Tag Archives: depression

Chapter 17 – More Schools & Bug Ridge Life

April 19, 2009

Upper Wolf School: The winter of 1929-30 I taught the Upper Wolf School, 4½ miles up one big hill and down two going to school and up two big hills and down one coming home. This was a little the toughest winter I ever had. Every day, five days a week, I walked 9 miles. Soon after school began, Brady took blood poisoning, and I would go down to Sutton twice a week. This added 20 to 45 miles, which made 65 miles each week besides teaching and doing my own cooking. I told Brady in March if I lived through the winter I would be so tough they couldn’t split me with a wedge and blow torch. I did live through the winter, and I was tough-but oh, so tired and ready to rest.

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.

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The Salem College Years–An Adventure in Higher Education

April 6, 2009

Almost my entire life had been lived next door to the Salem College campus. It would be difficult to put a value on the opportunity afforded me to get a college education. However, there was the question of expense–tuition, books, etc. The Great Depression was still hanging over us and for our family it was a struggle to survive. From the perspective of the college it was important to recruit as many new students as possible, I suppose.

I am forever grateful that an arrangement was made with the administration of the college for me to work out my tuition doing maintenance and janitorial work during the summer months. I don’t remember how much the tuition was. By today’s standards it would be ridiculously low. The arrangement was for me to work ten hours a day, six days a week, during the summer vacation months. The hourly pay rate began at 25 cents and was later raised to 30 cents. A big advantage of the plan for me was that 1 could participate fully in the academic and social programs of college during the school year.

Being a Salem College Freshman was exciting. Friendships quickly developed with classmates and upper classmen. Introduction to a variety of courses, and their professors, was stimulating. At some point I decided to major in English and minor in physical education. The curriculum I chose stressed a liberal arts education including literature, mathematics, history, chemistry, French, physical education and music. Throughout the first three years of college I was committed to preparation to be high school teacher.

I feel especially privileged to have studied math under Dean M. H. Van Horn. He was considered to be one of the outstanding math teachers in I-lest Virginia. The course I had with him introduced us to algebra, geometry and trigonometry.

Chemistry introduced me to science with Dr. Gould as teacher. The lab work was most interesting–especially the experiments in qualitative analysis.

Dr. Ferdinand Ruge taught French and deserved the role of most eccentric professor on campus. There was the incident when he put his lighted pipe in his pocket before stepping on campus. As he walked down the hall, smoke was observed rolling up from his pocket. The pipe was removed promptly.

Dr. Ruge made a practice of harassing one or more students in his French class. He chose me for that dubious role and once said such offensive things about me that I slammed my books on the floor and confronted him eyeball to eyeball. From that time forward Dr. Ruge and I became fast friends. On learning that I planned to enter the ministry, he offered sage advice. Two examples: “Don’t ever preach to the people what they ought to hear. Preach to them what they want to hear. If you preach to them what they ought to hear, the moving van will back up to your door.” “The choir and the ladies aid are the war department of the church” (Dr. Ruge had been an Episcopalian minister). I was invited to tea several times with Dr. Ruge, his lovely wife and daughter, Genevieve.

My English and Literature professors were Dr. M. Channing Linthicum and Miss Nannie Lowe. Dr. Linthicum once suggested to me that I could make a successful politician. Is it not true that a successful minister must be something of a politician? Becoming familiar with English and American literature–especially poetry–inspired me in ways that have lasted through my life.

Pastor George B. Shaw, beloved minister of our Salem Seventh Day Baptist Church, taught a Bible course that was very popular with Salem College students. I still treasure the textbook he authored and have used it often.

I was the first male student to take the Table Service course offered by Miss Cleo Gray. She headed the home economics department and in the course we worked in teams to prepare and serve a number of meals, teas and receptions. College officials were invited as guests for these occasions. I baked an angel food cake and a meatloaf as assignments and for the table decoration for one event I decided to use dandelions. I arranged the decoration in advance of the event but alas, when the class members and guests gathered the dandelions had all closed up. My experience in the Table Service course paved the way for other college men, including a number of athletes, to benefit by it. What I learned from Miss Gray has been invaluable to me through the years.

The credits I acquired in the music department came close to being enough for a minor. Music courses with Miss Elizabeth Bond included Music Appreciation and Sight Singing. I studied piano with Miss Bond and reached the level of playing Chopin and Brahms in recitals. It is one of my educational regrets that I did not become a more proficient pianist.

Following is the text of a brief paper written as an assignment in the Music Appreciation class. At the end of the piece is a comment signed, E. Bond.

“Using the word “appreciation” in its most sincere and deep sense I feel that Music Appreciation has really meant a great deal to me. Strangely enough, Music Appreciation has never seemed to be “just another course”, but rather it has stood among my activities as something finer, something that has had a real appeal–a subject devoted to happiness and true beauty.

I have learned to love music and all that it carries with it. Beautiful melodies and harmonies stir up feelings within me that reach far into my being.

Everything about me seems to have suddenly turned musical. Birds wake me in the morning with their happy chorus and their evening songs haunt my sleep. Nature seems especially musical.

Then too, I have learned to feel a deeper sense of appreciation for the composers who have given us our music. The stories of their lives reflect the beauty and sincerity of their compositions and their tireless work and effort make us appreciate the fruits of their labor even more.

Through the study of Music Appreciation” I have come to recognize some of the possibilities of music and what it can do to make people happy and contented–better able to enjoy the real fullness of life.”

The grade on this piece was A, with Miss Bond’s comment handwritten on the bottom of the page: “Fine! I copied this and intend to keep it. You have been an inspiration in the class and this little essay makes me very happy.”

In addition to the regular required physical education course, I took boxing and wrestling and tumbling. In boxing I was glad to learn rope-jumping. I excelled defensively in wrestling, being difficult for opponents to pin.

Samuel Kistler headed the physical education department. As an alumnus of Salem College, he had earned a reputation as a celebrated athlete in football, basketball and baseball. His teaching skills and dedication were of a high order.

The tumbling class was most enjoyable for me. We developed a team of tumblers who performed in a number of high schools in the area. Our routine included front and back flips, dives and a number of other tumbling maneuvers.

The tennis team was coached by Samuel Kistler, too. I made the team for only a few matches. One I played in against West Virginia Wesleyan on their courts is memorable. I did not win a point in the first game. From then on in the match I won the next eleven games–several of them going to deuce over and over. My opponent conceded the match to me when it began to rain. It is interesting to note that in the period up to college graduation I played endless hours of tennis. Since college I have seldom had a racket in my hand.

