Alois was a school teacher in Ritchie, Harrison, Braxton and Taylor Counties for 50 years.  He taught mostly in one-room country schools, and wrote an autobiography which gives valuable insight into rural life and schooling in West Virginia in the last quarter of the 19^th century and first half of the 20^th century.

Children of Alois Preston Fitz Randolph and Jennie Mae Sutton, all born in Berea, WV:

1.    Brady Fitz Randolph, born July 28, 1896, married Mary Anna Juergens on August 24, 1918.  He was a graduate of Salem College, teacher, postmaster, International Harvester dealer, Chevrolet dealer, and active in many civic affairs.  Mary was also very active in the community, and was President of several clubs and organizations.

2.    Harold Fitz Randolph, born January 1, 1899, died January 24, 1901 of whooping cough

3.    Ashby Fitz Randolph, born January 24, 1901 (same day Harold died), and died June 19, 1993.   He married Ruth Content Bond in December 1925.  They are my grandparents, and their information is in the section below and their autobiography.

4.    Avis Fitz Randolph, born October 30, 1903, married Archie Roosevelt Swiger on May 31,1928.  Avis wrote an autobiography, the first seven chapters of which are published on this site.

5.    Randal Fitz Randolph, born February 8, 1905, died March 10, 1907

6.    Rev. Elmo Fitz Randolph, born August 31, 1913, married Madeline Watts on September 1, 1937.  They had seven children, six of whom lived to adulthood.  Uncle Elmo wrote about his life in three books, and encouraged me to publish them on the web so they could be broadly available.  The first two books are currently published, and I will publish the third after I have it scanned in.

The chance for schooling was very limited, and Asa never got more than three quarters or nine months of schooling until after he was married. He had a felon (an infected abscess deep in the palm side of his thumb tip) on his right hand which kept his arm in a sling for 18 months. Part of this time he went to school. Later he cut his leg very badly; as soon as he was able to ride, he went to school. He read much and was especially good in figures. In fact, one of his teachers said that he did not need to study arithmetic-he could make one. His interest in education is shown in the fact that of the nine children who grew up, all went to college at least a year, and five have a degree.

Marvel was as much interested in education as Asa, but she did not have as good a chance as he. She could read about like a third grader. She was a very great worker; the only request she made of Asa before they were married was that he would furnish her plenty of work. She was also an excellent manager. There is little doubt that she had much to do with his financial success.

Asa and Marvel were married in the fall of l851 at Washington, Pennsylvania. They eloped!  They lived on the waters of Bone Creek for a while, then on Middle Island until 1857, when they bought the farm on the South Branch of the Hughes River, a mile below Berea, where Alois Preston was born and reared.

Asa operated his father’s tan yard, and had one of his own also.  He was a member of the Ritchie Seventh Day Baptist Church in Berea where he served as an ordained deacon.

Marvel died December 2, 1887 in Berea, WV.  Asa married Mary Hannah Saunders in Alfred, NY on April 16, 1891.  Mary was born in Alfred July 4, 1837 and died there June 11, 1907.

Children of Asa Fitz Randolph and Marvel Maxson, born in Bone Creek, Middle Island or Berea, WV:

• Experience “Perie” Fitz Randolph, born July 10, 1852 in Bone Creek, WV. Perie became a Seventh Day Baptist preacher. She married when she was 35 (1887)to Leon B. Burdick. Both Perie and Leon were graduates of Alfred University, Alfred, NY, and both Seventh Day Baptist ministers. Perie was a teacher as well as being a minister. They had one daughter, Genevieve Burdick, born December 10, 1892 in DeRuyter, NY. She also graduated from Alfred University and married Arthur Loland Penny of West Hampton, Long Island, New York.

• Calphurnia “Callie” Fitz Randolph, born October 21, 1854. Callie married John Meathrell April 18,1882 and spent her life on a farm near Berea. Callie died October 26, 1948. Callie and John had four children:

1.    Julia Eliza Meathrell, born Feb 28, 1883 in New Milton, WV, died June 17, 1964 in Berea

2.    Rupert Richard Meathrell, born June 3, 1884, married Dottie Bee on April 19, 1911.  He was a foreman on the B&O Railroad.

