.” Frank had closed the door, but he opened it, came back in, went up to the stove and sat down. Then Lowther really spread himself. He said, “If you ever do such a thing again, I’ll cut every dud off you. I’ll skin you alive! Don’t you know you’ve got to mind me?” Frank replied very quietly, “No, I don’t.” Lowther finally ran out of steam. After telling Frank to go back to his seat and close his knife (which he had been whittling a seat with), he then went on with the school.

My Final Years of School: The next year Alva taught, and I had a very successful term of school. The next year Alva taught again, but I stayed at home and helped with a big saw set. The next winter I was 18 and went to Miss Miller, who was a good teacher for an ordinary school but could not handle some of the outlaws of “Bloody Bone” (as we called the school). They annoyed her until she became a nervous wreck. They would drop a book on the floor to see her jump and hear her scream. They would throw a ball on the roof at recess to hear her scream. She finally had to stay at home and rest a few weeks before she could finish the school.

I will now tell you of an incident that happened at my last winter’s school, to show you the kind of boy my youngest brother, Delvia, was. One evening after school was out a boy ran up behind him, knocked his hat off, and started to pick it up and throw it in the mud. Delvia just lifted his heavy boot up by one foot and placed it firmly in his face, which left a rather muddy spot. The boy just turned around and walked off.

The next morning, Delvia slipped around the garden to the barn with the new hat. When I overtook him, he pulled an old, slouch hat from under his arm and said, “I am going to knock hats today.” When anyone came around knocking hats off, he took his turn. His aim was poor; instead of hitting the hat he would take the side of the head just about the ear. They never bothered his hats any more.

This was my last year in public school, for the next year I got a second grade certificate and began teaching.

Memories of Sons, Daughters, and Their Spouses

Xenia Lee Randolph Wheeler

I remember when . . .

We children played in dust and fine, tasty dirt under the living room floor.

The foundation was covered with galvanized tin sheeting.
A fence surrounded the house.
I planted daffodils along the fence.
Dad, Mom, and we kids played tag, hide-and-seek, softball.
Dad used to bang my head on the ceiling; then, as I grew, I clasped my hands together and he lifted them to the ceiling.

I remember trading lunches at Morris School, playing ball, playing house on a rock–which reminds me of the beautiful rocks on the flat at home where we girls and the boys had play houses and sometimes had picnics of a quart of blackberries or raw beets and carrots. Sometimes we took popped corn up there.

I remember scarlet fever–Dad staying in the front bedroom so he could attend summer school. We children watching the paved road being built; the excitement watching our first pit toilet dug and set up–such luxury! Gaining strength and learning to walk again. Skin peeling. Great Grandma scooting her rocker throughout the house. Dad’s graduation from Salem College.

Quilting parties, candy making at Christmas, Christmas programs at Morris. Uncle Elmo as Santa–singing “Jingle Bells” louder and louder, hoping Santa would hear us and come.

Dad’s illness; Grandma Randolph taking care of us; Aunt Lydia teaching us. I remember ear aches. I remember Beth’s arrival–then the thrill of having Dad home–good neighbors who came to help day by day. Mom and Dad numbering two checker boards so the closet doors could be opened and they could call out numbers as they enjoyed many checker games in their respective rooms.

Christmases with oranges and popcorn balls piled under the tree on the table in the living room (front bedroom now). Shoes filled with nuts, candy, and fruit; dolls we proudly showed Dad and Mom; the boys’ punching bag.

I remember milking cows, feeding chickens, picking wild strawberries, blackberries, huckleberries; taking family walks into the woods in early spring. Sabbath days having our own church services and Sabbath School classes, later Dad and Mom reading to each other –sometimes American Magazine novels.

I remember getting to hold Edna Ruth if I did not cry when the health nurse came to the house to give me a shot so I could go to school. I had crawled out of reach under the house when I saw her coming. This was not my first shot!

I remember going to Grandpa Bond’s on Christmas. I remember sugar cookies that Grandma made. I remember the terrible snow blizzard one Christmas and walking home from Weekleys in it, stopping at Coffindaffers to warm up and on home. I remember crying children, cold hands, and that last bank to the house; the warm fire, hot sausage with milk gravy on biscuits eaten in the living room by the fire (Mom wearing her coat to prepare meals).

I remember 4-H clubs at Morris and Jarvisville; baking and sewing projects; demonstrations during meetings; exhibits of projects; 4-H camps and Church camps with Dad helping.

I remember strawberry time at Aunt Susie’s, butchering time at home. Vacations at both grandparents; getting acquainted with cousins!

How thankful I am for parents who taught me the real values of life early. We walked every week to church and Sunday School. Mom played piano. One year I had perfect attendance. They gave me a little doll. How I loved it!

I learned to keep house, cook, can, bake bread, sew; but most of all I knew the security of a home where love was practiced and felt, harmony reigned. We worked together and played together. What a rich heritage. Your deep faith and trust in God, your service to Him as you met needs in the community, as we had devotions in the home, as Dad read, taught and practiced God’s teachings and disciplines in the school room as well as home–all gave me a solid foundation on which to build my life and brings me to the joys I know today in my own home with my family and in full-time Christian service for others.

Thank you, Dad and Mom!

Edgar Wheeler

I remember my first visit to Dad and Mom Randolph’s home. It was an early misty 4th of July. Xenia Lee had invited me to go with the family for a picnic at Grandpa Randolph’s at Sutton, W.Va. My first interest was Xenia Lee, of course; but I was immediately impressed by the friendliness and industriousness of Dad and Mom, and the closeness of the family–a real memorable day!

That was my unforgettable introduction to them and the family of which I am very happily a part. I remember kindness and helpfulness they have constantly shown through the years.

And I remember asking for their permission to marry Xenia Lee –and receiving it after a little friendly persuasion from the two of us.

And “Thank you, Dad and Mom, for letting Xenia Lee be my wife-and me be a part of a good family!”

Mae Randolph Lewis Bottoms

There are so many things I could write about, but I will pick just a few that will give some idea of life in the 1930′s and 40′s as we grew up in rural W.Va.

Early Schooling

In the fall of 1936, I started first grade at a one-room school at Morris–the last year that Dad taught there. I can remember sometimes walking the mile to school with Dad, Bond, Xenia Lee, and Alois.

One incident I vaguely remember involved Alois, who was in second grade. He sat toward the back of the row of seats in which I sat toward the front. One day there was a commotion, giggling, etc. at the back of that row. When Dad investigated, he found that Alois was entertaining everyone near him by making them think he was eating a fly. (He was a real ham!) So Dad made him come to the front of the school and entertain everyone by actually eating that fly. I don’t know if that taught him a lesson or not.

I also remember nature walks in the spring when Dad took all of the student–grades one through six–for a walk through the woods near the school and to a meadow on top of a nearby hill. He taught us to recognize trees by their bark and by leaves and to recognize many wild flowers and birds. When we got to the top of the hill, Dad would help the older children to fly kites–a real special treat!

When I was in second grade, we all went to Jarvisville to a two-room school. Dad taught grades 4-6 and was the principal. A Miss Smith taught grades 1-3. Xenia Lee and Bond were in grades 5 and 6 and still had Dad as their teacher.

One incident I remember that year happened in the spring when they were first paving the road in front of our house. As a part of in-service education at that time, teachers would cancel their school one day and go to visit some other school in the area. So Dad had a visitation day, and children in grades 4-6 did not have to go that day. But Alois and I still had to go.

I don’t remember our getting to school that morning, but I assume Dad took us as he went to another school to visit. I do remember that Alois and I had to walk home alone the 2 1/2 miles. That would have been no problem except for the fresh tar. Dad and Mom tried to tell us how to walk along the ridge of a hill near the road and come across the hill and in behind our home. We had not gone a half mile before I started crying and was sure we were lost. With my insistent crying, Alois began to lose his confidence as to our whereabouts. Finally, Alois gave in to me, and we decided to walk up the road where we knew the way. Thinking we were staying out of the tar, we walked in the grass alongside the road. Instead of just getting tar on our feet, we got tar all over us from the tall grass. We were late getting home, and we were a mess. Mom had to clean us up with gasoline to get the tar off.

One special thing I remember from the country schools was contests between different area schools. Sometimes we went to other schools, and sometimes they came to our school. These contests would usually take half a day and would include spelling bees, arithmetic contests, and softball games.

Dad was especially good at teaching math, and he made all of us love math. I especially remember the way we had to analyze problems verbally, and I feel this did much to develop our analytic thinking and logic. For example, we would have to verbalize each problem as follows: “If one apple costs 5 cents, then 20 apples would cost 20 times 5 cents or $1.00.”

Going to school to Grandpa Randolph.

When I was in sixth grade, I thought I wanted to go to school to Grandpa Randolph for a while, and I knew that would be the last year that I could. Grandma and Grandpa Randolph lived on Bug Ridge near Sutton, and Grandpa taught a one-room school about a mile from their home. Grandpa had an apple orchard, and in October Mother went there to make applebutter. Edna Ruth was in fourth grade that year, and she and I decided to go with Mother and stay until Thanksgiving to go to school to Grandpa. They lived about 70 miles from us, and it took about half a day to get there. The afternoon that we got to Grandpa’s, Edna Ruth was having second thoughts about staying but I was excited about it. We had taken some of our books with us, and that evening I asked Grandpa what kind of math workbooks he used. He said, “The only workbook I use is a whip.” I didn’t know what to make of that answer.

The next day Mother was going to make applebutter in the morning and start home after lunch. Edna Ruth and I went to school with Grandpa that morning. The mountain children were strange to us, and we were strange to them. At noon I was having second thoughts about staying, and Edna Ruth was trying to persuade me to stay. We ended up both going home with Mother and singing “Home, Sweet Home” most of the way. So we went to school to Grandpa Randolph–but only half a day!

Playing together.

We worked hard together, and we played together. Although Mother did not particularly like the water, Dad saw to it that we children all learned to swim and that we loved the water. I remember many happy times swimming in the deep hole in the creek that ran in front of our home. And many times we went with Aunt Susie’s family in a larger stream near their home. Because we swam in rivers and creeks where there were no lifeguards, Dad always saw that we had a buddy system. Two people were paired as buddies, and those people were responsible for watching each other. When Dad blew a whistle, the buddies had to be holding hands within a few seconds. If not, we had to get out–so we learned fast to be good buddies.

We had lots of softball games in the meadow in front of our home. Sometimes neighbors who happened to be driving by would stop to play with us. And when we got together with Aunt Susie’s family, we had enough people for two full teams. We also played badminton in the yard. I don’t remember playing volleyball when we were children, but I do remember many volleyball games in a court in the meadow when we got together after we were grown. I also remember sometimes when we did not have a softball to play with, Mom would make one for us by winding string into a ball.

I remember Easter egg hunts in the pasture at home, at school, and at Grandpa Bond’s. We colored eggs, and Dad often bought wrapped peanut butter taffy and caramel candies. These would be hid along a marked trail; and at a signal we would go hunting. Usually different trails would be prepared for younger children and older children.

Dad got paid once a month during the school year, and he did not get a school check during the summer months. I remember payday was a special time. Mother usually went to town to cash the check and pay monthly bills. We sometimes ran a grocery bill at a country store in Jarvisville. When Mom paid this once a month, the storekeeper usually gave her a sack of candy for us children. Also I remember that sometimes when Mom went to Clarksburg on payday, she would buy us a jump rope or jacks. Alois usually could beat me at jumping rope and at jacks, but I also loved to play. We had lots of fun together!

There are many more incidents that I remember, and it is hard to chose what to include. I will simply close by expressing my thanks to you, Dad and Mom, for the love and sense of responsibility and belonging that you gave to all of us. I feel privileged to have had you as parents and to be able to help you complete your book of memories by including a few of mine.

Donald Richards

I’m happy to share several mental pictures of memories which have personal value and are characteristic of our relationship over the years.

The first time I was in your home, following introductions, I talked with Dad while he churned butter. After he finished, he put the churn on the floor next to his chair. Trying to be helpful, I offered to take it to the kitchen and received permission. However, as I started to put it on the table, the lid and crank mechanism separated from the jar. Butter, buttermilk, and broken glass splattered the floor. I wanted to crawl into a hole and pull it in after me, but couldn’t. I certainly succeeded in making an impression on you! You did your best to make me feel at ease, for which I was grateful. Only later did I discover that I had broken a borrowed churn.

Being near you through parts of Edna Ruth’s four pregnancies was a lifesaver for both of us, and later all of us. The same was true of Tim’s early illnesses. You never offered a word of complaint about personal inconvenience, added expense, and general emotional anxiety caused by our sickness. You were always there to help as needed, and not interfere.

As the children grew older, they looked forward to their summer visits, as did we when able to stay. When we left them, we always missed them but knew they were happy to be at Grandpa and Grandma’s home. Tim wrote, “We’re feasting on groundhog and turtle!” Your home was a haven for all. Special visit highlights include your 40th and 50th anniversary celebrations.

I will always remember and appreciate the generous and gracious spirit exemplified during Edna Ruth’s sickness and death. You hurt, oh so deeply, but you were there. I remember so well following her first surgery when we urged you to go ahead with your planned trip to Florida. You, Mom, said, “Oh, we couldn’t think of such a thing without knowing for sure Edna Ruth is all right.” You postponed your southern trip and came to New Jersey instead. Your presence helped so much and was deeply appreciated. Then, after she was better, while packing the car for your Florida trip, I remarked, “I can find only one of Dad’s overshoes.” I still laugh at myself when I think of the incident.

After Edna Ruth’s death, you returned home with an ache in your heart for her, and for us. You have always made me feel more like a son than a son-in-law. And I’m grateful for your acceptance of Shirley into the family circle, too. This is so typical of the circle of your loving concern, ever reaching out and drawing us into your hearts.

We are indeed rich and thank our heavenly Father for you, and pray God’s blessing and peace may rest upon you always.

Beth Randolph

I have lots of memories from when I was a kid, but probably the one event with the longest-lasting effect on my life was the time I used eggs to make my mud pies. I had been doing this for two or three days when Mother asked me if I knew anything about the eggs. She hadn’t been getting many the last few days. I said I didn’t. She never said anything more and neither did I, but the eggs quit disappearing. I felt so miserable about her believing me with no more questions asked that I have never intentionally lied to anyone again.

My legacy from Dad was a love of nature–especially birds, trees, and flowers–and a love of sports. People tell me they enjoy my enthusiasm. If that’s what I have, that must have come from him, too.

Thanks for all you’ve given to us, Dad and Mom.

Memories of Grandchildren and Great Grandchildren

Ruth Wheeler Thorpe

As a young child, I remember many trips to W.Va. to see Grandma and Grandpa. I always remember the atmosphere being somewhat quiet and joyful.

Many times we children would wake up in the morning and hear Grandma and her daughters, Mom included, in the kitchen preparing food and laughing as they gabbed. They prepared specialties such as rolls, fried fish, pies, cookies, fresh vegetables, and delicious fried crab tails (the only times I have had that).

At Grandma and Grandpa’s there was always a lot of time to fish and play games. In fact, that is where we grandchildren learned to play “Rook” cards.

In the evenings I can remember everyone sitting around in the cozy living room and we’d sing as Uncle Louie played the guitar. Then Grandpa would sing his “Poodle Dog” song and Grandma would tell “Woodticks.” That’s something I still enjoy when we get together.

When I went to college, I spent some weekends with Grandma and Grandpa. As I was taking a course in children’s art, Grandpa and Grandma helped me make some miniatures of a whittled gun and a braided rug. The time together was real special.

Our church college group had a weekend at Grandma and Grandpa’s my second year in school. It was so much fun, and the food was great! Grandma and Grandpa always welcome people into their home with wide-opened arms, and it is such a joy to be with them.

They get so much done and yet have so much time for fun things. And while things are being done, you feel relaxed. It is country living at its very best.

Leon Wheeler

The sun begins to rise, the rooster crows. Another day springs to life.

Pancakes, eggs, bacon, toast from homemade bread. Delicious!

An old wooden scythe, a whetstone, a club attached to my black leather belt, and high-cut boots. It’s time for work.

The cool morning air and glistening grass–dogs bark–birds sing in celebration. It’s a beautiful day.

The scythe swings in rhythm with the pulse of the earth. hot, perspiring, full of energy, alive . . . a drink of cool water. Ahh . . . refreshing. United with nature and self and the quiet exhilaration of physical labor, the day is quickly spent. I am tired, but at peace.