I was close to Salem College sports and athletes from childhood through college. Several outstanding athletes boarded at our home and ate Mammals cooking during their college careers. A few of them I remember were: Matthew Bowers, “Peely” Hogue, Doy Neville and Irving Menzel. I’m sure there aren’t many Salem College fans who witnessed more athletic contests than I in the years from 1925 to 1935.

In October 1932, early in my sophomore year, I was elected head cheerleader for Salem College. Sandford Randolph, my cousin, nominated me for the position and after “trying out” for the assembled student body I was surprised and elated to be elected. The Salem College “S”, with a megaphone on it is a treasured memento from many thrilling experiences of yesteryear. How exciting the pep rallies were, with bonfires and snake dances, on the nights before home football games. The Salem College songs still ring in my mind.

Now let me interject some memories of the summer work project that covered my tuition for the four years of college. Okey Davis was head custodian at the college, in charge of all janitorial and maintenance work. I consider it a real privilege to have worked for four summers under his direction. He became my friend as well as boss. He had a hearing problem and I remember him telling me, “One advantage of being deaf is that you can’t hear a mosquito buzzing before he bites you”. We worked on many assignments in the course of a summer: lawn mowing, window washing, floor maintenance, painting and varnishing and miscellaneous other projects. The most physically exhausting work I remember was mixing mortar at ground level and carrying it in buckets to plasterers on the third floor of Huffman Hall.

One summer experience is unforgettable. Nelson Tully and I, with girl friends, attended the summer school picnic on a river near Clarksburg. When we went to our car–after most of the picnickers were gone–we found a girl waiting for her boyfriend in a car. Concerned, we checked in the bathhouse and found his clothes. Quickly getting into our bathing suits, Nelson and I went into the river to search for the man. I carried a good sized rock so I could walk on the bottom of the river between coming up for breaths. It was a shock to step on the body as it drifted along on the bottom of the river. Calling for help, we lifted the body into a boat and brought it to shore. A rescue squad tried resuscitation but it was futile. The summer student’s name was Bailey. I had played tennis with him but didn’t know him well. The memory lingers.

The experience of falling from a window of the physics lab on the top floor of Huffman Hall is still vivid. Roommate Reece Burns and I were washing the windows at the end of a work day. I was standing on the window sill washing the outside of the pane, holding on with one hand on the top of the window. Reece finished the inside of the window and pushed it up briskly, knocking my hand from its grip and causing me to fall backward. I went into a crouching position and landed on my feet on water-soaked ground. I was stunned by the impact and could not see for a brief time. The first sound I heard was Reece flying down the stairs to my side. lost two days work from the soreness of my ankles, knees and hips but did not check with a Doctor. The distance of the fall was about thirty feet.

Twice during the summers I went on B. & 0. railroad weekend excursion trips to Washington, D.C. We got on the train on the night after the Sabbath; arrived in Washington in the morning; walked around the capitol area all day Sunday; came back on the train Sunday night and arrived home–very tired–Monday morning. On one trip I was with Bob Wise. Nelson Tully was on the other with me. I do not think it the ideal way to tour Washington.

It was certainly not unnatural that I should have “an affair of the heart” during college days. Helen McCullough was a classmate from Hole Hill, West Virginia. (The town has now taken the name, “Mountain”–proving that a mole hill can be changed to a mountain.) Helen’s brothers, Tom and Harold, were in college with her. I have forgotten how our friendship started but it grew into a serious relationship over a two year period. We studied together, were a formidable bridge team and enjoyed shooting bows together. Helen transferred to West Virginia University for her senior year and we parted company. I have speculated that her family decided I was not the man she should choose.

It could be said of my life during college that I did not let academics interfere with extra curricular activities. When I tried out for the Men’s Glee Club I made it as the first second tenor. Professor Clark Siedhoff was our director and we were proud to represent Salem College by performing concerts in a number of West Virginia communities. Wearing a tuxedo made me feel sophisticated and debonair. One of our favorite numbers, “Give Me Some Men Who Are Stout Hearted Men” still resounds in my memory. “Creation Hymn” was a real test of our musical competence.

I was fortunate to be chosen by the college as a delegate to a Rural Life Conference in Washington, D.C. On the bus trip to Washington I met Margaret Herndon. She was a harpist and director of music for the Clarksburg Presbyterian Church. A friendship between us blossomed as we walked and talked far into the night on the streets of Washington. The year was 1933 or 1934. We would not walk at night in Washington in 1994. During the conference I rode in an elevator with Secretary of Agriculture, Henry Wallace. Later he became Vice President with President Roosevelt.

Margaret and I continued to see each other after the conference. She was generous in agreeing to give harp recitals I arranged at the college and at our Salem church. The church recital was a benefit for the choir robe fund. Mrs. George Trainer’s large contribution made purchase of choir robes possible. No doubt Margaret was several years older than I. Our rather brief relationship was a happy one. I have wondered what has happened in Margaret’s life.

The spiritual life of Salem College students was not neglected. Daily chapel was mandatory and, for the most part, students appreciated the Christian emphasis. Area ministers and educators brought chapel messages. Our singing was heartwarming. Number 17 in the song book, “In My Heart There Rings A Melody” was a favorite. My theme hymn in that period was, “I Would Be True”. For some reason, that hymn doesn’t appear in current hymnals.

President S. Orestes Bond often led the chapel services. He was a dedicated Christian gentleman who successfully guided Salem College for many years. The students of those years remember that his prayers were eloquent and moving but sometimes overly long. The life of President Bond blessed us all.

YMCA and YWCA organizations were active on campus. It was inspiring to attend Christian Student Conferences on other college campuses. One such experience at Bethany College–founded by Alexander Campbell of the Church of Christ–made a deep impression on me.

The fellowship of our Seventh Day Baptist college youth was wonderful. We often gathered for parties and a number of us sang in the church choir. Dean Van Horn taught our college Sabbath School class. We met in the back pews of the church. I recall how Dean Van Horn stood with one foot up on the pew in front of us, ingling the change in his pocket as he spoke and taught. His teaching was always forward looking and positive. We respected and loved him.

The Christian influence of Pastor George B. Shaw and members of the congregation of the Salem Church was greater and richer than we knew then. And the friendships made in those college days will never be forgotten.

