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Chapter 13 – Elmo Born, Moving to Salem

When I got home July 29, 1913, from writing insurance, I found Jennie sick and the doctor and some women there. Sunday morning we sent for Dr. Goff, and Sunday afternoon Goff asked for the doctor from Auburn, which we got at once. At 6 p.m. Sunday Elmo was born. He weighed 4 pounds dressed, and he was so small that I laid him down flat in a shoe box that rubber shoes had come in. The doctors told the women that they didn’t expect the mother nor babe to live.

For two weeks Jennie took only a little water off slippery elm, buttermilk and sucked the juice from melons (watermelons), and for several days she could not swallow any water. At the end of two weeks on Sabbath morn her feet began to get cold. We put hot blankets on her, but a cold clammy sweat stood on her. By evening she was cold to her knees. The doctor was out of town. We watched for him and got some alcohol, which we put in a pan with hot water and rubbed her feet and legs. She said the first they rubbed her, she felt it go to the end of her fingers. She got warm in a little while and felt so good that she thought she could drink some chicken broth. She got better ever after that. When Cynthia Collins killed a young chicken and brought her up some soup that night, she drank a half teacup of it and said it tasted good. She ate some juices, etc. from that time on.

How about the little boy? Sarah and Draxie asked the doctor what they should feed him, and the doctor said give him a drop or two of milk, if anything. They let him lie till Monday evening, when they said it was a shame to not give him anything to eat. So they prepared some Eskey Baby Food, which we had ordered for Jennie but she couldn’t take it. The little chap took a bottle full and went to sleep. In one week he had gained five ounces. He continued to gain at that rate until they failed to have his brand and sent Nestles; this made him sick at once. Before we could get Eskey’s, five days later, he had lost three ounces; but he gained this back and five more ounces in a week. The whooping cough was very thick in Berea, and Elmo (that is what we decided to call him) got it several times (which one would think was tough on one little boy) but he came through without having it at all. After we had been at Salem some time, the women told Jennie that they felt so sorry for her when she first came for they were sure the baby would live but a short time. Jennie kept on improving; she was able to sit up a little after about three weeks. It was over a month before she could begin to walk.

Another Incident with Mike Jett’s Family: Mike Jett had a cat that was killing our young chickens, and I tried to kill it. One of the girls went down to Mike’s shop to get Ivy to come up and get me. I didn’t know it, but Jennie was sitting by the window listening to all that was said-enjoying it, too. They got water from our well, and the children stole every thing they could get their hands on. After she had sworn that if I killed the cat I’d lose lots more, I told her for all of them to stay on the other side of the fence. She finally called me a liar. I ran to the fence and started to climb over when Ivy headed for the house in haste. I was afraid Jennie might be excited, so I went to the house. She was still laughing and said it was the funniest thing she ever saw. I was glad she enjoyed it.

Gangs in Berea-Our Decision to Move to Salem

I told some of the better folks in Berea if they would help me we would break up some of the rowdying of a lot of the boys and girls in Berea. But no one seemed to be willing to help. Every time Ashby was out after dark, they would yell at him and rock him so that I was afraid for him to be out by himself. When Brady came home for Thanksgiving, five boys of Brady’s age followed him and Ashby on their way to church on Slab, where I was teaching, and rocked them and tried to take their lantern away from them; but Brady backed them off. Some of the boys had clubs, and some had open knives. As I came back with them, they were not bothered. This, with other things, made me so mad that I decided to move to Salem in the spring.

When John Meredith heard I was leaving, he came to me and said, “Pressie, don’t do it. Stay here, and I will back my back up against your back, and all hell can’t prevail against us.” I told him I had offered to help clean the dirty mess out, but no one seemed interested; so I was going to Salem. That is why we moved to Salem and left our friends and home behind, and I have never regretted it. The move opened up a new life for my family, and they all had a chance for an education such as we never had. We did not foresee the things which would happen-some of which would be good and some bad.

My school on Slab was not a complete success as there was one family that did everything they could to give me trouble (and they gave me plenty). But I came out okay.

Chapter 12 – More Teaching Experiences in Ritchie County

The next summer after I taught at Auburn, I taught at Berea. My school was small and did not pay me well, but I had a very nice time. They learned well and had good success getting certificates.

I will continue with my teaching work until I left Ritchie. The fall of 1910 there was an effort made, in an underhand way, to keep me from getting the school at Berea; but I got it and taught a fairly successful school in spite of all a few dirty meddlers could do. I decided when school was out that I would not try for it again, so I got the Sunny Point school on Turtle Run. Conza asked me before the Board met if I was asking for the Berea school, and I told her “No.” Then she said she would try for it. I told her to pitch in. Ell Douglas was on the Board, and he got them to delay hiring the Berea teachers until September in hopes the girls would get schools elsewhere or he could get someone else. Two of the Board members told Conza and Draxie, after the meeting was out, that they should have the school. The opposition made a great effort to get someone else to teach it, but failed.

One night John Meredith (one of my best friends) came up to see me. This was while Jennie was in Colorado, and I was alone. We talked for some time when all at once John said, “Pressie, can’t we get you to teach our school this winter?” My reply was, “No, John, you can’t.” We talked on a while, and again John spoke up, “Pressie, isn’t there some way we can coax you to teach our school?” My reply was “No, John, there isn’t.” After talking for some time longer, John spoke up for the third time, “Pressie, isn’t there some way we can force you to teach our school?” My reply again was “No, John, there isn’t.” He soon went home, and I was happy; I knew Douglas had sent him although he had gotten mad early in the spring when one of the patrons had asked him to give me the school. So it tickled me to say, “No.” Oh, it was fun!

An Incident at Berea: I will now tell a funny incident (some might not think it very funny) that happened the last winter I taught at Berea. Barnard Bee had been using bad talk at school, and Draxie had him wash his mouth with asafetida. This raised an awful fuss, and they had Zeke summoned before the Grand Jury. He came to the school house and told us about it. He said he didn’t want to go as he had no fuss to raise about what she did to the boy. We told him to go ahead; it was all right with us.

The next day we went out to town. We went into the clerk’s office, had ourselves summoned before the jury, sworn, and then waited to be called in. When they called me in, the foreman asked me if I knew what I was summoned for. My reply was, “Maybe I do and maybe I don’t.” He then asked me what I knew. My reply was, “A little of nothing and not much of anything.” He then asked me about the trouble in school. He was smart and thought he was very smart. The first question he asked after that was, “What is your business?” My reply was, “I take the place of the parents.” I saw several old teachers on the jury, and I knew we were okay.