The work is done, the pond calls. rod and reel, hook and bobber, shining minnow, a serene lake. Life is so simple.

Evening falls silently . . . gently, the benediction to a beautiful day.

I’ve learned so much, Grandpa and Grandma. Thank you for teaching me to appreciate nature, work, and life. I love you.

Jon Wheeler

When I went to Great Grandma and Grandpa’s house, I remember fishing at their pond and catching a 19 1/2 inch catfish. And it was so big I could hardly hold it.

Robert Wheeler

It is interesting how our views of people reflect as much ourselves as they do those people. As I think back on my memories of Grandpa and Grandma Randolph over the years, I am reminded of that. Therefore, it is with some risk that I write these memories.

My earliest memories of Grandpa and Grandma are vague and infused with the home place, aunts, uncles and cousins. My first specific memories come from the time when our family lived in Salemville, Pennsylvania. Dad was and is a minister, and in my early childhood we lived far from any close relatives and we moved fairly frequently. Therefore, our visits to West Virginia became what I would now consider a return to roots. In West Virginia one found kin firmly established within the embrace of those timeless hills. I am certain that those visits contributed as much to my identity as any other single set of experiences outside my immediate family.

I vividly recall arriving at Grandpa and Grandma’s, usually late at night; turning off the winding paved road that was more potholes and patched potholes than original pavement onto the driveway;, the crunch of large chunks of refuse coal under the tires; the frequently muddy ruts where the coal had been pressed into the slick red clay; the old bridge which disappeared from view of the headlights as we approached it; the clatter, creaks and groans of the planks as they rose and fell again on the timber that seemed so precariously to span the banks; the cellar house growing out of the hill to the south of the main house; the pump on the porch by the kitchen that had to be primed and by which we had our Friday night baths in the zinc plated washtub; and grandma. Grandma was always there waiting and out the door before the car came to a stop. She was the epitome of loyalty and steadfast love. She almost ran to the car in her long strides, her strong arms and work-worn hands extended, and her weathered face radiant with a huge toothy smile that almost burst with enthusiasm. And it was so good to hear her call in that high resonant voice that must have called many a cow with a sincere Hilly drawl, “Well, how’r ya doin’.” it all engulfed me in a huge hug that was so warm and secure that it left no doubt that I was “home.”

Upon entering the house, Grandpa would call “hello” from behind the curtain which passed as a door to the bedroom just off the kitchen. Frequently other aunts, uncles or cousins were there or would soon arrive. If it were winter we would crawl up in a bed with the glow of a gas stove with its blue pointed flames above which radiated its heat in orange-red ceramic fingers.

I never saw Grandma retire to bed, nor did I ever see her arise. When I awoke to the bustle of activity about me and went into the kitchen, Grandma already had pancakes on the griddle with perhaps sausage or bacon and puffed rice and grapenuts on the table. Grandpa usually was seated in his rocker by the door to the window to the dark walkway under the cellar house by which one could get to the cellar. It was in that same cellar that Grandma once said she killed a huge black snake. That was okay for Grandma who seemed always to be killing snakes about, frequently copperheads, it seemed, and an occasional rattle snake or some “harmless” snake; but I dreaded even the distant sight of snakes and I don’t believe that I ever had the courage to enter the cellar even as an adult.

My earliest memories of Grandma essentially cast her in the role of the great provider. Grandma somehow did it all with a hearty laugh at anything we kids had to say. She might punctuate the laughter with “Well, fer cryin’ out loud!” or “Ya don’t say!”

When Grandma was not looking after us, she was looking after Grandpa. Until he got his whistle, Grandpa need only call, “Ruth! Hey Ruth!” and she came in a jiffy from the garden, kitchen, or field, where ever she might have been working. In later childhood or adolescence I recall an occasional remonstrance: “You’d think that all I had to do was look after you,” or something to that effect.

I remember Grandpa’s frown of concentration and his large hands that were an integral part of his speech and personality. Even today when I visit I am struck with their deliberate and precise expressions which speak even when at task. I recall as a child those hands with a knife skillfully applied to a stick of wood one of the grandchildren had brought to him after a precisely prescribed adventure designed to obtain the required material; I remember those hands with lace or leather tools, always deliberate, with the thumb underneath and the rest of the fingers aligned straight and above and touching to the thumb in a measured way until it was just right for the task; I remember how they embraced the steering wheel of his car with a finger extended in precision, and how they gripped his crutches or the chair into which he was descending, again with the utmost deliberation. But behind all the precision and deliberation of those hands extended Grandpa’s personality. Whatever those hands said, they expressed an opinion, and not just an opinion but one that was final, that put the matter for rest once and for all.

One did not argue with Grandpa. No one, that is, except, perhaps Grandma. And then, it was not argument. For all Grandma’s selfless serving of others and of Grandpa, particularly, on matters of importance to her, Grandma stood her ground, and Grandpa listened. This I saw only when I was much older, and although it surprised me at first, yet, once I had recovered, I was impressed that there remained under it a mutual respect for the other, a mutual devotion, dependency, love.

Grandpa was forever the teacher. That is how the entire community saw him. Everywhere Grandpa went, someone greeted him as though they were family. When one rode with Grandpa in the car, almost no one passed without greeting us with an enthusiastic smile and a waive, and Grandpa would return the kindness with a nod of the head and a variation on that familiar hand gesture which this time approximated a salute. It made me feel good, not so much because everyone knew my grandpa, but because the whole community was in some sense family. Everything, everyone belonged, even I.

Grandpa’s grandchildren were as much his students as his school children. We were taught the calls and identity of the bob white, wood thrush, catbird, cardinal and many other native birds. Wood carving was an essential summer activity and a sharp knife was essential to the lessons. We worked with lace and leather, too. We learned how to dig sassafras and make tea of its roots, and we learned to cut white birch twigs and make tea of the bark. The birch bark was better when eaten from the twig, however.

When he still taught, I recall the smooth worn wooden tray on which Grandpa corrected papers, frequently in the Spring to the sound of the Pittsburgh Pirates game. Those games also provided good company when fishing. In fact, although I knew Pittsburgh was in Pennsylvania, I assumed that the baseball team belonged to West Virginia, and more particularly to Grandpa.

When he still smoked, I recall how Grandpa rolled the cigarette in a thin white tissue, licked the edge of the paper carefully and nursed the edge with that same deliberate manual expression. I recall the very first puff, too – a fresh almost roasted smell. Unfortunately only the first puff that filled the air was good. However, Grandpa quit smoking soon thereafter, I am told probably as much out of concern for the example it taught as for his own health.

In my high school years I noted that with Grandpa adults were not beneath his teaching – not even his own children. That surprised me because I always imagined how great it would be when I graduated from high school and no one would tell me what to do again. When there were tasks to be done, Grandpa carefully explained the manner in which they were to be accomplished, at times with some difference of opinion.

I attended Salem College for five years upon graduation from high school. It is difficult for one to attach rational explanation to adolescent decisions, but I suppose I chose Salem as much because of my attraction to Grandpa and Grandma and romantic notions of escape from the outside impersonal world as for any other reason. Retreat to Grandpa and Grandma’s was retreat into the friendly isolation of their locale and family. I recall many weekend visits from Salem. Uncle Rex, Uncle Bond or Grandpa and Grandma would provide transportation to or from the campus. Rook was the favorite pastime of family gatherings. Uncle Bond could do magic, Grandpa was deliberate, serious and calculating, but Grandma was a joy. She was the best partner one could have. Even when she complained of miserable hands, one always vividly sensed in her the pure, simple joy of life.

Early in my college experience I recall complaining to Grandpa about professors and being met with hostility toward my impudence, disrespect and presumptuousness. His Democratic views frequently clashed with my innately Republican views. He suggested quite antiquated ideas. I am sure that he and Grandma would not be offended when I say that Grandpa and I simply did not see eye to eye on many things and it was frequently evident.

Toward the end of my college career, it was no longer necessary for me to teach Grandpa. Although Grandpa used language which was old and unfamiliar to me, what he said expressed fundamentally sound, eternal principles about human nature which were as applicable in education then as at any other time in history. Once I could accept Grandpa for the person he was and not try to remake him in my mold, a whole new person opened up to me. I vividly recall his description of a lecture by the dean upon his graduation from teachers college. The subject was “How to Whup a Boy.” It struck me that although the current education thought was adverse to corporal punishment in schools, nonetheless the method described struck at the core of all good education, indeed human relations: respect and love for the individual; restraint; reconciliation. The method described required three swats, but after each a period of time when the teacher rubbed the boy down, explained the problem of the behavior, that the teacher did not want to punish the child, but that it was done to help the child. Such a method kept the punishment focused on the welfare and dignity of the child, and it assured that the punishment did not deteriorate into mere vindictiveness or venting of rage.

It was a wonderful experience when just Grandpa and I went fishing and he trusted me to support him in place of his crutch. For a person with one leg, stability is a constant concern. The Grandpa on whom I had always depended, was now depending on me. It is difficult to describe what that change in relationship meant to me.

Similarly, it was toward the end of my college education that I began to discover a new Grandma. About that time I was trying to sort out who God was and why illness and evil occur in the world despite the best of our efforts – those apparent flaws in a fabric which I had always believed to be perfect. At that time I became impressed with Grandma’s quiet, yet powerful and pervasive faith. She never preached to anyone, even when they deserved it -she never had to. She was always willing to help, to serve, and yet she did so with the greatest of self integrity. She always accepted people without judgment.

I became impressed with Grandma’s quiet and constant religious conviction. Although Grandpa was physically unable to attend church at Lost Creek, and I do not recall a time when the two of them went to Church, every Friday night Grandma studied the Helping Hand in the rocking chair in the kitchen. It was evident that she obtained great strength from that time of devotion.

As I have matured, I have found myself moving from focus on “right belief” to a recognition that at the core, Jesus’ message is that one can find God and salvation only through love and service of other people. Both Grandpa and Grandma, I have come to realize, have shown and indeed experienced, God’s love, through their love and devotion to each other and to the people that surround them, whoever they may be. I see their influence in not only my aunts, uncles, cousins and parents, but also in myself, and I am indeed grateful. The roots I have found in them turns out to be far more basic and expansive than the isolated family orientation which I originally sought from them. I thank them for that. I also thank them for this autobiography in which they again share themselves with us.

Cindy Randolph Truman

I like to go to West Virginia to Grandpa and Grandma’s because I just love Grandma’s cooking, and many times she also helps me cook. I also like to go fishing with Grandpa because he’s always teaching me something new. I’ll never forget when Diana and I were little–about 9 years old–and we were learning to fish. I was taking the fish to the bucket. I didn’t hold it like Grandpa said; it stuck its fin up and stuck my hand. Grandpa got upset because I lost my fish, but I was glad because I learned how to hold a fish. I love also to take care of Grandpa’s tropical fish.

Every time I go down, Grandma adds me a couple extra pounds. But everyone loves her cooking.

I think they are just the greatest grandparents anyone could have.

Brian Randolph

I like to go to Grandpa and Grandma Randolph’s because we are always welcome. Grandma’s food is always great, and she is always glad to see us. She always has work for us to do. I don’t mind because I like to help her. Grandpa is special in other ways such as if we work for him after we are done he will take us fishing. It is fun to fish with Grandpa because you always learn something new. On days it rains Grandpa starts up chess matches and other games. Grandpa usually wins, but it is fun to try to beat him. I love Grandpa and Grandma for what they have taught me and for the things they have done for me.

Doug Randolph

I like to go to West Virginia to stay at Grandma’s and Grandpa’s to fish and play chess with Grandpa, and I also like Grandma’s cooking. I also like to play in the pines and at night watch TV with Grandpa–and the snack that Grandma makes before bed.

John Randolph

When I go to Grandpa and Grandma’s house,
I very seldom find a mouse.
Grandpa–well, he likes to fish,
While Grandma cleans another dish.
Uncle Rex don’t live too far away;
Sometimes I go up there to play.
I will love Grandpa and Grandma always,
And I’ll always remember the good old days,
When Grandma would make us a rhubarb pie,
And we would go fishing–Grandpa and I.

Elyn Lewis

From the time I was very young, I felt that my grandparents were very unique and special. No one else’s Grandpa had only one lea and walked with crutches. The crutches always intrigued me, and wished I could play with them. And my Grandma had pure WHITE hair, but she had much more youth and stamina than the picture-book grandmas with white hair.

I was impressed that they lived in W.Va. in the mountains with a river” in front of their house and that they had a cellar house connected by a walkway rather than the traditional two stories. I always hoped our family could sleep in the cellar house, and I thought it was fantastic to catch minnows and crayfish in the creek.

When I got older, I enjoyed going fishing with Grandpa in real rivers or lakes and sometimes riding in his rowboat or just hearing about it. When I thought of Grandpa, I thought of fishing. And Grandma amazed me by the many skills and talents she possessed, not the least of which was her cooking, including her specialty–homebaked bread.

My summers in W.Va. included fishing every day, working in the gardens, and learning to be a “Boy” Scout, among other things. At night we slept in the cellar house and scared each other with stories of bobcats outside.

Now that I’m older, I’m convinced more than ever that my grandparents are unique and special. Their inner characteristics and strength impress me now. And I know my friends and I are always welcome no matter what the hour of the nightl

Mark Lewis

Since my earliest memories as a chld, the memory of trips to West Virginia to visit Grandpa and Grandma Randolph have always been special. The trip from Southern Illinois was an adventure, and our expectations rose as each mile drew us nearer to their home. No matter what the snow and winter chill was like outside, the warmth of love in their home made us always warm and comfortable.

When I think of trips to their home, good fishing and good eating are always highlights. We spent hours weeding the gardens every summer. Now, weeding a garden wasn’t my first choice of summer fun; but it taught us kids the value of work. If you want to enjoy the bounty of the harvest, you must share in the labor that preceeds it. Many summer afternoons were spent sickling the grass around new pine seedlings on the side hill over the pond. This summer (1984) those same seedlings are 20 feet tall!

The summer of 1968 cousin Richard Wheeler and I stayed with Grandpa and Grandma and worked for them. That’s the summer we sickled the pine seedlings. We cleared undergrowth in their woods up the hollow. Grandpa carved a handle to fit a double-bit axe head, and it was just the right size for a boy like me. I was so proud of my axe; it was a joy to cut wood with it by the hour. Grandpa taught me how to build a fire and how to cook outdoors.

Grandma was always spry, healthy, cheerful, busy, hard-working, supportive, full of love for us all, and baked pies and cakes so good you never wanted to stop eating. Grandpa was always ready to teach us kids somethings, especially scouting skills. He taught me how to whittle, sharpen a knife, and the value of patience through fishing.

Two sayings stick most in my mind when thinking about my grandparents. First is “Look for the good in people.” They always looked for the good in people, and it was very easy to find boundless good in them. Second is “Actions speak louder than words.” They were never braggers or boasters, but instead they gave us all a clear Christian message by their daily conduct. I guess the one thing I best remember about them is the love they shared with us all.

Tim Richards

LEAN-TO

Worked real hard to build that camp.
Lean-to, cookstove, all of that.
Cut the trees down one by one.
Worked real hard ’til it was done.
Built the frame real good and strong–
Wanted it to last real long.
Covered it with Hemlock green–
Best looking thing I’ve ever seen.
Worked real hard ’til it was right.
Waited for that fateful night.
All us guys slept out that night,
Gave ourselves a real good fright,
Talked of all the snakes about–
Finally wound up in the house.

–Tugmutten

Randall, Diana, Stacy, and Jeremy Randolph

To the most lovable grandparents in the world:

We want to thank you and let you know how much we appreciate getting to live in your cellar house while we build our home. You are giving us the financial edge we need to accomplish our goal.

We also are enjoying getting to know you better and growing closer to you.

No matter how often you read these paragraphs, our love and appreciation will be thousands of times greater.

Christina Boyd Thorngate

Visits to Grandpa and Grandma’s are all memorable, but they’ve asked me to share only one.

The Bond Reunions have always been among my favorites. The one I remember the most was back when I was about 10 or 11 years old.

We were having our annual softball game, and Grandpa was in his usual position behind the plate calling balls and strikes. I was playing out on second base; and when the ball was hit, Uncle Bond came running toward me. I got the ball and just stood there ready to tag Uncle Bond out. He kept running toward me hoping to scare me, but I stood my ground and got him out. I heard Grandpa yell, “You’re outl” The next thing I knew, my Mom came up from behind me, picked me up and twirled me around, saying, “That’s my Chrissy! That’s my Chrissy!” Grandma just sat up on the hill, smiling and looking contented.