Matthew Bowers, Fisher Davis, Claude Nagel and Reece Burns each had a turn as my roommate during our college years. Matt distinguished himself in football and basketball. While he roomed with me I had a nightmare one night, dreaming that Matt was falling out a hotel window. In a desperate effort to save him, I grabbed him around the neck with both hands. Waking up rudely, he hit me a sharp blow on the chin with his fist. My nightmare ended abruptly.

Fisher Davis, “Eph”, was from Bridgeton, New Jersey–the son of Elizabeth Fisher Davis who wrote the Seventh Day Baptist Young People’s Song. “Eph” was very tall and a good tennis player. He graduated in the class of ‘32.

Claude Nagel was also a New Jersey product, from Plainfield. His father was a successful New York artist. Claude was a sophomore in 1935 and wrote in my Dirigo, “Elmo- I can’t adequately express my appreciation for my stay in the Randolph cottage on the hill. I leave here as though I was leaving home.”

Reece Burns roomed with me for our last two college years. Vie became more brothers than roommates. He was sincerely Christian, serving at times as a Methodist Protestant minister. Because Reece’s parents were dead, he came to think of my mother as his, too. Mamma accepted that role graciously. She sewed pajamas for both of us out of feed sacks. She kept a length of rope that she whipped us with to get us out of bed mornings. It was a contest to see who could pull the covers off of the other when Mamma was swinging the rope.

Reece and I worked together at the college one summer doing maintenance and janitorial assignments. His influence on my life–especially when I was considering entering the ministry–was of great import. After college Reece became a minister in the United Methodist Church and was elevated to the position of District Superintendent in southern West Virginia. (I was honored to have him serve as “Groom’s Man” at my wedding.)

My room in our little house during college years was a happy haven for me. I rigged a chinning bar that hung from the ceiling. On the walls of the room I pasted favorite poems and quotations. “The House By the Side of the Road” was one of the poems and I believe “Invictus” was another. Psychologist Coe was popular in that period. A quote from him on my wall amuses me now: “Every day in every way, I’m getting better and better.”

A poem I wrote is illustrative of my darker moods of college days:
Sweep down on me, oh wind!
Why waste thy roaring on the darkened sky
Or on some tempest-twisted tree
From whose lean boughs the leaves were lately torn?
Sound not thy wrath against the silent hills
For naught but echoes will avail thee thus.
But rather, seek thy vengeance to allay
With merciless and unrelenting blasts
Designed to buffet and to purge
My soul, ill-steeped in worldliness.

Reflecting now, I understand that I often felt insecure and inadequate as I struggled through the stresses of college life. However, they were good years.

The experience I record now happened at the beginning of college spring recess in April, 1934. I began hitch-hiking from Salem to Sutton–about a one hundred mile trip–planning to spend the vacation week with Dad on the farm. At four o’clock in the afternoon I was still thirty-two miles from Sutton and wasn’t catching any rides so I began walking. Is it ironic that the name of the town where I started the trek was Walkersville?

During the day the temperature was warm and springlike. With sunset it cooled off rapidly. I wasn’t dressed for cool weather and I was carrying a small suitcase. That stretch of road was through hill country and was sparsely populated. I was not carrying a flashlight. Traffic was very thin.

I walked a few miles until after dark and decided to make a bed in a field beside the road and try to get some sleep. Cushioning the ground with a layer of broomsage (a West Virginia grass) I tried sleeping without success. The only option seemed to be to walk. So I walked all night long. Infrequently a car would approach me and pass, dousing my hopes. As I passed one home near the road I thought of stopping but a dog barked viciously and I kept walking.

Toward morning I came upon the site of a crosstie fire set by railroad workmen the day before. There were still hot coals and the ground was warm. It was restful to lie down for a while. I may even have fallen asleep.

I believe I walked up a final steep hill to brother Brady and Mary’s home at seven or eight o’clock in the morning. A hot tub bath was refreshing and sleep was welcome. When I awoke my knees were so stiff it was difficult to walk for some time. The miles I have covered walking in my life are many but at no other time have I totaled thirty-two miles on a cold spring night carrying a suitcase.

Being elected president of the college junior class in 1933-35 was thrilling for me. The other class officers that year were: Vice president Milton Van Horn, secretary- Virginia Thompson, treasurer- Abby Brent. I must have had a successful year because the class elected me president again for our senior year–1934-35. Arthur Bland was vice president, Leah Virginia Davis was secretary and Fred Early was treasurer. It was another good year. Our class gift to Salem college, for which we raised a sizable amount of money, was improving the electrical system in the administration building.

Following college tradition, our senior class presented a class play near the end of our college days. Miss Nannie Lowe directed THE YOUNGEST for us. I played “the youngest”. Milton Van Horn was my elder brother in the play and Wilma Keys was the female lead. It was fun doing the play and it was well received. (In earlier college years, Shakespearean plays were the tradition.)

There were two “happenings” for me during my senior year that impacted strongly on my life and future. At our Seventh Day Baptist General Conference in Salem in August, 1934 I met Helen Mae Button. Her home was on a farm near Friendship, New York and she was preparing for her freshman year at Alfred University. After our brief introduction in Salem we carried on correspondence through the school year that was heart-warming and exciting for me. (It’s odd that I remember she dotted her i’s with little circles.)

Blossoming romantic interest in Helen Mae led me to borrow Ashby and Ruth’s Plymouth car to drive to New York State for Christmas vacation, 1934. Betty and Ed Bartley and Ruth Sarah Davis made the trip with me and I was Betty and Ed’s guest in Bolivar, New York. We attended Christmas Eve Midnight mass in a Catholic church in Portville, my first experience in a Catholic III church. I visited my aunt Cleo–Dad’s sister–in Olean.

The overnight visit to Helen Mae’s home completely captivated me. If I was falling in love with Helen Mae, I was immediately charmed by her parents and her home. I would call her father, Lon Button, an entrepreneur farmer. He had trout ponds and in the winter trapped foxes. Strawberries were a successful crop in the summer. Amelia, Helen Mae’s Mother, was a quiet, white haired lady who was an immaculate housekeeper and an altogether charming person. They were sincere, committed Christians. Mr. Button was a Deacon in the Nile Seventh Day Baptist Church. I was awed by my visit with the Buttons.

I made a pair of moccasins for Helen Mae as her Christmas present. Here are the verses I placed in the moccasins:

These moccasins I fashioned with a prayer
That they might lead you in your eager quest
For happiness unbounded, wild and free.

O moccasins, like Indian maids did wear,
Thy steps must not stray, thoughtless, like the rest
For in thy trust I leave one dear to me.

