It was during the winter of 1936 that Bond [Ashby's oldest son] stayed with us for a month and went to school to me. This meant that three generations went to school to me [Jennie, Ashby, and Bond]. I had a number of cases where a father and child and in one case where both parents and children went to me, but this was the only case where the mother, son, and grandson went to me. I also taught Johnnie [Elmo's son] to read. Very few teachers can say that they have taught three generations, but fifty years is a long time to teach. I’ll bet I don’t teach another generation.

This was a successful school although they had had lots of trouble for two years. I had no trouble of any amount. It was a large school. I had a large class in the eighth grade, and they all got diplomas. They were Beulah Combs, Edgar Gillespie, Juanita Gillespie, Harry Dillon, and some others I have forgotten.

Edgar had been having a lot of trouble, but I found him all right except a little lazy. When he got his report card, he came to me and wanted to know why he didn’t get a better report. I tried to dodge for a little. Then I looked at him and said, “If you will go to work, study some, and try to learn, I’ll give you a better grade.” He looked at me rather sour for a minute and then smiled and said, “I’ll do it, Mr. Randolph. I’ll answer every question you ask me.” From that time he studied well. When I gave him his next report card, he looked at it and grinned. I asked him how he liked it, and he said, “That’s better.” I encouraged him all I could, and he did fine. I do like to help a pupil who tries.

1937-38-Substitute Teaching and Lower Stone Creek School: The board gave the Bug Ridge School to Zana Hartley and gave me no school. The superintendent, Virgil Harris, got mad at Brady and so had it in for me. He tried to keep me from getting a school ever after, but only kept me out of a school one whole year.

The last of November I got a call to teach for a week at Baker’s Run. The teacher, a young man, went to Chicago with the 4-H club. Before I left, several of the pupils told me they intended to have me teach their school next winter.

On Friday after I got back I got a letter from Harris saying I had been given the Lower Stony Creek School to teach half time. If I would teach it, I should to be at his office Thursday and get my papers. I went right down and told them I sure would teach it.

Monday morning I headed for school. The snow was about 6 inches deep and cold as blazes. As I did not have to teach but half a day, I aimed to get there by noon. When I got there, cold and tired, I found nobody there and no fire. There was a family moving into the house right by the school house. They built a fire, and one of the children went and got four more children. So I had 7 the first day; the next day I had 11. I had over 10 on an average the first month. The average attendance for the whole term was 99 percent. Harris (the superintendent) tried to keep me from teaching full time, but the board gave me full time after the first month.

I failed to find any place to board. One place I had the children ask their parents for board, and the woman sent back word that there were 11 of them and they had four beds. I told the children I might be back and I might not. When I got to the mouth of Wolf, which was three miles from school, I was tired and it was getting dark. So I headed for Brady’s. When I got there, he wanted to know what I was doing there. I told him I was looking for a place to get out of the weather. He told me to stay there that week, and they would try to find me a place to stay after that. Alma got a camp for me to bach in about two miles from school. This made it very nice. Brady would take me part way to school of a Monday morning and bring me part way home of a Friday evening. For this I paid the rest ($150) back on the farm.

I had a very nice time as there were only 11 scholars and five grades. We had a Parent Teachers Association meeting, which was attended by several out of the district and was very good. Before school was out, they got up a petition for me to teach the next year, which was signed by everyone in the district and two or three outside who said they would send if I got the school. This would make 27 scholars to attend.

No School, 1938-39-Ashby’s Illness: When the board met, Frank Hosey (the member from Holley) told the board that he had promised the Baker’s Run School that he would send me there. However, it was a long way and they all wanted me at Stony Creek; so he would favor my going there. This was agreed to; then when all teachers were placed, Harris said they would not have any school at Stony Creek. Hosey knew this was a plan to keep me from teaching, so he asked the other members if I should have the school if it was taught. They all agreed. Brady was nominated for the board by a good majority at the primary (I worked for him at Wolf and got all the Democratic votes but nine, about 95%). At the next meeting Harris proposed another man for the school. Three of the members backed down, and I got no school.

This did not prove to be quite as bad as it seemed, for Ash took sick the last of August and sent for Mamma. Three days later Brady called me at 11 at night and told me to be ready in half an hour to go to Ash’s. Brady, Mary, and I went. Brady drove like John! When we got there, I didn’t believe he would live 24 hours. The next morning we took him to the hospital. They found he had double pneumonia, blood poison in the blood tubes, and some other troubles. Mamma stayed with the children till March, and Ruth stayed at the hospital with Ash. So you see there would have been no one to have looked after things at home if I had taught that winter. After losing one leg, Ash has been able to teach for the last ten years.

I was sure glad to see Mamma when she got home in March. I didn’t have so much to do, but it was lonely to be by myself for seven months. It was fine to have her back.

Cleveland School, 1939-40: One of the board members told me in the spring of 1939 that he intended for me to have the Cleveland School. Ed Davis got up a petition for me (I knew nothing about it), and every one in the district signed it. When Ed took the petition, they asked him if the teacher they had wasn’t all right. He said he was not complaining about their teacher but that they wanted me. Harris replied, “You had just as well understand that you won’t get him. Ed looked at Harris and said, “We will too, and you can’t help it.” I got the school, and Harris couldn’t help it,though he tried.

Stories About Mountain People

I think it will be well to tell two or three stories so everyone will get a better idea of these mountain people. These stories I take from Stories of the Elk (a number of stories written by Bill Byrne, who once had been prosecuting attorney of Braxton).

Victim of a Scam: Bill Byrne and Jake Fisher and several others (among whom was Squirley Bill Carpenter, who was noted as a hunter and fisher and as a teller of tall tales) were going down to Clay Court House. As there was a circus in town, they had to visit it before they could go. There was a doctor there, a fine fellow who lived out in the country; a man came to him and told him they made the best gate in the world and they wanted someone to handle it in Braxton. He said he had been told that the doctor was just the man they wanted and that the doctor would not have to do any selling. They would ship the gates to him; people would come and get them and pay him; and he would keep half and send them the other half. But to show his good faith, he must make a deposit of $25, which he did.

A little later he got worried and tried to find the man, but he couldn’t. Then he yelled for Byrne and wanted him to arrest the man. Byrne wanted to know where the man was and who he was, but the doctor didn’t know. So Byrne told him he couldn’t do anything about it. The doctor just raved, things were in a fine shape when an honest man could be cheated and nothing be done about it. A crowd had gathered and a boy called out, “Doctor, it ain’t a lawyer you need; it’s a guardeen.” The doctor looked at the boy a moment and then said, “Bub, I expect you are right.” That settled the whole thing.

A Big Fish Tale: They went down the river in a boat, and on the way Byrne gigged a very large Jack Pike. It began to rain as they came to an old mill, so they ran under it to get out of the rain. They began to brag on the pike. Squirley said, “I saw a lot bigger one. One day I was coming down the river just as we did today, and a rain came up just as it did today. I ran under here as we did today, and I looked down and there was a pike in the spillway. It was so long it couldn’t turn around. I ran and got my gig and gigged it. It was six feet long; I’ll swear to it on a stack of Bibles this high,” and he raised up on his toes and lifted up his arms and tipped into the spillway. The men all jumped down to help him out, but his son Squack never made a move to help. When the men got him out, nearly drowned, Squack looked at him and said, “Dad, if that fish had been one inch longer, you would have drowned in spite of Hell.”

Monk Dillon: Monk Dillon owned 200 acres on Bug Ridge, of which our farm was a part. He had a brother about 70 years old who stayed in Sutton during the summer and tended gardens and worked in livery barns or anything an old man could do. Then he would go up on Bug Ridge to his brother Monk’s, who always had corn bread, hominy, and sow belly (his neighbors said the meat didn’t all come from his own hogs). It seemed Monk rode his brother pretty hard. One winter it seemed he rode him harder than usual, but he couldn’t drive him from his corn pone and sow belly.

The next spring the old man saw Monk on the street talking to two men, so he went over to see if he could get even for the way he had been treated. Just as he got there, he heard Monk say, “I’ll leave it to you men, if being an honorable man I could do that.” This was the brother’s chance, and he said, “Honorable man, hell! Didn’t you shoot Mint Squire’s big gat sow?” The answer was, “What if I did? Didn’t you hep cad her in?”

Now Squire had lost a big sow (all hogs ran out in the woods), and he was going to have Monk indicted for stealing his hog. Monk paid for it to save himself from the law.

Monk had 10 or 12 children. The girls would run and hide when anyone came, even when they were grown. Monk raised lots of wheat. At threshing time the workers had to go inside the house and up some steps to put the wheat in a box in the loft. As a neighbor went in with a load of wheat, one of the girls took up the stairs; of course, the man followed her. Now the upper floor was laid with loose boards. As she ran across the floor, she stepped on a board that didn’t reach the joist. It tipped up; she went down right into the flour barrel. The flour rose right up and settled all over her.

The man was not immoral, but unmoral. A preacher told me that Monk said, when he was 80 years old, that he had never heard a sermon preached. So the preacher held meeting where Monk was and preached so he could say he had heard one sermon. It hardly seems possible anyone could be so ignorant in the last forty years.

Elmo and Madeline Married in 1937

In 1937 Elmo and Madeline were married and spent their honeymoon in a 4-H camp in New York. Madeline came down and stayed a while with us that fall. One Sabbath we went up to see Ozenia Bee and her sister Maggie. This was a very nice trip. We also went to the Homecoming at Salem.

My Final Years of Teaching

Back at Poplar Ridge, 1939-41: The winter of 1939-40 I taught on Poplar Ridge. This was quite a different school from what it was when I taught there in the 1920s. Then I had 59; this time I had 26. When I first taught there, they knew nothing about real study, and most of them would not talk and had no interest in going to high school. Now they were nearly all planning to go to high school; in fact, nearly half of them did go to high school. I feel that I had much to do with this happy condition. But there are still too many who will pick up things which belong to someone else. Still, I think many have changed about that.

Teachers Get Tenure: This winter the legislature passed the Tenure of Office Bill. Teachers no longer had to be appointed every year. This meant I had a school for some years to come, but I could retire at 65 (I was 67 then) and receive a pension. Retirement was optional with us until 1945, when a new law passed that a teacher must retire at 65 unless the State Board of Education agreed to his continuing.

Second Year at Poplar Ridge: The second winter I had trouble to get a place to stay. I tried to get a house of Dave Hosey. But his boy (Skip) would not move out till the last of October. So I boarded at Dave’s till the first of December. The boy did not move out, and Dave charged too much. Ed Davis was fixing a small building for me to live in till Skip moved out (I had arranged with Ed to move over there when Skip moved out). Dave found out about it and told me Ed could keep me till he got the house fixed. This proved very satisfactory, for the house was large enough and very comfortable. Ed’s were all very nice to me. In fact, it was one of the best winters that I boarded away from home. Dave was mad at me for four or five years, but one day I met him in Sutton and he came reaching out his hand to shake hands and was as friendly as ever. I was glad of this; Dave and I had been close friends, and I just don’t like to have folks mad at me.