When he said, “Don’t you know that no one but a practicing physician has a right to give medicine?” I shot right back at him, “Yea, if you go home tonight and one of your children has the bellyache, you wouldn’t dare to give him a dose of castor oil?” “That’s different,” he said. A half dozen said, “No, that’s the same.” I knew we had won. The foreman came out a little later, and we told him we had another witness. He said they didn’t need it; for us to just go on home and teach our schools. This was all done by a bunch of trouble makers and ended as such things usually do.

Draxie and Mike Jett: Draxie also had trouble with Mike Jett. He got mad because she kept Witt in at recess. When recess came, they sent for Witt to come home and then sent him back on the playground to play. Draxie saw him out there playing, so she went and got him. I went up to the house to get a drink. While I was gone, Mike went to the school house, cursed Draxie and took Witt away. I stopped in the lower room when I came back and heard John Bee, John Waggoner and Draxie talking about it. When they said he cursed Draxie, I said I would have him arrested and proceeded to call the squire at Harrisville. He said he would be out as soon as the weather was fit and get him.

As soon as Mike heard about it, he wanted to settle it, so they agreed to meet at our house Sabbath evening. Mike and Ivy and Conza and Draxie came. I told them it was all right with me any way they settled it, if it was satisfactory with the squire; for it was in his hands. Draxie agreed if he would come to school Monday morning and apologize for what he had done, it would settle it with her. Mike thought it was all settled, so he never came about.

A few days later the squire called up and said it could not be settled out of court, but that he would try the case himself. Mike came to Draxie again, when he heard the squire was coming. He told her he couldn’t talk in public. She told him he seemed to be able to talk when he came after Witt. The weather stayed too bad for the squire to come, so Mike was indicted by the same jury we were before. He paid a fine of $25, which was more than I would like to pay for the privilege of cursing a school teacher.

Trouble for Brady and Clee Wagoner: I taught the Sunny Point school two years and had a very nice time. Conza had a hard time with her school; the children were mean and the people meddled. The next winter they got a big man by the name of Alender, who worked for Tom Jackson for a while before school, so they had a chance to tell him how mean Brady and Clee Wagoner were. The boys complained to me that they didn’t get a fair show. I knew this was so, but I told them to wait and he would find out how it was.

There got to be too much courting in school, and we told the boys some of the girls would got jealous and then there would be trouble. Some of the kids in the neighborhood would come in and say, “We are having a good school this winter,” in a hateful tone. Of course, this made us mad, but we didn’t say a word.

All at once word got around that Clee had used vile talk to John Prunty’s girl, and he had taken her out of school. Alender went to see about it, and John said it was not so. When Alender told the member of the board (Ell Douglas) that he found no basis for the charge, Douglas said it was so and he had to investigate it. The girl said it was so; Clee denied it; the girl’s seatmate said she did not hear it; and Brady, who was sitting right by, said Clee did not say it. Alender said she had not proved her case so she must apologize. She refused to do this, so he turned her out. This raised an awful stink and more charges against Clee. Alender failed to find any proof and told them so.

The next Friday noon the Board and 25 to 50 people came in. Alender took up school and went to hearing classes. Then one of the board got up and asked if he might say a word. Alender said, “Speak on.” He (the board member) said they had been sent for to come down there. Alender said he knew nothing about it, for he had received no notice. The member said he knew that was so, for they didn’t know what it was about.

After some talk it was found out that Alender was accused of being partial for not getting Clee for what they called immoral conduct. They said they intended to protect their girls (three of the accusers were the most immoral men in town) and get rid of the vipers like Clee. Alender offered if the crowd would leave that the board could inquire of the scholars and find out the truth. One of the crowd jumped up and said, “I am a taxpayer, and I came here to see that justice is done, and I am going to stay and see that it is.” The board said if that was the way they felt, there could be no trial till written charges were filed and Alender was notified of charges and date. So they fixed the date two weeks off and went home.

The crowd was mad, for they hoped to get Alender and Clee both put out of school. They were mad at Alender because he would not kick Clee and Brady out of school. If they had gotten Clee put out, they would have soon patched up some lie on Brady and kicked him out too. This crowd (not all of Berea by a good deal) was mad at Al Wagoner and me and wanted to ruin us. There was a lot of blowing done, and John Meredith told them there was nothing to it. They replied, “John, don’t you believe in protecting our girls?” John told them it was just a plot to ruin the boys and that there was nothing to it. This didn’t suit some of them very well, but John didn’t care a cent how they liked it.

When the board met, there was a big crowd there again anxious to get Clee and Alender. They had charged Alender with partiality on ten counts-nine for not investigating charges against Clee and one for expelling a girl. When the case came up, Alender proved that he had tried every case but one and had no proof and that they gave him no chance to try that one. The board ruled that the teacher was not guilty, but they reinstated the girl. If Clee was to be tried, they would have to bring charges against him and set another date. Clee told them he had to quit school and go to carrying the mail, so they dropped his case.

I may have cause to mention Clee again, but I will say right here that he graduated from Salem College with a fine name, took a course in agriculture, married a fine girl (her mother was a daughter of George Randolph). The last I knew, he was teaching in high school. In fact, he has done better than any of those that tried to ruin him back in Berea.

Some of the folks tried to get Minter Fox to whip Alender and went to see what Fred thought about their chance. Fred told them Alender would whip them both before any one could pull him off of them; so they didn’t try it. The Brakes, Jacksons, Collins and Douglases went to another school by consent of the board, which left the Berea school very small. Douglas kept his girl at home for a few days, which cost him about $12. This was the best lesson Berea ever had. Since then most anybody could teach the Berea school. So you see that good can still come out of evil.

The next spring Wagoners moved to Harrisville, which took away one of my best friends.

Experiences as Fire Insurance Agent

In the spring of 1911 I got a job of writing fire insurance for the Safe Insurance Company of Harrisville, which I followed for three summers. I was quite successful; I cleared an average of $2 a day, which at that time was good wages. I wrote in Gilmer, Tyler, Ritchie, Wood, Doddridge and Harrison counties. I enjoyed the work very much. But once in a while it looked as if some would get insurance and then cash in on it, if they got too much insurance. I tried to be careful and did not have many fires.