Suffice it to say that Helen Mae and I corresponded frequently through the rest of my year in college. It may have been a case where “Absence makes the heart grow fonder”.

The second “happening” that occurred during my senior year in Salem college gave a new direction for my life that has marked all my days since. Rev. A.J.C. Bond had accepted the deanship of the School of Theology in Alfred University and was visiting Salem College to recruit students studying for the ministry. He visited with me on campus, between the Administration building and Huffman Hall, saying that his daughter, Wilma, had suggested I might be a candidate for the ministry. He urged me to consider the ministry as my life “Calling” and join his first class at the School of Theology.

This invitation was something of a “bombshell” of an idea for me. I had pursued my college course with the assumption that high school teaching would be my life work. Working toward that end I acquired the necessary education credits including practice teaching for six weeks in Salem High School. It was interesting to get the reaction of other people on my entering the ministry. An interview with Rev. Herbert Van Horn, Milton and Elston’s father, was very encouraging and helpful for me.

After serious consideration and soul-searching, I made the decision to study for a Bachelor of Divinity degree–a three year course–at the Alfred University School of Theology. At this point in time I was not certain of a “Calling” to the ministry and so made my decision on an exploratory basis.

Graduating from Salem College with the class of 1935 was the ultimate in achievement an excitement at that point in my life. I was the first member of our family to earn a college degree. (Brother Ashby graduated the next year.)

Dr. William L. Stidger, noted radio preacher, was our Baccalaureate speaker. His sermon title was: TITANS OF THIS TUMULT. He highlighted the current roles of Hitler, Stalin and Mussolini in 1935. Then he made the point that Dr. Albert Sweitzer, the Japanese Christian, Kagawa, and Mohandas Gandhi were the real Titans of This Tumult. His prophetic message has stood the test of time.

As president of the graduating class, it was my privilege to be at the head of the receiving line for President Bond’s reception following the commencement exercises. Several years previous to this Mrs. Bond had employed me to keep the punchbowl filled during the reception for the graduates. I carried the punch from the basement of the president’s home up to the reception table. I must be the only person who ever served in both roles.

My family members–including cousins, aunts, etc.–presented me with a gift of money. I had to decide whether to use the gift for buying a class ring or a new suit. Reluctantly, I chose the new suit–I needed it more.

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Early “Teen” Experiences

April 6, 2009

The summer of 1928, when I was fourteen years old, was the first of four vacations I lived on our farm with Dad. I have always believed a major reason brother Brady and Dad decided to buy the farm was to provide a work experience in a mountain setting and the opportunity to spend meaningful weeks living with Dad for me. If that was their motivation, they were justified in it and the results were all they could have hoped for. In those years of the great depression there was no work for a boy in Salem and I would have been at loose ends all summer, playing endless hours of tennis and being generally useless.

Summer life on the farm was quite like camping out. The terrain was steep and rough. A few acres were wooded–with some beautiful poplar trees–and most of the land that could be cultivated was overgrown with brush. (In West Virginia they call the unwanted growth “filth”.)

There were no buildings on the property until Dad, with some carpenter help, built a chicken house. We lived in that house for two summers. When it rained we moved the bed to the middle of the room to avoid the water that came through the cracks in the walls. We cooked on a wood burning stove and had kerosene lamps for light at night. (Dead chestnut trees provided excellent firewood.)

Until a well was drilled on top of the hill, we carried water from a spring on the hillside below the house. Going to the spring for water one day I spotted a copperhead snake sunning on a rock and killed it with a stone. It was great exercise cranking up water from the deep well that was drilled.

The first few days and nights of each summer on the farm I experienced real homesickness for Mamma, my friends and life in Salem. The after dark calls of the Whippoorwills brought on loneliness at bedtime. (Another nighttime sound was the slap, slap of flying squirrels jumping from one tree to another close the house. We didn’t see the flying squirrels in the daytime.)

The projects Dad and I worked together on most of the time were tending the garden crops and clearing the land of brush. One of our leisure time activities was target shooting with my twenty- two rifle. Once we walked to Elk river and went swimming. This was the only time I ever saw Dad swim. He wore his overalls and swam with a breast, or frog, stroke. With each stroke the bib of his overalls would balloon out. Dad had many experiences and stories to tell me as we worked and played. He enjoyed walking through the garden and around the farm as we rested from work on Sabbaths. He planted fruit trees of many varieties and raised blue ribbon quality Rhode Island Red Chickens.

Indians–probably Cherokees–must have lived and hunted on Bug Ridge. Of the several artifacts we picked up on our land, Dad’s was the finest–a black spear head perfectly crafted. It is the best artifact in my collection and I wear it now as a striking bolo.

I probably would not have chosen to spend those summers on the farm but now I would not exchange those experiences for any other activity I might have engaged in. The saying is certainly true, “You can take a boy out of the hills, but you can’t take the hills out of a boy”.

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Summers with Dad on our Bug Ridge Farm

April 6, 2009

The summer of 1928, when I was fourteen years old, was the first of four vacations I lived on our farm with Dad. I have always believed a major reason brother Brady and Dad decided to buy the farm was to provide a work experience in a mountain setting and the opportunity to spend meaningful weeks living with Dad for me. If that was their motivation, they were justified in it and the results were all they could have hoped for. In those years of the great depression there was no work for a boy in Salem and I would have been at loose ends all summer, playing endless hours of tennis and being generally useless.

Summer life on the farm was quite like camping out. The terrain was steep and rough. A few acres were wooded–with some beautiful poplar trees–and most of the land that could be cultivated was overgrown with brush. (In West Virginia they call the unwanted growth “filth”.)

There were no buildings on the property until Dad, with some carpenter help, built a chicken house. We lived in that house for two summers. When it rained we moved the bed to the middle of the room to avoid the water that came through the cracks in the walls. We cooked on a wood burning stove and had kerosene lamps for light at night. (Dead chestnut trees provided excellent firewood.)

Until a well was drilled on top of the hill, we carried water from a spring on the hillside below the house. Going to the spring for water one day I spotted a copperhead snake sunning on a rock and killed it with a stone. It was great exercise cranking up water from the deep well that was drilled.

The first few days and nights of each summer on the farm I experienced real homesickness for Mamma, my friends and life in Salem. The after dark calls of the Whippoorwills brought on loneliness at bedtime. (Another nighttime sound was the slap, slap of flying squirrels jumping from one tree to another close the house. We didn’t see the flying squirrels in the daytime.)