ALMOST HEAVEN

Almost Heaven, Grandma’s Kitchen,
Homemade bread and even homemade cookies.
Life is good there–better than my own–
With the smell of good bread always in the air.

Chorus:

Back Roads, Take me home,
To the place where I belong,
Grandma’s kitchen, Grandpa’s fishpond
Take me home, back roads.

All the fishes hate our dear Grandpa,
Even Grandma’s good homemade bread.
In the sun and even in the rain.
Grandpa’s always in his boat a’fishing all the time.

Chorus:

I hear Mom’s voice in the morning as she calls me.
The pancakes fryin’ remind me of my Grandma’s kitchen.
And lyin’ in the bed I get a taste
Of Grandma’s homemade bread, homemade bread.

Chorus:

Memories of Brothers and Sisters

Avis Swiger

Ashby, do you remember a trip we made to Uncle Waitie’s when we got a bucket of strawberries to take home? I recall two special things about it. I decided I had carried the berries long enough and told you to take them. As usual we disagreed (don’t brothers and sisters always), and I set the bucket down and walked on. You also walked on–and I can’t remember who went back after itl We came near to the station at–(I can’t remember the name of that train stop), and there was a snake by the path. I was perfectly willing to take the bucket while you killed the snake. My private thoughts were that I was being punished for my stubbornness about carrying the berries.

I am sure you haven’t forgotten the time I just missed your head with a salt shaker. You tormented me by flipping a towel at me. You didn’t often hit me, but just the idea of it really scared me. I called to Mama for help but didn’t get it, so I grabbed the first thing at hand and threw it. Our salt shakers had heavy leaded bottoms, and it would have knocked you out if you hadn’t ducked. I believe the incident helped both of us, for I don’t remember any more times you “flipped” me with a towel. I thought many nights about what could have been the result of my mad throwing.

In later years we were able to work together very well. I used to read aloud to you for our English assignments, and you did my work in the lab–cutting up the star fish, etc.

Orson H. Bond

Ash, I did not know you until you were well established in the family; but Ruth, I well remember your young days up to or near the mule days, which you and Main had an opportunity to enjoy that we older kids missed. However, Papa did save for me the first ride on the first mule raised on Crooked Run. It was my first and last ride on a mule. Main and I rode over to Beachlers.

Ruth, do you remember how you and Main helped me develop my arm muscles so I could compete with 0. B. doing chin-ups? Outdoing 0. B. was hard to come by. but when I could do the chin-ups with you hanging onto one leg and Main on the other, I was in the running for keeps.

How you did love to swing, more so than being rocked in a chair. Before you were a year old, we kids would put you in a swing. You liked to do your own hanging on–you always was sort of a “do it yourself” youngster anyhow. You required far less help than any of the eight kids, but a bit venturesome when alone.

I can still hear Mamma, Ada, and Lydia calling, “Ruth, where are you?” You were quite good about answering. If I am not mistaken, Papa was the one that taught you to answer when called after you had been a bit slow. Anyway, the answer would be, “Out here,” “Over here,” “Up here,” “Under here,” and sometimes “Down to the run.” No one liked that. What we did not know then was if you fell in you would crawl out. If you did not like it, once was enough. If you did like it–well, that is something else.

I guess the worst scare you ever gave us was on a windy day. Papa and I were making brooms. You perhaps can recall Papa did not like to make brooms on a good day. Anyway, by the time the third one joined the “Ruth, where are you?” Papa said, “Orson, you had better go see what’s the trouble.” When my “Ruth, where are you?” had no results, Papa joined the “Ruth, where are you?”s

From a tall white oak sapling that was a bit taller than the others in a clump of oaks down by the run, across the road from the corner of the lawn and garden, you had a clear view of what was going on between the broom shop and house, while the stiff wind swayed you to and fro. You had climbed to a position in the top and were living it up when Papa joined the “Ruth, where are you?”s

You thought it was about time to say, “Up here. Watch me swing.” Mamma was saying, “Mercy, mercy, don’t scare her.” In the softest tone Pape could muster, he asked if you didn’t think it was about time to come down. The tone of his voice and your urge to swing gave you an okay to say, “After one more swing!” One more was not according to Papa’s liking. But in your case it was fine. The question was how you ever got up there in the first place. Papa said, “She knows, and she can get down.” You did, by changing to trees you could reach until you got to the ground. Papa did not even say, “Don’t you ever do that again”; but instead, he did say, “If you want to climb trees, you had better have someone with you.”

It was not so long after that Papa changed from raising horses to mules, you may recall. Not that your tree climbing was the direct cause of changing from horses to mules. But it does show the changes that did take place during our growing-up period.

Ian H. Bond

My youngest sister, Ruth, was approximately 2 1/2 years younger than I. My earliest recollection of her was the day she was born. It seemed to me, in my immature and confused mind, that other members of the family and friends had been paying a great deal of attention to some object that was lying in bed with my mother, which I was curious to see. After much tugging on one of the more available members of the family, whose attention I was able to gain, probably Ada, I said in a quiet, pleading voice, “Let me see that cucumber.” Mamma heard me and said, “Let him see her.” I went to the side of the bed–there I saw Ruth. After I saw her, I still seemed confused that I was seeing a cucumber, and no one was about to tell me anything different.

She grew up to be a swinger and could swing continually from morning to nite. Later when we went to Salem College Academy, Ruth had pretty well caught up with me–classwise–that was a good thing, and I am grateful to her. She studied hard, and her grades were so good that the teachers would sometimes tell me I should be ashamed for letting my little sister beat me, and that usually had its proper effect.

My early memories of Ashby Randolph was that of a youthful, rugged boy scout, who loved the out of doors and the many mental and physical activities which scouting provided. He diligently developed his talents and became an expert swimmer among his contemporaries. In college he found time for football and gained a wellknown reputation as a lineman and opened many a hole for the Green and White running backs.

Main Bond

This is your life, Ruth:

Sabbath School class under the Oak Tree–memory verses–Uncle John, teacher.

First things first, and you were always first.

Grandpa taking us a horse-back ride. Went under a clothesline. You, being first, went under. The clothesline went under my chin.

Playing in the snow when we were supposed to be in the house. You made it to the house; I was caught at the yard gate.

Fishing at the Rhodes place. You pulling turtles out of the creek bank.

4-H poultry project. What a mess, ha!

Playing Rook at Harvey Heaveners.

The lost sheep at the Watson place. A buggy trip to Uncle Eddie’s. Supper!

Exercising the horses Sabbath afternoon.

Harvesting corn. From back of the house to the foot of the hill. Watermelons, and who grew them? Ruth, of course.

I may have remembered things I should have forgot. Forgot many things I should have remembered.

Maybe this is enough horsing around. So as the youngsters say now, KEEP ON TRUCKING!

I taught in Jarvisville eight years, and my pupils were considered excellent in junior high and high school at Bristol in both scholastics and athletics. Jarvisville won so many scholastic ribbons at the Field Meets that they quit publishing the results and then quit the contests. My 4-H Club was great, as was my Boy Scout Troop. We had wonderful times at Camp Mohonagan and other places.

Ball Teams at Jarvisville.

I had one, among many, special school-softball games. The coach of West Milford High School brought the sixth grade softball team over. They were fine-looking boys. I had to have fourth and fifth graders and even three girls on our team. We played across the schoolyard fence in Bill Jarvis’ meadow. (Mr. Jarvis always let us play there.) Mr. West, the coach, insisted that he umpire because it was difficult for me to get through the fence. Mr. West umpired from behind the pitcher and coached his pitcher but didn’t help mine. I was sure he missed calls at home plate in his favor. Some of them I didn’t even think were close. Even after all that, we beat them 10 to 9.

I had the presidency of the men’s softball league, and I had a lot of success with a women’s softball team. We were blessed with outstanding athletic families: Myers, Stutlers, Jarvises, Posts, and Westfalls. In different end-of-the-season Jackson’s Mill Roundups, we won in girls’ softball and men’s volleyball. One special time during the second World War, we had such a hard time getting a team; but we won two 1-0 games of men’s softball in one day.

Teaching at Laurel Run

In the year 1947-1948, I went to the Laurel Run one-room school. You might be interested in hearing how I came to be moved. I did not ask to be moved. There had been a small group watching for me to make a mistake from the time I first went to Jarvisville. (I’ve heard that if you don’t have opposition, you are not doing anything.) Once the buildings superintendent came stomping into my room during a class. (He didn’t even knock.) He said, “Get the front door open.” I said, “Let’s go outside and talk.”

He went outside, and I explained that we had our kitchen in the primary room where it disturbed the classes and that the P.T.A. had put it in our hall. He saw the need of a kitchen and promised to build one, which he did while we used the one in the hall. That really cooked the opposition.

The last straw that made the county superintendent move me occurred when I wouldn’t promote a boy into my room. His mother was the daughter of an important doctor in Clarksburg. He and the superintendent were members of the same club. So I was moved and the boy was transferred to Bristol Grade School.

That move was one of the best things that ever happened to me. The day school started, the principal of Bristol Grade School came and asked me to teach all his arithmetic classes and nothing else if I would get my one-room school to go with me. I didn’t accept or even mention it to the parents, although that was the job I had always wanted.

My twelve years at Laurel Run were full to overflowing with pleasure and successes. The parents and community were enthusiastically behind and with me. We had a 4-H Club, a Boy Scout Troop, a wonderful hot lunch program and a great P.T.A. Our sixth-grade graduates did great in their adult lives.

4-H Clubs.

Usually all of my eligible pupils belonged to the 4-H Club. The girls usually took the same projects–like cooking, sewing, or craft. The boys took woodworking, gardening, and birds, mostly. They won lots of first-, second-, and third-place ribbons, which made them, me, and the community very proud. I remember one year when a lot of them had bird projects. We had a bird feeder against a window, and the birds became very friendly. The boys took pictures of many kinds of birds eating and put them in their project circulars. I remember once my girls in the craft class made each of their mothers a Tom Thumb change purse of leather, and the boys made their daddies each a key case.

Boy Scouts.

Our Boy Scout Troop was equally successful. My son, Ashby Bond, was their scout master after I decided they needed more hill climbing than I could give them. Later a great community man, Cecil Fultz, was scout master. I was always on the Executive Board and often took them to camps like Mohonagan. These scouts made real successful men. One is a high school principal in Cleveland, Ohio. Another is high school coach in the Eastern Panhandle of West Virginia. Another has traveled all over the world (some of the time in a submarine). He was a communications officer, having charge of building an observatory in Alaska and retiring from the Naval Observatory in West Virginia. One of my 4-H girls graduated from Salem College Cum Laude and is in charge of a library in Detroit, Michigan. I am extra proud of this girl because I started her as a wee-tiny first grader and had her through the sixth grade.

Hot lunch program.

Our hot lunch program was a success mostly because the proof is in the eating and my wife, Ruth, cooked it the very best. The community (through their P.T.A.) furnished all the utensils we needed. I made the menus, using all the government-furnished food we could get. This use of free food let me charge 10 cents per pupil for the first child in each family; for each child after the first in each family, the charge was 5 cents. Besides, some families ate free because of their financial status.

I must tell you how I got all my pupils to like at least fairly well everything Ruth fixed. The children watched Ruth fill their trays. They got at least a tablespoon of each thing on the menu. If they thought they might not like a food, they only took a small tablespoon of it. When their trays were cleaned, they could get more of anything, as long as there was any left. I never allowed discussions about not liking any food, and it was amazing how many pupils learned to love foods they never liked before.

I used two special awards for cleaning the trays. Children who had their trays clean could go play after 20 minutes from the time we started to eat. All who could not clean their trays had to wait 10 more minutes. If all of the pupils cleaned their trays, we celebrated with a ciphering match or some other loved activity, like map-match, etc. We had to celebrate often, and a teacup would almost always hold the leftover food. Parents often asked Ruth for her recipes, and now and then a former pupil calls or comes to ask her for some recipe.

Special community affairs.

We had many community gatherings. At most of the holidays, we would have programs and a covered-dish meal. One of the special holidays was Easter, when the community would come in. Some of the patrons (led by a grandpa of one of my boy pupils, Ora Stutler) would hide eggs and candy for an egg hunt. They had a definite area of about an acre for preschool children only. We had regular P.T.A. meetings and special 4-H and Scout celebrations. It was an awful thing to give up all these community ties when they consolidated our school at Salem and sent me to West Milford.

Teaching at West Milford

I was hired to teach the fourth grade; but when I got there, they gave me a fourth and fifth grade combination. In those days, the Board did not seem to consider the teacher’s needs at all. I soon learned to like my pupils, their parents, and my principal (Mr. Laughlin). I especially loved my location and building. The building had been a two-story home, and it sat on top of a knoll separated from the main high school and grade building. We even had a private yard and the football field for a playground. In the upper story, a close friend of mine (Kester Fiddler) taught high school science. He told me when I first went there that if I needed anything to just let him know.

The second year they let me keep the same pupils as fifth and sixth graders. My parents asked for that, which made me very proud. I also talked my principal into letting us have a softball and volleyball league with each fourth, fifth, and sixth grade belonging. Every other teacher was a lady, and some didn’t like the league idea, but their pupils loved it. We did that two years; then the Board hired Mr. McLaughlin to be the high school superintendent.

This move of Principal McLaughlin (who had furnished my room with the teaching aids I needed and supported me in every other way) was a terrible loss to me. Mr. Hess, my new principal, would not allow me to use any extra texts. (He also stopped our inter-grade athletic contests.) The trouble was that I would have pupils who needed first-, second-, and third-grade texts in order to be able to read in them and learn from them. Of course, I made do with what supplementary texts I could find, but it would have been better with the principal’s cooperation.

The second year that Mr. Hess was principal (which was iiy fifth year at West Milford) I had to move out of the hilltop house because they were tearing it down to build a new school building. I also got only fourth-grade pupils, which meant I got all new pupils each year. This meant I had to teach all of them to prepare lessons at study time and keep order so all could do their thing. This took paddlings or other punishment for the first month or so.

It was not all trouble. We had a basement room with an empty room adjoining that we used in bad weather for games such as dancing and relay games. We also had the high school gym (because they had been moved to a new building) one period a day for recreation. This gym was a great place for singing games, leap frog, some gymnastics (especially tumbling), basketball drills, and some calisthenics each day. The other teachers had a high school pupil give their class calisthenics at their period in the gym. I always thought a child got better exercise from games and that they learned from them too.

This effort of mine to give my pupils clean supervised play (instead of their running over others or being run over or forming gangs to run over those they couldn’t run over by themselves), alone with my having the principal’s only child in my room, caused my principal to come stomping into my room at opening exercise time one morning about one month before the end of my last year of school teaching. I tried to greet him friend-like, but he went to ranting and throwing his arms through the air, accusing me of not teaching anything but ball for the last two months. When I tried to get him to listen to the pupils’ ideas of what I had taught, he would not let them talk. Instead he just stomped out.

I had to teach all day while I was the maddest I think I ever was in my life. As soon as school was out, I went to the superintendent’s office to get a hearing on Mr. Hess’s accusation. They (the superintendent and the grade school supervisor) explained at great lenpth that my principal would apologize. He did apologize, and my pupils’ parents gave me a tackle box full of baits at our Last-School-Day Picnic. Also, my principal and my co-teachers gave me a fine folding chair as a going-away present. I retired at the end of the school year in May, 1966.

Ruth’s Memories — Community Spirit

There was a lot of “Community Spirit” in those days. Ashby organized a men’s softball league (usually six or eight different communities). Each team usually had one home game and one away each week (on Sunday afternoon and one week-day evening). All the communities were well supported.

About every Sunday morning during ball season, some of the local fans gathered here with stuff to make ice cream and lemonade to sell at the ball game in the afternoon. That is how they got money to buy equipment. Some communities were lucky enough to find some business to sponsor them and furnish what they needed.

They still have softball leagues, but they are on such a large scale that there is nothings personal about them. The big thrill is gone.

The same thing happened to our one-room schools. When the school was closed and the children were sent farther away, a bit of the heart of each community was crushed. There were four schools on Turtle Tree Fork of Ten Mile Creek when we first moved here, and in 1960 there were none.

Summer of 1945

In May 1945, Bond was called to serve his country. He was sent to Camp Hood in Texas. Brother Ian had been called to service as a medical doctor. He was near Lake Dallas–also in Texas.