3.    Conza, born June 17, 1886, a high school teacher, died in Salem, WV

4.    Draxie, born March 19, 1888, married Ruben Marion Brissey in 1922

• Emza Fitz Randolph, born June 11, 1857, married Rev. A. W. Coon, Seventh Day Baptist minister in Salem, WV in 1888 and died a few years later without children

• Virgil Fitz Randolph, born February 22, 1860 in Berea, WV. Virgil taught a few years after finishing his PhD at Alfred University, then became a farmer. He married Mary Eloise Yale on February 28, 1894 in Wellsville, NY. Mary was born October 10, 1866 in Wellsville, NY and died Janaury 25, 1930. Virgil died August 28, 1950 in Alfred, NY. Virgil and Mary had a son, Winston Yale Fitz Randolph, born December 10, 1907, who was an engineer, and who married Helen Jaunita Fanton in 1927.

• Ellsworth Fitz Randolph, born August 12, 1862 in Berea, WV.. Ellsworth bought the Hise Davis farm from his father, married Sarah Virginia Stalnaker December 3, 1890. Sarah was born July 21, 1870. They settled down on the farm. He had a fine team of horses and did lots of logging in the winter. While logging for Zeke Bee May 17, 1905, he was accidentally killed. They had one child, Blondie, born November 17, 1900, married Joice Jones in 1927, and who was a school principal in West Virginia.

• Andrew Core Fitz Randolph, born March 10, 1865, died May 14, 1866

• Alva Fitz Randolph, born April 20, 1867, in Berea, WV. A graduate of Alfred University, who married Mary Caroline Hoff on May 3, 1888 in Auburn, VA. Alva graduated from Alfred University and settled down near Alfred. He organized the Allegany County Farm Bureau, was president of it for 15 years, and was also President of the Alfred Farmers’ Co-op Association . Mary died April 19, 1944 and Alva died July 17, 1949 in Alfred. They had five children:  (Is this Jerry Snyder’s farm??)

1.    Fucia, born June 18, 1889 in Berea, a graduate of Alfred University, and a teacher at the Seventh Day Baptist Mission School in Fouke, Arkansas.

2.    Elizabeth, born October 10, 1890 in Alfred, a graduate of Alfred University, a student of Theology at Alfred and Oberlin, Ohio, an ordained Seventh Day Baptist minister and a traveling evangelist.

3.    Lowell, born October 7, 1894 in Alfred and married Fanny Rane September 15, 1921 in Boston.  They worked at Cornell University in Ithaca, NY and had three children: Robert, Jane and Rane.

4.    Florence, born March 4, 1899 in Alfred, married on March 15, 1920 to Eldon Lee of LeRoy, NY, and died September 20, 1927 in Aurora, Colorado

5.    Vida, born June 7, 1903 and married James T. Barrs of Cadwell, GA on September 2, 1931.  Vida received her Bachelor’s degree from Alfred University and Masters at Harvard University.  She worked in a hospital laboratory in Boston.  James received his PhD from Harvard and was the Registrar of Southern Georgia College in Douglas, Georgia.  They had two daughters and a son, names withheld as they are likely living.

• Cleora “Cleo” Fitz Randolph, born September 27, 1869, moved to New York taught for several years, married Eugene “Gene” C. Jordan of Clarksville, NY on May 21, 1903. Eugene died April 11, 1925 and Cleo lived with one of Gene’s sons in Pennsylvania.

• Alois Preston Fitz Randolph, born Sept 7, 1872, married Jennie Mae Sutton in 1895. They are my great-grandparents, more information is in the section below, and the autobiography of Alois is on this web site.

• Felix Fitz Randolph, born April 30, 1875 and died two weeks later on May 13, 1875

• Delvinus “Delvia” Fitz Randolph, born May 13, 1876 in Berea, WV. He graduated from Alfred University, married Henrietta Short of Elmira, NY in Elmira in 1904, and moved to California for her health. In 1950 he was retired and living with his second wife, first name Marie. He died November 4, 1958. Delvia and Henrietta had two children:

1.    Dorothy, born August 21, 1905 in Rochester, NY

2.    Beach, born July 5, 1908 and married in 1934

Doctor John was much better educated than most of those of his day. He was a stone mason and helped build the Pike through Salem. He practiced medicine without any special preparation, so was called Doctor John. He was reported to have had a very keen mind, but was very self-willed.