There was a man in Gilmer by the name of Wagoner who had a fine house. I tried hard to get him to write insurance, but he told me that he built the house himself and he knew there was no danger of its burning, so I gave him up. A few months later I passed through a village not far from his home. A friend came out and told me he had some insurance for me. He told me that Wagoner had had a fire, and he said he would write insurance with the first insurance agent who came along. I found it was in a room where ceiling paper had been used instead of lumber to seal overhead. A small boy found the fire. When the mother went up, she found the ceiling paper burned off and the paper burned about half way down all around the wall. The room was shut up tight, so there was no draft and it burned very slowly. They saved the house with very little damage. I wrote the insurance, which made me $2. No doubt a mouse or rat had carried a match to their nest, gnawed it and started the fire.

I saw a two-story house with matched oak ceiling with a hole made by fire which looked as if it had been made for a stove pipe. It was in the parlor, which had been shut up for a week. When a girl went in to sweep the room, she found ashes on the floor. She thought it had started upstairs, so she ran up there but found no way to get at the fire up there. So she came down and put the fire out down there. When they got the fire out, they found the burned remains of some stockings and old clothes which had been a nest. The house was shut up tight, so the fire had not blazed but kept live coals. These are just a few of my experiences while writing insurance.

Jennie Visited in Colorado, 1911

In the summer of 1911, Jennie went to Colorado with Watie [Sutton, her brother] to see Elzie [another brother], who could not come to West Virginia on account of his health. She had a very nice trip. She sure deserved it, for she had never been out of West Virginia except when we moved to New York. Watie and Arlie paid for her trip.

Chapter 11 – Our Children

Brady was born: It was July 28, 1896, when our first child (Brady) was born. There was no milk for him and neither of our cows’ milk was fit for him, so Watie got on a horse and swam the river to get milk for him. He was so hungry that he took two bottles of milk, then went to sleep and slept like a pig.

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 29th of August and finished the 6th 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.

Chapter 10 – Some Young People Who Grew Up With Me

I think right here will be a good place to give a short account of the young folks who grew up with me. Luther Brissey was one of my chums when I was a young fellow. We went to Institute together and got our certificates at the same time. He did not seem to get along very well with his schools, so he did not teach long. He became a fine carpenter and worked at Evander’s Planing Mill for several years. He and his wife were both killed in an auto accident several years ago,

I have mentioned Elva and Dow different times, and I will write some more about them. We spent one winter in an old house on their farm so that I could be closer to my school. We hunted together of nights and caught some coon and several skunks. They did not charge us any rent and have always been my very best friends. Dow married Jennie Batson (one of Jennie’s best friends) about six months before we were married. They raised seven children, but are both dead. Elva married Georgia Thomas, who died about 1905. They had 4 children; one of them died just before Georgia did. He then married Minnie Jones, and they had 9 or 10 children, which makes a large family.

Art Brissey and I ran around together as boys, and he married my cousin, Neva Maxson. He and I hunted together with Elva and Dow. He later bought a farm on Alum Fork. Later he became crazy and early one morning, while the family slept, he went out and hung himself. They have two boys. One of them, Maynard, is a great friend of mine.

More Teaching Experiences and Early Married Life

Winter 1895-96: I taught at Lower Otter Slide that winter. I had a very fine school. I think everybody but one family was very well suited. This one family had a grudge against me. One mother, at a quilting, said her boys would fight for me as quickly as they would for their father. I counted that a high compliment.

Mother Sutton Died: This winter Mother Sutton took sick and died. She was one of the noblest women I ever knew. She was married before she was 18. Although she was never strong, she worked very hard and was saving (she had to be) but was not stingy. They began life with very little. Although they had a large family, she managed to buy the groceries and clothe Jennie out of the egg and butter money. She always had the children looking nice when they went to church, which they did most of the time. She succeeded in dressing Jennie as nice as most of the girls in the neighborhood. She fixed for the children to go to school as well as anyone in the district.

Jennie did the washing after she was 12 years old, for her mother was not able to do it. Sometimes she would have to stay at home from school and wash if she did not get it done on Sunday. Mother was very quiet, no gossiper, no tattler nor fussmaker-just a fine Christian woman who loved her family, stayed at home and cared for them and set an example which others might well have followed. I could never have had a better and more loyal friend. What more can be said about a woman than that she loved and cared for her family, was a good neighbor and a noble Christian woman? I don’t know; if I did, I would say it about her, for she deserved it.

Pa Sutton married again in about six months, which was all right as he would not be satisfied until he did.

Selling Books, 1896: In the spring of 1896 I entered into a contract to sell books for a year (this showed how little sense I had) and began selling soon after school was out. I canvassed all of Ritchie by midwinter. I worked on a salary, but I had to deliver all the books I sold. My commission counted on my salary. If I did not deliver all the books, the commission on the books I did not deliver was deducted from my salary just the same. There was the rub! You can never deliver all the books sold, and sometimes not much more than half. People who are supposed to be honest will take any kind of a dodge or just refuse to take it.

One case in mind-I sold a book to a School Teacher who was teaching in a village down the river. I sent Tom Ehret to deliver some, for Elva, who did the delivering, was sick. She told Tom she had a School Order but the sheriff would not cash it. I gave Elva the money and told him to cash the order and deliver the book. Elva saw a store clerk he knew, and he promised to cash an order for the price of the book if she would give it. She told the same story and said she would be glad to take it if she had the order cashed, but the sheriff had refused to cash it that very morning. He asked her to borrow the money, but she said no: so he told her he was sheriff enough to cash it. Then she owned she didn’t have any order. He made her sign an order, got the money and left the book at the store.

I got sick in the late winter and did not finish the contract. They always give such a short time in which to do the work that you cannot fulfill the contract, for you will always lose some time; so you just get your commission.

Chapter 9 – Marriage

Back to West Virginia, Fall 1893

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 15th 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 7th 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.

Chapter 8 – Young Adulthood Memories

Before I go ahead with my married life I will relate a few other items which may be of some interest and throw a little light on some things which happened in my later life. In early life I became very much interested in history. We had a large class which would often know nothing about the lesson. Then when it came to me, I would recite it almost word for word, giving names and dates. Of course the class laughed at me, but it came in handy when I took County Exams. I was extra good in arithmetic; in fact, all my studies were fairly easy except “grammar,” in which I was rather slow.