Xenia Lee and Edgar were married in August of that year. Since it was wartime, the gasoline was rationed. Ed tried to get gasoline to drive to his home in Kansas, but could not. So he left his car here, and they went by train. They had been at his home only a short time when the war was over and the ration was lifted. They wrote that if we would bring the car to them, they would take us to Texas to see Bond and Uncle Ian.

Since Ashby was a school teacher, there was little income in the summer. A good neighbor, Vivian Post, lived just down the road from us. (We quilted quilts together in the winter time, and she visited us often in the summer.) She was here when the letter cane from Ed and Xenia Lee. I said, jokingly, “If you will loan us $100, we will take the car to them.” She said, “If you will take me to the bank, I will get it for you.” I was really shocked, as I was just kidding. She insisted, so we decided to go. We were on our way by afternoon!

Ashby was afraid the car might break down, so he would not let me drive over 45 miles per hour. We made it with no problems. They were ready to go, so with little delay we were on our way to Texas.

We located the hospital where Ian worked. He wanted to show us around some before taking us to his home. It really was hot and dry. Ashby thought he would wait for us in the car. By the time we got back, he really had a sick headache. Ian’s home was on a lake with lots of trees around, so Ashby soon recovered. Bond arrived the next day. It was so good to see him again.

We went fishing in a small boat on the lake. We did not need poles. We would bait the hooks and let the line down in the water by the boat, then wrap the other end around a finger. Sometimes we would feel a little quiver and pull up the line. We caught a few fish–but none to brag about. It was fun, anyway.

The next day we took Bond back to camp and started on our way back home. We took the southern route and stopped in Cleveland, Tennessee, to see Avis and family. We made better time coming home (only had tire trouble once, and that close to a filling station).

It was good to be back home. The tomatoes had just started ripening when we left; and when we got back, the children had canned over one hundred quarts. They proved they could “keep house.”

Car Accident in.December, 1945

Bond got home on “Leave” before Christmas that year. It was real winter, and the roads were icy. Alois, Mae, and I started to Clarksburg to meet him about nine o’clock at night. Before we got there, the tire chain got broken and wrapped around the axle. We had to stop, and Alois went to work getting the chain loose. He was almost finished when a car going east met a car going west. That blinded the driver, and he did not see our car–so he ran into the back of our car, running over Alois. Other cars were soon there; and before I knew it, someone had Alois in his car to take him to the hospital. Mae went with him, and I stayed with the car, waiting for the State Police. I guess they were busy elsewhere, because they did not come. After a while Lyle Dennison came along and took me to the hospital. We had Bond paged at the train stop to tell him to come to the hospital. Lyle took Bond and Mae home, and I stayed with Alois. X-rays showed a broken pelvis and also broken loose from the spine.

Bond went to Weston to see Ruby the next day. They decided to get married on Christmas Eve. After close to a year in Germany, Bond returned home in time for Christmas the next year.

Alois recovered in due time and later served a time in Korea.

Lydia’s Illness

In 1956 while Ashby was teaching at Laurel Run, Aunt Lydia was having her last bout with cancer. Aunt Susie took care of her and Aunt Ada did the house work. As soon as I could get lunch over and dishes washed at school, I went to Salem and took care of Aunt Lydia while Aunt Susie went to bed. After Aunt Ada finished her evening work, she took care of Aunt Lydia until Aunt Susie got up; I came home. Ashby rode the school bus home. Beth got supper. Edna Ruth was staying here at the last expecting Tim any time. She often went with me so I did not have to drive home alone. Aunt Lydia often said, “It’s a good thing there were four of us girls–one to be sick and three to care for her.” We were glad we could care for her at home.

More Neighbors, and Deer Hunting

Ray and Anna Lou Shay were close neighbors for a time. He loved softball and hunting. His home was at Newburg (a good place for deer). That deer season Ashby got someone to teach for him, and we went to Newburg with Ray and Anna Lou.

At the time the ground was bare, but it was cold. That night snow came, and by morning there was close to a foot of snow. That just suited the hunters, but it was not so good for Ashby on crutches. We were able to drive near to a good “stand.” It was really cold, so someone got a fire started. There was lots of firewood around, but it had to be cut up. That became my job–to cut wood and keep the fire going. They would come in to get warm, then go on another drive. They had some excitement a few times, and the guns roared–but no one got a deer. No deer came in sight of us (Ashby thought it might be because of the fire). We had a good time, anyway!

After that, when it was real cold, we learned to heat bricks and wrap them up well for Ashby to put his foot on. Then we wrapped blankets around him and his chair, leaving room to get his hands out. We put a card table in front of him for his gun and ammunition.

Ashby did get one deer finally. He has not been deer hunting for a long time. The weather is not right for us any more.

Ashby as an Outdoorsman

Ashby was always a lover of the big outdoors. He never stayed in the house when he could be out in the fields or woods. He knew the trees by the shape of their leaves and by their bark. Many he recognized as far away as he could see. He knew the birds he saw, and many he recognized by their song or tone of voice.

Ashby also loved to hunt. He was satisfied with just enough for one meal. It was a big blow when he could not get out alone. I made up for it as much as I could. I just fit under his left arm, and I used his crutch to help keep my balance. Many times I helped him up the hill into the woods to watch for squirrels. At first I went back to the house to work, but I found that was not good. He would shoot a squirrel or two;, and by the time I got back, I could not find them in the leaves. He did not get to go as often as he would like; but when he did, I stayed with him and.enjoyed “the great outdoors” too.

After Ashby got his “Wheel Horse” and cart, I loaded his supplies in the cart and he drove his tractor around the road back on the hill while I walked. He drove the tractor as close as he could to good hunting, and I helped him the rest of the way. I had many pleasant hours in the woods, too. Maybe that has helped to keep us healthy. Anyway, this has been a good life.

Since we had the pond made in 1963, Ashby has had a good place to fish while he enjoys the wildlife that comes around to keep him company.

Some of My Activities When Ashby Taught at West Milford

It was a great day when Ashby was transferred to West Milford. It is only a mile from Aunt Susie’s. I usually went with him and then went on to Aunt Susie’s. Aunt Ada was living with her. Part of the time Aunt Susie was working caring for the sick in their home. I helped with whatever needed to be done.

When we could, I took Aunt Ada to see old friends around home near Roanoke, a cousin on Indian Fork, friends in Weston, and old friends of Aunt Ada’s around Lost Greek. (She had kept house for Uncle Orson back in 1916 and 1917 when he managed the Van Horn Farm three miles from Lost Greek.) (By the way, that was the farm where my grandmother was born and reared.) It was great fun for me to hear their tales. They enjoyed old memories very much. When Aunt Susie was at home, she went with us. I was always back by the time Ashby was ready to leave school.

When Aunt Ada heard Ashby was retiring, she said, “Shoot! I’ll never get to go any place again.” She was about right.

Combined Memories of Farm Products — Regular Farm Products

In the 1930′s Papa and Mama Bond began selling whole milk. They had been separating the milk and selling cream. They gave us the hand machine that separated the cream from the milk. We had three cows and got the fourth one. That made us a little income to help with expenses, and the skim milk raised good pigs to help with the meat supply. We kept a few chickens and butchered a beef every year. We always raised a garden and canned lots of food.

Maple Syrup

One spring we decided to make use of the maple trees around the house. Ashby found some sumac an inch or so through and cut them in one-foot lengths. About four inches from one end, he would saw half way through, then split it off. He cleaned the pith out where it was split and punched the rest out. He rounded the end to fit the size of the auger he used to bore a hole two or three inches deep in the tree. The spile was put in the hole and tamped to fit tight so the sap would have to flow through the spile. Three or more spiles were put in each tree, depending on its size. A bucket was placed under each spile. Some trees had sweeter sap than others–also more of it. As much as two and a half gallon bucket might be filled in eight hours or so. We had free gas, so I boiled it down in a five gallon pot on the kitchen stove. After it started to boil, I heated sap in a gallon pot to fill in so it never stopped boiling. It took ten to twelve gallons of sap to make a quart of syrup. One had to watch closely when it was nearing the end or it would boil over. Sound like work? Not really. The maple syrup was worth it.

Sassafras Tea

Another thing we used to do in February was to dig sassafras roots to make tea. The small roots were cut in small pieces. On the larger roots, we peeled off the bark. Some of that cooked in maple sap needed no other sweetening.

Cane Molasses

Another thing we used to grow was cane to make molasses. Now, that was almost work. The seeds were tiny, and some did not grow so one planted several seeds in a hill two feet apart. Then it had to be thinned to leave three stalks to a hill. Of course, it had to be cultivated. Just before frost the blades had to be stripped and the seed stem cut off. Then the stalks were cut near the ground to save all the sap possible. The cane heads were fed to the chickens.

After the cane was stripped of seeds and blades, it had to be hauled to the squeezing mill. This mill had two heavy steel rollers fastened to a long pole which turned the rollers so they sucked or guided two or three stalks between them to squeeze the juice out and into a tub. It was a job that kept one person busy feeding that mill. Mostly we fastened a horse to the long pole so that it went round and round pulling the pole. Once we let Alois drive a car to pull the pole that made the rollers turn and squeeze the cane. That was the beginning of Alois’ driving, which he has done a lot of.

(I almost left the cane juice in that tub; but I was afraid you might taste that juice, which would be quite bitter.) The making of molasses took a lot more work. Wood had to be gathered and an oven built for a pan (or an evaporator) to boil the sap down in. While it was boiling, it had to be skimmed off with a paddle as fast as the thick scum formed. Then a special person with skill and experience (Ruth) had to keep testing the boiling mass to determine when it was good molasses so it could be put in half-gallon glass jars. The proof of the molasses tastiness was in mashing a lump of butter (about a tablespoon heaping full) into two tablespoons of molasses and spreading it over a hot pancake and eating it.

During all the boiling, a skilled fire-keeper had to feed the fire just at the right place and the correct amount to keep the sap boiling without foaming over the sides. This was done by feeding the new wood to the edges of the fire, keeping the fire in the middle. Susie’s family usually grew cane when we did, so we worked together in making molasses. Our boys hated that job, so we quit growing cane. We did not quit working together when either had a big job to do.

Blackberrying

Blackberries were plentiful then, and we tried to can at least 100 quarts–and some juice for jelly. (Now, around here anyway, the blackberries have a kind of blight that keeps them from maturing.) When berries were plentiful, we used to pick several gallons and sell at $1 per gallon. That helped when money was scarce in the summer time.

Strawberries at Susie’s

After Everett passed away and Lee and Charles were working away from home, we used to go to Susie’s and help out when she had a big job to do. Then they would help us out when we needed it. One year they had a big patch of strawberries. Every two days the berries had to be picked. Ashby saw that no dirt or bad berries were among them as he put them in baskets ready for market. The damaged ones we made use of.

Huckleberries

One summer a neighbor said that if we would pick six gallons of wild huckleberries for him we could have the rest of the crop. We picked the six gallons so quickly and the patch was so big that Susie’s came to help us. It took two or three days to pick the ripe ones, and then in a few days we had to pick them again. One could set a bucket under a branch and almost shake the ripe ones off. That made them hard to clean. Ashby worked at that until we got them picked; then we all helped. We sold a lot of gallons at $1 per gallon, besides all we canned for ourselves. We kept account of the gallons we picked until it passed the 100-gallon mark. We picked some to eat after that.

Apples and Applebutter

One fall when Grandpa Randolph had a bumper crop of apples, we got a truckload. Besides both families canning applesauce, we made over forty gallons of applebutter. We got the apples ready to cook the day before. We had a 24-gallon kettle with a frame for it to set in about a foot from the ground. We would fill the kettle 3/4 full of cut apples, add 1/2 gallon of vinegar and enough water to come half way up on the apples. We liked to use dead apple wood when we could get it for that burned well and made a hot fire. We put some silver coins in the bottom of the kettle for that helped keep the apples from sticking to the bottom. We cut the wood in short strips so it would not burn up on the sides of the kettle. Then we kept adding new wood from the side so the hot coals kept it cooking all the time. As soon as the apples started cooking, we began to stir them with a long-handled paddle that was solidly secured, something like this illustration.

One stirred all around the side of the kettle, then back and forth across the middle, constantly, to keep the apples from sticking. As they cooked down, more cut apples were added until the kettle was about 3/4 full. Then sugar was added, three pounds for each gallon of applebutter. We kept stirring until a spoon of applebutter in a flat dish left a mark when one ran the tip of a spoon through it. Then the fire had to be removed, oil of cinnamon added and well stirred again, the jars filled and sealed. That sound like a hard job? We loved it. We tried to find a shady place to sit and stir.

One time a neighbor, Bytha Davis, went with me up to Grandpa Randolph’s when Grandma was there. We got there before noon. Grandma had enough apples ready to put on to cook for applebutter. We made that in the afternoon. Then we got apples ready that evening to make another kettle of butter the next morning. We came home in the afternoon. She often told me she never worked so hard in her life. I told her that was just an average day for me.

I was born one mile down river (South Branch of the Hughes) from Berea, West Virginia. Our home was on the opposite side of the river from the road and the Asa Randolph home (later the Amos Brissey home). There was a ford across the river (maybe one-eighth mile above the Brissey house to our home). I was born and lived there about 3 years.

The first memories of this home I really don’t remember but have heard from my parents and Aunt Sarah, who lived on top of the hill back of our home. Aunt Sarah and my parents visited back and forth often, helping each other. There was maybe one-half mile between homes. I do not remember my Uncle Elsworth, who was my father’s youngest brother and his special buddy. Uncle Elsworth was killed in a logging accident before I could remember.

They tell me of my birth, which was at a tragic time. My brother, Harold, 2 years older than 1, died of membranous croup the same day I was born. Old Dr. Bee was at our place trying to save Harold when he brought me into the world. For some reason, probably because of Harold’s death and other business, he never recorded my birth at the courthouse. I know that because of the trouble I had getting my Social Security at the time of my retirement. Aunt Sarah was a big help at that time, they say.

Another time Aunt Sarah was such a special help was when I had diphtheria, probably in my first year. They said they almost lost me then, but Dr. Bee and Aunt Sarah brought me through. Of course, Mom and Dad did their part, too.

Aunt Sarah and Uncle Elsworth’s only son, Blondy, was a little older than I; and we were playmates and buddies from the time we were babies. After my diphtheria spell, Mother and Dad got concerned as to whether I could hear, so they decided to test me by having Blondy in the next room but out of sight. When he said my name, they knew I could hear.

There were two happenings at our first home that I heard a lot about. One was the time I was in the woodlot at the same time our cow was there, and she butted me over the woodpile. They said I didn’t even cry, and they watched me closer to keep me from playing with “Moo Cow.” The other was the time Mom heard me hollering, “Mom, Mom. Come come.” When Mom got to the river at a sand and gravel bar just above the ford, I had hold of a pole with a fish on the end of its line. The fish would pull me a while toward the water, then I would pull it. That may be why I love so much to see my grandchildren and great grandchildren pull and holler, “Help me, Paw.”

Uncle Gene’s in New York

About the summer when I was four, we moved to Uncle Gene and Aunt Cleo Elizabeth Jordan’s in New York at Friendship near Cuba. I can remember some things quite vividly. First, on our train trip we had to wait some at Wheeling. The trains sounded so near that I was expecting them to come into the waiting room. Also, I have memories of the drays and drivers, probably because Mother cut out connected strings of brownies. (Mother was a real crafter and artist.)

While we were in New York State, I went to school a little while. They took me out because I fell deeply in love with an older girl, Agnes Childs. We were together, it seems, all the time at recesses and noons. Often all of us children would go to an orchard maybe 300 yards away (maybe it was farther but seemed so short a distance because Agnes and I always walked hand in hand or arm in arm).

Another thing I remember well was Uncle Gene’s black dog (it must have been a Water Spaniel) and his big and mean gobbler. Romulus, the dog, stayed with me a lot, and he was seldom out of hearing of me. I can remember one time the gobbler spread his tail and wings mighty scarily; I had a hard time to get Romulus to save me, but he finally did.

My sister, Avis, and I had groundhog pets that my older brother, Brady, had caught for us. Brady knew where their dens were in and around a big meadow. He would hide near a den and watch until they would get far enough from their home until he could get between their den and them before they could reach safety. My pet wasn’t really a pet. He would bite and finally got away.

Avis and I played together a lot because she was two years younger than I. Sometimes I had trouble getting her to play my way or keep up when we were going to Uncle Gene’s, about one-half mile from our home. Then I would say, “”Appy won’t keep the snakes off you.” That got cooperation.