Brady told me in the early fall that one of the board members said he intended to see I got the Bug Ridge School. I told him I didn’t want it, for I was sure it would not be pleasant. In February Brady told me again that the same member said he intended to see I got the school. By this time I had got tired of getting up by 6 a.m. and walking six miles through a foot of snow of a Monday to school and having Mamma stay by herself and do all the feeding five days a week.

This was my last winter at Poplar Ridge. These last two years, there were six eighth grade diplomas; in the six years I was there, there were 14 diplomas received. When you consider that in the 60 years before I went to Poplar Ridge there had been no diplomas and then in 6 years there were 24, I feel pretty good. The fact is that the school had been doing so poorly and the house was such a disgrace that the parents and children (though they did not know it) were ready for someone to come and teach a real school; I arrived at the opportune time. When I went up there to get votes for Brady, some of them said to me, “Of course we will vote for Brady for the work you did for our children.” All things work together for good, etc.

Mamma went to Alfred and stayed at Elmo’s for two months when Dan was born in July, 1941. I did very little while she was gone, for my ankles were hurting me badly and she told me to do nothing but the chores. The rest seemed to help me lots.

Bug Ridge School, 1941-45: In 1941 I had a large school. I had a good-sized eighth grade class to graduate this year. Among these were Thelma Combs, Gay Ellison, and a Stewart girl. There may have been others, but I don’t remember them. The Stewart girl started to school her first year at Upper Wolf and years later got her diploma at Bug Ridge. We had a fine school this winter with very little trouble.

At Christmas time we had a program. It was not extra good as we could not get the children to learn their parts well. I have always thought a good program was very valuable. In some schools I think it is of untold value. I think our programs at Poplar Ridge were of more value than several months of school. This was because the children were so timid and not willing to talk. They sure got over it before I left.

It was this winter that we got into World War II. They asked the teachers to get help and do the rationing. I got three women (Mamma and two others) to help, and we put in two days. Later we had to do a second job. The second year they asked for milkweed balls and scrap iron. We did fairly well with the weed, but we got a very fine lot of iron. In the fall of 1942 the government asked all schools to collect as much scrap iron as possible. The superintendent told all teachers to spend three days with their scholars and get all the scrap they could find. We got several tons-in fact, we were among the best in the county. We took an interest in everything the government asked us to do.

Each of the four years I taught at Bug Ridge, I had a class to graduate. The first year there were three, all girls – a Combs girl, a Stewart girl, and an Ellison girl. The third year Zeno Watts graduated. The last year I had two – Iolene Combs and the Ellison boy. Bob Combs took Iolene and me down [to the graduation ceremony]. I had not intended to go, but he asked me to go as a favor; of course, I went.

Two or three of my “friends” got sore and tried to get up a petition to get me out. When they talked to some of the others, they said I could teach their children and they were satisfied. This put a stop to the racket.

I told the superintendent that I was willing to teach to the end of the war as teachers were so scarce; he said they would like for me to do that. I told the children in the fall of 1944 if the war closed that year that I would resign at the end of the term. I decided early in 1945 that the war would end that year. Then I told Olta I was resigning so she had best look after her interests, and I wrote a letter resigning and told the children I had resigned. Olta went right down and got the school for the next winter. I was very glad of that. Although there were two or three that got out with me, I think everyone was my friend when I left. At least they have all been very friendly when we went back.

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.

We had a large pear tree that was full of young pears. We picked about 20 bushels of very fine pears that fall.

Brady got a carpenter to help me two days on the house. I did the rest with a little help from Brady. Elmo came up after his high school was out, and we cleaned up a nice piece of ground that summer. We also tended two acres of corn, which was very fine. The mail boy told me it was the best piece of corn he had seen on the Ridge.

Now the ridge on which the farm is situated is called Bug Ridge. One night an Irishman stayed at a house on the ridge and said the next day he never saw so many bugs in his life. “Sure and it should be called Bedbug Ridge.” Later it was changed to Bug Ridge.

Snakes on Bug Ridge: Elmo went down under the hill to get some water one day at noon. When he came back, he said he saw a snake lying on a rock and killed it; he believed it was a copperhead. I went out and looked at it; sure enough, it was a copperhead. This was the boy’s first poison snake.

One evening Pepper, our dog that you will hear a lot more about, came running up. Elmo said, “So the bees got you, Pepper.” I looked and saw that his head was badly swollen. I told Elmo it was not bees but a snake. He said he knew where it was, for he saw Pepper stick his nose under a rock and jump back. I went over, turned up a rock, and there it lay. So I proceeded to destroy the dirty sinner, and Pepper was properly revenged. This was snake number two. Later in the season we found snake number three and killed it. The three snakes measured altogether 92 inches.

I killed several other copperheads much larger than these, but Mama killed the granddaddy of all the snakes. It was a black snake 5 feet 11½ inches. She had Pepper to help her, or I doubt if she would have killed it. Every time it started to leave, Pepper would bark at it (he was a brave dog). Jennie would carry more stones and pile on the snake till it was as dead as a door nail. I think she was very brave, for she was very much afraid of snakes. She said she would never have tried to kill it, but she had a garden beyond where the snake was and she would never go out through the tall grass while that snake lived.

Neighbors on Bug Ridge: This summer we got acquainted with the Huffmans: Uncle Daniel, Aunt Nancy and Bee. Later we got acquainted with Olta Facemire and Ira. She was a sister of Bee’s and built a house on her share of the Huffman place. These were the best friends we had on Bug Ridge. I forgot to mention Jim Marlow, Mrs. Huffman’s brother, who lived with them and would do anything for us.

This summer Elmo had a .22 rifle. We practiced a lot with it till we could sometimes hit the nail that held the target on the board. He also taught Pepper to jump through a hoop and later through your arms. Pepper would do this till he was so old that you had to put your arms down low so he could jump through them. We took time for fun but did a lot of work. We went down to the river to swim, and Elmo was surprised to see that I could swim so well although I had not done any swimming for years. We went fishing once and caught a few small ones. He was never there during hunting season, or we would have done a lot of hunting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Working in New York for Gene Jordan

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Back to West Virginia, Fall 1907

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our Wedding, March 28, 1895

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The spring we bought the farm Father traded for a small roan mare, which we kept for 12 years and raised 7 fine colts. One of these (Midge) I bought from Ellsworth the spring Jennie and I were married and kept her for 7 years. This was the first horse I owned.

I lived a rather strange life as a child, as I had no friends among the children of the neighborhood and played with no one except my brother Delvia and sister Cleo and Uncle Elisha’s children. Elva and Dow came down once or twice a year, and Delvia and I went there as often. This was all the friends we had till I was 15 years old, when we began to play with Buddy and Day Hoff, who lived a half mile below us. This is why it has always been hard for me to make friends. I will mention these friends later.

When I was about six years old, we had diphtheria in a very hard form, and it settled in a sore in my foot. It ate a hole larger than a quarter between my big toe and the one next to it. They could find nothing to help it until a man from Weston came to help Father in the tan shop. He said it was the germs of diphtheria settled there. He had known several cases in Weston, and they had to use diphtheria medicine. This soon cured it up, but there was a scar there larger than a quarter long after I was grown.

A Story of Wolves

I will digress now to tell a story as told to us three children about 70 years ago by Dorinda (I believe her name was). She was Uncle Zibba Davis’ wife. She was then about 65 years old, and she said this happened when she was about 8 years old. It had been a very long, cold winter and the snow had been very deep for weeks.

One Sabbath morning her father hitched the horses to the sled and went to church, leaving the children at home. Two or three were older than she. There was not supposed to be any danger, so the children were not afraid. About noon one of the children said he saw some big dogs out in the yard. When they looked out, they saw a half dozen, a dozen. and then hundreds of great, fierce brutes which the older children knew were wolves.

They had a large dog in the house. One of the wolves stuck his head through a window (which was made of greased paper). The dog sprang upon a bed which sat by the window, grabbed the wolf by the throat before it could get anything but its head inside, and held on until the blood ran down the wolf’s neck and it was still. Then the dog let loose, and the other wolves ate it up. In an hour or two they all disappeared.

When their folks came home, there was no sign of the wolves except that two or three acres of snow was cut all up with wolf tracks. No wolves were seen for years. The old people said that it had been such a hard winter that the wolves could find no food, so they had selected that spot to start their migration.

Hunting and Trapping

I remember my first hunting. Virgil and I were out together (I don’t know why) in the woods below the log cabin on the hill, when Virgil caught a rabbit under a rock. I remember how it squealed. I thought it was a ground hog. He gave it to me, and I sold it at Brake’s store. I was about six years old. This was the beginning of my hunting and trapping.

Hunting and Trapping with Delvia: By the time I was 10 years old, Delvia and I began to hunt and trap together. One day that winter we found a hole where we thought a skunk was denning, so we set a trap. The next morning when we went to the trap something was caught. It had dragged the trap the full length of the chain into the hole, so we could not see what we had caught. As everyone knows, you can have serious trouble with a skunk. To save my clothes I stripped naked and pulled the beggar out. It was a possum. Of course Delvia told what I did, and they laughed at me a great deal. But I got the possum!

We would take the dogs out and hole rabbits. Then we would set a box and catch them that night We could make a lot of money, for we could frequently catch two or three rabbits a month. We got from 5 cents to 10 cents apiece.

By the time I was 14, Delvia and I began to set snares for rabbits. We had fairly good success, and we lost no time as the traps were on our way to school. Once we caught a pheasant (which brought us 25 cents), and we felt rich. I remember one night it rained the fore part of the night and snowed the latter part. When Delvia got to the traps (I did not go that morning), he found two rabbits and a possum. We were rich again, as they were worth 50 cents.

I think I will give one more experience with snares and then drop that subject. The next winter for several mornings we found the snares thrown, the strings cut, and no game. I told Delvia we would get the sinner. So we fixed a solid framework, pulled down a strong pole and prepared for the kill. The next morning when we got in sight, the pole was up and there was a possum hanging by the neck more than two feet off the ground. In a week we had 5 or 6 possums; then we could go ahead catching rabbits. There had been a whole den of possums.

When I was 12, Delvia and I began to hunt at night and trap for skunks and possums. This was the fall that we hunted with John Meredith. We caught several possums, one of which was the largest I ever saw. John was a large, strong boy of 17, but he could only carry it a few hundred yards until he would have to stop and rest. He gave me half of what the pelts brought. He was one of my best friends for many years.