One anecdote about him – he went to a revival meeting in Bristol. A girl who had worked for him for years went down the aisle shouting her best, and he called to her, “Where are you going, Bet?” She replied, “To heaven, I hope.” Just then she reached a young man who had been going with her and threw herself into his arms. Doctor John said, “You have got there now, Bet!”

Salem College was built partly on his old farm.  The SDB Cemetery at Salem was on land given by him, and he carved some of the tombstones there.  He was a lifelong member of the Salem Seventh Day Baptist Church.

Children of John LaForge Fitz Randolph and Experience Brown, all born in Salem, WV:

1.          Lewis Fitz Randolph, born March 12, 1830, died July 6, 1839 of scarlet fever

2.          Delilah Ann Fitz Randolph, born December 11, 1830, first marriage to Sylvester Hughes in 1846

3.          Asa Fitz Randolph, born Feb 15, 1833, first marriage to Marvel Maxson in 1851

4.          Tacy Jane Fitz Randolph, born 1838, married Jeremiah Bee

5.          child who died young

6.          child who died young

Asa was my ancestor.

Children of John LaForge Fitz Randolph and Annette Maxson, all born in Salem, WV:

7.          James Fitz Randolph, born April 10, 1850, first marriage to Emily J. Sutton in 1870

8.          Mary Jane Fitz Randolph, born February 4, 1852, died July 30, 1925

9.          Nancy Cornelia Fitz Randolph, died age 3 months

10.      Rev. Guideon Henry Fitz Randolph, born August 5, 1855 and married Lucy Jane Green in 1884.  He was a Missionary to China about 1890.  Two of his sons were Seventh Day Baptist ministers: John was pastor at Berea, West Virginia around 1950; and Wardner was a missionary in Jamaica, British West Indies around 1950.

11.      Cecelian Annette Fitz Randolph, born October 23, 1859, died October 24, 1950 in Harrisonville, WV and buried in Pine Grove Cemetery, Berea, WV

Children of John LaForge Fitz Randolph and Bathseba Skinner, all born in Salem, WV:

12.      Joel Fitz Randolph, born August 16, 1861, first marriage to Ella Davis in 1861.  Chief of Police of Salem, WV for many years.

13.      Thomas Burns Fitz Randolph, born January 26, 1863, married Estelle Garrett in 1890

14.      Stephen Davis Fitz Randolph, born July 29, 1864, married Mary Elendor Hurst in 1889

15.      Ruth Fitz Randolph, born April 6, 1872, married John S. Hurst in 1893

Jesse was a teenager when his family moved to Salem, West Virginia.  Salem was on the stage coach line to the Ohio River, and Jesse kept a tavern that was a popular stage coach stop.  He was a lifelong member of the Salem Seventh Day Baptist Church, and is buried in the churchyard.

Children of Jesse Fitz Randolph and Delilah LaForge Fitz Randolph, all born in Salem, WV:

1.          Samuel Fitz Randolph, born 1799, married Zipporah Davis in 1818

2.          John LaForge Fitz Randolph, born October 23, 1802, married 1) Experience Brown

3.          Margaret Fitz Randolph, married George Williams in 1823

4.          Sarah Fitz Randolph

5.          David Fitz Randolph, born 1895, twin, died young

6.          Jonathan Fitz Randolph, born 1805, twin, married Jane Maxson in 1827 (Jonathan’s son Jesse b 1/29/1841 was the first President of the Salem College Board of Directors, serving in that capacity from 1888-1892 and again from 1894 – 1906.  He served on the board from 1888 – 1918.  He died in 1928 and is buried in the Salem Seventh Day Baptist churchyard.)

Child #2, John LaForge Fitz Randolph, is my ancestor.