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

My Early Teaching Experiences

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

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

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

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

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

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

Working in New York in 1893

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 7 – Mother Died, Father Remarried

I will now go back and take up some events in my early life which changed all our lives. Mother went to church on Thanksgiving in 1887 and took sick that night. There was no doctor near, nor telephone, so a man went to Harrisville and got Dr. Hall. He said it was typhoid fever. With all the care we could give her, she only lived a week. We sent a telegram to Virgil, who was in New York. It was delayed, so he got to the church after the sermon was partly over. He stayed a week, and Father went back with him and stayed for a short time. This was the only time Virgil has been in West Virginia since he went to New York in 1882.

Cleo and Emza kept house for nearly a year. Then Emza got married, and Cleo did the work herself. This was very hard as we would have eight or ten hands in harvest. She would get up at 4 a.m., get breakfast, prepare dinner, and fix supper and take it a half mile on the hill to the hands for a five o’clock supper. Hands began at sunrise and worked till sunset then. Cleo had never been very strong, so this was too hard for her; but she never complained. In the fall of 1889 Cleo went to school in Salem, and Aunt Delilah (Father’s sister) stayed with us. Then the next year Cleo went to Alva’s at Alfred and never stayed with us any more.

We kept bach, but Father was very restless and was away a lot, leaving Delvia and me to care for ourselves-which we both enjoyed. In the spring of 1891 Father went up to Alfred to get married. He stayed for about two months. We kept house, did the work, and put in the crop. Someone told Father that Ellsworth said he had lost $500 by being gone. He never said any such a thing, he told Father when he asked about it; for he thought we got along better while Father was gone than we all three did when he was there. I doubt if Father liked that very well.

Gigging: It was while Father was gone that we asked Elva and Dow down to go gigging with us one night, as we found gigging was quite good that spring and there was no fishing on the head of Otter Slide. We split up poplar rails into small long pieces, which we tied into long fagots. We tied these up with leather bark (the bark of a small bush which peels well early in the spring, and is quite tough). These fagots are from 6 to 8 feet long, make a fine light, and burn for a considerable time. We started out as soon as it was dark. We soon found there were fish on the riffles. I carried the torch, and Elva carried the fish in a sack pouch over his shoulder. At first I had the heaviest load; but by the time we got to the bridge, the sack was heavy. In some places we saw ten fish for every one we got, but we got plenty.

Just as we got under the bridge Elva exclaimed, ”Look there.” I did, and there was a bass! It looked as if its back was out of the water although the water was over a foot deep. I told Elva to hold the torch, for I feared he would fail to get it as he had never gigged before and a bass is hard to hold. I hit that bass as if I meant to kill a bear. I hit it at the gills, and it was so deep through that it turned on its side and cut its spinal cord; and it never flopped. It was over 18 inches long. Oh, it was a dandy! When we got home, we had about a bushel of fish. Elva and Dow surely did have a great time, and I was so glad for they were the best friends we had for many years.

How I wish that Elva, Dow, Delvia and I could be together to fish, hunt and roam around over our old playgrounds! But alas, Dow is gone; Elva is not able to do anything; I am a wreck; and Delvia is far away. So we can never all meet here again. But I hope we may meet again in the future when the troubles of this life are over.

Father Returns with New Wife, Then Moves to New York: When Father was to come home, Ellsworth and Sarah went after them in the road wagon. They had to go to Pennsboro (14 miles), where they left the train. As we had a sheep to shear at John’s, we went over there to shear it in the afternoon. Just as we got back, Ellsworth drove up with the folks. Father said we would have been more presentable if we had been dressed up, but we told him we had been shearing sheep. That evening he told me I would have been more presentable if I had on collar and cuffs. Now I had asked Father to get me them before he left, and he said he never had anything of that kind when he was a boy. On Sabbath he said the same thing again, and I told him what had been said in the spring.

Delvia and I did not get along extra well with Mother Randolph, but both sides were to blame. But we never had any real trouble.

That fall I was 19 and taught my first school at Lower Otter Slide. I expected to hate teaching, but I enjoyed it so much that I decided to make it my life work.

That winter a letter came to Mother Randolph from her sister that she was very sick (she was a dope fiend) and wanted her to come at once. She went and did not return, so Father went and took Delvia with him in the spring of 1892. He offered to send me to school until I could get a first grade certificate if I would go with him. I did not go for several reasons. I got a First Grade that fall, so it would not have helped me much. I did not like Alfred, and still don’t. I had become interested in a girl (not girls), so I stayed in West Virginia. Had I gone, my whole life would have been changed and that of my family. I still am glad I did not go; knowing my disposition, I would never have been happy there.

Some Changes I Have Seen

I will now tell you of some of the changes that I can remember. The first buggy was owned by Jonathan Lowther. I was 8 or 10 years old when he got it. Mr. Brake got the second, which was the first with a top as the first one was a buckboard. Father got the third buggy. It had a top, and he sold it after Mother’s death. Mr. Brake bought the first mowing machine about 1884; Father bought one about 1887 or 1888. Father had a turnover rake made about 1885. This was about 8 feet long, so you could rake an 8-foot strip. It was pulled by a horse while you walked behind and tripped it whenever you wanted to make a windrow.

In 1892 I had never seen an auto, an airplane, a radio (in fact, none of these existed at this time), a reaper and binder nor a telephone. I had never ridden on a train nor seen a streetcar, had never heard of a refrigerator, nor seen a washing machine. We had no solid roads; for about four months out of the year the mud was so deep that a wagon could hardly get through. There were no electric lights in our section (we made candles sometimes), and all heating was done with coal or wood stoves. We knew nothing about electric milkers, bathroom fixtures, nor sweepers. Oh, things were different then! What would we do now without typewriters, adding machines, and so many other inventions that we never stop to think of?

Much to Be Thankful For

I will say right here that life has been good to me. I have had many good friends; my wife and I have lived together for over 55 years; our children have been good to us; we have enough to live on fairly well. Yes, and we still have fairly good health-so what more can we ask?

Chapter 6 – Seventh Day Churches Around Berea

I believe it will be profitable to give an account of the early life, development, and work of the Seventh Day Churches about Berea. As I have before said, Berea was called Seven Day Town. It was settled early in the nineteenth century by Asa Bee, Job Meredith, Jonathan Lowther, Preston Zinn, and a number of others who kept the Sabbath.