After this we hunted by ourselves for several years, as we had two good dogs. We caught many skunks and possums, which gave us much fun and a little money. This we used later to buy some sheep. Our two dogs were named Fisk and Bounce and were good hunters, day or night.

Night Hunting for Rabbits: One Sabbath Elva and Dow came down to stay all night. As this was in October and a good time to hunt, we decided to go; so we went and had no luck. Then at about ten o’clock, we decided to have a rabbit chase anyway and set them on a rabbit (they would not hunt rabbits unless we set them after them). They chased it down into a deep hollow, up a hill for over a half mile, and put it into a rail pile. We caught it and went back on the hill. They immediately started another, which they ran way down the hill for a long way before we got it also. As soon as we got to the top of the hill, they took another one down the hill and soon began to rave. So we hurried to them and found a hollow limb about five feet long in which the rabbit was hiding while the dogs ran from one end to the other and howled. Of course we got that one.

When we got to the top of the ridge, they started another one, which they soon put into a sink hole. It was now about eleven o’clock and getting rather cool, so we built a fire and began digging. In about a half hour we had the rascal. We felt it was quite a successful hunt as it is seldom you can hole a rabbit at night. We would often get two or three possums and sometimes a skunk in our night’s hunting (and sometimes nothing but tired legs). But we had lots of fun.

Mr. Mink, Muskrats and Coons: One cold morning in January, 1888, we saw where something had carried corn from the crib up the road across the river on the ice to a hole in the river bank. We set a trap and caught a muskrat, but its head was eaten off. We knew a mink was responsible, so we reset the trap. The next night we got Mr. Mink, which ended the threat to our muskrat trapping. This was our first mink, but we caught several after that.

We got 25 or 30 rats the rest of that winter, which we thought was quite good. But the next winter we really went after them with traps and barrels set along the bank (which we often visited before going to bed and again in the morning). We got as high as three rats in one barrel during one night. When spring came, we found we had sold 100 rat pelts that winter. This (with the other fur we caught-skunks and possums) made quite a showing as we got from 3 to 10 cents for our rat pelts.

We went ahead trapping, but not until after I was 18 did we get our first coon. There was a den near the school house where the steam would roll out. We decided there was something denning there. So we set a trap and caught a cub coon. Several years later I caught two fine big coons from the same den.

Sheep Enterprise: When I was about 15, Delvia and I took some of our money from furs and bought two sheep, which Father kept for the wool and we got the lambs. We would get from $2.50 to $3.00 for the lambs. When Father went North in 1892, we sold our sheep. We gained some knowledge of trading by buying and selling while we were boys. Father dealt with us as he did with other people.

Tenants

Jetts: The first tenant we had on the Davis farm was Alvin Jett, who was no good. One morning Father went over to the farm early. As he came back Mrs. Jett called to him and said, “Mr. Randolph, we don’t have a bite of bread stuff about the house.” (Jett was running around with the threshing machine getting good things to eat and doing nothing.) She looked as if she were hungry. Father said, “How about your potatoes. You had a nice patch of them.” She said that the potatoes were all gone, that they got along pretty well while they lasted, but it was hard to live without bread or potatoes. Father had Mother fix up a pail of flour and send Cleo and me up with it.

That afternoon Father went to see when the machine would be at our place. He took Jett out to one side and told him to go home and get his family something to eat, or starve with them, or he would cut him a hickory and give him a good whipping. Then he would throw his goods off the farm. For no man could run around and get plenty to eat and let his family starve on his farm. Jett toddled right off home.

Father often said that he hated “blamed orneriness.” (You may not know just what that word means, but in West Virginia to say a person is ornery is about as mean a thing as can be said of him.)

Now the next tenant was Dolph Weaver-but before I speak of him, I should tell one more story about Jett. He was with Marshall Meredith (who lived on an adjoining farm for 20 years and knew Father very well). Jett told him scandalous tales about Father. Some days later Marshall was at the mill when Jett came to the mill with a grist on one of Father’s horses. After he had tied the horse, Jett went to the mill. Marshall said to him, “How much does Asa charge you for a horse to go to mill?” Jett replied, “Not a cent. I can get a horse to go whenever I want it, and it doesn’t cost me a cent.” “It seems to me,” Marshall said, “if a man treated me like that, I wouldn’t talk about him like you did about Asa.” Jett replied, “I just talk that way about you when I am at your back.” So you see Marshall got it in the neck.

Dolph Weaver: This man, Weaver, was a big, strong young man who was married to a nice looking girl, but they preferred to fool around rather than work. In fact, they were both too lazy for any good use. Dolph told some of the neighbors that Father owed him a lot and wouldn’t pay him so he said he intended to whip him. When Father heard about it, he sent for Dolph to come down and settle up. They found on settling everything that Dolph owed Father between $10 and $15.

Dolph started off muttering to himself. Father let him go about 75 yards. Then he called, “Dolph, come back here.” When Dolph came back to the gate, Father said to him, “You have been telling it all around that you were going to whip me. John Snodgrass jumped onto an old man the other day and got an awful whipping. If you jump onto me, I’ll give you a worse licking than John Snodgrass got.” Dolph just went off without saying a word.

Frank Gardener: The next tenant was Frank Gardener, an Adventist from Kansas. Frank had two children (Charlie, about my age, and Minnie, a girl a little younger). Charlie was a playmate of ours while they were on the farm. Frank was a jolly, good-humored fellow who said he had moved over 30 times. So, you can see that he had the wander-lust.

He was a great hand to joke, and I never saw him get mad. I remember one day in harvest Ellsworth was raking hay when Frank said, “Ellsworth, you are a raker and a son of a raker.” Ellsworth said, “Frank, you are a rake and a son of a rake,” which tickled Frank. He only stayed one summer, when he took a notion to go somewhere else.

When I was teaching up in Taylor County, a man came to me on the bus and said, “Aren’t you Pressy Randolph?” I said, “Yes, but who the dickens are you?” “I am Charlie Gardener, and I am living in Clarksburg and working at Bridgeport.”

We met several times on the bus and talked over old times. He told me one morning that his father was living in Belington and was coming down to visit him soon. He thought they would be on the bus together some Monday morning. One morning I saw a gray-haired man who came up to me and proved to be Frank Gardener. He was just as jolly, good-humored as ever, and we had a nice talk. This was the last time I ever saw either of them.

John Meathrell: The next tenant was John Meathrell. He stayed three years and cleared out about four or five acres and raised crops on it, after which he bought where they now live and moved there. I might say right here that they [John and my sister Callie] were married when I was about ten years old, which was the first wedding I ever saw.

After this, Alva lived on the farm over a year. Then Ellsworth bached on it for a time before he married, after which he bought the farm, and they still own it.

More About the Tan Yard

I will now tell something more about the tan yard. Among my earliest jobs was grinding bark. Two of us children would hitch a horse to a bark mill, which was similar to a mill for grinding cane. There was a long whip hitched to a big log, on which were fastened metal teeth which revolved inside an iron rim with metal teeth. The bark was peeled from chestnut oak trees in the spring when the sap was up. When this bark was thoroughly dried, we would break it over the metal rim. It was ground between the two rims into fine pieces, which were used in tanning the leather.

We would sit there all day in very hot weather breaking the bark and keeping the horse going. Sometimes it took one all the time to keep that horse traveling.

There was a place under the mill where the ground bark dropped. When it filled up, it had to be hauled away. We children hated that work, but we did it just the same.

When the strength was taken out of the bark, we would skim out the worthless bark and scatter it over the ground about the vats. Sometimes the vats would be nearly full of water with bark on top and looked like the rest of the ground. When Delvy was about three years old, he came through the tan yard to a field beyond to tell us to come to dinner. When he got there, he was wet from his arms down. We found where he had walked into a vat. On the other side where he came out, water showed plainly where it had dripped from his clothes on the ground. I don’t think there were any of us children who failed to get into the vats at least once.

Many chickens and geese lost their dear little lives here. In fact a goose would only live a little while when she found she could not get out of the vat. Also, I lifted several pigs out of there. One blind horse which Emza rode from her school one time fell into one of the vats, but luckily got out.

The tan yard soon went to rack after Father left. I doubt if there could be a vat found now.

Working with Oxen

Before I was 16, I sold a horse for Father for $100 at Toll Gate. He had told me to take $80 for it if I could not get $100, but he never offered me any commission on it. This left us with but one horse, and Delvia and I began breaking oxen to work. We had two yoke at one time. Sometimes these oxen were quite wild and would run at the drop of a hat. One yoke would often get away with a sled and run through the woods or pasture until they ran afoul a tree or bush. Then we would go and back them up, get them around the tree, take them back to the road, jump on the sled, and away we would go.

We would often do our plowing with these oxen. In fact, we did all kinds of work. We would sometimes ride one ox we called Buck. But sometimes he would put his head down, snort, and we would land on the ground.

The winter I was 17, we cut a large lot of timber and had it sawed. One yoke of our oxen, which was white, helped in this work. We called them Lamb and Lion. They were very able cattle. I did not go to school this winter, but helped with the logging and stacking lumber.

Memories of Sons, Daughters, and Their Spouses

Xenia Lee Randolph Wheeler

I remember when . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you, Dad and Mom!

Edgar Wheeler

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

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

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

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

Mae Randolph Lewis Bottoms

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

Early Schooling

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Going to school to Grandpa Randolph.

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

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

Playing together.

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

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

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

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

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

Donald Richards

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beth Randolph

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

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

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

Memories of Grandchildren and Great Grandchildren

Ruth Wheeler Thorpe

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leon Wheeler

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jon Wheeler

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

Robert Wheeler

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cindy Randolph Truman

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

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

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

Brian Randolph

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

Doug Randolph

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

John Randolph

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

Elyn Lewis

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

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

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

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

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

Mark Lewis

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

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

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

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

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

Tim Richards

LEAN-TO

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

–Tugmutten

Randall, Diana, Stacy, and Jeremy Randolph

To the most lovable grandparents in the world:

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

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

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

Christina Boyd Thorngate

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

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

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

ALMOST HEAVEN

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

Chorus:

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

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

Chorus:

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

Chorus:

Memories of Brothers and Sisters

Avis Swiger

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

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

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

Orson H. Bond

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ian H. Bond

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

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

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

Main Bond

This is your life, Ruth:

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

First things first, and you were always first.

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

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

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

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

Playing Rook at Harvey Heaveners.

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

Exercising the horses Sabbath afternoon.