Children of Jesse Fitz Randolph and Elizabeth Gillis Fitz Randolph, all born in Salem, WV:

7.          Elizabeth Fitz Randolph, born 1827, married Rev. Samuel D. Davis in 1862

8.          Mary Fitz Randolph, married Amaziah Flint

9.          Alexander Fitz Randolph, died young

10.      Nancy Fitz Randolph, born August 12, 1830, married Randolph Davis

11.      Lloyd Fitz Randolph, born April 14, 1833, married Elizabeth Davis in 1858

We know these facts about Samuel:

• He was an officer in the War of the Revolution, mustering in on May 16, 1777 as an Ensign in the Company of Militia, Second Regiment, Sussex County, New Jersey. His descendents are entitled to membership in DAR/SAR.
• He purchased 300 acres of land in Yellow Creek, Armstrong Township, Westmoreland County, Pennsylvania April 16, 1785
• He moved to Fayette County, PA between Nov 21, 1785 and Nov 26, 1790
• He purchased over 800 acres of land Nov 21, 1795 from Robert Martin
• He purchased 256 acres of land in Harrison County, WV (where the present town of Salem was laid out) on Nov 26, 1790 from Catherine Swearingen for the sum of 132 pounds, 10 shillings, 5 pence Virginia money
• He moved to Salem after May 10, 1792

Children of Samuel and Margaret, all born in Piscataway, NJ:

1.          Mary Fitz Randolph, born October 16, 1761, married James Hill in 1795

2.          Sarah Fitz Randolph, born November 8, 1763, married 1) Daniel Sharpneck, 2)John Rice, 3) George Murdock

3.          Elizabeth Fitz Randolph, born May 13, 1766, married William Brand

4.          Jesse Fitz Randolph, born May 21, 1768, married 1) Delilah LaForge, 2) Elizabeth Gillis

5.          David Fitz Randolph, born June 23, 1770, married 1) Mary Richardson

6.          Rhulanah Fitz Randolph, born March 13, 1773, married John Bonnell

7.          Jonathan Fitz Randolph, born May 20, 1775, married Mary Davis in 1798

8.          Margaret Fitz Randolph, born February 4, 1777, married William Clayton in 1798

9.          Nancy Fitz Randolph, born February 19, 1781, married Stephen C. Davis

Their fourth child, Jesse, is my ancestor.

The first kids came in February when it was very cold. One evening I found a litter. One of them was so cold that it couldn’t get up; so I took it to the house, warmed it up, and finally got it to take a little milk. This got it on its feet, and I took it to its mother. In the morning it was again frozen. After warming it up and giving it some milk, I took it to its mother. It was all right then. There were five kids. I gave the two billies away, which left me five nannies.

We kept the goats staked out when we first got them. In the spring of 1942 I hired a woven wire fence put around a five-acre field for my goats, where we kept them and their progeny for over three years. I also kept the cows in this field part of the time. I let the doe kids run with their mothers, but the billies I gave to the neighbor children for the first two years. Then I began to charge a small price for them. I sold a few doe kids while they were small and some grown goats.

When I had had the goats about four years, I decided to sell them and get a couple pure-bred does of a fine milking strain. I found I had nine does to sell. I paid $20 for the two does and $15 for a buck. While we raised the goats, we ate three bucks (they were fine), sold a pair for $2, one doe and her two young does for $10, and two old goats for $15. I got $55 for the last nine does. Altogether I got $82 for the initial $35 investment. The goats cleaned up a five-acre field of filth, and we had all the milk and butter we needed so we could give the milk from the cows to the hogs and sell the cream. This gave us a cash income from the farm for Mamma, and we could raise two or three fine hogs a year.

I was very much interested in raising goats, but Elmo was very anxious for us to come to Wisconsin for a while. We decided to go there for the winter, then come back to the farm, buy our goats, and farm for ten more years. But as so often happens when you postpone anything, we never got our goats.

Another thing I liked very much about the goats, especially the kids, was to see them play. They would chase each other all over the field. One would jump on a tall stump. Then another one would jump up and butt it off. Then two more would butt that one off, and so it would go. They would climb onto a stump five or six feet high and then jump as far as they could. They sure are lively little animals.

A billy sometimes learns to butt if he is teased and can be very unpleasant if he makes a square hit when you are thinking of some other things. You must learn to take the bitter with the sweet (this is up-to-date philosophy and should be taken with a little water, if handy, but taken any way).