Pine Grove Church: I do not know the exact date (but about 1850) they called Ezekiel Bee (a minister of some ability but not ordained) to move to Berea and preach for them. He accepted the call provided they gave him a farm. There were two farms offered him (which shows the religious zeal of these people). He accepted the one then owned by Preston Zinn, which included all the land on which Berea now stands. I have never heard where the other farm was. He continued to preach here until old age made it impossible. He died in Berea about 1892 at 93 years of age.

This church was called “Pine Grove Church.” It was Seventh Day Baptist, but it never was accepted into the Seventh Day Baptist Denomination as the leaders-that is the Bees and Merediths in particular-had some very peculiar notions. For example, they would not wear clothing of cotton and wool or any other mixed material. Women would not wear artificials on their hats, nor ruffles on their skirts. If a boy who did not belong to the church took a girl home, she was to mention joining the church the first night. If he did not agree to join the church the second time, she was to fire him.

Besides this, they believed that the elders should manage all the temporal as well as the spiritual affairs of the church. For example, when a cow grew old, they would say to its owner, “You had best sell that cow.” The elders were to be absolute dictators (I don’t think they ever got it to work). Women were to have absolutely no say in anything; in fact, they were not to speak in meeting. If they wanted to know anything, let them ask their husbands at home (which I am afraid would never have made them very wise).

I don’t think they ever got this to work in the church, but it cost them some new members. In about 1865 Perie and Callie went to church intending to join the church one Sabbath. Perie overheard one of the elders ask the others if they should mention artificials, ruffles, etc. The others said, “No, wait till these young folks have joined, and then we will mention that.” The girls did not join.

The Ritchie Church: There were several Seventh Day Baptists who did not belong to Pine Grove and did not like their beliefs and practices but wanted to belong to the Seventh Day Baptists. So about 1870 to 1875 they organized the Ritchie Church and built a church on Otter Slide. Some of the early members were Jake Ehret and wife, William Jett and wife, E. J. Maxson and wife, Leve Stalnaker and wife, Father and Mother, Perie and Callie, some of the Kelleys and probably some others.

Adventists in Berea: Soon after the Ritchie Church was built (about 1879) an Adventist preacher by the name of Sanborn came to the Pine Grove Church and held a meeting for about six weeks. Before he left, they organized an Advent Church. They built a church in Berea the next summer. The principal members were the Merediths, the Lowthers, Charley Bee and wife and a few others. This left the Pine Grove Church so weak that they decided to unite with the Ritchie church provided we would hold meetings month about in the Pine Grove and Ritchie churches. Several of the members did not join the Ritchie church, so about a year later Marcus Martin (a Seventh Day Baptist minister of little ability) decided to revive the old church. So he filed a key to fit it and called a meeting and started the church again. It did not last long till they asked the Ritchie church to take it over, but all meetings were held in the Ritchie church except some union meetings.

The Advents continued to grow very slowly, but always trying to tear the Ritchie church down (especially every time we had a good revival) until the early summer of 1892, when a preacher by the name of Babcock came to Berea and preached for several weeks. He was a very glib talker, very well coached in the Advent doctrine but not an educated man.

The Advents told wonderful stories about him; one I will narrate. As a young man he was working on his father’s saw mill (which was running at full speed) when he accidentally fell into the saw. He grabbed the teeth and stopped it instantly. It cut off his thumb and cut his hip, but his great strength saved him. Elder Seager heard just how it happened. Babcock’s father had an edging which had the high tenser off so that the saw was merely turning over when he fell into it and cut himself. I am telling this so that you will know the faith they had in the man.

This was the first meeting, outside of our own meetings, I had ever attended to amount to anything. I would generally go three or four nights a week. One night the preacher told us that he would prove by the Bible the next night that the “Old Dragon” was pagan Rome and that the “Seven Horned Beast” was Rome after she became Christian- so I went to hear him. He soon began to prove his point by reading from Revelations. “The Red Dragon that old deceiver which is the Devil.” “Oh,” he said, “I read too far.” I have never had any use for the Advents since then.

This revival caused the Advents to decide to have their Camp Meeting there that summer. We had a new pastor by the name of Brown. Elder Hoffman (a man of great ability and greatly hated by the Advents) preached on Sabbath morning. He preached a very strong sermon against the Advent religion. He told them he had planned to stay at Berea for over a week but that he would have to leave Sunday. The Advents said he was afraid of them because their ministers would be there at the end of the week. After preaching that night he told them he heard they said he was afraid of then. He then said, “There is but one thing I am afraid of, and that is the Devil, and I don’t suppose he will be there.” He went on to say that he could come back at the end of the week and debate the issue for one day or a week with any of them or all of them (Sister White thrown in) if they would give him equal time, but at the end of that time he would have to go to Nebraska. They said no; but after he went West, they said they would debate.

I will now tell a little joke about their trip over from Pennsboro. Mr. Kildow (one of our members) had a fine team, and they hired him to haul some of their tents and fixtures over. When they got there, they found more people than they expected; so they asked Kildow if he would be willing to bring a load of people instead of tents. He said he would just as soon haul livestock as anything else. They talked about one of their preachers (Stone) who had gone to Virginia and went to keeping a saloon. They kept saying they didn’t see how he could, seeing the end was so near. Kildow got very tired, so when a little shower came up (it was in July and very hot and dry), one of the men said he hoped it was raining on his corn. Kildow replied, “I don’t see what difference it makes seeing the end is so near.” The man got so mad he got out and walked for a mile or two. This is 58 years ago, and I fear the man’s corn got rather dry if it hasn’t rained yet.

They had great crowds and took several of our members-our Pastor Brown, Dolph Bee and family, Ida Bee and some others. They bragged that they had destroyed the Ritchie church and that they would soon all join the Advent church. Uncle Nelson Bee told Ellsworth that they said he and Sarah would soon join them. Ellsworth replied, “Yes, they took a good plan to get us. They took our flour up there and thought we would follow.” (Someone took a batch of flour during the meeting.) I attended the meeting enough till I could preach most of their sermons as well as they could; in fact, when you have heard four or five, you have heard them all. One night the preachers said that everyone of the wicked were burned up except the Devil, and that he was to be punished forever and ever, day and night (which means he was to be burned up in a day and night). This kind of foolishness does not appeal to me.