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

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

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

Before I could retire, I had to furnish proof that I was born and when and where. It was a difficult job to prove those things. I finally got statements from Salem College officials of their age records and Mother and Father’s Family Bible and other school records that allowed the Ritchie County Clerk to issue me a birth certificate as Ashby F. Randolph. Apparently, the death of my older brother, Harold, on the day I was born had caused Dr. Bee to forget to register my birth.

The getting of Social Security payments took a number of visits to their office in Clarksburg. It must have taken them six months to a year to get my payments straightened out. I got some extra checks but only had to give back one check. I do not remember the exact amount of the first check, but in January 1972 my Social Security check was $155.00 and my school retirement check was $306.34. Ruth got Social Security of $69.20 and no retirement for cooking. If she outlives me, as long as she lives she will get one-half of what my teacher’s retirement would be. Now, January 1982, my Social Security is $381.50, my school retirement is $416.06, and Ruth’s Social Security is $177.20.

Living on Retirement Income

You might wonder how we could live on our income. There are reasons and I will mention some. We own our home. We get 200,000 cubic feet of natural gas per year free because of a gas well on the original farm for this house site. We have only used more than the 200,000 cubic feet three times in our 53 years here. Two of the bills were under $3, and the other was over $11.

Another reason we can live on our income is because Ruth learned from her mother and my mother what they had learned from necessity about cooking and managing a household economically. Besides, she has learned a lot on her own.

You may have noticed earlier in this story that we kept pigs (one or two), two cows, and chickens. Before I was handicapped, we raised grain and meadow to feed our stock. It wouldn’t look it now, but we raised 2 1/2 acres of such things as corn, wheat, or soybeans; and I always either cradled or cut it with a scythe. Besides that 2 1/2 acres, we raised corn and Sudan grass on a 2-acre piece at the very head of our hollow. Then, of course, there was the 3 acre meadow in front of our house that I put up with horses or tractors.

After I was handicapped, Ruth tried to keep cows and take care of the hill meadow. She stacked one of the most beautiful haystacks on the hill that I ever saw. The cows were a pain in the neck (would be one way to say it). One of them (the beautiful Jersey that one of our very best neighbors, Bill Jarvis, gave us while I was sick) kicked so fiercely that Ruth had to tie her hind feet together before she could milk her; so we got rid of her. The other one got hurt. After much raising her up each day, she fell into the creek; so I shot her.

Ruth didn’t stop helping by a long shot. She has always raised two gardens of about one acre together. It is one of the best gardens in our region. She not only raises the garden, but she cans and freezes all that we can use and gives away the rest. We used to hire the gardens plowed and disked, but now she even does that with her Troy Built rototiller.

You might wonder what I do to keep out of mischief. I can’t stand to just watch Ruth work, so I try to help her all I can. I use my tractor to furrow the rows ready for planting; and I haul in her garden crops, water, fertilizer, lime, etc., with the tractor trailer. I also mow a good acre of yard, but Ruth does the real hard work–the trimming. I also do some leather craft such as handbags, billfolds, and belts. I have done some for pay (realizing about $2 per hour) but most for love for relatives and friends.

Visiting and Fishing in Rhode Island

This is enough about making a living during retirement. Now, maybe you would like to know of our pleasure–or you might call it recreation.

Our recreation mostly consists of visiting, fishing, playing cards and Aggravation, and watching television. The visiting and fishing usually go together.

We visited our daughter and son-in-law, Xenia Lee and Edgar Wheeler, in Ashaway, Rhode Island, for about a month in November 1966. Besides visiting their family, we visited and fished with our Salem College schoolmate, Everett Harris. We also visited and fished with Elsie and Kenneth Leyton. Kenneth and Elsie lived on the beach and had one of the best fishing boats we ever fished from. The four of us caught about 30 flatfish, and they gave us all they caught.

Each of the other days that the weather was the least bit fit, Ruth and I fished for flatfish at a salt pond of about 50 acres where Edgar kept his boat. We would go for about 3 or 4 hours and sometimes catch about 20 flatfish–sometimes 2 or 3.

November 21, 1966, Esther, our granddaughter (a really grand one), was born. We went back to their place when our grandson Ernie (and a really grand one he was) was born on February 1, 1968. Our fishing and visiting was about the same as when Esther was born.

Traveling through New York City.

Our trips through New York City were a real experience for us. On the first one we followed Route 1 from the Washington Bridge to Route 95 on the east side of the city. I remember going underground quite a way once. Another time I was blocked by heavy traffic from following our Route 1, and an obliging policeman helped us. We thought we could do anything after we survived that experience.

Before we went the next time, Joe Boyd, our son-in-law, told us how to go around New York City by the Saw Mill Road. We followed it a few years; then we started going by the Hudson River Parkway and the Merritt Parkway to I-95. That was beautiful scenery. On the far side of the Hudson were the steep Palisades, and on the river were boats and ships of all kinds. The Merritt Parkway was lined with forests, flowers, and rocks.

The last time we went that way, they played a trick on us. Beth was with Ruth and me, or we might not have made it. They had been directing us to the Hudson River Parkway until we got across the George Washington Bridge; then we could find no more signs saying we were on or how to get onto the Hudson River Parkway. Finally I stopped and tried to get Beth to get directions from people in another car that had stopped. But Beth noticed that the driver and probably his wife were having an argument about the same trouble. So we went on until we came to a pay station, where the collector told us that we weren’t lost; they had changed the name to Deegan Upstate Highway, and the Merritt was just a little way ahead.

Once after that we missed the way onto the Deegan Upstate and thought we would find it again, but we got lost at a dead-end road to a big estate. After wandering through all kinds of places (some of them scary-looking), we found a telephone crew working. The crew leader walked to show us how to get on a highway that led us onto the George Washington Bridge. After that, we always followed the Garden State to the Tappan Zee Bridge to the Merritt Parkway to I-95.

Fishing in Florida

The trip to Orson’s in 1970. In 1970 we decided to try our luck fishing and visiting in Florida. Ruth’s sister Susie Williams had been fishing with us often. She seemed to enjoy it so much that we asked her to go along. She was glad to go. A cousin, Lotta Bond, had retired; so we asked her to go along (which she was glad to do). The trip went fine until we got to Daytona Beach. We went by Cleveland, Tennessee, where ,my sister, Avis Swiger, lived. We stayed over night with Avis, Archie (her husband), and their family. What a visit we had before retiring. Archie and Susie especially kept us laughing so much that my sides were sore and I could hardly get to sleep.

About 9 p.m. we got into Daytona Beach and began hunting for 110 Azalia Drive, Holly Hill (which is a suburb of Daytona Beach). That was where Ruth’s brother Orson lived, and we were to stay at his place. We must have gone through Holly Hill three or four times, each time stopping at a different place near the corner of Mason and Ridgewood to get directions. Finally, after Ruth and Susie got hysteria, a man at a newsstand told us that Azalia Drive didn’t enter Mason Street but we would have to go back of the bowling alley, where we would find Gardenia Street, which would lead us to Azalia Drive. So, about 11 p.m., we found Gardenia; and Orson was there watching for us. All were happy at last.

Orson was living by himself, so we had a great time helping him celebrate his 80th birthday on March 7. We also fished off some of the bridges. Once we went on a large boat up the Halifax River; Orson and I both caught a few nice sea trout.

A trip to Ian’s in 1973.

In January of 1973, we went to Ruth’s brother Ian’s-who-had retired from being a medical doctor in Chicago and built a home in Ormond Beach, Florida. We were so glad that we easily located his home at 386 Military Boulevard. Orson and Ian were outside the house watching for us.

The house and the whole place were a dream retirement place. Pearl and Ian had planned the house the way they wanted it–spacious and handy kitchen with both a bar and a table for eating (so you could take your choice), a large sitting room with a cozy fireplace, and three bedrooms and two baths. Back of the house and yard was an orchard and garden (which Orson had helped plan) with a strawberry patch and different citrus fruits. We sampled them, and they were delicious.

We mostly went to a pier to fish. When Ian could, he went with us. I remember once he was with us when I was especially glad. I caught a blue, and the darned thing grabbed me between the thumb and the front finger with its sharp teeth. The more I tried to get it loose, the tighter it clamped down. Ian noticed my trouble and pried its jaws open with a doctor’s instrument that he carried.

Once Ian went with us on an ocean-fishing trip. Ruth caught about as many as we did, but she put in a lot of time on a couch in the cabin because of sea sickness.

After five weeks of fishing five days each week, going to the Daytona Seventh Day Baptist Church each Sabbath, and visiting on Sundays with such people as Mary and Kenneth Hulin and Kay and Lillian Bee or going sight-seeing with Ian, Pearl (Ian’s wife), and Orson, we packed our fish that were left and joyfully went home.

We kept up our trips to Florida each year until this year (1981-1982). We are staying home to write this life history. It is not easy.

Fish We Caught in Florida–and Where

I have been thinking that you might be interested in the kinds of fish and the amounts of them we caught in Florida. Maybe you would like to know where we caught them.

One of the most common kinds of fish caught off the piers of Florida is the whiting. We caught many of them. One day we caught 58–and most of them were between two and three pounds of extremely delicious meat. Many think they are the best-tasting salt-water fish. There were two older ladies from Ohio who caught two five-gallon buckets full–about twice as many as we did–that same day.

Another special day on this Ormond-By-The-Sea Pier, the blues were hitting on Sea Hawk plugs; Ruth and I caught 42 of them. They hit savagely about every cast. If one got off, another would strike–usually before you could get the bait in to the pier. One time Ruth thought she had a monster, but she landed two of them on one plug at one cast.

Fishing trip to Lake Okeechobee. Ian only fished with us two years in Florida because he died during an operation to repair a blood vessel that was in danger of bursting. The last year he fished with us, we had a special experience. Ian, Pearl, Ruth, and I went to Lake Okeechobee to try to catch bass over 20 inches long. (I had been trying for years to do that. I had caught some between 19 and 20 inches but none over 19 3/4 inches.)

We got adjoining rooms in a hotel at Clewston and arrived Sunday afternoon. We (Ian and I) hired for Monday a guide who we thought could get us the fish we wanted. Sunday afternoon we fished from the bank and caught a few bass. That night we played Rook until bedtime.

Monday morning finally came. Our guide outfitted us with three dozen six-inch shiners, and away we went in his power boat. At noon we had two channel cats about 20 inches that Ian caught, and I had one bass 21 inches. The girls had come back from sightseeing and shopping and had our dinners ready for us. We ate it in the park, and right back on the lake we went. I got two more 21-inchers, and Ian got one 18 inches. He had one on that jumped before it got under the boat and broke off (probably on the anchor rope). It seemed larger than any of mine. What a memorable trip!

Fish on the St. John’s River.