I think every one can see that I only gave up the goats to get better ones, and old age got me. I just got the farm 10 years (or 20) too late. Why should I worry about that? I have had a very good life and enjoyed the 17 years I was on the farm- every bit of it. If we could have remained able to have worked on the farm for ten more years, it would have been so nice; we would have enjoyed it very much.

Cows We Owned: About 1942 I had three cows. They did not give the milk they should, and one of them was an awful kicker-in fact, she was a killer. I sold her and bought a two-year-old of Ed Davis for $40-which proved to be a fine cow and a good bargain. I had to sell the others as they got garget.

In the spring of 1944 I went to a sale to buy a good cow. The dairy I had hoped to buy from had been sold. We met a man from Lewis County who said he had two good cows for sale. We went there as we came back, and I bought a three-year-old jersey cow with a heifer calf sired by a pure-bred Guernsey for $100. This was about as good a buy as I ever made.

I kept the calf till it was a cow and sold it for $150. The cow was a very fine milker and more than paid her way. After we left the farm we sold her to Olta for $125. I also sold another of her calves for $15. I sold the Ed Davis cow for $100 and three of her calves (one when it was two years old) for $80. So you see I did very well with her as she was a fine milker and her milk was very rich.

Olta and Ira took my stock to market, eggs and produce to town, and brought our feed and groceries (of course, we paid them). This was a great help to us and helped them, too.

Friends on Bug Ridge

Charley Watts and his father moved back to the farm in 1942. Two of his boys, Zeno and Freddie, came to me for three years till Zeno went to high school. Freddie went to me four years. I was very glad to see Mr. Watts, but I could see that he was getting feeble. He was out to see us two or three times. Charley brought him and the family out in his car, and we went out to see them several times. In the late winter of 1943 the old man took a severe cold, from which he didn’t seem to rally very well. Then one night he had a stroke, from which he never rallied.

So passed a very hard working man and a good friend of mine. So passed the third good old friend of mine on Bug Ridge-Uncle Daniel Huffman, Mr. Garrison, and Mr. Watts. Mr. Watts was the oldest, being 90 years old. The others were past 80. Uncle Daniel was my nearest neighbor and one of the best friends on the Ridge.

In our younger days we make friends; as we grow older they pass away one by one. In our old age, there are few left. And if, as I have done, you move when you are old, you have no friends at all. I am glad that I can be with some of my children and see the others every once in a while. I should not complain. I have had many friends and some close ones in several places. My rule has been: “Be true to a friend always.”

When I began teaching, almost anyone who could answer the questions asked by the Board of Examination could get to teach-in fact, if they could answer three out of four. Often there was much cheating so that many teachers could not work fairly simple problems in arithmetic and knew nothing about history. I remember well in my first exam that one question was, “How many teeth has an adult?” A young fellow asked the examiner, “What is an adult?” The reply was, “What do you think it is?” The boy replied, “I wasn’t sure, but I thought maybe it was a sick person.” I am glad to say he did not get a grade.

At the time I began teaching, there were no teachers in Ritchie County with a degree except the principal of a large high school. I doubt if there were any, or very few, teaching in the rural schools who were high school graduates. The rural schools were all one-room schools. In fact, they didn’t begin to consolidate schools and haul the children in buses for 30 years. How many of the teachers now are not only high school and normal graduates, but have a degree!

The salary for a First Grade was seldom over $30 per month for a term of four months. When in 1903 they increased the school term to five months, they cut the salary to $23 per month. After paying your board, you had less than $100 for five months’ teaching. You ask why any one would teach for that? The answer is easy-there was no work you could get during the bad winter months, and it was an honor to be a teacher. When school was out, you could raise a crop or get a job on a farm (farming was about the only work to be had in the rural sections). Your school gave you a little cash, for money was scarce.

After World War I teachers’ wages were raised to $108 per month, which seemed like a princely wage. But this did not equal the wages paid in factories. Many teachers went to the cities, and there was trouble to get teachers in many sections. They had to take boys and girls without any preparation who did not intend to make it a life work but merely wanted to make some easy money, not caring whether the children learned anything or not.

I will tell a story one teacher told me. She passed a school house early in the fall, about 1:30 p.m. The teacher had on a man’s white shirt and a pair of slacks, with her feet on the desk, leaning back against the wall sound asleep. Probably she was happy!