The projects Dad and I worked together on most of the time were tending the garden crops and clearing the land of brush. One of our leisure time activities was target shooting with my twenty- two rifle. Once we walked to Elk river and went swimming. This was the only time I ever saw Dad swim. He wore his overalls and swam with a breast, or frog, stroke. With each stroke the bib of his overalls would balloon out. Dad had many experiences and stories to tell me as we worked and played. He enjoyed walking through the garden and around the farm as we rested from work on Sabbaths. He planted fruit trees of many varieties and raised blue ribbon quality Rhode Island Red Chickens.

Indians–probably Cherokees–must have lived and hunted on Bug Ridge. Of the several artifacts we picked up on our land, Dad’s was the finest–a black spear head perfectly crafted. It is the best artifact in my collection and I wear it now as a striking bolo.

I probably would not have chosen to spend those summers on the farm but now I would not exchange those experiences for any other activity I might have engaged in. The saying is certainly true, “You can take a boy out of the hills, but you can’t take the hills out of a boy”.

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My Model T– An Automobile to Remember

April 6, 2009

In 1929, when I was sixteen years old, I bought a 1923 Model T Ford roadster for $30.00. (Where I found $30.00 in that depression year is a mystery.) The car was in a garage on Oak street in Salem where I started it by cranking, backed it out of the garage and drove it down Main street to Pennsylvania avenue. The parking space was near the bottom of the forty-two steps that led up to our house.

I don’t recall getting any instruction in driving. The left turn from Main street into Pennsylvania avenue that first time was precariously fast. I had not become familiar with the gas feed lever located just under the steering wheel and operated with your right hand. (Incidentally, I don’t believe a driver’s license was required in West Virginia in 1929.)

The price of gasoline was twenty-five cents a gallon. To go swimming several miles from town, or take any extended excursion in the Ford, we would pool the nickels and dimes of two or three friends to put two or three gallons of gas in the car. Mr. Bartle, who ran the filling station across from Swiger’s grocery store, gave me the oil he saved from the dentist’s Buick that had an oil-change every 500 miles.

Keeping that Model T running was an exercise in patience and persistence. Sometimes it came down to sheer physical endurance–cranking, and cranking and cranking. The tires were another thing. We called them “skinny tires” and we always carried patching equipment and an air pump to repair the inevitable flat tires.

One experience with my Ford involved putting shims in the connecting rods that were knocking badly. In accomplishing this task I dropped one or more cotter keys in the crank case where I was unable to retrieve them. The result was that the cotter keys ground up in the gears and at unpredictable times bits of steel would collect on the magneto point under the floor boards, stopping the engine as though you were out of gas. The remedy was to remove the floor boards, clean off the steel from the magneto point and start again. This problem persisted over quite a period of time.

When I had the Ford on the farm it was useful for hauling chicken feed and other supplies from Sutton. But the gasoline would not feed into the carburetor on the steep Bug Ridge hill unless the tank was at least half full. We had two options when the gasoline was low in the tank: 1- turn the car around and back up the hill or 2- use the tire pump to pump air into the tank through the tiny hole in the gas tank cap and quickly plug the hole with a sharpened stick. This procedure had to be followed several times to make the top of the hill.

Having a 1923 Model T Ford was high adventure for a teen-age boy in the years of the Great Depression. It is interesting to reflect now that at that time the thought never occurred to us to have insurance of any kind on the car. This vignette ends with the sale of the little Ford for $2.00. (What would it be worth if I had it restored today?)

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The Teen and Early Twenty Years of Elmo Fitz Randolph

April 6, 2009

The years of my “teens” began in 1926 with the opening of the second quarter of the twentieth century. I look back on the late twenties and early thirties as a period of growth and maturing physically, mentally and emotionally for me.

I will share memories of these eventful years in the coming pages with episodes and vignettes that hopefully will give insights into the life of a boy growing to manhood in the West Virginia college town of Salem through the period of the great depression.

I was initiated into the business world at thirteen years of age when I took a newspaper route for the CLARKSBURG EXPONENT, a morning paper. My route of some fifty customers covered the west end of Salem. It began at about seven-thirty A.M. on downtown main street where the tightly rolled and wrapped papers were dropped off.

Every morning began with a race by all the newsboys to sell the extra copies of the EXPONENT we were allotted. I think the business men on main street enjoyed buying their paper from the first newsboy to arrive. The race began by sorting out your bundle of papers and slamming it flat on the sidewalk to break it open. With the papers in your paper bag you now ran along the street shouting, “EXPONENT! CLARKSBURG EXPONENT!”

Responsibility was “the name of the game” if you were to succeed with a paper route. It called for early rising; promptness in picking up your papers; delivering the papers to every customer in every kind of weather and getting to school on time. Making the rounds to every customer regularly to collect was a necessary, and not always pleasant assignment. Because I would not deliver papers on Sabbath, I had to employ some boy to take the route that day every week. As you can imagine, finding someone who could be depended upon was difficult. Unhappy customer relations sometimes resulted from unsatisfactory service by my employee.

Memory fails me now on how long I kept the newspaper route. Nor do I recall how profitable the venture was. I must have carried the CLARKSBURG EXPONENT for two years or so and with my profits I was able to purchase a number of things a teenage boy needed or wanted desperately.

One special “newsboy experience” deserves reporting. Imagine the thrill of opening the EXPONENT one morning and shouting, “LINDBERGH LANDS IN PARIS!” The date was May 21, 1927.

Another business project I tried early in my teens was selling THE SATURDAY EVENING POST. That effort was not very successful.

I certainly rate the newspaper route experience as a highly worthwhile enterprise. The contacts with a number of diverse persons was an education in human relations that has stood me in good stead through the years.

My father and two brothers, Brady and Ashby, were outdoorsmen and hunters. So it was natural for me to catch their interest in firearms. I must have been thirteen when Mama and Ashby approved my purchase of a twenty-two caliber rifle. The gun was a Stevens octagon barrel, lever action single shot rifle with open sights. It easily ranked as my most prized possession.

How fortunate I was to have brother Ashby instruct me in the care and use of this gun. I spent many sessions rubbing the gun barrel and stock with 3-1 oil. But the ultimate thrill would come when I could hunt squirrels with this treasured weapon. (Squirrel hunting in West Virginia enjoyed a popularity among sportsmen akin to what we observe during big-game seasons in the West.)

I knew there were squirrels in the oak grove above the stone quarry at the head of Pennsylvania avenue. This location was perhaps a quarter hour walk from home and on the fateful morning of my first hunt with the new gun I was sitting with my back against an oak tree surveying the grove around me at first light.