The first year Ian fished with us (the same year he saved my hand from that bluefish), we went crappie fishing on the St. John’s River. We paid $30 for that day and caught 14 crappies, each about 15 inches long. (The guide for the Okeechobee day cost us $50 besides the bait.)

Flagler Beach, Fall 1980.

The last year we went to Florida we stayed at a motel (Topaz Motel) at Flagler Beach instead of staying at Ormond Beach with Pearl. This Flagler Beach Pier was more economical. We paid $15 for fishing rights for the seven weeks (we had to pay $3 per day at Ormond Beach).

On the pier we filleted the fish and kept them on ice until we got them to the motel, where we put them in the deep freeze. Every other week we would take them to Pearl’s big freezer.

The number and kinds of fish we caught.

During the seven or eight weeks we usually-stayed in Florida, we would accumulate about 400 fish. The last year that we stayed with Pearl, we put 417 fish in her freezer. We didn’t bring them all back with us; we gave some to Pearl and other special friends (like Mary and Kenneth Hulin, Rev. Kenneth Van Horn, and Rev. Leon Maltby).

Some of the kinds of fish we caught besides blues and whiting were Spanish mackerel, jacks, drums, sheepheads, and sea trout. Others we caught and did not keep were hammerhead sharks, sand sharks, shovelnose sharks, occasionally a stingray, and many catfish.

Card Games and Other Recreation

For breaks, we play Aggravation and Rook. In playing Aggravation, we never aggravate each other unless there is no other possible move. When we play Rook, we use a dummy–we help each other keep Dummy from setting us. Also, we pass some time by watching television. There aren’t many programs we can stomach. The horror, supernatural, and crime stories are not for us. We do like news, Gun Smoke, Chips, and Little House on the Prarie, etc.

Sometimes we have mighty welcome company–all the company we get are extremely welcome!

I expect Rex, Phyllis, Bond and Ruby come most often. Others who come fairly often are Chris Boyd and her friend Laurel Sue Smith. Chris is a senior at Salem College this year (1982). Neighborhood children come to fish or sell something. All are very much appreciated.

I think these things will get us through this winter (1981-82) until we can catch trout–then go West to visit our in-laws and fish with as many as will go with us (especially our grandchildren and great grandchildren). Then back home to our garden, yard, and West Virginia turtle- and fish-catching.

{Note (inserted by Mae as this is typed in 1984.) Mom and Dad were not able to make the trip west in the spring of 1982 because Mom had hip-replacement surgery in April. She got along marvelously, and by July she was working in her garden again. The doctor said he had never had a patient improve faster than Mom did after this type of surgery.}

Bird Watching

I left out one of our most important winter entertainments. We feed the birds grain and suet in plain sight of our kitchen and TV room. Maybe you would like to know some of these entertaining friends that eat the food we put out in our grain feeder and the onion sacks with suet.

There are always downy woodpeckers, titmice, chickadees, and nuthatches at the suet. Sometimes hairy woodpeckers, red-bellied woodpeckers, and a carolina wren will eat at the suet.

More different kinds of birds eat at our grain feeder. I expect cardinals and slate-colored juncos are the most common ones. Sometimes blue jays, morning doves, red-bellied woodpeckers, song sparrows, tree sparrows, white-throated sparrows, vesper sparrows, and (about once a year) evening grossbeaks and purple finches visit our feed box. Also occasionally a fox squirrel or a ruffled grouse will visit us.

This fall one ruffled grouse came in our TV room at a north window and left by a south one. We were eating when we heard the crash. When we looked, there was glass all over the TV room, and just outside lay a grouse (which was delicious as a grouse pie).

Ruth’s Memories — A Fishing Trip to New Jersey

We took sister Susie with us to New Jersey. Her son James lived in Bridgeton, and Edna Ruth’s lived some six miles away across the road from the Marlboro Church. James was a “craft” teacher. At that time one of his former students owned a small boat. He agreed to take us fishing on the bay. James said he had a toilet on the boat so we did not need to worry about that.

Going out, the waves were quite choppy, reminding me of a short-loping horse. I thoroughly enjoyed that, for short-loping a horse was a childhood game I loved. The wind did not let up. By the time we got out a mile or so, the waves were tossing the boat about enough to make Susie and me both sick. He anchored the boat, and we tried to fish. Part of the boat had a flat bottom. The front end (where the toilet was located) was a foot or so lower than the rest of the floor. Ashby sat on the floor near the middle to help keep it balanced. I would fish a little while, then have to lean over the side to “york.” I had to take my teeth out first, for I did not want to lose them. Ashby hung onto my coattail so I would not fall overboard. I finally caught a two-foot shark.

Susie was sick, but she did not “york.” She did need to go to the restroom. The door was so low one had to almost crawl to get in. There was not room enough to turn around, so she had to crawl out and then back in. After all that, we decided to go back to shore since we could not catch fish anyway. They were preparing to send a boat out to search for us. I was fine as soon as I got on land, but Susie was sick in bed the rest of the day.

Our Last Trip to Florida, October 1983

I must tell about our last trip to Florida in 1983. Right now we do not think we will go alone again.

It took 1 1/2 days to get to Flagler Beach. We had an efficiency apartment for six weeks. We got there about noon, got the key to the apartment, unloaded the car, ate a bite, then got our permits to fish from the pier for three months for $15, and went fishing. Fish were not plentiful, but we caught enough for supper. Then we had to go 17 miles to Aunt Pearl’s to pick up a cart and some ocean-fishing equipment we had left there. On the way back we stopped and bought a supply of groceries. It was getting dark when we got back to our apartment, tired but happy.

I took a load of groceries in, unlocked the door and put the things on the table (including the keys) and went back for another load. The window had been left open; and while I was gone, a big puff of wind blew the door shut and it locked. There we were–in a strange place, knowing no one, and tired as fox hounds–locked out of our house. We both wished we were back home.

We decided to go to the pier. A restaurant was connected to it; we thought maybe they would know where the lady lived who rented the apartment to us. They were busy waiting on customers, so I waited what seemed a long time before anyone came to help me.

I noticed three men sitting at a table visiting after a late sandwich. I told the lady the predicament we were in, but she had no idea how to help us. Just then two of the men got up and came over to us. one of them said, “Did I hear you say you were locked out of your car?” I said, “Mr, it is worse than that! We are locked out of our house.” He said, “I am a locksmith, and this fellow with me works for the city. His job is unlocking doors.” The Good Lord was in control!

Our apartment.

I must tell you about our apartment. The living room, dining room, and kitchen were one big room. The refrigerator had a big freezing compartment, so we had room to take care of our fish. There was a TV, a nice couch, two comfortable chairs, dining table, stove, and nice cabinets–real cozy. There was a narrow hallway with two closets. The bedroom had a bed and chest of drawers, with just room for me to go between the foot of the bed and the chest. Daddy had to sit on the bed and scoot to the foot and get up again to go to the bathroom.

The bathroom must have been about six by six feet. The shower took up about three square feet. It was impossible to get a shower without getting your head wet. When Dad took a shower, he had to sit on a chair, then onto the floor and scoot in. When he got in, there was not enough room to get his foot in since his knee could not bend that much. I had to wash his foot.

We really enjoyed our stay there. We made a lot of new friends on the pier. One little old lady watched for us. She would always come and push the wheelchair. She had a home there and also one in Jacksonville. We missed her when she left.

Caring for the fish.

When we had the freezer about full of fish, we lined a cooler with four thicknesses of newspaper dipped in water, then put the packages of fish in as close as possible, covered them with more wet newspaper, and put the lid on. We wrapped the cooler in more wet paper and put it all in a plastic bag. We took it to Aunt Pearl’s where we could put the whole thing in her freezer and have it ready to take home. By the way, when we got back home, the paper in the cooler still had ice in it.

Maybe I should tell you that we cleaned the fish on the pier. We filleted them to save space and put them in a plastic bag in the cooler. When we got home, we washed them, put them in a large flat pan with paper towels in the bottom and on top to get them as dry as possible. Then we wrapped six pieces in a plastic strip, then in aluminum foil, and put them in the freezer.

A Trip -to North Carolina with Rex and Phyllis

We had a wonderful trip with Rex and Phyllis to Holden’s Beach Pier in North Carolina in May 1984 for a week. Fish were not too plentiful. One day we did get 28 blues, but we had a bad storm that night. The ocean was too rough to do any good fishing the next day or two. We did have some fish to bring home with us.

Conclusion

Just before Christmas ’83 Dad’s knee gave away with him after walking from the kitchen to the TV and almost back to the couch. He managed to fall on the couch, but he must have gotten his fingers caught in his crutches. Besides cracking the bone between his little finger and wrist on his right hand, all his fingers were bruised and swollen. It was weeks before he could use his crutches at all. He could manage with a little help to get from the wheelchair to the bed or into the rocking chair.

It is now July, and he still cannot walk alone with his crutches, and he can only walk a short distance with help. I can manage to help him to his tractor or to the car, into the boat and out again, when I have to. Usually some kind soul is glad to give us help.

We have two good-size gardens and a lot of mowing to do. Dad does the mowing except the hillsides–so what do we have to complain about?

Right now (July 3, 1984) we have Ed, Xenia Lee, George, and Mae with us. We are expecting Walt and Ruth and family this evening, Verne and Betsy De and girls in the morning, Beth and Betsy Jo on Thursday, David and Chris Friday evening, Mark before morning, Joe Sabbath a.m., and all of Alois’ family by noon Sabbath. We love every minute. Ann, boys, and Gary will get in sometime Sabbath. We will enjoy it all and look forward to having other members of the family whenever they can come. WE LOVE YOU ALL!!

You can surely see that we have had an interesting life with our friends, work, and recreation.

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

Ball Teams at Jarvisville.

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

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

Teaching at Laurel Run

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

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

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

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

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

4-H Clubs.

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

Boy Scouts.

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

Hot lunch program.

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

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

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

Special community affairs.

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

Teaching at West Milford

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ruth’s Memories — Community Spirit

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

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

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

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

Summer of 1945

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Car Accident in.December, 1945

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

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

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

Lydia’s Illness

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

More Neighbors, and Deer Hunting

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

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

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

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

Ashby as an Outdoorsman

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

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

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

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

Some of My Activities When Ashby Taught at West Milford

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

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

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

Combined Memories of Farm Products — Regular Farm Products

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

Maple Syrup

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

Sassafras Tea

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

Cane Molasses

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

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

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

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

Blackberrying

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

Strawberries at Susie’s

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

Huckleberries

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

Apples and Applebutter

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

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

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

It must have been at the Christmas vacation when I went to see Ruth at her home near Roanoke. We had been engaged since September and were expecting to marry in June after graduation. All of a sudden one evening we decided it would be better to marry December 23 so we would have the Christmas vacation together.