Life on Otterslide

It must have been the fall of 1907 that we went to Otterslide near Berea. I am sure that we were sorry to leave Aunt Cleo and Uncle Gene because they were mighty good to us. Our new home was small and just boarded up, but it was close to many of our relatives and friends. Probably we lived on Uncle Lashie Maxon’s place. Then there were Uncle Delvie and Uncle Elsa Maxson who lived near. They all had children who went to school to Dad and played with us what few times we could get together.

A few things are very vivid in my memory. I remember Dad chopping wood by our woodshed. Once he glanced his ax off the shed and cut his foot badly. Then I remember my mother carrying water up a ladder and into the attic to put out a fire that caught from the chimney. Another time at the supper table our oil lamp fell over, and the kerosene caught inside it. Mom grabbed an overcoat hanging near and wrapped the lamp up and put it outside.

The worst thing that happened while we lived on Otterslide was while Dad and Brady were working up the hollow (like they were when Mom put out the attic fire). My younger brother, Randall, choked. After Mom pounded his back and shook him while holding him by the heels, we ran to Uncle Lashie’s. Mother carried Randall, who must have been about 2 years old; and Avis and I tried to keep up. They could not unchoke Randall. It was such a sad time. I remember Dad and me after dark out by the woodshed crying our eyes out.

I have some hazy memories about going to school in the one room school at Otterslide. Of course, I was in the first grade, and my teacher was my father. But really, the next vivid memory was riding in a wagon and entering Berea. Just after we got through the covered bridge, what to my wondering eyes should appear but George Washington’s son sitting on steps in front of a house. His hair was cut just like the pictures of George Washington, and it was white. Later I found out he was my first cousin, Arden Bee. Probably his mother, Aunt Rachel, told him we were coming, and he was watching for us. Arden and I have always been close friends and still are.

Living in Berea

My memories of Berea are so many that I could never tell you about them all and get done in time to go fishing when the weather gets fit. Suffice it to tell about my schooling, my work, my dog, and my friends and enemies. I may make a mistake telling about the happenings with my enemies. My grandchildren and great grandchildren must realize that I was just a boy eight to almost twelve years old–so you do as your dad and mom say, not the way I did.

Maybe you will be interested in knowing what Berea looked like while we lived there. It was located in an almost round bottom of about fifty acres on the south side of the South Branch of the Hughes River. The business consisted of two stores, a post office, livery barn, and a grist mill. There was a two-room school when we arrived, with another added while we were there; and this was in Berea proper. The school was later moved to where Camp Joy is now. (The house was not moved, but a new schoolhouse was built.) The road made a loop around the bottom, with houses on both sides. There were about twenty houses along the loop and three on the road that extended down the river from where the loop joined at the covered bridge. At that junction was the post office, one store, the livery barn, and the blacksmith shop. The other store and the gristmill were about one hundred yards up the river along the loop, by the dam.

My Schooling at Berea

As for school, I remember I was a very slow reader; and I liked exciting stories like Gulliver’s Travels, Indian stories, Greek stories, poems, and wars in the histories. I once printed a big imaginary story about a character similar to Gulliver. I also often felt very sad, fearing I would never have a chance to be a hero because I feared there would never be any more wars. of course, I was wrong. There have been wars, and I am glad I didn’t have to fight in them.

These stories of Jason, Hercules, the Roman heroes and the Christian martyrs, I suppose, influenced me to try to be a martyr. My worst punishment at school came from that desire. In fact, there were two of those experiences–one in the fifth grade at Berea and the other in the ninth grade at Salem High School. After I was teaching, I realized that I needed the rubber hosing I got at Berea and being expelled from the study hall at Salem because I took the blame for other pupils’ mischief.

Play at the Berea School was real fun. We chose up and played base, both draw base and prisoner base. We also had fun playing ball with a twine-wound ball and no cover. (We had never seen a baseball or softball.) I loved to be the catcher. One noon I was catching for a strong eighth-grade pitcher. The ball was wet, which made it like a rock. A batter just snibbed the under part of the ball, causing it to hit my eye squarely. That ended my catching career. There were many other games, like “London Bridge,” “soccer ball,” and in the fall “Hull Gull, Odd or Even,” and in the spring “Lap Jack.”

Maybe you would like to know how we played “Hull Gull” and “Lap Jack.” As I said, Hull Gull was played in the fall. Chestnuts were plentiful, and we would fill our pockets with them before we went to school. Then we would hold out a hand (with some chestnuts enclosed) and say, “Hull Gull, odd or even.” If the other youngsters said “Even” or “Odd” and when we opened our hand there was what they said, they got the chestnuts. But if they were not right, we got one from them to make it odd or even.

We played lap jack in the spring because the willows along the creeks were extra limber. We took a willow switch with us to school, and we would challenge another child to lap jack with us. Whoever hollered first lost the match. Usually this only lasted one day because it caused trouble that mothers and teacher didn’t like.

There were many programs at school in those days. We had a literary meeting each month during the school term. The older people had parts in it, too. I remember being in a debate: “Resolved that water is more destructive than fire.” I don’t remember whether I won or lost. I also remember a Christmas Program with a big tree for the community and a jolly Santa Claus. On that tree was a pair of skates for me. When I got the skates, I left the program and went to the river above the dam, where there were solid ice and lots of skaters (including my older brother, Brady). I didn’t have a period of falling down because I had practiced stroking just like the big folks even without skates on for a year or so.

This is enough about schools at Berea except to say that I was noticing girls again like I did in New York State (but not quite as much). Pearl Buzzard, who later became Mrs. Curtis Simmons, was my special. Pearl’s husband left her when she became a crippled invalid. We were close friends until her death, when she willed me her wheelchair. She also left one son, who took good care of her to the end. Another girl I liked a lot was Beulah Collins, who later married my cousin, Hollie Sutton. Beulah was beautiful and had an especially beautiful voice. She didn’t notice me because she liked the older boys.

One year while we lived at Berea I went to school at the Fair View School. I walked with Dad about three miles each way. That was the last year I had Dad for my school teacher. That was a great experience. Dad was a wonderful teacher, especially in arithmetic and history and on the playground. Among many other games, we often played “Fox and Hound” at noon, which used about all the noon period and a lot of rough country.

Special Friends (and Enemies)–(Wrestling and fighting)

It was not long after we moved to Berea, the summer I was seven years old, that the boy who was to become my best friend and buddy came to see me. The thing I remember most about his visit was that he wanted to wrestle. So Dad cleared a room of furniture, and we went at it. I couldn’t seem to understand what was happening until after he had thrown me three or more times. Then I said it was my turn to yank. To the best of my knowledge, he never did throw me again.

In fact, I can’t remember our ever wrestling again except once, when we got paid to fight in front of a crowd of men at the livery barn. In the first place, the men told Lester (Lester Jackson was my friend’s name) they would give him a nickel if he would get me to fight him. We fought so fiercely that they got ashamed, I suppose, and paid us a nickel apiece to quit. We took the money and hand-in-hand went to the nearest store and bought candy to eat together. The nearest store was the Douglas one.

Lester and I were at the livery stable another time when the front big sliding door fell on Lester. It hardly hurt him any, but we were scared. Lester was a tough boy. Once he had his head smashed when his father’s combination truck and surrey automobile (the first one of any kind owned near Berea) hit a telephone pole with his head between the truck and the pole. It did put him in bed for a while, but he recovered and served in the Marines for many years.

I saw Lester only once after we left Berea at the age of eleven and almost twelve. He came to our place for a visit at Salem, and we went to Clarksburg to visit my cousin, Arden Bee (the one I thought was George Washington’s son). The three of us went above the dam at Hartland, a suburb of Clarksburg, and had a great time swimming. I went back to try to see him at a Jackson and Prunty Reunion at the old Prunty Place, three miles below Berea. They told me Lester had died in Hawaii ten years before.

I must tell you about the time Lester Jackson saved Avis’ life. We had been on the ice of the river down by Creed Collins’. We didn’t have skates, so we must have just walked on the ice across the river. Lester and I had gotten across and were waiting for Avis. She hollered, “Help!” We saw her sink to her arm pits through the ice. Lester ran to her. They broke the ice in front of her, and Lester led her to the bank. I was ashamed that I didn’t go to her, but no doubt it was meant for Lester because I was so heavy. I might have drowned both of us, or all three. Those of you who read this, beware of thawing ice. It is treacherous because it can have hidden rotten spots.

I remember one other wrestling match, and it was with Odbert Bell, a mighty husky boy my age. Our wrestling was done with one arm over the shoulder and one under for each. When one was down and couldn’t get up, the other had won. We squeezed each other’s back and thrashed around, trying to bend the other’s back in until he would fall. Finally Odbert got me. I think that was why I never cared much for wrestling.

My memories of Berea have many fights in them. Suffice it to tell you of a few. One boy I fought with was Harry Wade. His father bought our home place, and he lived in the same house where I was born. He and I were very good friends, but some of the big boys got him to start a fight after a program at school. We fought with our fists, only quite evenly and so entertainingly that the watchers cheered loudly enough to attract an older person, who stopped the fight and sent us on home (for which I was thankful because I wasn’t sure of the win).

Our next-door neighbor was the village blacksmith, Mike Jett. He had two sons and two daughters. The son Dewit was my age; and the daughters, Pearl and Judy, were older. Leo was the youngest son. There was practically a feud between our family and Mike Jett, along with the men who came to his drinking parties.

Once I was coming home on our horse at night;, and they rocked us, which almost made Nellie run off with me. Another time, I met Dewit, Pearl, and Judy in front of the school house. I got on the school house porch against the house so they couldn’t get behind me. I guess I was pretty desperate because I hit Dewit so hard that I heard a loud crack. Dewit went down. I saw some folks coming who heard it from the post office porch, so I ran home.

Good Times With Cousins and Hunting Dogs

My time at Berea was also very pleasant–especially the visits to stay all night with my cousins, Blondy Randolph at Aunt Sarah’s and Oma Sutton at Uncle Herman’s. Blondy and I played climbing and swinging in the big spreading chestnut tree that had grapevines in it. Aunt Sarah’s big barn had lots of hay and straw in it, where we did tumbling stunts. Most fun of all was training and using a pair of calves to pull a cart our Uncle John Meatheral had made for us.

The times I remember going home with Oma were in the fall during the hunting season. Uncle Herman had hounds. Most of them were foxhounds, but one was a dandy night-fur-animal hunter. He would tree opossums and hole skunks, and we would have fun shaking the possums out and digging out the skunks. We sometimes built a fire to warm ourselves and roast apples wrapped in clay mud, and once a young chicken.

Speaking of hunting dogs, I had a red short-legged dog, Rover, that was a real pal. He used to go with me all the time. Many were the times I grabbed his hind legs and helped him pull groundhogs and rabbits out of their dens. He had such short legs that he would go back in their holes and pull them out.

I remember one time down at our old home place that Rover ran a groundhog into a hole. I heard it whistle before it went in; then, as it came out a back door of its den, Rover grabbed it. They fought over and over on a smooth path; then they got off the path, so Rover just rolled over and over with it until they got to a small flat place at the edge of the river. Rover wanted to do his fighting on level ground. They fought there; but before I could help Rover without hurting him, they got into the river. I was really scared for Rover then, so I went in, too. We finally got it out and quieted, but I had an awful time finishing it off with a club.

There is a story about this hole–in fact, there are two–where Rover and I finished off the groundhog. This hole in the river was just below our ford and between our place and Grandpa Randolph’s. The story goes that another dog, Bruno (a big, ugly bulldog) got revenge on a deer for butting his friend and playmate, Ring (the tall greyhound), with a quilting party of ladies watching.

Bruno’s barking brought the women out to see the trouble just in time to see a big buck send Ring rolling with its horns. Bruno, even though he was fat and lazy, seemed to get determined to pay that buck back for hurting his playmate. He chased it to the river. While it was crossing on the ice, he caught it by the nose. He turned it a somersault and broke its neck. After quite a while, a man on a horse came along and claimed the deer, claiming his dogs had been running it. Grandpa gave it to him.

The other story also happened before I was born and while Dad was a young man. He and his brothers built a fence across the lower end of this water hole, just about where we fought the groundhog. They built it of rocks and put a room below it at the swiftest side. When the river would rise because of grinding grain and using water from the dam at Berea, they would open the door into that room. When the water went down, they would close the door and go in and catch fish with hands and clubs. Sometimes they got mighty nice ones.

Once for a few days we couldn’t find Rover. After worrying and inquiring, we heard that a teamster about 15 miles down river had him. Dad, Brady, and Clee Wagoner went down to get Rover. They walked and took turtle-prodding sticks similar to gaff hooks because it was spring before the turtles got out of the mud. They spied Rover at a house a little way from the road. Brady and Clee waited at the road, and Dad went to the house. Dad told the man he had his dog and he was going to take it home. The man said he would wade through blood before he would let that dog go. Dad said, “Start wading”; and he went back to the road, where Brady had called Rover and had him. We were a happy family when they came home with Rover and two sacks of nice snapping turtles. I think Avis and I were the happiest. Mom let me sleep with Rover in my bed for some time. That was very unusual. I never knew of her allowing a dog in our house at any other time.

My Work at Berea

Besides this fun, I did do some work while living at Berea. One year, we raised a cane patch (probably two acres) on top of the hill near Aunt Sarah’s. I remember that so well because I had to thin it. Dad was afraid the seed was poor, so he put plenty seeds in each hill. I think they all came up. I got a terrible headache.

We also had a garden au the old home place besides the big one we had at Berea. One day Brady, Dad, and I were working in this garden when we heard loud splashing in the riffles at the ford. We ran down and got a fish in a little open place among the seaweeds. Brady hit it with a club, and we had a twenty-four-inch bass. I remember we couldn’t eat it all in one day with Grandpa and Grandma Sutton visiting us.

There were a number of farmers around whose children had grown up and left home, so I got to ride their horses for cultivating, harvesting, etc. One of these farmers was John Meredith. He had a queer way of paying; he would feel in his pocket after I had worked a half day or so and find a nickel, dime, or once or twice a quarter and give it to me.

One day Mr. Meredith got me to help him drive two cows down to Wolf Pen, about 10 miles down river, in order to sell one of them. He thought they would drive easier. I rode behind him on a horse, (a rather sharp-backboned one). When we were coming to a branch road, I got off, ran ahead, and made the cows go the right way. We ate dinner there; then we drove the one cow back. It took about all day. I remember so well because I was so disappointed; he only found a nickel to pay me.

When I was ten and eleven years old, I had a regular job of driving the milk cows for our village to a pasture in the morning and to their home lot in the evening. They paid me by the month, twenty-five cents. I thought I was rich. There were deep hollows and patches of brush. Sometimes it took me until after dark to find the cows and get them home. Dad let me buy a little hand ax, similar to our Scout axes now. With that ax I never was afraid, even if a stump or bush would look like a bear.

That night hunting makes me think of the stormy night when Nell got out, and I went up the river to hunt for Nell while Dad went down river. Dad forgot to tell me how far to go. I kept going and looking in every possible place. She meant about as much to me as Rover did. It was extremely dark except when the lightning flashed, which I learned to appreciate. I must have hunted two miles where there was not a home in sight of the road before I gave up and went home discouraged. Dad had found Nellie, so I was happy; and Mom and Dad were glad to see me.

Another kind of work was hacking. That was cutting brush from one- to eight- or ten-inches in diameter and piling it. At first I wasn’t big enough to use an ax, so I piled. Once in a while when they would find a nice branchy bush, they would let me climb it before they cut it. I would get on the side up hill. When it fell, it would bounce up and down a while, giving me a thrilling ride.

When I was ten years old, Dad let me use a pole ax. I saw my first copperhead that I remember. When stepping up to a bush, I spied a copperhead all coiled up. I yelled, “Dad!” He came and made a quick end to its life.

They also let me use a scythe that same summer to cut weeds and small brush and briers. I went down to the place Dad bought from Grandpa Sutton, which was just across the river from the lower end of Berea. I was feeling big and important. No doubt that made me careless whetting my scythe. I cut my hand, which stopped my using the scythe for a while.

My Colt, Tony

Our horse Nellie finally had a colt that Dad let me call my own . Nellie and the colt pastured in the round bottom where Camp Joy is now. I loved the colt and began petting it whenever Nellie would let me. Finally I got a halter on it and would lead it around near its mother. Then I would get it into the box stall in the church barn, where I would feed it apples, etc., from my hand and put my hand on its back.