The next summer many of the Advents sold out and went down to Newark, where they had started a school from where they went out to sell Advent books. They soon ran through with their money. They were taught that they should not eat but little. They were so nearly starved that when fever broke out the doctors said there was nothing to build on, so they died. Several families with mothers gone came back to Berea. Joe Bee’s wife, Davis Meredith’s wife, and Foggin’s wife died, and several children. Some of these had lost everything they had; and Joe Bee was badly crippled, lost his home and had two small children to raise. This greatly reduced the Berea church, and they never were so strong again.

More About the Ritchie Church: The fall after the Camp Meeting, Elder Seager held a meeting at the Ritchie church. This was in October, 1892. The meeting lasted for a month, and there were about 75 conversions. A large number of us young folks joined the church at this time, and it was much stronger than it had been for years. So the prophecy that it was dead was proved totally false, as often happens.

Many of the Sunday people in the neighborhood were troubled about the Ritchie church. They said it had been the center of religious thought; all the children for miles around had made a profession there; and it had done enough already so that it should live for years for what it had already done.

One winter our pastor (Riley Davis) and the pastor of the U. B. church (Rev. Steele) held a union meeting in the Pine Grove church. After two weeks, as there seemed to be but little interest and Pastor Steele had to go to another church to preach over the end of the week, they decided that Riley should hold the meeting Sabbath and Sunday night. There was quite a stir these two nights so that the meeting went on for two or three weeks longer. Many were converted, and it looked as if both churches would be greatly strengthened.

Seventh Day Baptists and Adventists Debate: I have often noticed after every great revival, Satan makes a very great effort to destroy the work done. So it was again. The Advents had been bringing in one of their ministers as soon as a revival ended to destroy the work that had been done. This time they brought in a man who was very abusive. One of our ministers, Elder McClarin (who was a very highly educated Scotchman), had written a pamphlet exposing many of their beliefs. He was hated by them like a snake. So Westworth (that was the Adventist’s name) told in his sermon that the pamphlet was like bad soap, more lye than grease. Later in the same sermon he said that McClarin was a “liar, rascal or fool!” and that they all knew he wasn’t the latter.

Our people had grown tired of this abuse, so Ellsworth and our pastor wrote to the Missionary Board to send McClarin down (he was in Rhode Island), and we would pay his way back. When he came, they sent for the Advent preacher to come over to Riley’s. There McClarin told him to go into the pulpit and show wherein he had lied and he would apologize publicly. This he refused to do, but in turn challenged McClarin to debate the thing in difference with the Bible as the only authority. This was to keep McClarin from bringing Mother White into it, as he had been president of their college in Battle Creek and learned all about her. This debate was intended to prevent McClarin from making a reply to their charges on the pamphlet as McClarin had told them that he had to go back on Monday and the debate was to be Sabbath night, Sunday and Sunday night.

The first subject was the “Sleep of the Soul.” McClarin had the first speech. When it came Westworth’s turn (he was the Advent speaker), he made fun of the soul and said, “How does God poke a soul into a child? Does He have a lot of souls made and stored up in heaven, or does He make a new soul every time a child is born? If He does, He is a partner in the crime every time an illegitimate child is born.” By the time the evening debate was done, there were a great many people (even the Sunday people) saying it was a disgrace and that Westworth ought to be egged.

People say many things without thinking, which they should not. In the evening debate Westworth accused McClarin of having been expelled from the college. McClarin said he would show them the next day how he was expelled. Westworth became more abusive, and McClarin called for order. Mart Powell, who was chosen by both sides as chairman, said he was out of order. But Cobb, the Advent moderator, jumped up and said, “My brother has not had a fair chance, and I intend to see he talks.” I was sitting in the back of the house by the side of a fighter who jumped up and started for the pulpit with me at his heels. Everybody jumped up and started for the pulpit with fire in their eyes. Just as a free-for-all was ready to start, Westworth said, “I’ll be moderate.” So everybody sat down.

The next day Westworth and Cobb came to hear McClarin speak on the pamphlet and what had happened while he was president. Some said the Advent preachers would call McClarin a liar while he was speaking. I said, “If one of them calls him a liar, I’ll knock him down.” Ellsworth said, “You must not do that.” But I replied, “I will anyway.” So they decided that Ellsworth, as moderator of the church, should take charge of the meeting. He told them that any appeal from his ruling would go to the Ritchie church, so they said nothing. They sat right in front facing the pulpit. Ellsworth said they made faces, stuck out their tongues and did everything they could to insult him. I told Ellsworth I would not have stood for it, but he said it did not seem to bother McClarin any so he let them go.

McClarin told that when the Advent leaders found he would not accept Mother White, they cut his salary so he had overdrawn his full salary already. A couple months later he met one of the leaders on the street and this man said to him, “How are you getting along without any money?” He replied, “That’s my business,” for he said, “I know when I’m insulted.” They made no effort to pay him, so he notified them Friday if they did not pay him his full salary before sunset that evening he would sue them. Before sunset he had his pay. He then showed us a paper over a yard long with over a hundred names of those who had come to his place as a surprise party and had given him $25 in gold to show their appreciation for the splendid work he did in the school. When he finished showing this, he said, “That’s a pretty nice way to be expelled, isn’t it?”

An Egging: The Advents proposed to answer McClarin that night. As I said before, some people (Sunday as well as Seventh days) had said they ought to be egged. So some boys (both Seventh day and Sunday boys) hid on a bank and egged them. Of course, this was all wrong, but I blame the grown folks more than the boys. Two men ran them down, caught them down on their farm (the Advents). They refused to let the boys go, and a fight occurred. Mounty Bee (an Advent) struck Hayse Bee (one of the eggers) on the head with a fence rail and knocked him out (in fact, he has never gotten entirely over it). He knocked Cnood Ehret down, and he lay there (afraid he would get hurt, I think). That only left one of the eggers, Roy Bee. He seemed to think they were going to kill him, so he slipped an old pocket knife out of his pocket and began to cut them down to his size. The noise of the combat brought reinforcements to the Advents from Berea, but Roy proceeded to cut them up, too. The boys finally got away and went home. Two other boys who were with the eggers got scared and ran before the egging began.