The 23rd came–a snow-covered, icy, cold day. I had just recovered from a short sick spell. I don’t remember how I got to Clarksburg, but I know I went to Weston on the trolley. Ruth met me at the station. We hurried to the courthouse, where we got our license and got back to the trolley station in less than one-half hour so we could catch the next trolley to Lost Creek. At Lost Creek we went to Pastor H. C. Van Horn’s, where he married us in the parsonage.

We caught the next streetcar to Clarksburg. Everett Williams and Ruth’s sister Susie met us in their big Oldsmobile and took us to my home in Salem. Before we met Everett, we hunted a restaurant and ate ice cream on raisin pie. For many years raisin pie with ice cream on it, if possible, was a special anniversary treat.

It was a very short two-week vacation, mostly spent at Ruth’s home playing Rook with my new in-laws and Ruth’s neighbors and relatives. We had the luck of the Irish–never losing a match.

Ruth’s Memories

That summer of 1925, 1 completed my Standard Normal. One of my good friends from West Milford and I were hired to teach the two room school at Kennedy Station near Jackson’s Mill. We were real excited about it.

Ashby and I had been corresponding since I had sent him a Christmas card. I saw him a time or two while I was in school at Salem College that summer. He was kept quite busy all that summer trying to save up enough money to go to school and get his Standard Normal the next summer.

Ada was teaching at Mt. Clare that year, and Lydia was teaching in Clarksburg. They were both staying with Susie and Everett (also his father and sister were staying there). Their schools started one week earlier than my school was to start in Lewis County. They had just started their school when llama fell and hurt her hip so badly she could not do her work. Someone had to stay at home and help out. Ada and Lydia were both willing to come back,, but I was already there and had time to notify my Board of Education so they could hire someone to take my place. Papa favored that plan, too. (Perhaps he was thinking he, too, might have some help.)

I really enjoyed being home. After Ashby enrolled in college, he came up home for the weekend once a month. We were engaged that fall but did not plan to be married until he finished school in June.

Main was teaching near home that year. We had a lot of pleasant evenings playing Rook with Harvey and Vesta Heavener. Most of the time they came down home.

Ada and Lydia gave me $25 a month for spending money, so I got along real well.

Our Wedding, December 23, 1925.

Christmas vacation started December 18 that year,-and Ashby came up home for the weekend. Sunday afternoon we decided it would be much more fun to spend most of the vacation together. He had to go home Monday, and we planned to meet in Weston on Wednesday at the streetcar terminal.

Tuesday Lydia and I took the train to Weston. We shopped around for a new dress, then went to our cousin Aura Tillman’s to stay overnight. (It was good winter weather–about a foot of snow was on the ground, but the streets were well cleared.)

We met Ashby at ten o’clock as planned and went to the court house to get our license (quite simple in our day!). We got back to the streetcar terminal in time to get on the same car he had come on.

We stopped over at Lost Creek and went to the Seventh Day Baptist parsonage. Ashby had stopped there on his way home on Monday and made arrangements, but he had not told the pastor who the bride would be. H. C. Van Horn was one surprised man when he met us at the door! He had marriage certificates, but he said had he known it was for me he would have had a much nicer one. His wife and daughter were the only witnesses. Orville was living about three miles away. He got to Lost Creek in time to wish us well before we left on the next streetcar to Clarksburg.

It was about noon when we got to Clarksburg, but we were not very hungry. We decided to just get raisin pie with ice cream.

We went to Everett and Susie’s home on Broadus Avenue. He had said he would take us to Salem to Ashby’s home. He had the car all decorated and a “Just Married” sign on the back. He drove slowly through Salem, but there was scarcely anyone on the street. Ashby’s family made me feel much a part of the family–and that feeling remains.

Elmo and some of his friends on the hill serenaded us that night.

The next morning we took the nine o’clock train to Clarksburg, then on to Roanoke, arriving about 2 p.m. Main met us at the train. We were busy the rest of the day making popcorn balls and candy to have ready for the serenaders that night.

We played Rook a lot that vacation, and “Luck” was with us most of the time. All too soon, vacation was over; and Ashby was back in school.

Our First Year of Marriage

Ashby’s Memories — Completing My Standard Normal Degree.

Soon I was back in school, leaving my queen at her home because she had to take care of her mother (who had hurt her hip). I did go back some weekends, and Ruth came to my home for a week after her mother got well enough to get around to do the housework. She also came to my graduation. In this third graduation on the Salem College stage, I played a doctor in our play.

Our first home.

When school was out, we moved into an old two story house with Aunt Jane Bond, where we lived in the lower story. It was a nice piece of ground with about an acre of garden and two acres for corn. Besides this farming, I had two jobs. I pitched about fifteen stacks of hay for Henry Watson. Then I got a job with a construction company,making the culverts for Route 19 from Weston to Roanoke.

This company also had a factory that made round culverts. One extremely hot day they took us away from making forms for a culvert to unload a steel gondola railroad car. The sun was so hot we could not put a hand on the car. We shoveled the gravel with a scoop shovel. Mr. Peters, one of the owners, told us he wanted it unloaded that day to save a holdover charge. He also came from the factory every little bit and shoveled like a house afire. I tried to shovel as fast as he did, even while he got his breaks. We had it unloaded by four o’clock; then we went with Mr. Rhodes, the other owner, to the culvert job. Mr. Rhodes told me to sit in the shade under a maple tree; I guess he could see I had a severe sick headache.

Teaching at Shady Grove School.

School time came again. I had to leave Ruth at her home at Roanoke while I stayed at my home in Salem and taught the Shady Grove School. This school was five miles from home by walking paths across the hills that cut miles from the way by roads.

Our first new car.

When I went to see Ruth over the first weekend, she suggested we buy a Ford Roadster, and I quickly agreed. I had to borrow the money to pay for the car, and I charged the gas to fill the tank.

The eight miles to school was mud all but two miles, and the trip to Roanoke each weekend had either eight or twelve miles of dirt–mostly mud–roads. On one trip to Roanoke, I took Elmo with me, and we had to detour the twelve-mile way. After we were thinking maybe we were lost or we would have found Route 19 (the main road), we came to a country store. A man was sitting on the porch, and Elmo asked, “What is the best way to Roanoke?” He answered, “You walk.” That didn’t stop Lizzy! She made it!

Lizzy only cost us $490 brand new–a 1927 Roadster. We paid for her in 11 months instead of the 12 months they gave us at the bank. Lizzy worked faithfully until our family outgrew her in 1933. The only repairs were once a year, when I would clean the cylinder head and occasionally repair a spark plug.

Our first son is born.

The third week after school started, I was going to bring Ruth to Salem, where Aunt Doc was to take care of her and the baby. It was not to be that way. Uncle Main (Ruth’s youngest brother) and I went for Dr. Obrien about 2 a.m. on September 19. He took his time, but he came. Aunt Doc found a nurse, Miss Young; and she stayed with Ruth at Roanoke, caring for her and Bond for ten days. The doctor charged $10, and the nurse charged $75. Ashby Bond has been worth every bit of it.

More about Shady Grove School.

Near the end of school, we practiced or a field day at West Milford for our district. We had a field day with our neighbor, Morris School, before the district meet. We won enough at Morris to get our pupils and parents interested. So I paid $10 to one of my patrons to take as many as we could on a wagon to the West Milford meet. We won quite a few first-, second-, and third-place ribbons, which made everyone proud and happy.

Another thing I was proud of was that my eighth grade girl, Edna Day, took and passed the state examination. She was my first eighth grader to take the exam. She also won the District Girls’ Softball Throw. (We named one of our girls, Edna Ruth, for Edna Day.)

Ruth’s Memories

In late January I went to take care of Lee and Charles while Susie was in the hospital with a third son, Roxie Dane. I started having morning sickness while I was there. After I went home, it did not improve; in fact I got to the place where I could not sit up. Ashby came home that weekend. I was doing a little better by Monday, so he went back to school. I got better so I was up and around, but food and drink never stayed down very long. I got used to that. Later I went to Salem and stayed a week at Ashby’s home. I went to see Aunt Doc while I was there. She said, “Some get sick, and some don’t. You just have to take what comes.”

At long last graduation time came. I went to Salem for that. Ashby went home with me that time for keeps–we thought.

Our first home (rented apartment). Uncle Sammie was gone by that time, and Aunt Jane had fixed an apartment upstairs where she stayed; she rented the downstairs so she could have a little money coming in. I learned her renter was leaving in May, so I rented the apartment. We had enough donations so we furnished the place very comfortably. We bought the kitchen stove from the previous renter. We soon were living in our first home.

By the time our folks had gathered up things they could do without and some friends and neighbors came up with a few things, we were quite comfortable with little expense.

My sisters bought us a hand-operated washing machine. We had to carry our water from a cold spring some distance from the house. Water was handy at home, so they kept the washer there that summer and did our washing and ironing.

We lived about one-half mile from home. We raised a good garden and corn patch. Ashby worked for farmers anytime he could. I went down home every day that I did not have work to do at home. I was not too ambitious that summer, for I still could not keep food down any length of time. (I felt all right between times.)

Ashby tried to get a school near home that summer, but none were available. Orville came up home. (He was supervisor of Union District in Harrison County.) He had not been able to find a teacher for the one-room school at Shady Grove near the Doddridge County line. Ashby readily agreed to take the job. School was to start the following Monday. We decided I should stay at home and get things in shape there for three weeks; then I would go to Salem where we would both stay so Aunt Doc could take care of me when the baby came.

Our first baby arrives.

Ashby came home after school on Friday to take me back with him on Sunday. (I weighed less at that time than I did when we were married.) Plans changed fast. We had to call a local doctor on Sunday morning; and our first child, Bond, arrived. He only weighed 5 1/2 pounds, but otherwise he was a healthy baby. I put my thumb down beside his wrist and ankle, and my thumb was decidedly larger.

Mama asked the doctor what I should eat. He said, “Give her anythingshe wants and all she wants. She is starved.” That was music to my ears. Food never tasted better!

Mama was nervous about taking care of a baby so small, so Aunt Doc sent a nurse to take care of us for ten days.

We were so glad Ashby was there, but he had to go back to his school. I think that was the only time I was ever “homesick” at home. Nevertheless, I had to stay there three more weeks before I got to go to Salem with Bond.

Moving to Salem–and then to Shady Grove.

We stayed with Mother Randolph until November 11 when Ashby took us to Shady Grove. He had found a little cottage (furnished enough to make out) within a half mile of his school. By that time the road was getting so bad we had a hard time getting there. We never had the car out again until the next spring.

We made a lot of lasting friends that winter. When the weather permitted, we walked about one mile to the Meadow Valley Evangelical United Brethren Church. We were made to feel very welcome.