One day I led Tony down to Berea. He must have been about one year old then. I took him to drink at the watering hole in the river where the liverybarn horses drank. Tony started jumping up on his hind feet and pawing, so I started him back toward pasture. He gave me a hard time. Once he managed to scrape my back some with his front hoof. Dad (or maybe it was Mom) wouldn’t let me bother Tony for a while. As soon as I could, I got him back in the box stall, fed him, petted him, put my hand on his back, put a blanket on him, and finally would hang onto the top of the stall and sit on him.

About that time, Dad moved him to a pasture at the top of the hill toward Pullman. The Berea cows were being kept in that pasture, so sometimes I would find Tony and ride him bareback to round up the cows. One time just as I got on him he jumped a ravine. It caused me to fall, but Tony stopped and waited for me to get back on his back.

The first time Tony had a saddle on, Avis rode him (with Dad on Nellie) for a visit up Otterslide. They said he was as good as could be. The second time was when I took him back to pasture. I was at the foot of the hill when I met two young men. They had white straw hats. They threw the hats in front of Tony. He wheeled, and my saddle turned. I fell and broke my arm. I took Tony on to pasture without letting the boys know I was hurt. Then I went home and let Dad and Mr. Wagoner set my arm.

More Injuries

Surely you are getting tired of happenings at Berea. Suffice it just to say that Avis got her arm broken while riding an old buggy coasting down the road in Berea. I got one arm broken jumping over a cliff when they were turning off maple sugar at Uncle John Meatherell’s.

At still another time, a young fellow cut my shoulder; and Minter Fox, the veterinarian, sowed it up, which hurt like blue blazes. (I still have a scar on my back that looks like a lizard.)

At another time I was riding to Pullman, and Nellie jumped over the bank and a fence because she saw her first car. When cars first came around, they must have seemed like dragons to the horses. Most car drivers would stop when they met a horse, turn off the engine, and lead the horse or horses past the car.

Fishing at Berea

When the ground was too wet to work and we didn’t have other work we could do, Mom and Dad were real good about letting us have fun–like fishing.

Once we (Brady and I) went fishing in the same hole where Mom helped me catch my first fish, only this was on the road side of the river and two or three hundred yards farther up stream. We went down a steep bank from the road to a small flat where we could throw our baits into the water near an old brush pile. We began catching fish. Brady was catching them faster, probably because his pole was longer. I started stringing his fish, and he caught them as fast as I could get them strung. We had the stringer about full and decided that was all we could carry home. They were nice black and yellow sunfish and catfish. Just as we got up on the road, along came Uncle John Meatherell in his surrey pulled by two spirited horses. He took us home, and we were thankful.

Elmo’s Birth and The Last Year in Berea

August 31, 1913, was a day of many anxieties at our home. Aunt Sarah was there. So was Julia Meatherell, our cousin. Our family doctor was there. Everything was hustle and bustle, so Avis and I stayed out of the way, mostly outside of the house. I have heard the story over and over since–how Dr. Bee could not take care of Elmo when he was born because he was busy saving my mother. Aunt Sarah said she thought Julia and she could save him, and they did. They had to use a medicine dropper to feed him because he was so tiny. It was touch and go for both Mother and Elmo for quite a while. Elmo’s birth, Mom’s being sickly, and Brady’s going to Salem College caused Dad and Mom to decide to move to Salem.

Another reason for the move was our troubles with unfriendly neighbors–like the time Brady came home from school at Salem one evening. Since Dad was staying at school for a program, Brady and I decided to go to the program and come home with him.

As we went by Mike and Dinah Jett’s home, we noticed they were having company. When we got through the covered bridge, we heard loud hollering (“We’ll murder them!”) and a lot of swearing. We knew they meant us. We quickly gathered a good club and a handsized rock. As we went up the steep path (which was a short cut for walking toward Pullman), we planned to wait for these young men and have the downhill advantage. We tried that a number of times before we got to the top of the hill; but even though they were drunk, they wouldn’t fall for our trick. Our plan was for Brady to get them down and me to crack them over the head with the club.

When we started down the hill that would take us to Dad’s school, we traveled on the road. These men (there were five of them about Brady’s age, seventeen years old to twenty) came up to us, trying to shove each other against us, then backing off and rocking US. They didn’t get the fight started that way because we weren’t going to fight unless we had to.

Finally one of the largest ones of them took hold of Brady’s lantern and said he had lost his cap. (He had his cap on his head.) While they argued, two of them went past us and two stayed above. I tell you, I was scared and had my club tightly in my hand. Brady told Luther to let loose of the lantern or he would take him over the rock cliff (which was just off the road); he let loose. The two in front of us stepped aside, and they all left us. Probably Luther’s scare brought them to their senses. Anyway, we were mighty glad to get to Dad’s school.

Life at Salem: Boxing at Salem

Among my first memories at Salem are of boxing at the Pennsylvania Dormitory of Salem College. I guess we lived there while we waited to get in our home on top of the hill back of the college. Some of the boys who lived in the dormitory, including Ruben Brissey, got Otho Randolph and me into a boxing match. It was the first time I ever saw boxing gloves. Otho, my cousin and the chief of police’s son, gave me all I could handle; but I must have done fairly well.

About once a year Otho and I would have a lively boxing match until the summer we were sixteen. I remember that one extra well. We boxed in Uncle Joel’s yard at the mouth of Pennsylvania Avenue. Otho was giving me a mighty hard time, mostly because he kept stepping on my toes with the spikes on his running shoes. I got afraid he was going to get me, but Aunt Gertie came out and stopped us. We never boxed again, but I will tell you of our farming together at Uncle Al Glover’s later.

Of course, that was not all the boxing I did at Salem. Some of us boys stopped at Jennings Randolph’s home on the way back from church (probably a Junior Christian Endeavor meeting), and Jennings brought out his gloves. First Gene Lowther put them on with me. I happened to get him some pretty solid blows, so he quit, never to box with me again. (I never did see him box with anyone again.) Then Jennings boxed with me. We enjoyed many bouts for two years. We never tried to knock each other out, but he was a mighty worthy opponent.

When I started to Salem College Academy, I boxed often in the Rec Room. These were just for fun. But one with Offet Collins was for real. Offet told me he was going to stay with his father at a saw mill in Kentucky the next summer, so he wanted to practice fighting. I agreed to fight with him, even though I was fifteen and he was eighteen. He also had much longer arms than mine. Of course, we put gloves on. We sparred a little; then Offet rushed. He kept on rushing. I hit him, but he kept on. Finally he caught me an extra good one. I went sort of numb. I felt some other blows, first on one side and then the other. The next thing I knew I was wakening up on the floor. I got up and held him off for a while; then he did the same thing again. When I got up the next time, I stayed with him until he wanted to quit. Either the sting had left his blows, or I had learned how to keep them from landing.

This match with Offet probably helped me when I boxed Fay Bunnel, the carnival boxer, before a crowd at Salem. I was eighteen at that time. I only agreed to fight three rounds as a wrestling and boxing card. For some reason the wrestling didn’t happen, so they asked me to go six rounds with Fay. I agreed. About the second round Fay caught me a glancing blow in one eye. The gloves were six ounces and badly scarred. The blow almost blinded me the rest of that round. I had a hard time covering up. His blows came fast. They seemed to come from everywhere. He had a style I had never seen before; his gloves were down at his sides. I seemed to do better after that second round but was glad when the sixth was over. Fay had a good professional career.

My Twelfth Birthday

By the time I had my twelfth birthday, we had -moved into our own house on the top of the hill behind Salem College. Mom had a party for me with some ten or twelve of my friends. Gene Lowther, Jennings Randolph, Russell Jett, and Otho were among them. Among other things we tried to see who could chin himself the most. I could chin myself only once, while a lot of them could go up four times and some more. After that I developed the ability to chin-up more than eight times.

Scouting (Boy Scouts)

It wasn’t long after my twelfth birthday that Oris Stutler started a Boy Scout troop. My, but we enjoyed learning in the Scouts. Oris was a great Scout Master. Jennings saw that he got a Congressional Medal for it.

I remember two camping trips. In the summer of 1914, we camped on Ford’s Place four miles below West Union on the Middle Island Creek. It was a wonderful experience; but my buddy, Russell Jett, almost drowned while taking a swimming test. He was swimming beside me, and I saw him sink without saying a word. When I realized he wasn’t fooling, we pulled him out; and Oris brought him around.

The next summer we camped one mile below West Milford on the West Fork River. One of the things I remember most about the camping was the great food. I even learned to like rice that was cooked with water and sugar (I never liked it before). I also remember catching big frogs.

I meet Ruth Bond

.Another thing I remember about my scouting was meeting the prettiest girl I had ever seen–on the walk by the side of the College Administration Building. She had blond curls, lots of them, hanging over her shoulders. I was wearing my scout suit. I tipped my hat as nice as I knew how. It must have made some impression because I now have her as my own queen and mother of my seven children.

In the scouting I took a special interest in fire-building, cooking, and bird watching. I made many trips back up the ridge from our home, where I would watch and listen for new birds. When eating time came (I could only tell by my hunger because I had no watch), I would prepare a spot carefully and build a fire. Sometimes I had some kind of meat. More often it was a vegetable or just a sandwich to toast on a forked stick. I would wrap corn or potatoes in clay mud (we did not have aluminum foil). My birdwatching was more listening and stalking than watching. I kept listening for new songs or voices. Then I would stalk the bird that made the sound or sang the song until I could get a good look. Sometimes I found it was an old friend but just a different song. That led to my recognizing many birds by their voices.

Some Fights

During the first summer I was at Salem, I had some interesting experiences. One of them was after a ball game on top of the hill back of Jennings Randolph’s home. A gang of boys led by Tad Graham were playing, and my friends (Russell Jett and Dana Williams) and I joined them. After the game Tad and his friends grabbed me. They threw me down. I looked for help and saw Russell and Dana heading for safety and home. Tad said, “Let’s make him eat this cow manure.” (It was real dry.) I broke loose and grabbed a club that happened to be handy. I said, “The first SOB that gets near me is going to get this.” (I used the real words, which I had never done before.) They believed me and finally gave up and went home. I had a few other hard times because I was a country greenhorn.

Many times while on the Main Street I would pass a dray wagon hauling things to or from the railroad station. Mr. Davis and some of his three boys would be on it. The boys got to hollering, “Baby, Baby,” each time when they passed. It got annoying. One day I met one of them with an Ash boy. I just started swinging my fists. I backed up against the side of the Ford and Swiger store so they couldn’t get behind me. We were trading blows hard and fast, especially the Ash boy, when a man came along and parted us. That didn’t satisfy me or the Davis boys either.

Another day I met the three of them walking in front of the college. We started swinging. I remember college students gathered to watch on the lawn. I knew them, and many of them knew me because I went to the 7th grade there where they practice taught. I soon got the Davis boys separated. I would knock one into the street. Another would come; I would roll him. They soon had enough. Later they were good friends.

Tad Graham hadn’t had enough to suit him. One day Jennings brought his boxing gloves up to that same ball field for Tad and me to have it out. I beat him thoroughly because his arms were shorter than mine and he wouldn’t quit trying to clobber me. Tad was a friend from then on.

Working at Salem

I always had a job during the summer. The first summer after my 7th grade, I took office telephone calls for the Salem Block Company (they made cement blocks). Sometimes when they had train cars of sand or cement that had to be unloaded quickly, I would help with that. They had one man laborer besides the owners. I could handle more sand and as much cement bags as he did.

I did not wait until school was out to peddle bunches of onions. They were green onions from sets that Mom had brought from Denver, Colorado, when she and Uncle Waitie went there to see their brother, Uncle Elzie. These were called winter onions because they would be good eating-size by March. We put 5 or 6 onions in a bunch, and I sold them at 5 cents per bunch.

We had a hard time making a living. Dad taught mostly one-room schools and sold life insurance in the summer. His pay was not enough to keep us four children and Mother. Mother took in some washings to help. My father and I took filth jobs the summer after my 8th grade. Some of them were hacking jobs, and some were scythe jobs (like briers). I did not have to worry about copperheads. Dad could distinguish a copperhead smell as well as I could a bird song. Once when we were hacking brush on Dr. Davis’s farm on Tarkill, he said, “There’s a copperhead around.” We looked for a likely place and spied a big rotten stump. When we got it turned over, we killed two big rusty ones.

The next year was my first year away from Salem College for schooling. I went to Salem High School as a freshman. Among many exciting things, about the last of February, I took the measles. With other subjects that I did all right in, I had Latin, which kept me hustling to understand. These measles kept me out of school two weeks. Mother taught me to make flowers out of crepe paper and to tat so I could pass the time. Maybe I should have been studying Latin. When I got back, they had learned about verbs; and I was having an almost impossible job to catch up.

Along came the offer for high school boys to leave school to work on a farm to produce food for England and France during their war with Germany. I jumped at the chance. I went to Uncle Al and Aunt Martha Glover’s dairy farm on Route 23 one mile north of Salem. I had never milked a cow, and all milking was by hand then. The first morning at four o’clock Aunt Martha (she was not a real Aunt but acted like a sweet one) called, so Uncle Al and I went to the barn. While Uncle Al milked seven cows, I milked six. I was mighty proud, but my fingers were almost too tired to hold my knife and fork while I ate breakfast when we got to the house.

There was lots of good healthy work to do on the farm. We prepared the ground and planted the corn, harvested the meadows, and cut filth. If it rained, there were always things to do in the barn, like cleaning up and caring for the machinery.

One very hot evening I heard a buzzing while getting the cows out of the woods. After listening and watching a while, I located a bee tree. The entrance was about thirty feet up in the main trunk of a red oak. When I told Dad about it the next Sabbath on one of my weekly visits, he planned to come over and help me cut it. Uncle Al agreed to our cutting it. We sawed it down with a cross-cut saw (there were no power saws then). When it fell, the tree split lengthwise, leaving the honey entirely open as pretty as could be. The bees did not think we should take their honey. After burning some rags, we managed to get four water buckets of honey and a few stings.

I learned a lot about farming from Uncle Al, and Aunt Martha fed me so very well. One unusual thing I learned to eat was clabber milk from her cold spring house. The milk would be soured into a solid called clabber. When it was in my glass, I would take my knife or fork and chop it up some–then drink and smack my lips. Try this some day. You may find a drink much better than Coke.

Another drink I liked especially well was buttermilk. Often I enjoyed a supper of buttermilk and corn or light bread. Now, 1981, Grandma doesn’t churn; but she makes buttermilk by putting about four tablespoons of vinegar in a quart of milk or powdered milk (or until it starts to curd as you stir it–it might take more than the four tablespoons). I am having some buttermilk and cornbread flapjacks on this my 79th birthday for dinner or supper–or maybe both.

After school was out, my cousin Otho Randolph came to work with me. One of our biggest jobs was the harvesting. I had never done anything but help build shocks and ride the horse to haul them in. This summer I helped build the shocks and pitched it up to Uncle Al while Otho hauled it to us. It might interest you to know that my pay started at $10 for the first month and then raised to $20 per month.

I remember Father telling about some neighbors coming by there squirrel hunting one Sabbath. He gave them all the melons they could eat and one to take with them. That evening as they came home they stopped in the melon patch and pulled all the vines and piled them up.

One summer we raised a fine crop of corn, also a fine patch of melons. Ellsworth went up to Mr. Brake’s store, and Mr. Brake wanted to know how much corn we raised. Ellsworth told him 900 bushels. He said we ought to have raised a fine crop, for we spent all summer tending it. Ellsworth replied, “It kept us from stealing our neighbors’ watermelons.” (His boys had stolen a bunch of our melons.)

Growing up on a farm, I learned to love the country and country people—I still do. Just give me a farm with stock, and I could be happy—if I were able to work it.

I am so glad Father and Mother taught me to be honest and truthful, to hate trickery and deceit, to select the better class of people as my friends, to be loyal to a friend and never try to injure any by malicious gossip or cowardly lies, to stand up for the right, and to be sure I was right and stick with it . I have learned to be careful what I say. I remember the Proverbs:

Answer not a fool. (Prov. 26:4, KJV)

Cast not your pearls before the swine lest they trample them under foot and turn and rend you. (Matt. 7:6, KJV)

Seest thou a man wise in his own conceit? There is more hope of a fool than of him. (Prov. 26:12).