There have been numbers of occasions in my life when the sight of a buck deer or a bull elk has prompted an adrenaline flow through my system. The discovery of a gray squirrel on the limb of a nearby oak, flipping his tail and chattering, eclipses them all in sheer excitement and emotion.

This was the moment I had waited for and dreamed about–the “moment of truth”. At this vantage point in time I like to believe I was steady and in control as I put the rifle sights on the squirrel and squeezed the trigger. Alas! There was no sound of a shot–only the “click” of the hammer strike. Amazingly, the squirrel stayed put on the limb above me and continued his quarreling. Frantically, I tried to shoot again and even put a new shell in the chamber without success. Admitting failure, I threw a stick at the squirrel and watched him scurry away unscathed.

A broken firing pin proved to be the cause of the gun misfiring. With my rifle repaired, I do not remember ever shooting at another squirrel. However, my Stevens twenty-two provided me recreation in target practice through many years until I traded it in a trading session with Newell Babcock in Alfred, New York in 1937 or 38.

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Childhood Remerberances

April 6, 2009

I thank the goodness and the grace
Which on my birth have smiled,
And made me, in these Christian days,
A happy English child.

These lines written by Ann and Jane Taylor (1782-1866) certainly speak for me. For, reviewing the trauma of my birthing, it is entirely credible to say, “but for the grace of God, I would not have survived.”

I was born August 31, 1913–on a Sunday afternoon at six o’clock. I was the sixth child of Alois Preston and Jenny Mae (Sutton) Fitz Randolph. (Two brothers had died in early childhood.) The Ritchie County, West Virginia hamlet of Berea was home to my family. Part of the house was built of logs, I have been told. Mamma was attended during ray premature birth by two doctors, Aunt Sarah Randolph and cousins Conza and Draxie Meathrell.

Interesting accounts from my nativity have come through the years, some of which I will record here but cannot verify. Cousin Conza asked the Doctor, “What shall we do with the baby?” and he replied, “Never mind the baby, just take care of the mother.” How thankful I am that Conza did care for me by putting me in the oven. (I’ve wondered if the stove burned wood or gas?) My birth statistics include weight of three pounds (in a shoe box with cotton batting). A tea cup would fit over my head and a ring could be placed over my wrist. Papa reports in his autobiography that I was not fed for a day, at which time I took a bottle of Eskey baby food and fell asleep. In the first week I gained five ounces.

I understand that Conza and Draxie were given the privilege of naming me. They had recently read the novel, Saint Elmo, and so passed the name to me, sans the “Saint”.

Mama has told me a neighbor friend came to visit and, seeing me, said, “Jenny, he has pretty eyes”. After the visitor left, Mama cried. It was several weeks before Mama recovered from giving me birth.

On April 1, 1914 our family moved from Berea to Salem, West Virginia. Brother Brady, seventeen years old, would attend Salem College Academy. Ashby, twelve, and Avis, ten, would attend the college teacher training elementary school. I was seven months old when we moved to Salem.

Our first home was high on the hill north and east of the college. My parents organized a group of neighbors who pooled orders for stable groceries from Sears, Roebuck Company. (Today it would be called a neighborhood coop.) The order from the catalog came by railroad freight so was slow in arriving. There was excitement when the orders were opened, sorted and delivered. I remember our family getting a keg of salt cod, along with other staples like flour, sugar, etc. Sometimes we got “store bought” cookies topped with pink marshmallow, when we could afford them.

I must have been four years old when we moved to the house next to Salem College. (The house stood on the exact present location of the Senator Jennings Randolph Library.)

How blessed my life has been through the years by the influences of Salem College to 1935 when I graduated from college. From 1917-18 on I idolized the college students. The coaches and athletes were my heroes. When the students tired of my visits to the campus they would say to me, “Go home an tell your mother she wants you.” I developed a romantic attachment to Byrl Coffindaffer, a popular girl on campus. When sister Avis played on the Academy girl’s basketball team, they chose me as their team mascot.

As a small child, I spent many hour leafing through the Sears, Roebuck and Montgomery Ward catalogs fantasizing acquiring many items. I believed the teams of horses came with the harnesses shown in the harness section. A circus of cutouts pasted on cardboard, complete with tent, was fun to play with. And Mama’s spools from her sewing were as good as boughten toys.

Two happenings in Salem–one in fall, the other in summer–remain vivid in memory. The autumn cattle drive down the main street to the railroad shipping point was high excitement for a small boy. Picture the street in front of our house a sea of bawling cows with every now and then one escaping from the herd into the lawns and beyond. The drivers on horseback were the nearest to cowboys we ever saw.

There were years when summer brought a caravan of Gypsies to Salem. With them came a high level of community excitement and anxiety. They traveled by horse and buggy though I remember times when they had automobiles. They would set up a camp west of town and then return to the stores to shop. Their reputation for stealing caused local merchants to be suspicious and wary.

About the year I started to school my folks bought a house on the hill across Pennsylvania Avenue west of the college. There were forty-eight steps up to the house from the street and climbing those stairs, often two-at-a time, was great exercise through the years.

The house had four rooms of about equal size plus a sleeping porch and a very small toilet room. A porch extended along the east side of the house and there was a good cellar under the south east corner of the house. (We took baths in a wash tub in front of the kitchen stove.) The south side of the house was on concrete block pillars four or five feet above the ground, allowing cold air to circulate under the house. Because the house was not insulated and there were no storm windows, it was difficult to keep warm in winter. Frost was often caked around the door and intricate frost patterns covered the windows. My bed in the sleeping porch would be cold at night so Mama would heat an iron on the kitchen stove, wrap it in cloths or newspaper and put it in the bed for warmth. That made going to bed in winter bearable.

Once Ashby was in bed with flu and Mama put a hot iron at his feet. When the wrapping came off and his feet touched the hot iron, he exclaimed, “Hell’s fire” I was shocked but now realize his response was appropriate.

Our home was heated and lighted with natural gas. There was a stove in each room and the fragile gas mantle lights burned with a hissing sound. Furnishings in the house were basic and minimal. A piano was the exception. Avis played the piano and Mama a played a small accordion well.

I had a special tree-seat in the large oak tree at the head of the steps leading to our house. There I whiled away many hours and the swing in the same tree offered breath-taking sweeps out over the steep hillside.