The wages in Union District, Ritchie County, were always low until the county was made a school unit and a minimum wage was set in 1919. The towns had paid much higher wages, but this law did away with independent districts, which pleased me for I hated for them to feel that they could laud it over us rural teachers.

Stories Told by County Superintendents: I will tell a few stories told by county superintendents. There was a time when there was a blank space after each name on the register for the teacher to make remarks about the pupil. One teacher wrote, “Kissed the teacher three times.” After another name was written, “The prettiest girl in school.” The same superintendent read us a report from one teacher of an attendance of 200% (this was better than I ever could do). All of this shows that many teachers were lacking in education, judgment, and good common sense,

Another superintendent told me of visiting a school which showed lack of order and any sign of teaching ability. All at once a big boy in the back of the house yelled out, “Gobbler,” (the teacher’s name was Garber) “what time is it?” After school was out, the teacher said he was going into something that would pay him better than teaching. The superintendent told him that was the thing to do.

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.

Poplar Ridge School: The school was ten miles from Sutton on the road to Centralia. Before I went up there, Brady said to me, “Dad, it’s a little school. You be real good to them, and you will get to teach it for years.” I went up there Sunday afternoon and found a house 22 ft. by 13 ft., not fit to keep chickens in. The seats were dilapidated, some broken down, others loose so they reeled back and forth, while some were fairly good. There were not nearly enough chairs for the children. The children told me later that they had been in the habit of running back and forth over the tops of the seats at noon and recess.

When I rang the bell Monday at 9 a.m., the children came running in like rabbits from a broom sedge field. They filled up the seats, two and three to a seat, and I started to classify them. I found two girls in the seventh grade, which was the highest grade the first winter. One of the girls would talk, but the other one would merely grin. I asked them if they could add, subtract, multiply and divide. The one said, “Yes, we can.” I told them to go to the board and gave them a fair-sized problem in addition. I stopped them when they began to count. The third time I stopped them, they said that was all they could do. I stepped to the board and showed them how to add. They said they couldn’t do it that way. I asked if any of the sixth or fifth grade could, and they said, “No.” Then I asked if any of the others could, and a third grade girl held up her hand. I called her up, and she could add very well. I asked her where she learned, and she said her mother taught her. She was a bright girl, and I had hopes for her. But her mother died that winter and her father was no good, so she had no chance.

After finding the girls couldn’t add, I tried them in subtraction. They could not borrow; they did not know the multiplication table; they could not divide. So I took them back and taught them the fundamentals. We got to the sixth grade at the end of the term. After about two months of the second term I told the girls if they would finish the sixth grade and half the seventh grade by the end of the term I would promote them so they could get their diplomas next year. Ada spoke up (she was the one who would talk) and said, “We ought to, Mr. Randolph. We did the second, third, fourth, and fifth last year; so we ought to do the sixth and seventh this year,” and they did.

After I had finished giving the seventh grade their assignments, I called up the other grades to find the most of them wouldn’t talk and were way behind in their grades.

Among the first graders was a boy of 11 who sat with his sister of 13, a nice bright girl. He did not come up with the other children, so I went back and talked to him at his seat. The same thing happened each time I called the class that day. The next day after the class recited, I went back and told him he must come up and recite. When I took hold of him to lead him up to class, he grabbed his sister’s waist. If I had tried to pull him loose, I would have torn her waist off. I told him he must let loose, and his sister took his hands loose. I took him up and heard him recite. He never came up to recite with the class all winter. When I called the class he was in, he would sit still. After they recited, I would call him. He would look in every direction, taking long, high steps as if he expected something to get him.

This boy lived in a deep hollow away from any road and didn’t see anybody. In fact, most of the people lived off the road in the head of some hollow. When I told Brady that I had 59 pupils, he said it was impossible. He had been along all the roads up there, and there were no houses up there. Then he asked, “Where do they come from?” My answer was, “From the head of every hollow, from every red brush patch, and from every broom sedge patch.” I wondered for a while as to why they built in the heads of the hollows. Then I thought of the reason. It was to get water without digging wells. I think that living in the hollows and hardly ever seeing anyone had much to do with their being like scared rabbits.