Jennie’s Stroke

My wife had a slight stroke in the last of September 1945, and Brady and Mary took her down there. Mary was taking care of Leortha, so I stayed at Brady’s and cared for Jennie. She was so she could walk about the house a little. We got along very nicely as Mary was at home to get breakfast and supper and Ruth would fix our dinner. They were all very nice to Jennie, so we had a fine time until after Thanksgiving, which was the third Thursday in West Virginia. Then Archie came after us, and we had a second Thanksgiving, which was the last Thursday in Tennessee.

The Milton Years—1946-1948

We stayed at Archie’s until the 14th of December, when Archie and Avis took us to Elmo’s [in Milton, Wisconsin]. This was a little the worst trip we ever took. There was a little snow on the ground in Tennessee. We got along very well till we crossed the Ohio River at Louisville, where we stayed all night. From there on it got colder fast. By 4 p.m. we could not keep the ice off the windshield, and Archie was so cold he said we would have to stop. We put up at a hotel, and Avis and Archie went out and got some bread, meat, coffee, cakes, etc., and we warmed it on the fire. We had a dandy supper with plenty left for breakfast. We waited till late to start the next morning. We had a very nice trip the rest of the way, although it was still very cold.

We got to Elmo’s about noon Sunday. Everybody was sure glad to get in where it was warm. We found it was 17 degrees below at Milton that morning. Some cold for December 16! Jennie did not seem over-tired by the trip, but later she proved to be.

It warmed up a little but stayed quite cold for some time. Jennie got along very well till the excitement wore off, when she took a severe cold and had a complete collapse.

Elmo’s said Dr. Crosley was a very fine doctor, so we sent for him and found he was one of the best. He told us that she blacked out on him (she really did) and that he would make no promises. He found her in a very poor condition, and she had but little strength on which to build. He said he would do all he could, which proved to be enough as he soon had her going around.

We have been very lucky in finding Dr. Condon of New York, Dr. Crosley of Milton, and Dr. Sullivan of Cleveland, Tennessee, very fine doctors. Jennie had two or three severe spells while we were in Milton. When we left there in the spring of 1948, she was much better than she was when we went there.

Milton Church and Friends: For the first time in years we had a chance to go to our church on Sabbath, and it was so nice. The people were so friendly and nice to us. I will never forget the way they treated us and the nice things they said about Elmo and Madeline. We soon got acquainted with the people. The women were so nice to Jennie, and we were invited to the homes of many of our people. We met some of our old ministers—Dr. Ben Shaw, Rev. Van Horn, and W. D. Burdick. These have all died since we left Milton.

I picked apples with W. D. Burdick two falls for Prof. Stringer. He was a small active man who was past 80 years old. He would go up into the trees like a man half his age. He was a very high-class Christian gentlemen and minister.

There were several very nice widows well up in years for whom I did some little work. I enjoyed this work very much.

I must not forget to mention Prof. Stringer, who was teacher of vocal music in the college and was church chorister. He had a fine young apple orchard two miles out. I helped him pick apples both falls I was there. The limbs would be hanging to the ground with fine, big apples, which I picked so fast that it was fun. The last year I was there, I made nearly $40 and then gathered apples he left that lasted Elmo’s nearly all winter. How I would have liked to have been there to pick apples this fall!

We found our Seventh Day Baptist people very sociable. In fact, they were as fine, nice people as I ever met. I will mention just a few who were especially nice to us—Dr. Crosleys (his wife was a sister to W. D. Burdick and very nice); Rev. W. D. Burdick, than whom there were none finer; Milton and Mary Van Horn; the young dentist (he and Milt hunted with us a lot); Prof. Cy and his wife; Prof. Stringer (who was very nice to me); a young Shaw who was very nice to us; Miss Clark and her brother; Mr. and Mrs. Lowther; and two widow ladies for whom I did a lot of work. They were so very nice to us. In fact, there were so many that I should mention that I will say all of the Seventh Day Baptist folks treated us like old friends and neighbors. But I should not forget the two Hurley families who were very nice to us.

Fishing, Hunting and Gardening: Elmo and I went fishing some, but I did not have very good luck. One day we were out Elmo caught two wall-eyed pike; one weighed 2¾, the other 3¾ pounds. Once when I was not with him, Elmo caught a cat that weighed 6¾ pounds. A fine cat!

I enjoyed duck hunting very much. The second fall we had excellent hunting. The season opened at noon. Four of us went out together, and we came in that evening with 20 birds. The most of them were nice-sized ducks. We had duck to eat for several days. It is great sport to go out with two or three congenial companions and hunt or fish. I have missed this since coming to Tennessee.

I did some work in the garden; in fact, we raised some fine gardens. The last year we were there, we had all the green beans we needed to eat and can and had more sweet corn than they wanted, so they sold some.

Rabbit Enterprise at Milton: Elmo had just moved a number of rabbits (New Zealand Whites) into the back yard. He planned for me to care for them and share in the profits. I enjoyed caring for the rabbits very much (the fact is, I always enjoyed caring for animals).

We raised a large number of rabbits, but we could not raise enough to supply the demand. We bought several more rabbits and were just getting ready to buy all pure-bred rabbits and make good money when we decided in the spring of 1948 to go back to West Virginia. We bought a large number of young rabbits to butcher to hold our customers. We made good money on those we bought, and it also paid those who raised them. Before we left, Elmo sold the whole outfit for $150. The venture paid very well and gave me something to do. I am very glad I had this experience with rabbits.

A Teaching Experience in Milton: I will give a little experience I had in teaching a pre-kindergarten pupil. Johnnie [Elmo’s son] (who was also named after me) was past four years old. In the fall before we left I told Madeline, if they wanted me to, I would teach Johnnie to read. She said, “Why don’t you?” So I went to work. Ann brought home some pre-primers. Johnnie would climb on my knees, and I would tell him a word (he did not know his letters) and turn to another page and tell him to find the same word there. He soon got so he could find the words anywhere in the book. Then I would teach him a new word. As soon as he began to get restless, we would quit.

There were two chief reasons why he learned so well: he is bright and wanted to learn, and he was all alone so it gave him an extra game to play. Oh, it was fun for each of us! He soon learned every word in the first book and could really read every story in it. Then we took up another one. He finished three pre-primers. Then in the same manner we did three primers. When we finished these, we took up a first reader, which we had about finished when Jennie and I left for West Virginia. I have wished so often that I could have taught him for another year! I would have taught him spelling, writing, and arithmetic so he would have been ready for the second grade when he was six years old.

In life there are many disappointments, but there are also many pleasures. The teaching of Johnnie will always be a bright memory, with a lot of other bright memories in my teaching life. It often happens that teaching is a thankless job. There is some compensation when in later life your old pupils come to you and say (as several have done to me) that they first became interested in getting an education from me. I know that I got many interested in getting a high school and college education. I hope I have helped several to live better, fuller lives.

Back to West Virginia, March 1948

We left Milton on March 31, 1948, and got to Brady’s April 1. We spent a year in West Virginia, mostly at Brady’s although I spent about as much time at Ashby’s. For a while I milked the cow and tended the garden. In the late summer they decided they did not want to be bothered with the cow (she was our cow), so we sent her up to Olta’s as they were glad to have her. She was a very fine cow. Late in the fall we sold her for $150. This was the last property of any amount we owned except one-half interest in the farm on Bug Ridge.

We had intended to go back to the farm that summer, but we found there were no household goods to keep house with, and Brady’s were very much opposed to it. So we did not go to the farm. Jennie worked faithfully on Alma and Mary Ellen’s wedding outfits. Alma was married in their church. Jennie and I went up to Huffman’s so we were not there (at the wedding). After Jennie got the sewing done for Mary Ellen, we went to Ashby’s till Brady’s family came back from the wedding at Washington, D.C.

About the first of September Archie’s came by Ashby’s and offered to take us back to Tennessee with them. We decided to wait till later in the fall. Instead of going to Tennessee, we went to Brady’s for a while.

Before we got ready to go (on October 6), Jennie fell one evening and broke her hip. We took her to the hospital at Sutton, where she stayed for 33 days. I tried to make things as bearable for her as I could by going down by 8 or 9 a.m. and staying till about dark. This kept her from being lonesome. I would go out and get my dinner. Jennie did not eat much, and it would often hurt her. It got so everything, nearly, hurt. They gave her penicillin till she was so sore.

After she came back to Brady’s, they got her a hospital bed from Bill’s, which made it nice for her. She would seem to get better, but then she would take spells of terrible pain. They finally gave her a course of streptomycin, which seemed to help.

On to Tennessee

I came to Tennessee the 3rd of April. Archie, Avis and Alois went up two weeks later and brought Jennie back on a cot in the back part of the car. I was surprised at the way she stood the trip. She got along fine for a few weeks, then she got worse. We got a very nice doctor who was so nice to her. He would give her dope to ease her suffering and medicine he thought would help her. When it didn’t, he would try something else; nothing did any good for long.

Flinderation School: I was to write insurance, but it did not work out as the insurance men fought us both fair and foul. So I got the school at Flinderation that winter. When the district superintendent proposed my name as the teacher, one of the board turned around and asked if I thought I could hold Flinderation down. I told him I did. The fact is I thought I could hold anything down, but I have had some doubts since. When virtually all of the patrons, as well as the children, do everything they can to be mean, it is hard to make a success in any school, as I found in Taylor County a few years later. Flinderation proved to be a very nice school. Every one seemed to be entirely satisfied and wanted me to teach it again. I thought they would ask the board for me, and they thought I would ask; so I did not get it.

I got a job of Uncle Preston the next summer. He was building a house, and I had all kinds of work to do. I can tell you he was hard to please. I then worked at other places after I quit him.

Black Lick School,  A Bout with Rheumatism: I taught at Black Lick in Doddridge County this winter. I felt miserable most of the late fall, and by Thanksgiving I felt so bad that I let Brady teach a day or more as it was vacation for him. By the first of the next week, I was down with rheumatism. For two weeks I lay on my back and could move but one foot a little bit and neither hand. They fed me for five weeks because I could not get either hand to my mouth. The pain, at times, was terrible—but not all the time, for we found a remedy that would stop it in an hour. (Ring a woolen cloth out of very hot water with a tablespoon of Epsom salts for every quart of water, changing it as soon as it begins to cool. This may be of use to someone.) I did not get to go back to school till late in January; even then I felt miserable. This was not a very interesting school, for the most of them were not very bright students .

I did not get steady work the next summer for two reasons: I was not very able to work, and work was very scarce. I got some work about town and went out in the country and did some harvesting.

This winter of 1916-17 I taught at Buckeye, three miles out of Salem. This was a fairly good school, and enjoyed it fine.

Working for Virgil in New York, 1917

When school was out, I went up to New York to work for Virgil as I feared work would be scarce in Salem. I started about March 20. I had a cold when I left; by the time I got there, it had developed into grippe. I was not able to do anything for two weeks. We put out a crop of oats, about ten acres of potatoes, and an acre of corn for ears. Virgil had a bottom that would mature corn; but oh, it was so hard and flinty. Virgil told me later that the acre produced 125 bushels of corn.

Soon after I got there, World War I started. Potatoes were over $2 a bushel; flour went out of sight, but it soon went down some. They asked everyone to plant all the potatoes they could as they would be needed. Virgil feared there would be so many raised that they would not be worth raising. He need not have been scared; they started off in the fall at $1 a bushel and soon went up to $2. In the spring they went still higher. The farmers, both grain and stock, made big money during the war. The next year the price went way down and did not go back up on farm products until about 1940—twenty years later. I’ll tell you, it was hard times for the farmers. No wonder the farmers rose up in their might and crushed the party, in 1932, that had ruined them and that it has not returned to power in twenty years—but I am getting in ahead of my story, so I had best go back.

I worked fairly hard that summer but did not hurt myself. I did not get wages like others were getting because I began work before the war started. Elizabeth was at Virgil’s that summer. We had a great time together. She was a fine friend and did everything she could to cheer me up when I’d get home sick and lonesome. Vida came out a while that summer and was very nice to me, which I will never forget.

We had a near neighbor who had bad spells with his heart, which scared the family very much. They would come after Virgil in haste, and he would go over and stay for hours sometimes. He was a very good neighbor. One day they came after Virgil at noon, and he wasn’t at home. So I went and stayed till he got better. They told Virgil I was very helpful, which made me feel good. It is really very good to feel you are useful.

Mary was a fine motherly woman who was as good as any could be. Winston did nothing of any amount for he was not strong and did not dare do much.

Back to Salem, Fall 1917

I came back to Salem the last of August so I could go to Teachers’ Institute and got steady work at three times the pay I was getting. I was very glad, for we needed the money very much. I got a lot of work at the lumber yard.

I taught at Dewey Town that winter. It was one of the coldest, iciest winters one need ever want to see. It was a very rainy fall; in fact, once or twice it would rain till I would be wet from my waist down. My rubbers and shoes would be full, and I would wring out my stockings and put them back on. By 4 p.m. my clothes would be about dry; by the time I got home, I would be wet as ever. Between Christmas and New Years it got very cold. For six weeks it was seldom above zero and as low as 17 below. Most of the time the snow was covered with ice, so you were constantly in danger of falling and crippling yourself. I boarded over there the last week of the severe cold weather. All my eighth grade got promoted, which was very good.

When school was out, I got a job on a farm at Glovers and Kings for the summer. They were very good to me except Mrs. King, who hated me, and there was no love lost. She had two girls whom she was trying to bring up to be as big snobs as she was.

I taught at Flinderation again this year. The flu broke out after I had taught a short time, and all schools were closed for about six weeks.

Railroad Work at Grafton I got a job working on the railroad at Grafton. A train came to Salem at 6:45 a.m. and was supposed to come back at 6:45 p.m. We got pay from the time we were supposed to leave Salem until we did get back. We got time and a half after 10 hours, and we always got 11 hours. Once we got 13 besides the extra time. This wasn’t the worst of it; they wouldn’t let us do half work. You wonder why? The railroad companies were running the railroad for the government, and they wanted to make it cost the government so much the government would have to give it back to the railroad companies.

I will give one example of the way they worked. One morning when we got into Grafton, we found that McAdo (the big boss) was there, and he was mad. He told them there were men enough on the job to have done three times the work they had done. That was really an understatement, but I suppose he didn’t want to be too hard on them. The super came out and told us to get tie hooks and go to carrying ties. He said, “Any one found loafing while the government men are here will be fired.” Of course, that meant when they left we could loaf all we pleased.

The men began to carry ties, three hooks, six men to a tie. I was left without any hook or buddy. There was one hook and two men extra, so I told them to catch back a little from the end and I would carry the back end. I could carry my end, but it was heavy. The second tie we carried a boy ran up and grabbed a hold. On the third tie a man came, too. This made me so mad that I let loose, and my end of the tie dropped to the ground. They were pulling down instead of helping. Just then the super came back and told us to carry some old ties. I started for them, and three more came after me. When I got there, I tipped a tie on end, put it on my shoulder, and walked off with it. Several began to curse and rave. I stopped and told them that I didn’t object to help in carrying ties but I’d be hanged if I’d carry the ties and drag two or three with it. Some of them talked saucy, but no one laid hands on me, so it soon died down.

Sometimes they would go over into town and stay for hours. One boy from Salem slipped out at noon and didn’t come back till 3 p.m. They fired him, but he came back the next day and worked right ahead. I’ll bet he got full pay for the day they fired him. It was the greatest swindle I ever saw. I got over $4 a day for six to eight hours play; the rest of the time we put in on the train, part of the time going and part of the time on switches waiting for a train to pass us.

A few weeks after I got my pay, a man came to me and asked if I had got all my pay. I told him I got what they gave me. He said there was more at the depot. I went down and got enough to make me about $5 a day. This was the best job I had ever had.

Teaching Again

About the first of November I began teaching again. This was the great flu year of 1918. I had a very nice school, but it got quite small and they sent the scholars to Bristol the next year. I never taught in Harrison County again. The chief reason for this was that the board of Ten Mile decided about this time to hire no one unless he had as good as a Normal certificate.

The summer of 1919 I worked on Evander’s farm for Brady and Ashby and for Wardner Davis on some city jobs. This was a fairly good summer, but not as good as I had a couple years later.

Teaching in Ritchie Again: I had no school until late in the fall, when they sent for me from Ritchie to teach the Upper Otter Slide School. This was a new school; the district was formed and the house built late that fall. The Moonrise School house had burned down the fall before, and the school had been taught in an empty farm house. This fall they got the board to cut off part of Upper Otter Slide and a part of this district, build a house, and form a new district on the head of Otter Slide with me as teacher. I found it one of the best schools I had ever taught, although they said it had been no good at all the winter before. In fact, the large girls told me they had acted so badly that they were ashamed of themselves every time they saw their teacher that summer.