The Advents had the eggers indicted, but they found one of them would get a trip to the pen for hitting Hayse Bee with a fence rail and swearing he intended to kill him and wished he had. So they compromised it and made the sentences light.

Some good came of it, for the Advents said they wanted us to let them alone and they would let us alone. They have kept their word fairly well, for which we are truly thankful. Their church had been going down ever since the exodus to Newark soon after the camp meeting in 1892, which I have already told about. After this trouble they began to die rapidly. They have had no meetings for many years, and the church house is torn down.

Chapter 5 – More About Parents and Home Life

One thing which we never did when I was a boy was to say Sunday, Monday, etc. We said First Day, Second Day, etc. In fact, I did not know the names of the days of the week as they are called now till I was nearly grown. I remember while Perie and Callie were in Alfred in school, they used the word, “Sunday,” in a letter. Father wrote back, “If this is what you are learning up there, you can come home.” Sunday was never used in their letters again.

Father and Mother: You can see from the above incident that Father was very set in his views. I will give a few more incidents about Father. Father and Mother were very much opposed to Emza’s marrying A. W. Coon for several reasons-she was not strong (in fact, she had T. B. and only lived about two more years); they considered him an old crank (he was about 70 years old) and not fit to marry anyone, much less an invalid. After they were married, Emza wrote; but her letter was never answered.

One other story will suffice to give a good picture of Father, except for his work in church and charity, which I will also mention. Perie spent a couple months at home the fall after she was married. They went to church meeting on Friday night and a good “Sister” got up and delivered a eulogy on Father. She told how honest he was, how truthful he was, how charitable he was. In fact, with one little change he would be just about perfect-if he just wouldn’t be quite so harsh in some of his statements. She thought she had put the “cleaner” on Father. When she sat down, Father got up and this is what he said, “I wish I could say as much for some other members of the church as has been said about me.” That evening at supper, Perie told Father that he should not have said that. Father’s reply was, “I know when I am insulted.”

I will also tell one story about the way Father paid on the church when they were building it. They were having trouble to raise the money to finish it, so Father offered to pay one-third if the rest of the church would pay the rest of the cost. This was subscribed but not all paid, so he had to help pay the rest. Someone reported Father had built the church and was going to use it for a hay barn, so you see that you can’t please some people.

Mother was every bit as liberal as Father and maybe a little more interested in the church and the church work than he.

About 70 years ago, Father was on a deal for a farm (known as the “farm with the brick house”) near the Seventh Day Baptist Church on Green Brier. Father had been out there; when he came back, he told Mother that they were trying to raise a salary for a preacher and got pledges for $13.75. Mother said, “You don’t need to buy, for I won’t go there.” The church is now dead.

Father and Mother were an ideal couple, for I have heard them each say that they never had a cross word (and I never heard them, either). There are not many couples like that!

Mother’s Sister, Rhoda: Mother had another sister, Rhoda, whom I have not mentioned so far. She had rickets when she was a child and was not strong mentally. She stayed at Grandfather’s (Doctor John) until I was about eight years old. Then it was reported that an old widower by the name of Tolls was planning to marry her for her money (he was past 70 and had very little himself), as she had about $1,000 that her father had left her. Mother and Uncle Elisha felt Tolls would use up her money and leave her with nothing to live on and no one to care for her but Mother and Uncle Elisha. So Uncle Elisha went out and got her and brought her to our place, where she stayed until some time after Mother’s death (about 8 or 10 years). Then Uncle Elisha took her to his place and kept her till she died, for which he got what she had (he surely earned every cent of it), which was a small thing for 15 years (or maybe 20 years) of care. She had a good home and good care; I am thankful.

One little incident happened while Aunt Rhoda stayed at our place. One Friday evening a spring wagon stopped at our place, and Toll and Uncle Joel came in. We knew at once that they were after Aunt Rhoda, so Ellsworth went after Uncle E. J. to come in and help prepare the strategy by which they hoped to win. It looked as if Father planned to take Aunt Rhoda in the buggy, but just before he got in the buggy (Aunt Rhoda was already in), Father told Uncle Elisha to get in the buggy and drive Aunt as he had forgotten to ask Mr. Tolls to go to church with us. So we all went to church. When we got there, the buggy was not there; and they saw nothing more of Aunt Rhoda. This was hard luck for Uncle Joel, for he was to have had $50 for the trip if he could have delivered her to Salem as planned.

Now what had happened was that Uncle Elisha had crossed the Deep Ford and gone up the river over to Pullman and on to Dan May’s (whose wife was Mother’s cousin) and left her there until the coast was clear. When they asked Elisha about her, he told them the last he saw of her, she was going West. They thought we had sent her to Uncle Nathan’s, who lived in Ohio. Toll tried to hire someone to slip her out and take her to Salem, but failed. So ends this beautiful romance in failure.

Some Stories About Alva: My brother, Alva, was by far the greatest squirrel and crow hunter of us, as he was a great shot with a rifle and had lots of patience to wait for game. He did not hunt rabbits or night hunt as he would rather read than to be out at night. One day he was down below the corn field when he ran into some young animals that he thought were young wild cats. He began to shoot; when he thought he heard the old cat, he began to yell for help. He got all three-they were young coons. One of them he got alive. These were the first coons (I was about 10 at this time) that I ever saw.

Some years later Alva was in a big woods back of our home farm when he saw a wild cat behind a tree. He could not see its head nor shoulders, so he shot where he could see. He was afraid to move for fear it would run, and he only had a rifle. When he shot, it fell over and scratched and screamed. He was afraid to go near it until he got the gun loaded; by then it had left. He followed it by the blood to a big fence. Every little bit he would see where it had fallen off the fence and had trouble to get back on the fence. He tracked it to a den but could not get it. Later it was found dead near the den. It had come out of the den to die.

It was rather difficult to get Alva to do chores about the house, so the girls would sometimes offer him special things to get him to do some of the things they wanted done. One day when Father had butchered a sheep, they offered to make some meat dumplings for some work they wanted done. Now Alva was very fond of meat, so he did the work. They made a nice batch of dumplings, but when Alva cut into one, he surely was sore and said, “There isn’t a bit of meat in them.”