There were several families who were so poor that the children seldom had any shoes to wear and never went to school in the winter-just a little while in the fall. Several of them gloried in saying, “I’m too poor to send my children to school.” Oh, how I would have liked to kick them soundly!

These are mountain people who are very loyal to their friends but are bitter enemies. They had but little education (some could neither read nor write) and had been having very poor schools. The patrons and children had no interest in school. No one had ever gotten an eighth grade diploma. No one had ever received a certificate for attendance nor a report card. So there was not much reason for them to be interested in school.

There had been some lively times up there. The county superintendent (Mr. Golden) told me he sent the nicest kind of a little girl up there, and they took her out and set her down in a mud hole. I asked him why they didn’t take me out and put me down in a mud hole. He said he didn’t know. I did; they got the idea that I would skin them alive. Then I got them interested in learning, and I treated them nice so they were my friends. In fact, only two families got mad at me. One of these men died the second winter I taught, and I had the friendship of the family the rest of the time. The other one said the third winter I taught that I was all right and he would carry a petition around for me to teach the next winter if someone would write it. So you see, I had the good will of everybody when I left.

As would be natural in a backwoods place like this, there were several who were dull and came to school but little, and I could not interest them in education. But there were many bright children there. I could never have made a success of this school if I had not gotten them interested not only in getting a diploma from the eighth grade but also in going ahead to high school. But more of this later,

One of the large girls had caused a lot of trouble in school in the past. In fact, one evening as soon as school was out, she jumped on another girl, broke her glasses and beat up on her. She made her say “Enough” twice so the teacher would be sure to hear her; the teacher was a young man and never did anything about it. This girl started to school the second month I taught. One day I saw her write a note and start to pass it. I went back where she sat and just held out my hand without saying a word. She looked at me, and I continued to hold out my hand. She put the note in it, and I went back to the desk. I never said a word about it, for it was just a joke; but she expected a whipping every day for weeks. She never gave a bit of trouble.

It was a cold winter with deep snows. The school is on a high hill, so there was no ice to skate on. The children would fix a slick place and slide on it. They would run into each other and fall in the snow and get wet and cold. I told them they must go one at a time and not pile up in the snow. They just wouldn’t pay attention, so I told them they must not slide any more.

When I went after coal in the evening, I found they had made a slide and had been sliding. I told them that the juvenile judge of Denver was telling about having a Snitching Bee (that is, they were to tell on themselves), and that I would give those who were sliding till school time next morning to come and tell me about it. One of the big boys said to his chum, “Shall we own up?” The other said, “We had just as well. He will find out any way.”

Another boy told me he didn’t skate but he helped some of the others. In a few minutes he came back and said, “I lied to you, teacher; I did skate.” I asked him why he lied, and he said he thought maybe he could get out of it but he had decided I would find out.

Some of them tried to get out by denying it, but there was too much evidence against them. So I told about six or eight of them that they could not play any for a given time. This made Burb Skidmore very angry, for he said they lied on his boys. He never forgave me, but after his death his wife and children were good friends of mine.

A couple of boys were out for four weeks with whooping cough. When they came back, they brought third readers instead of second readers. I told the boys that I could not promote them as I had not promoted those who had been there all the time. This made their father mad, and he kept the boys at home the rest of the school. Two years later he got in a good humor and was as good a friend as I had up there, for which I was very thankful.

After I had taught a few weeks, I saw that the children had no place to go. I proposed that we have a spelling race some night. Ada spoke up (she was the seventh grade girl who would talk) and said, “‘We can’t do it, Mr. Randolph. They would come here drunk and break it up.” “Oh, I reckon they wouldn’t,” I replied. “Yes, they would,” she said. Then I said very firmly, “No, they won’t, and we will have a spelling race,”-and we did. After that we could have a program, singing or anything without any interruption in the house.

The school house, as I have mentioned before, was no good. When the wind blew, it would heave the west wall in, and the wind would come howling in. There was a hole in the floor a 12-year-old girl could put her foot through. They promised to furnish flooring to put over the old one, but Sell Skidmore, secretary of the board, got them not to furnish it. I had a better plan, so I let it go and kept the children warm by staying by the fire a lot in cold weather. About the middle of the winter I proposed we get a new school house.