I had never been away from my old home before on Christmas Day. I missed being there; but Ashby and Bond were with me, and we were healthy and happy. What more could one ask!

A Summer at Lost Creek–1927

Ashby’s Memories

We moved to Lost Creek, where I put in two gardens and took care of Uncle Tom Bond’s farm during his vacation. It seemed everything went wrong the two weeks I was responsible for Uncle Tom’s farm. Ruth got sick (very sick) with the pregnancy of Xenia Lee. Two heifers came fresh (with very small, tedious teets to milk); this made twelve cows to milk, when I hadn’t milked more than one in five years. Then after all that, his hogs took cholera, and I had them to doctor and everything to sterilize. When Uncle Tom’s returned, everything was fine; and they seemed to appreciate the job.

Ruth’s Memories

The next spring, we rented a house on Lost Creek, not far from where Orville and Lucille lived. We moved our things in on Friday, but the gas was not yet connected. So we went up to Orville’s for the weekend. Susie, Everett, and their children also came out there for the weekend. We had the beds set up at our house; so Ashby, Orville, and his boys went there to sleep. I slept with Lucille. Orville got up early the next morning and came home. When he came in, Lucille said, “Oh, Orville, rub my legs. They have almost had cramps all night, but you were not here to rub them out.”

In the next year or so, Susie and Everett bought about fifty acres of Orville’s farm and built a summer home. Everett was teaching in Clarksburg, so they needed their home on Broadus Avenue.

We had a good garden that summer and had a cow; so we had our own milk and butter.

Uncle Tom had a dairy farm joining Orville. He also had hogs and chickens. They wanted to take a two-week vacation that summer and wanted Ashby to take care of everything while they were gone. We looked forward to that with great anticipation, for we both loved that kind of work. When the time came, poor Ashby had it all to do alone–I was sick again.

Living and Teaching at Jarvisville

Ashby’s Memories

The fall of 1927 I started teaching as principal of the two room school at Jarvisville. Mostly, I had a great time at Jarvisville. The pupils were bright and had been well taught–and besides, they were very athletic. The parents were mostly cooperative. Even the ministers were extremely helpful. They took week about (there were two of them) conducting an opening exercise.

When it came hiring time for the 1928-29 year, a member of one of the churches wanted my job. A number of the church members and the minister, Rev. Vanscoy, went to the meeting. Each member got up and said he had nothing against me but he wanted the other man to teach the school. Then Rev. Vanscoy got up and said, “I like Mr. Randolph and want him to have the school.” I kept teaching there until the fall of 1932.

The following are some of the successes I enjoyed at the Jarvisville School: All my eighth-grade pupils passed the state exam; our fifth-, sixth-, seventh-, and eighth-grade pupils won many ribbons–both in scholastics and athletics–at the District Field Meet.

Ruth’s Memories

Ashby was principal at Jarvisville the next school year. We found a cottage we could rent near the schoolhouse. Ada helped me clean the windows and the whole house before we moved, so all we had to do was to put things where they belonged as they were unloaded. What fun!!

We made a lot more friends there. A good neighbor (Walter and Esta Cozad) lived just across the road from us. They had one girl. (By the way, she went through grade school and high school without missing one day of school.)

At that time a hard surface road connected Jarvisville with Route 50, so we could get out any time we needed to. We rented a garage from the storekeeper.

Our second babv arrives. Near the end of February, we went to Salem to Ashby’s home so Aunt Doc could take care of our new baby. On February 28, Xenia Lee arrived about 11 a.m. She was a plump little baby–6 3/4 pounds. Elmo had to bring in all his friends to see her, and most of the relatives in Salem were in. By evening, she had had 27 visitors. Papa was plenty proud of her; she was the second girl in eight grandchildren. We went back to Jarvisville when Xenia Lee was three weeks old.

Owning Our Home

Ruth’s Memories

That spring Ashby found a little place for sale 2 1/2 miles west of Jarvisville. We were tired of moving twice a year. Ashby went to look at the place. The roads were still bad, so he had to walk. He liked the place with 18 acres, so we bought it. When a friend heard we had bought it, she said, “Did you let him buy that without your seeing it? What if you don’t like it?” I said, “He likes it, and I don’t have any doubt that I will like it too.” We are still here almost 53 years later and still loving it!

Maybe one of the biggest attractions of this place is 200,000 cubic feet of free gas each year. We have only paid three gas bills since we have lived here. The biggest one was about $11. Our meter is back on the hill. A boy from the other side of the hill was riding his motorcycle up and down the gas line right-of-way. Some way he ran into the meter house, upset it, and almost broke the gas line in two. Ashby was fishing at the pond and heard the crash but did not know what was wrong until we found we had no gas. That year we paid a $12 gas bill.

We had a good garden here, a hill meadow, and pasture for cows. We also kept chickens and pigs.

That first summer I wanted to help Ashby cut the filth on the hill, so we put a comfort in a wash tub and put Xenia Lee in it in the shade. She was quite happy, and Bond played close by her. I did not get to do that many times, for it seemed there were things at the house to be done, too.

There were lots of wild strawberries around over the place. I remember one summer Ada was staying with us while Ashby was in 4-H camp. She watched the children while I went on the hill and picked a 2 1/2-gallon bucket full of wild strawberries. We took them over to Aunt Elsie and Aunt Doc’s and had a big strawberry shortcake for dinner. It makes my mouth water to even write about it!

We had a hand-drilled well with a pitcher pump on our back porch. It was only about twelve feet deep. One could pump a two gallon bucket of water every hour or so. The water was nice and cold. A stream of water ran between the house and garden. It was clear except when it rained, and then it cleared quickly. There was enough drop to place a three-inch pipe and put a wash tub under it at the lower end. That made a good water supply for washing. We had to build a fire outside and heat the water in a twelve-gallon kettle, then carry it to the wash tub. We finally got our first gasoline motor Maytag. That was really something! We still had to carry all of the water to it–and also away.

Mr. and Mrs. Stull lived for a while in the house just west of us. They were a dear old couple, and we enjoyed their company. At that time a continued story was in the daily paper. Every day Mrs. Stull would come down to hear me read that story. Sometimes she would get so provoked at some of the characters in the story she wanted to shake them.

About this time we saw our first deer in this part of the county. At first, we saw it in the hill meadow. Then it came down to a pen where we had a Jersey calf. The deer nosed the calf quite a while before taking off up over the hill.

Ashby’s Memories

Maybe you would be interested in the getting and developing of the home of our family. The first summer Ruth and I were married, we lived in the downstairs of an old house near Ruth’s home. After I started teaching at Shady Grove, at the very head of Turtle Tree Fork of Tenmile, Ruth stayed at her home and I lived with my mother and my brother Elmo at Salem until three weeks after Bond was born. Ruth and Bond came to live in my Salem home until November 11, 1926, when we moved to within 1/2 mile of my Shady Grove School. We rented it from Fred Day, a wonderful friend (as was his wife and three daughters). Arvilla, the youngest, brought fresh milk to us each morning after they milked and usually asked Ruth if she had any cake because she loved it. Edna, her older sister, was the girl I mentioned as my first pupil to pass the state 8th grade exam.

When school was out the next spring, 1927, we moved to Lost Creek near Orville, which Ruth has told you about. After I started teaching at Jarvisville and driving about 7 miles each way, I rented a small house from Walter Cozad, which Ruth has mentioned in her stories. We enjoyed our life there until the spring of 1928 after Xenia Lee arrived, when we bought the home where we raised you children and still live.

The place had a four-room house with each room leaking when it rained, and in winter snow would blow through some of the cracks in the siding. There were 18 acres of hill land in the farm. We soon traded a good milk cow for 3 acres of bottom land between our farm and the road. That let us have a good way to the road instead of the right of way 200 yards up the creek and then through another farmer’s swampy meadow. An important part of the original buy was 200,000 cu. ft. of free natural gas each year. In the 57 years we have lived here so far, we have only paid a gas bill three different years.

Making improvements.

Gradually our house changed. We had Uncle Tom Randolph and Uncle Oris Stutler put in masonite wallboard on every room. Tommy Thomas, Glen Matthey, and Raymond Post built us a stone cellar 12 by 14 feet from rock cut from our own farm. In 1945 Edgar and his brother Bob built us a cellar house 12 by 18 feet, where Xenia Lee and Edgar lived for a while and where Annita was born. Somewhere in the early 1930′s we got imitation brick siding to cover the whole house. That, with the masonite inside, helped a lot. Still later we had aluminum siding and storm windows put on the four rooms. The combination brick cost about $300, and the aluminum siding cost $700 put on.

While I taught at West Milford, about 1965, we got a big room across the whole front of the house where the front porch had been, a good bathroom, and a garage, besides a new roof built over the original one for $3,000. Still later, about 1969, Neil Matheny and his two sons built our TV room and half bath for $2,500.

Water problems.

Water was a big problem for many years. We started with a hand-drilled well on our back porch that gave us two gallons of drinking water about every two or three hours and creek or spring water to boil outside over a wood fire in a 12-gallon kettle for washing. Some years later a company drilled a 2 1/2-inch test core about 400 feet deep in our yard west of the house. As pay for the damage, they left us a pump that gave us plenty of water until the sides began caving in, which made the water muddy.

Then we got a Mr. Mitchell with his peach limb to hunt us a good water supply. We didn’t have much faith in the method, but he only charged $5 and he located the spots for the Hope Gas to drill their water wells. When he found the place, he let Ruth and me try holding the limb; it pointed to the ground no difference how hard we tried to hold it up. This was about 60 feet east of the house. When they drilled it, they found the water 35 feet down after going through 15 feet of solid limestone. They tried bailing it down and couldn’t lower the water any. For a while we used a pitcher pump in a sink; then finally we had running water in the kitchen and bathrooms. What a happy day!

Work-saving appliances.

There were two things I got for Ruth quite soon after we were married. In 1927 I got her a Singer sewing machine for $100. Then in 1936 I got her a Maytag washing machine with a gas motor. They were work- and money-savers.

Paying for our home.

With all these expenses, it was mighty hard to pay the- $1,500 for our home. I gave notes for the payment due each six months. We made small payments each time when they were due. Finally, James Coffindaffer, from whom we bought, needed all the money and sold the notes to Truman Howell. He soon called for the notes to be paid, and we got a lawyer in Clarksburg to free our deed of all claims for 50 years back so we could borrow the money to pay Mr. Howell. They gave us 13 years to pay it off at 4 1/2 percent interest. This was the Land Bank of Baltimore. What a relief when the last payment was made in 1948.