I remember one more thing that I think I shall tell. All our clothes-pants, shirts, and under-clothing-were made at home. One night our hired girl (Tanie Hammond) gave Alva a new pair of pants which she had just finished for him and told him she would guarantee they would hold him. But she didn’t know what a test they would get. He got up and put his new pants on and hurried out. A little later he came out with a long face and said, “I put on my new pants and just filled them full! Isn’t that a shame?” I think so.

An Incident when Callie was Courted: I will now turn to some other members of this populous family. In the winter of 1881, Father and Mother went to Salem on a visit. While they were gone, Callie’s boyfriend (John Meathrell) came to see her and brought a black Indian pony, which he gave to her. Ellsworth didn’t like Callie’s sending for John to come see her when Father and Mother were away. So when he went upstairs to bed, he, instead, watched them to tease Callie. He soon grew tired of this and finally went to bed. Just as he went to sleep, Virgil jumped out of bed and said that he heard the shop door open. (Now, the shop door made a noise every time it opened by grating on the floor.) Virgil grabbed his pants, rushed out and called the dogs, with Ellsworth at his heels. But there was nothing wrong at the shop. When they got back, John was mad; he thought it was a joke on him until he found that it was Virgil who had heard it. He feared someone was trying to steal his horses. They went to the stable, but there was nothing wrong; so it left everything a mystery. Ellsworth always said it was an easy thing to settle-it was just that John kissed Callie. I expect that he was right! Anyone can see why John and Ellsworth never got along well. They never could have gotten along anyway.

Ellsworth and Steele Brake: I will now tell a little story about a school experience that Ellsworth had at Berea while Perie was teaching there. Steele Brake was about Ellsworth’s age and size. He made a business of getting Ellsworth down and beating him up very often. Ellsworth feared to resist; for Perie would not give one of us a fair deal. She feared people would accuse her of being partial. But Ellsworth grew very tired of being submissive.

So one day when Steele had him down flat of his back and pounding him just as he wanted to, he just reached up with his right hand (he was left handed) and pushed him up and poured his left fist into the pit of his stomach until Steele howled like a whipped hound pup. As soon as he could got loose, he ran to the house to tell how he had been treated. Of course, Perie held court to see who the criminal might be. The children all said that Ellsworth was no rougher than Steele had been. But Steele said, “Ellsworth was mad, and I wasn’t.” “How do you know he was mad?” Perie asked. “I saw the tears way back in his head,” Steele replied. The whole school yelled, and even Perie smiled. This settled the case, and Ellsworth got sweet revenge on Steele for all his bullying and didn’t get a whipping either.

A few years later, after Steele had quit school, he met Ellsworth one night as he came home from school and told him he heard he had been talking about him and if he didn’t quit, he would tan his dog hide. Ellsworth just looked at him and said, “There is such a thing as a ‘bull hide,’ and it’s mighty hard to tan.” This settled the whole argument.

I had a little trouble with one of Steele’s younger brothers when I was a boy in school. He was quite a hand with the girls, and one day at noon three of them told him they would like to kiss me. “Why don’t you?” he asked them. “We’re afraid of him,” they replied. He told them he would hold me. I just got up, took off my coat and put it on the fence. Wirt, that was the boy’s name, raved but did nothing. We became fine friends later. One evening when I was in his store where I traded, he told this story. One of those there asked him why he didn’t hold me. He replied, “I was afraid he’d whip me.”

Mr. Wasp: The common wasp used to build its nest in all the outbuildings. One day I went into one of the sheds, and a wasp was sitting on the wall. I just pointed my finger at him and said, “I am going to kill you.” Just then Mr. Wasp rose up and lit on my nose and stung me. Oh! How it did hurt! My nose got big, and Delvia told what I said and everybody laughed at me. Right here I will insert a few quotations from the Bible which I think will apply:

Let he who thinks he standeth take heed lest he fall (1 Corinthians 10:12, KJV)
Pride goeth before a fall and a haughty spirit before destruction (Proverbs 16:18, KJV).

Such is life!

Jip and Sheep: When I was about 8 years old, Father bought a yellow “bone-legged beast” from Harrisville. We called him “Jip.” Now Jip was a good rabbit dog and not much good for anything else. We let our sheep and lambs run out in the road early in the spring before the grass started in the field, as the grass would start earlier along the river than in the fields. Jip would get and run the sheep. Ellsworth took care of the sheep and didn’t like to have them run.

One evening we were at the barn doing the chores when we heard the sheep coming (one of them had a bell) with Jip after them as hard as he could run. Ellsworth picked up a two-inch cube which had been sawed off an oak scantling. The sheep went by as hard as they could run with Jip after them, grunting every jump. As soon as the sheep passed, Ellsworth leaped out of the shed door where he had been hiding and let loose with that left hand. The block took Jip square to the side of the head and knocked him over the bank next to the river. He got up, yelling like a possessed one, and ran to the house like Satan was after him. That was one dog who was broken of sheep-chasing, for Jip never ran sheep again.

Alva and the Sheep: Ellsworth had always cared for the sheep; but when I was 12 years old, Father decided that Alva should care for them that spring and summer. When grass came, Alva turned the sheep out in a field we called “Poverty Point” (which was in the far end of the farm a half mile from home and adjoining a big woods). We had a part of this field in corn and beans, and Mother went up to see it. When she came back, she said she could carry all the corn and beans up there in her apron (and this wasn’t so far wrong), so we called it “Poverty Point.”

The first time Alva salted the sheep, which was about twice a week, he said one little lamb was missing. In about two weeks he reported nine more lambs missing (they would have weighed from 40 to 60 pounds each), and he couldn’t find them. On search, the nine were found near the woods, partly covered up with leaves. Their throats were out and they had been partly eaten above the necks. They seemingly had been killed one each night. The sheep were moved to another part of the farm, and no more lambs were bothered; but Alva never took care of the sheep again. His mind was too much on books.

About two years later a neighbor (Ves Parker) killed from 5 to 10 cats. (The cat that I told about Alva’s shooting was in the same woods.) So the lambs were revenged!

The next fall after the lambs were killed, Father gave Delvia and me charge of the sheep; and we never had any more killing.

Chapter 4 – Other Childhood Memories

I will now go back to my childhood and record events which took place out of my school life. When I was about 8 years old, Father bought a farm across the river from Hise Davis (which is the farm where Ellsworth and Sarah lived for years). The first year we had it, they killed 22 copperhead snakes and 2 black snakes over six feet long, one of them nearly seven. Some snakes!

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.