They said it was no use as they had tried several times. I told them we could not only get a house, but a two-room house. I drew up a petition with a space for them to give the number of children of school age and another one to put down the number under school age. There proved to be over 80 of school age and about 30 under age. So we got a new house with two rooms, but a very poor one.

They got up a petition for me to teach the next winter, and everyone signed it but the two I mentioned before. Several of the patrons went down and forced them to give it to me after part of the board tried to slip in another teacher.

My Last Summer in Salem: The spring of 1926 I went back to Salem and spent the summer there, which was the last time I spent any time to amount to anything in Salem. I can remember but little about that summer, what I did, who I worked for, or if I got much work. I only know that I spent the summer at Salem and went back to Poplar Ridge to teach that winter.

Back to Poplar Ridge School: We had two rooms, and Miss Edna Barker was my assistant. I met her first at the Teachers’ Institute, which I believe was our last institute. I found her a fine girl, a good teacher and nice to work with. We both boarded at Dave Hosey’s, where I boarded the first winter. Things went nicely this winter. We had a new family, the Halls, with two girls in the eighth grade. The girls both got diplomas, which were the first ever received there.

Debate over Supplementary Readers: This winter I had trouble with the board of education over supplementary readers. They claimed I was teaching them and neglecting the text books. My pupils signed a statement that I had not heard a single class in any books but the regular text books. They, the board, also claimed it cost the patrons too much to buy the extra books, so I told them I was paying for the books myself. When Brady handed in my reply, one of the board members said it was a lie, that he knew that I had been hearing classes in those wicked books. Brady told him he thought he should be careful about calling all the larger scholars liars. After thinking a minute he said, “Maybe it was the other teacher.” When Brady told them I was paying for the books, he said, “That’s a lie. He only paid the postage on them.” Brady replied, “Dad says he paid for them, and he did.” Then he said, “Maybe it was last year I was thinking about.’

Some of the children took the books home when school was out instead of giving them back to me. One of them offered to sell the one he kept to Miss Barker for 55 cents. She asked me if that was a fair price. I told her, “No.” When I found who had it, I told her it was my book and she could have it for 35 cents. (It cost 70 cents.) I told her to tell him I said it was my book, and I sold it to her. When I told the school I was going to buy the books and loan them to the third grade, Ada spoke right up and said, “Mr. Randolph, you are too smart for them after all.” Ada was a very fine girl and a great friend of mine.

We had a very fine program at Christmas time. I helped in several of them. Several of the parents and young folks out of school helped. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves very much.

They got up a petition, and everyone signed for me to teach again. This time there was no trouble about my getting the school.

Summer at Brady’s: This summer I spent at Brady’s. I took care of a 2400 egg incubator, raised 400 white leghorns, also a very fine pig and a half acre of potatoes. The potatoes were not a success. Although I sprayed them four times, they blighted before they matured. The pig was hard to beat. I also trap nested a flock of Rhode Island Reds. Ten of these laid over 200 eggs each, and one laid 242, which was very good at that time. One of the Red pullets laid her first egg at 4 months and 24 days. We had raised these Reds by the all-mash formula, which we found started them to laying before they were of proper size. So we never tried this play again.

The Next School Year at Poplar Ridge: Again Miss Barker and I boarded at Dave Hosey’s. I got along very well with them, but Miss Barker had a lot of trouble with them. I think they thought Charlie (their boy) was paying too much attention to her. She told me she thought of him as a kid brother. They went to a dance one night together, and Dave’s [family] never forgave her. They told the neighbor they would never board her again, but they would board me. Dave went to the board and got them not to hire her again.

We had two programs this year. The first was at Thanksgiving, and the second was at Christmas. The second was very good. Two of the patrons had growled about our having them, so we had the last one to show them we could. One of the growlers was an old man of about 72 who had 6 children in school. When I asked him how he liked it, he said, “It was fine, just fine.” He was just tickled skinny. So many people will rave about what they know nothing about and will make no effort to find out about.

This was my third winter on Poplar Ridge. This spring Ada and Gladys Hosey received eighth grade diplomas, but neither of these went to high school. Later I will give an account of several who not only went to high school but got their diplomas.