Most of the sidewalks in Salem when I was a child were built of wood. It was common practice to walk carefully on them saying, “Step on a crack, you break your Mother’s back. Step on a nail, you put your Dad in jail.” I learned to walk a two inch steel rod used as the railing on the walk approaching our house. That is close to walking a tight rope.

When I was six years old I started to first grade in the college teacher training school in Huffman Hall. Miss Perine was an excellent teacher. (She later married attorney Oscar Andre, an outstanding Salem College alumnus.) Miss Childers was my second grade teacher and equally outstanding. Although I was left-handed, I was pressured to write with my right hand. Today’s teachers would not consider this a good thing to do.

The thrill of the first day at school is memorable. Meeting the teacher, being assigned a seat and reacting to the other children around me was both exhilarating and frightening. It is my impression that I was a sensitive, nervous child who was afflicted with a serious stammering speech impediment. Shopping for school supplies with tlalia was a big part of’ the excitement of starting school. We bought pencils, crayons, ruler, scissors, paste, paper et al. Do you remember the fresh smells of the room your first day at school?

An epidemic of diphtheria struck Salem while I was in first grade and I fell victim to that dangerous disease. Dr. Edward Davis was our family Doctor and injected a final shot of antitoxin when he had nearly given up hope of my survival. Wondering aloud where he might place the injection, the response he got from me was, “You can put it in the bed for all I care” My exclamation gave the Doctor new hope for my recovery.

Dr. Edward Davis was a good physician and a wonderful man. He never hesitated to minister to the poor and underprivileged in our community, often without pay. He was an officer in World War 1 and I remember seeing him riding a spirited horse in an Armistice Day parade.

Mama’s physician during my early years was Dr. Xenia Bond. She was a robust lady with a caring spirit and a hearty laugh. Her office was on the second floor of her home. As we sat in the waiting room on the first floor, she would come to the head of the stairs and call out, “Ready for the next.” Dr. Bond and Miss Elsie Bond, registrar for Salem College for many years, were maiden sisters who lived together. (They were Aunts of Ashby’s wife, Ruth.)

High top boots that came up almost to our knees were a status symbol among the boys in grade school. We tried to waterproof them so we could wade in deep water but inevitably our feet got wet and we hung our stockings on the radiator in our school room to dry. The odor of drying stockings lingers in my memory. With the coming of spring we looked forward to the day when we could go to school bare-footed. Walking with tender feet could be painful, especially on the railroad tracks. Springtime also brought a search for the first violets. Digging sassafras roots for tea was another spring rite.

I digress from my own story now to bring some light on Mama’s life and character. Her story, of course, is closely interwoven with my childhood. This may be the only written record of her life experiences shared with me through the years. (In his seventy-eighth year my Father wrote his autobiography documenting his and Mother’s lives together through more than fifty-five years.)

Papa began “going with Mama in June 1892 when she was twelve years old and he twenty. (A tin-type picture shows her attractive and mature for her age.) She was a scholar in Papa’s Berea school. (Papa always called his pupils, “scholars”.) They were married in March, 1895, when Mama was fifteen years old. So her formal education must have ended with eighth grade or before.

Mama has told me that she aspired to further her education by attending Salem College Academy rarner t[idll Lidrl’y.-LLie,. Olie ii%)p@ -Lo use aoiiey froj a calf she was raising to help finance her plan. To win her Mother’s approval for her plan, made a hat and took into her Mother’s sick room. (Grandma Sutton was terminally ill with tuberculosis and died at the age of thirty-eight.)

It is understandable that Grandma Sutton did not want to die leaving her daughter unmarried. The Asa Fitz Randolph family was the most educated, influential and affluent in the community. It must have been comforting to have Jenny Mae married to Alois Preston Fitz Randolph.

Writing of his Mother-in-law, Papa said, “She was one of the noblest women I ever knew. I could never have had a better or more loyal friend.”

i-lartin Sutton, Mama’s Father, was a talented craftsman. I remember a hickory splint clothes basket and kitchen chair designed and crafted by him. Brother Brady knew Grandpa Sutton well and had high praise for him.

“A good wife (and Mother) who can find? The writer of that question in the Book of Proverbs would have found his answer in Mama’s character and life. “Her children rise up and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her. Many women have done excellently, but you surpass them all.”

Mama was many-talented. She learned photography in Berea and continued taking and developing pictures after moving to Salem. An expert seamstress, she sewed for our family, community families and college students. Wedding gowns were not above her level of skills. During the depression years I wore underwear and pajamas she made for me from muslin flour sacks. Crocheting, knitting and tatting were in her repertoire of skills and she crafted beautiful paper flowers.

Cooking was her career specialty. For many years she ran a boarding house for Salem College athletes, charging twenty-five cents a meal. Her bread, pies and cakes were legendary with family and guests. What a treat it was to come home from school to eat a slice of bread (maybe the heel) fresh from the oven–with butter, of course.

Music was high on Mama’s agenda for pleasure. She sang with a fine alto voice and enjoyed entertaining us with her accordion music.

Children and young people were a major love for her–and they loved her. For our church, she was a leader of the Junior Christian Endeavor. Her Christian faith was real and deep. She did not wear it her sleeve.

Mama would certainly qualify as a “workaholic” though her health was poor throughout her adult life. “Sick headaches” sometimes felled her for a day or two. Today they would be diagnosed as migraine headaches. Brother Brady suffered with them as does our son, Daniel.

With all her talent and creative drive, Mama was almost painfully humble and self-conscious. To sum it up I must say, “What a wonderful Mother.”

The influence of my brothers and sister was a great blessing for me. Brother Brady married and left home when I was four or five years old but he continued to demonstrate an interest in me through the passing years.

Ashby and Avis often invited friends to our home for evenings playing Rook, singing around the piano and enjoying fudge and pop corn. They seemed not to mind having me around listening to them until my bedtime. (The friends who came oftenest were Russell and Mildred Jett. Avis’ best friend was Ruth Davis.)

It was frightening to me when their conversation turned to ghost stories–an exciting topic for them. Rumors of a ghost at an old house on Long Run was reason for college young people to visit the -site at night, hoping to witness an “appearance”.

Ashby was an outdoorsman and nature enthusiast. He was happy to share his knowledge and experiences with me. An aquarium he set up, with minnows, tadpoles and natural water plants, was of great interest for me. In hunting season he sometimes brought home squirrels that Mama cooked for us. When I constructed a model airplane, powered by rubber bands, Ashby carved the prop for me and then enjoyed flying the plane with me.