Ruth’s Memories of a Growing Family — Our Second Son Arrives

On July 21, 1929, Alois joined our family. Papa and Mama came down to see him and took Bond back home with them for a week. He got along real well; but when they started to bring him home, he said, “Grandma, I don’t want dark to ever catch me here again.”

Bond was so thrilled to see Xenia Lee again. She could not have cared less. He would follow her around until she stopped; then he would squat down in front of her and laugh and laugh.

The children both loved their baby brother. Each one had to hold him a little bit when I would take him out of his crib. One day I was in the kitchen and heard Bond and Xenia Lee singing as hard as they could and Alois crying. I went to investigate and found Bond in the rocking chair with Xenia Lee sitting on the arm and Alois in Bond’s arms, rocking and singing. I guess I spoiled their fun, for they never tried that again.

One day Bond and Xenia Lee were playing that they were eating candy. Suddenly Bond said, “There, I got the last piece.” Xenia Lee just “boohooed.” She called, “Mama, Bond ate the last piece of candy.”

Two More Daughters Arrive

Mae arrived December 25, 1930. It had been a mild winter, so the dirt road could be traveled with a car most of the time. Mama’s youngest brother (Uncle Otto) was visiting in Salem with his wife and 16-year-old son. Clyde had never seen a tiny baby, and he desperately wanted to see Mae. Ada happened to be in Salem at the time (also Greta and Mary Randolph). Ada agreed to come over here with them if Clyde could get the car. He got the car but did not tell his father where he was going. They got over here all right, and we had a nice visit. But when they started back, they got in a ditch and had a terrible time getting out. The car was muddy all over. When they got back to Salem and the folks found out where they had been, they were really upset. Poor Ada was really in the “Dog House.” They thought she should have known better, even if the others did not. Anyway, all survived.

The hard surface road was one-half mile from us at that time. Uncle Erlo and Aunt Antha (also Velma) wanted to see Mae so much that they walked the half mile. Mae was so loose-jointed that I used to say I could almost tie her feet together behind her head.

October 12, 1932, Edna Ruth joined our family.

Another Son Arrives

Rex Main arrived the 19th of December, 1934. Grandma Sutton was staying with us. When we needed him, my doctor was sick. We called Grandma Randolph at Salem; she got Dr. Pearcy to come, but Elmo had to come with him to show him the way. Ashby had taken Alois to school with him and left Mae and Edna Ruth with neighbors. Before noon, we called a family by the schoolhouse to tell Ashby that Rex had arrived and all were well. The children could hardly wait to get home so they could see their little brother.

Ashby’s Memories of Extra Jobs–Fun and Work

During the summers I took summer classes at Salem College and organized and transported softball and volleyball community teams. The last two years I was president of the Tenmile Softball League, which I had organized to solve the problem of scheduling games. I also was on a district school maintenance crew that did painting, etc., to get the schools ready for the next term. During the winter and until planting time, I would grub the roots of brush out in preparation for the field of corn of one-half to one acre. This corn we fed to our cow, chickens, and hogs.

Teaching at Morris School, 1931-37

In the spring of 1931, the board decided to cut the Jarvisville School to one room, so I got moved to the Morris School. This was only one mile for me to walk instead of the 2 1/2 miles I had been walking to Jarvisville. I taught seven mighty pleasant years at Morris.

I persuaded the District Superintendent to include the first, second, third, and fourth grades in the scholastic competition for the Field Day. We won many ribbons each year. Five of the pupils went on to be valedictorians at Bristol High School.

Another thing that made me very proud happened when I had two boys move to a Clarksburg school. My sister-in-law and brother-in-law, who taught in Clarksburg, had told me they always moved the pupils from country schools back one grade to start them. One of my boys was put in the A section for his grade, and the other one was put in a small especially gifted group for his grade.

We had Parent Teacher Associations and Country Life Programs. Sometimes, we took part in the Jackson’s Mill Roundups. I remember our playing checkers and taking a one-act play and a musical reading. We put on programs for Christmas and other special times. My brother, Elmo, always played Santa Claus. The Santas the children had seen had tried to scare them. Elmo was careful and kind to everyone, so they called him the real Santa and kept asking for him.

Making a living for my family was difficult on $110 per month. I also went to school at night during the school term and twelve weeks most summers until I got my Bachelors degree in Education the spring on 1936. After that, I checked farms to find out how much lime and fertilizer the government would give them. I had to draw a map of each field. Some of them I could estimate by stepping off, and some I had to measure with a chain. In either case, I had to find the size in acres. Another summer I cut pulp wood; and others I got jobs for farmers, cutting filth, hacking brush, and harvesting hay, oats, and wheat.

The fall of 1936 I did not know whether I would have a school or not until the day before it was to start. Many schools were being discontinued. The school at Shady Grove had been discontinued, and the Board of Education was trying to stop mine. Dean Van Horn, the county grade superintendent came the day before school was to start and told me I had the Morris School another year.

I didn’t take a chance on the Morris School again the next year. Instead, I got the principalship at Jarvisville, which had become a two-room school again.

School Discipline Methods

The discipline of the school is one of its biggest problems. There must be an attitude of learning and respect and obedience. From my first school, I have used the theory that if I was with the pupils at all play periods and got them to have fun (fair, clean, tiring fun), they would appreciate me enough to obey me and learn during study time. I am sure playing with the children helped, but it didn’t solve all the problems.

At my first school an eighth grade boy enticed a first grade boy to blow a French harp during school. I asked him to come to the front of the room. He refused. When I took hold of him, he grabbed his seat. I took him to the back of the room, took off my belt, and used it. When I got back to my class at the front, I asked him to come up to me. He came, and I explained that we couldn’t learn with disturbances. I had no more trouble at the Hannah School, and we enjoyed learning and playing.

I remember no discipline troubles at the Astor School, but I remember a play accident. Alfred Reppart was accidentally hit with a bat. I had to carry him a half mile to his home. He was back to school the next day.

At the Shady Grove School, my third one, I paddled three sixth grade pupils’ palms because they refused to use the rule which I taught for finding the area of a circle. For a while I thought I might have trouble. The year before, one of their parents had made the teacher, Melvin McClain (a close friend of mine), pay $10 judgment in a Justice of the Peace trial for paddling his child.

Once I had a big husky boy sit on nothing (back up to the wall with his hands loose at his sides and squat into a sitting position). He looked as though he would rebel at any second, but he didn’t. Not long after that, I took him and two other boys with me walking to a Salem College basketball game. (By giving some honor or privilege, I always tried to prove to everyone I punished that I held no hard feelings against him or her.) I also tried to stay extra calm during the punishment by pausing between times (if the punishment was physical) to explain why the student had to be punished. It never took more than three licks for any kind of paddling.

4-H, Life Saving, and Teaching at Camps

When I was at Jarvisville in 1927-1928, I organized a 4-H Club. The members did wonderfully. I went to State 4-H Leaders’ Camp, where I learned crafts and got my Senior Life Saving Certificate. My Life Saving instructors were Brownie Wheeler and Commadore Longfellow. (Commadore Longfellow started life-saving courses for the Red Cross and Boy Scouts.) If they hadn’t been extra good teachers, I wouldn’t have been able to have completed the course in that twelve days.

For ten years, I kept my certificate renewed each three years and taught swimming and life saving at our church camps, as well beginning swimming at Jackson’s Mill one year. I also taught “Recognition of Trees” and “Leather Craft” for our county camp at Jackson’s Mill. Also I went to Clarksburg and took a First Aid Course to Dewey Rosell. I received my instructor’s certificate. In one of my classes at Morris, I was instructing on the control of severe bleeding when one of my big husky men fainted. I had a practical demonstration of recovery from fainting.

My getting to teach beginning swimming at Jackson’s Mill was unique. The head swimming instructor was Jack Ickenberry, whom I had taught to swim in our church camp at Middle Island. He was one of those sinkers but was almost too brave and determined to do whatever I asked. He kept me so worried watching to see if he would come up. I think I never saw anyone so proud as he was when he learned to stay on top–unless it was Lenore and Leonard Williams at Berea, who had the same problem.

Ruth’s Memories of Neighbors and Ashby’s Graduation

The summer Edna Ruth was two years old, we had a family living next to us with four children. The mother was not very healthy. Since we had a Maytag gasoline washer and water handy from a stream close by, she did her washing down here. The oldest girl was about Bond’s age, and they just could not live peaceably. A boy was Edna Ruth’s age. He always went home with a sore head from pulled hair, but he left teeth prints all over her arms.

Wallace and Hazel Burnside

That was so different from the next family who moved in there-Wallace and Hazel Burnside. They had previously lived about a mile up the next hollow. They had two children (Guy and Bernice) the ages of Bond and Xenia Lee; and they loved to play together (along with the younger children). They played together a lot.

When Wallace and Ashby had time, they liked to pitch horseshoes and to target shoot with a 22 rifle. Sometimes one won, and then the other. They loved to hunt, too. As for Hazel and me, we were like sisters. She had no sister, and mine were miles away. We did our canning together (and everything we could). She was not very well, so I would gather things in while she watched the children and got jars ready. Then we worked together. What good times we had!

Musgraves

A family of Musgraves moved into the hollow a mile and one-half from us. He was out of work, so they thought they would get out where they could grow gardens and have a place to keep pigs and chickens. Also, there were good fruit trees and lots of berries on that farm. They lived at the end of the hollow. One other family lived on the way there.

They had always lived in town. She knew very little about country life, but he had been reared on a farm. She did not like it there away from close neighbors (besides, she was pregnant for the seventh time). She was a lot of fun to be with. Their 14-year-old son loved to come down here. He would sweep, mop, or do anything he could. He was really a big help.

I went up there after supper one evening. As I was starting to leave, she had a faint warning. She said, “You are not going now!” In a little while she said, “Children, get to Randolphs”; and she sent Mr. Musgrave to call the doctor. The doctor got there, and we waited. It seemed to me that Mr. Musgrave was doing everything he could to “upset” her. She wanted him to stay with her, but he went to the kitchen to bake some pies.

In due time, a baby girl arrived–the pride and joy of the whole family. Mr. Musgrave said later that he always had to do something to make her mad or she would never have enough spunk to have the baby.

Their son Carroll was a “life saver” for Bond when he started to junior high. Some of Ashby’s school boys who had to do things they did not want to do tried to take it out on Bond. Carroll kept a watchful eye out for him, and they soon learned not to tangle with Carroll.

They later moved near Akron, where Mr. Musgrave ran a restaurant. Whenever any of the family came back to Clarksburg on a visit, they would stop in to see us for a little while. Two of the boys were here a little while just last fall. It is so good to have old friends drop in!

Ashby Graduates

By the summer of 1936, Ashby’s night classes and a summer term or two had paid off. He received his degree in elementary education. We were all there to see him get his diploma.