There were 26 scholars, made up of the following families: 7 from Lee Campbells, 6 from Port Campbells, 2 from Jack Hudkins, 6 from Elva Maxsons, 3 from Dow Maxsons, 1 from Art Brisseys, and 1 I can’t remember. One of the Campbells and two or three of Elva’s girls went through high school, and Maynard went one year.

I stayed at Uncle E. J,’s and worked nights and mornings and Sundays to pay for my board. It was a very good winter except Jennie had a very severe sick spell. I went to see her and found her getting better. A few weeks later Conza said a friend from Salem told them that Dr. Bond said she was going with T. B., so I went home to see about it. I went to see Dr. Bond, and she said there was no sign of T. B., which made me feel very good.

The first trip I made in a pouring rain. I was wet from head to toe. I waded several creeks to my knees. I did not know when the train ran, so I walked very fast and was tired when I got to Tollgate. I had to wait an hour. The station master said I was the wettest, worst bedraggled man he ever saw. He built up a good fire, which dried me out a little. I got quite cold on the train, but it had no bad effects.

Before school was out, the scholars got up a petition to the trustees asking them to hire me next year. I told them before I left that I would try to come back. Some of them were in Salem to a church meeting and came to see me about teaching, and I told them I would. But before time for me to go, Jennie got quite sick and had to go to the hospital for an operation. The surgeon said she would be no better until she had another operation in about a year, so I couldn’t go. I went three years later and taught two terms, but I will write of it later.

Selling Books in Pennsylvania: That summer I sold books in Pennsylvania. I went up there with three other Salem boys. I did quite well in the small towns but could do nothing in the country. You couldn’t sell a $5.00 gold piece to a Pennsylvania farmer for $4.50. They were the sorest, worst disgruntled, sourest people I ever saw. They said the young people had all gone to the factories; they had to pay two prices for anything they bought and could not get half price for what they raised. They were just mad. This was in 1920.

Before the season was nearly over I had to come home, for Jennie was quite sick. She got some better so I could go out for a few days. She soon got worse and had to go to the hospital for an operation. The surgeon performed only part of this then, and she had to go back for a second operation a year later.

Buckeye School and Picking Apples: I taught at Buckeye that winter and had a very nice school. Before the school began, I worked in the lumber yard for Evander a while. Then he sent me to pick apples. He had a man picking peaches that he thought was the fastest picker in the country. He got the peaches picked by noon and came to pick apples that afternoon. I was then 48 years old, but I still thought I could pick as many apples as the next one. So I went to work.

Now the trees were medium sized young ones, loaded down with fine, large, smooth Ben Davis apples. The Ben Davis is not the best eating apple; but when it comes to picking and filling a bushel measure, they are hard to beat. I had plenty of bushel boxes handy to fill, so I went to work. I would stand on the ground and fill the picking bag I had over my shoulder. Once I wanted to see how soon I could fill a bushel box; so I got under a limb that I thought had at least a bushel of apples that I could reach easily, looked at my watch, and went to work. In just two minutes I had a bushel box of apples picked (pretty fair, wasn’t it?). When we quit, I found I had picked three to his two bushels all afternoon. Pretty good, wasn’t it?

This was on Friday before my school began. Alexander asked me to pick apples for him Sunday, so I went out and worked for him all day but did not get done. He asked me if I could find some way to finish them, so I started to school early and picked a while and then picked after school was out. That way I finished picking them.

I saw Elmus Bee one evening as I came from school. He told me he had picked all the apples that were easy to get at and that I could have the rest if I would gather them. So I did and got several bushels of fine apples which lasted till way in the winter, for which we were very thankful.

Cutting Filth and Blackberry Picking: It was in the spring of 1922 that I began to do a lot of work for Lee Davis. I hoed some corn and did some other work for him. Then he wanted me to cut a big field of filth for him where there were lots of blackberries. I was to have all the blackberries on the patch I took to cut. We agreed on what I was to have for cutting a part of the field, and I picked the first day of July. I found I could pick six gallons of berries a day, which was about all I could carry into town, four miles away, and I could get 65 cents a gallon. I soon asked for more filth to cut so I could have more berries to pick. We agreed on a price (a little too cheap), but I was to have all the berries on the entire field. I picked every day and carried into town until my arms ached all the time. I would carry a three-gallon pail in my right hand, a two-gallon pail in my left hand, and a one-gallon pail fastened to the suspenders of my overalls. My arms would ache that winter from carrying my dinner pail, but it paid. I cut the filth on the whole field, which with the berries I picked made me about $100, which isn’t hay!

I taught the Long Run school that winter, and they all wanted me back. But a girl slipped to the board and got it away from me.

The next summer I cut the same field of filth of Lee, built a lot of woven wire fence for him, and worked for some others. So I had another busy summer and a fairly prosperous one,

Trouble in a Taylor County School: I had more trouble getting a school than I had ever had, but I got one in Taylor County and never taught near Salem again. In fact, I never spent a winter there again. This was the hardest school to teach I had ever struck. The children were taught, the most of them, that they had a right to do as they pleased. I only saw two of the trustees when I went to contract for the school. They told me they had been having no school for several years and that they wanted me to teach it and see that they behaved. When I saw the other trustee, I found that he was a ruffian and didn’t want the children controlled.

I got along fairly well until the first of December, when I found the children in the house and the door locked. They refused to open the door, so I went to the trustees (I boarded with one of them). They said that they thought the children should have a little fun. I told them they said they wanted me to teach the school and let no one else run it. They said that they forgot to tell me that the children were to have some fun before Christmas and lock me out. (If they had told me about that, I would have told them to keep their school.) The next morning they did not try to keep me out, so I went on with the school.

The week before Christmas, I found the door fastened again. That evening the trustee where I boarded and I went to see the other trustee, a very nice old man by the name of Taylor. He said that he thought it was all right for the children to have some fun and that they had been locking the teachers out for fifty years. My reply was, “Mr. Taylor, when you were first married, you would get on a horse and Mrs. Taylor would get on behind you when you went anywhere. But now you have an auto.” Mrs. Taylor was in the kitchen listening, and she spoke up, “That’s so, and you men had better go over there and stop those children acting the fool.” They came over the next morning and found the door with one end of a rail against the stove and the other against the door. They opened the door and told the children not to lock the door anymore.

I gave them a treat at the end of that week (they knew I was going to treat them when they locked the door the second time). I hoped that would stop it, but it didn’t. The other trustee put the children up to being mean and came to the school house after school was out and told me I didn’t have sense enough to teach school and that I must never punish any of his children in any way.

Shortly after this the spelling class his girl was in missed every word in their lesson. They didn’t try to spell but would look at each other and grin when they missed. So I told them they would try it again in the morning. It was the same in the morning, so I told them to stay in at recess. The girl said her father told her not to stay in. I told her she could stay in or take her books and go home and stay till she would mind. Just then her father came roaring in. He dared me outside (he was about 35 and I was 50) and said he would be there and get me that night and that he would follow me till he did get me.

I called the two trustees in, and they told me to have him arrested. I dismissed school and went to Grafton and took out two warrants for him, one for assault and one for breach of peace. The squire told me if I could prove what I told him, he would step on him. When I left he told me to go back to my school and take care of myself. I asked if he meant any way, and he said, “Any way.”

I had known I was going to have trouble, so I told the trustees the week before that I was going to quit, for the children would tell any lie. They said they wouldn’t believe anything the children told, but I told them someone else would try the case so I thought I would quit. When I got home, I told them I had quit. Ashby was teaching out in the country, and I told him when he came in that I had quit. He told me, “Dad, you’re not quitting. You have taught the worst schools in the country, and you managed them. You are not quitting this one.” I said, “All right, kid, if you say so, I’ll go ahead. But there will be trouble.” And there was. Just the same I have always been very glad that he told me to go back and that I did.

McDonald was the man’s name (this was the second McDonald I had had trouble with in school, and I could not trust one of that name as far as I could throw a bull by its tail). He did not come back to the school house, but he went over to Mr. Taylor’s and bragged about what he had done. He said I had started the ball rolling and he intended to keep it rolling and that he was going to follow me till he did get me. In fact, he told everything he did, so Mr. Taylor was the only witness I needed. But I took the other trustee and his boy, 12 years old. McDonald took his mother to go his bond, if necessary, his children as three witnesses, and the best lawyer in Grafton. We also got a good lawyer.

I told what happened, and Mr., Taylor told what he knew. When they cross-questioned me, they asked if McDonald whispered. When they questioned the boy, he got along well till they asked if the defendant was mad. This stumped him for a minute. Then he said. “He did not whisper.” When we rested, the lawyer moved to quash the warrant. The squire said, “No.” The lawyer said we had not proved what they expected, so they would have no witnesses. The squire said he would render his verdict. He turned to McDonald and said, “You have done entirely wrong, and I won’t stand for it. I will fine you $25 and bind you over to keep the peace for a year and a day under a $200 bond.” So you see, it didn’t pay him to get extra smart. I finished the school without any more trouble, but I feel it was one of my poorest terms.

Why This School was Called Robinson: I think it might be well to tell the story of how this school came to be called Robinson School. A man by the name of Robinson and his wife lived in a house near the school. They got in debt and borrowed some money of McDonald, the father of the man I had trouble with. Robinson gave him a deed for his farm with the agreement if they could pay the money back within a year that they could redeem it. They scraped and saved and got the money. When they went to redeem the farm, he said, “No, I have the deed for the farm, and I am keeping it.”

McDonald lost a dog and accused Robinson of killing it. Every time they met, he would throw it up to Robinson about killing his dog. One day Robinson said to him, “The next time you say dog to me, I’ll kill you.”

Sometime before the year was up, McDonald came down and ordered Robinson to move out. Robinson told him he would move out the day the year was up and not a day sooner. McDonald came down the morning he was to move and found him loading up to move. “Well,” McDonald said, “I reckon I can keep a dog now.” Robinson got his gun and shot him dead.

They sent to Grafton for the officers. When they came, Robinson was in the house and refused to let them in. He told one of his friends who was with the officers that when he was ready they could have him, but not till he was ready. He also said he had a rifle, a shot gun, and a revolver in the house; and if they thought he couldn’t shoot, to put a penny on top of a post 25 yards away. In a half minute the penny was shot off. They waited around till evening. Soon after the lights went on, they heard a shot. They went in and found he had shot himself. A man may be so annoyed that he will do awful things.

Two Pupils in Robinson School: I believe I will write a little about two of my pupils in the Robinson School before I forget it. The family where I boarded moved away about two months before school was out, so I boarded with her brother’s family the rest of the term. The name was Stark. There were two little girls—Ruth was 8, and Jinnie was 6 about the middle of the winter. Jinnie did not come to school until the last two months. She may have known her letters; if she did, that was all. Neither of the girls came in bad weather, for it was a long trip and Ruth was not strong.

One rainy day when I came from school, Mrs. Stark told me Ruth had tested Jinnie to see how many words she knew at sight anywhere. I told her about 100. She said Jinnie knew 125. Pretty good for a six-year-old girl in less than two months! I think she was a little above average in ability, and she really tried. Ruth was a very sweet little girl. She wrote for two or three years but finally quit. I think I just forgot to answer one of her letters.

Summer Work in Salem: I came home Monday evening, finished my school reports, and went to work for Guy Davis on the school house at noon Tuesday. I leveled off the dirt floor in the basement, cut two holes for sewer pipes through the 18-inch wall (Guy said it was the hardest concrete he ever saw), and laid a concrete floor. I had worked on this school the year before when they were building it.

After finishing the school house for Lee and Guy Davis, I went to work on farms and did not lose any time for rain for six weeks. One rainy morning at about 8 a.m. Lee raised the window of the school (it was right below our house) and wanted to know if I wanted to work. I went down and cleaned up and carried lumber for them. Then for some time, whenever it rained, they would call me down. Then for a while I got no work., Then one Sabbath evening Guy came to me and asked if I could work the next day. He said a man had promised to come Friday but didn’t, so he was through with him. After that I did all the common labor for them. Besides the other work I did, I got a job teaching some children at night who had not passed their grade. I made over $1200 that year, which was a little the best I had ever done up to that time.

Besides the Central School building, I had also worked on the East School building. In 1920 I had worked for several weeks on a glass plant at Bristol. I am telling this to show I had worked on a number of big buildings in Salem. I am sorry to say I was not the contractor or head man on any of these jobs, but I did a lot of common labor on each of them.

My Last Teaching in Ritchie County—1923-1925

The summer of 1923 went by rapidly. In the late summer I was offered the Upper Otter Slide School, so I was fixed for the winter. I boarded with Guy and Mamie that winter. I had plenty to eat and was treated very nicely. In fact, I had a very nice winter. Harold Brissey, Jesse Kelley and some of the other boys would go out hunting at night. We caught several possums and a few skunks. When I left in the spring, the patrons petitioned the board to hire me again. All but one of them signed the petition, and he went to the board and told them he wanted me. They hired me, so I was all set for the term of 1924-25.

This year I did not find as much work about Salem as I had been doing.

As there was a big gas line being laid in Ritchie, I went out there the 4th of July and worked for Elva till they got the line near enough to walk back and forth. I got $4.08 a day, and my board cost $l.35 a day. This saved me some, as I worked for Elva on Sundays. Digging ditches is hard work, but I liked it fine except for a few days when it was so terribly hot. One day I had to go to the shade for over an hour, but they did not dock me any.

I dug in the ditch till we got to the center, where the Italians were supposed to meet us but didn’t. Then I went back and filled in till a mile beyond the center. Our super said he could take 100 Americans and lay more line than 175 Tallies. I finished the job just before time for school to begin.

Jack offered to let me live in a vacant house he had. This was a real good four-room house with a bed and bedding which he said I could use. He didn’t charge me anything for it. He also gave me some beans and apples, which he said he would not pick. Of course, they were not high quality, but they were good enough for me. I surely enjoyed them very much. I helped Willie Jett fill his silo, and he let me have a lot of corn beans. So I had beans for a long time.

I will mention right here that Jack, May, and Ova were very nice to me, and I won’t forget them.

Elmo Stayed With Me and Attended School: I stayed by myself and did my own cooking until I went home to vote. When I returned, Elmo came with me. We had a grand time. Jesse Kelley and I had been hunting some, so we went out in a short time after Elmo came. I could see that Jesse did not like very well for Elmo to go, but I would not go without Elmo. About 11 p.m. the dogs treed something, and we had no ax. Elmo said to give him the lantern and he would go to Jesse’s (which was about one-half mile away) and get an ax. He was back in a little while. After that Jesse was glad for Elmo to go every time. We had lots of fun and got lots of possums. We had a few to eat. Elmo enjoyed them very much.

The girls liked Elmo and got along with him just fine, but the boys were inclined to be jealous of him because he could beat them at almost any of their games. When they played “hide and seek,” he would lie down and be still. They would pass by him, and he could come right in. When they played “keep away” with the volley ball, he could beat them, which made some of the Campbell boys mad. They tried to do Elmo the same, but they didn’t have any success.

When we went home for Christmas, Elmo wasn’t sure if he would come back. When the time came, he was anxious to go back. We bought a quarter of beef of John Meathrell and had beef about all winter. We bought potatoes of someone there and plenty of groceries from the store. We lived fine, and it didn’t cost nearly as much as they (Jennie and Dow) asked for board for me only. They wanted $20 per month, which at that time seemed rather high.

I did not have quite so good a school this winter, as several of the boys decided they were too big to study or behave. The most of them did well, and several got diplomas from the eighth grade.

This finished my teaching in Ritchie (24 winter terms). In fact, I have been in Ritchie but little since the spring of 1925.

Summer Work at Salem—1925

This summer I took a job of filth cutting of Lee Davis. Before I finished it, Leonard Jett came over and wanted to help. He had been working for the city and got his hand badly mashed. He wanted to work some to get able to do a day’s work, and then go in with me and be able to make something. I took him in. After finishing that job, we helped Alexander in his hay. We took a job of cutting four acres of hay with scythes and also helped him put up all his hay.

Work was getting scarce, and we had heard that they were going to build a concrete basement for the Ritchie Church. We found what the sand and stone would cost and what the lumber and labor would cost. When we got there, we found Amos Brissey thought it could be built for less than we could build it. I made a bid, but I have always been so glad we did not get it. There was a big racket over it, and there would have been a much worse one if we had got it. And I hate a racket.