Having Mama or Avis read to me was a special thrill. Among the books that made a lasting impression on me were: HURLBURT’S STORIES OF THE BIBLE, BEAUTIFUL JOE, BLACK BEAUTY and JUST DAVID. (Mama and I would both cry in the sad parts of the books.)

Music was so important in our family that Mama started me taking piano lessons at six years of age, first with Mrs. Ogden and then with Mrs. Wardner Davis. Mrs. Davis inspired me with accounts of the great composers, helping me greatly in my musical education. Avis taught me sing the tenor part for the hymn, “Blest Be the Tie That Binds”. Unfortunately, boys my age in Salem thought playing the piano was for “sissies”– a problem difficult for me to overcome. Nonetheless, I am eternally grateful to Mama for insisting that I study piano through those childhood years.

Childhood playmates brought joy and excitement into my life early remembrances. Sandford Randolph, my cousin who lived at the Main Street and Pennsylvania Avenue shared ray play experiences in my recollections and continues loyal to the present. I recall making and cakes that we actually offered for sale (one cent a piece) on a front of Sandford’s house. At one time we experimented with smoking–trying corn silk, bean and grape leaves. Sandford, a year older than I, was able to frighten me at times. Once, when we were playing quite a distance from home, he told me the world was expected to end that day. In such an event, I wanted to be with my Mother so I hurried home fearfully. I was playing tag football with Sandford in his yard when I broke my left arm below the elbow. Aunt Gertie took one look at my arm and said, “Run home to your Brother, Elmo.”

Sam Swiger was the third member of our friendship triumvirate. He, too, was older than I, but it made little difference. It was quite a regular happening for the three of us to stay overnight in one of our homes. Paige Lockard taught us how to set a rabbit snare on college hill and, to our surprise, we caught one. Then we paraded to each of our homes, displaying the catch. (Time has dulled my memory on what we finally did with the rabbit.)

Sam’s father, Otis Swiger, owned the grocery store where our family traded. There was a pipe from the floor to the ceiling in the middle of the store. The pipe was probably four or five inches in diameter. They kept the pipe greased with lard and offered an ice cream cone to any boy who could climb to the ceiling. I never made it to the top but I did try.

Another painful grocery store episode comes to mind. Kelly’s store was about a block east of Swiger’s and our family kept a charge account in both stores. One day, when I was very young, I checked out the candy counter and asked for a yellow marshmallow banana (or was it a peanut?). Mr. Kelly handed the candy to me and I said, “charge it”. Before I reached the door he caught me and took the candy from me. It was a humiliating lesson in “credit”.

I often played with the Oak Street boys, too. They were: Chester, (Check) Zinn, Faud Ilaught, Wilson Davis and Edgar (Huck) Finley. Chester had a dog that would pull him in his wagon. I played “crokenoll” at Edgar’s home and listened to piano numbers by Harry Snodgrass on the victrola.

When I was eight years old I had my first traumatic confrontation with a policeman. The policeman was Uncle Joel Randolph, Sandford’s grandfather, who for a number of years was Salem’s sole law officer. He really looked the part of a western lawman, as I remember him.

This is how it came about. On my way down town to the post office I joined another boy and ended up playing “train” by climbing up on tire empty box cars on the tracks by the depot.

***********f rom my corner of earliest mud pies stand in*******

Uncle Joel, the Policeman, caught me on the ladder of a boxcar and, with his firm hand on my shoulder, led me toward the town jail. At the doorway of the city hall, where the jail was located, he stopped to reprimand me severely and release me. At home, Mama knew there had been some dire happening and sat with me on the front porch swing until the whole story came out. That’s probably the closest I’ve ever come to being in jail.

Telling of my friends and playmates, I have neglected to include girls. Actually, during my first twelve years girls had little importance in my life. I was invited to birthday parties where they played “kissing games”-Post Office and Spin the Bottle. I was not popular at these parties. Carla and Lorraine Dennison lived on the hill above our house. They were close to my age and we played Hide and Seek, with other neighborhood children, on summer evenings.

Our family was always “temperance minded”, so it not surprising I would join the LTL (Loyal Temperance Legion, sponsored by the Women’s Christian Temperance Union.) In the LTL program, we were encouraged to step on cigarettes on the ground and twist them with our shoe. Perhaps the WCTU was a century ahead of its time. (I still feel an urge to stomp out cigarettes.)

The coming of the Seventh Day Baptist General Conference to Salem College in 1925 was a major event for young and old alike. I made my first appearance on a Conference program that year. The story I told was of a boy who drove a nail in side of the barn for his every misdeed. Later, he was permitted to pull out a nail for each good deed performed. Sadly, he discovered that the nail holes were still in the barn.

During those Conference meetings a kindly man sat with several children on the college front lawn and taught us The Twelve Tests of Memory. Let’s see if I still remember them: “Twelve Egyptian fiddlers that played at the marriage feast of the indomitable heliogabulous; Eleven sympathetic, synoreous, cutaneous gudgeons; Ten lopsided, clinkerbuilt, flat-bottomed flyer boats; Nine patent practent periwinkles; Eight pharmaceutical tubes; Seven quarts of lymeric oysters;; Six canal boats laden with sugar and tongs; Five imperial goblets; Four pair of corduroy trousers; Three squawking wild geese; two ducks and a good fat hen.” He also taught us another memory ditty.

The Rogers family from Florida came to Conference in 1925 in a big automobile. I was thrilled to meet Clarence and Crosby Rogers and take them home to eat grapes at our grape arbor. This was the beginning of a friendship that has been rich through the years.

Junior Christian Endeavor was an organization for the children of our church that met on Sabbath afternoons in the church. Mama helped with the memorization program when I was a member. Each of us was given a ribbon on which we attached cardboard symbols representing the portions of the Bible we were successful in memorizing: the Lord’s Prayer; the twenty-third Psalm; the First Psalm; 1 Corinthians, chapter 13 and others.

Pastor George B. Shaw was our greatly revered and loved minister of the Salem Seventh Day Baptist Church during my boyhood and until I graduated from Salem College in 1935. His wife, Nellie, was a dear and wonderful lady. Their daughter, Hannah, married Professor H. 0. Burdick. Miriam, their second daughter, had an outstanding career as a missionary nurse for Seventh Day Baptists in China. Pastor Shaw was a brilliant Bible scholar who regularly quoted the Sabbath morning scripture from memory. What a profound and lasting influence and inspiration Pastor Shaw was to the members of his congregation.

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