I was so excited when I received an invitation to the wedding of one of my dearest friends. This wedding was special not only because Helen Morphis was a friend but also because she was 70-years old marrying for the first time. We all thought she was a confirmed old maid school teacher and now at 70 she was planning to change her life and marry, not just any man; she was marrying a preacher.
As soon as the wedding invitations were out, the gossip lines were open providing an opportunity for old friends to communicate again after several years of retirement. Of course, we were happy for her and excited that her wedding would give all of us an opportunity to see each other again and catch up on what was going on in everyone's lives.
The day of the event called for a 150-mile drive to Beaumont for me and a 150-mile return trip to Garrison several hours after dark. The logistics did not matter - come rain or shine, I planned to attend Helen's big event and spend time laughing and visiting with my friends. It would be just like old times!
At least 40 teacher friends were present. These were women with whom I had shared all sorts of experiences. We raised our families together and taught each other's kids. We sat in the teachers' lounge five days a week and talked about our successes, our failures, our dreams, our families and told each other our deepest, darkest secrets. We shared everything there was to share for approximately 30 years.
Well, it really was great to see everyone again. They all seemed to be doing well and most everyone looked about like they did when I last saw them.
After the initial "hello, what have you been doing, have you seen so and so lately and what is she doing now," we found that we really didn't have that much to share for some reason.
Our lives had changed. We didn't spend our time at school anymore so school wasn't the common denominator for our relationship. We were all from different backgrounds, different towns, different colleges, different family structures. Without school we were free to go our separate ways, and there was little left to hold us together.
After about an hour, I was ready to go home. I was ready to go back to Garrison, to my husband Stacy, my friends, my church and my life. What used to be is no more and can never be again. Those 30 years associated with school and teaching are now a part of my past. For all practical purposes the door on those 30 years is closed.
But with the closing of one door there is always an opportunity to open another. I have taken that opportunity and am as busy and involved with my life today as I was before. Yes, things are different. I miss my children who live miles away. I miss my deceased husband Roger who died at age 57. But I don't miss the relationship I had with my friends. I really don't, and I realized why at Helen's wedding when I discovered that those relationships are different now because the common denominator of career is gone.
Now my relationships here in Garrison, Texas are based on a common denominator as broad as all of eternity. As I remember all the way back to 1946 when I was 7 years old, many of the very same Garrison friends I have today attended First Methodist Church with me more than one half century ago.
Our relationship transcends common denominators like school, profession, students and teachers. Our relationship is anchored in the spirit of God's Church as we share our blessings here in Garrison, Texas, where we are bound by the past, the present and the future.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Stacy Adams Celebrates 75 Big Ones
Stacy Adams is a Garrison, Texas native as were his parents and grandparents dating back to the 1890's when his family settled in the Henning and Caledonia communities. Young Stacy Adams lived not more than a quarter-mile from his Adams grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins and about nine miles from the Caledonia community where his Skelton relatives on his mother's side lived.
Both sides of his family, Adams and Skeltons, produced 18 Uncles and Aunts and approximately 60 - 65 first cousins. More than one century later the Adams/Skelton relatives are disbursed all over the nation and certainly number well into the hundreds.
One of Stacy's earliest relationships, excluding that of his mother Mellie and father Jimmy, was the relationship he had with his only sibling, his sister Jewel Long. Jewel was fourteen years his senior and related more like a loving mother than a sister.
When asked about his sister Jewel, Stacy said, "We always got along and as far as I can remember, we never had an argument or even a cross word between us. She was gentle and loving and treated me much better than I deserved."
Stacy's East Texas heritage and all of those relatives undoubtedly molded his value system instilling a true love for his family and country life. The happy days of the mid-30's, 40's and 50's imprinted his character in such a way that he could never escape the idealistic essence of Garrison, Texas.
The amazing thing about Stacy's life-style today is that he
is still immersed in that perfect hometown essence, viewing present day events through experienced eyes that remember all of the details of the "wonder years" of days gone by.
According to Stacy, "If you have good memories of home as I have, you want to be there with your friends and family. Even the nostalgia associated with the hard times and sorrows of life makes home more meaningful. Growing up in the country is probably somewhat like growing up in Heaven. I remember it to be a kid's world with a whole town to explore and good friends to hang around with. It was then and still is today the best place to be."
But------that was THEN, 1932, and this is NOW, Seventy-five years later - 2007.
Of course the past is what makes all of us who we are today and that includes our guest of honor Stacy Adams who on March 28 will be 75 years old, that's three-quarters of a century, folks. The passage of time has NOT altered Stacy. The person I just described, the one who loves country life and loves his family, is the same Stacy Adams sitting here today.
Today's Stacy is, of course, my husband, Jim's father, Patsy's, Bud's, Annie's and John's beloved Unk. He is also a grandfather, an uncle, a great-uncle, a stepfather a step-grandfather and a step-great grandfather. He is all of the above as well as your good buddy and, as always, the perfect person to ride the country roads and hang out with.
Thank you for being here today to celebrate this
once-in-a-lifetime event: 75 Big Ones
Jeanette Kemp has the Last WORD
Our Aunt Jeanette had the last word on just about everything. Well maybe not everything in the whole world but everything that truly mattered. She was, in fact, the last word on everything that had anything to do with gardening and God's bounty. She was the undisputed expert on how to plant it, pick it, prepare it, can it, freeze it, season it, cook it, serve it and clean it up after everyone had their fill and left the table.
She was most certainly the last word on sharing the bounty of her garden. If you visited the Kemps, you left with a package of peas or a bag of tomatoes, and if you looked particularly needy, she would throw in an Angel Trumpet plant just for good measure. If you were not fortunate enough to visit her at home, she would hunt you down with a cake or pie -- just ask the ladies at the beauty shop, or the folks at the bank or news office or the bridge club.
In addition to being the last word on gardening, Our Aunt Jeanette also had the last word on family heritage. She may well hold the record on hosting large family reunions at her home with approximately 22 annual events chalked up to her credit, come rain or come shine. She and Delbert arranged their lives around planting, picking and family reunion planning. When you talked to Jeanette in the spring of the year, there was a special excitement in her voice because she was on deadline for another Pruett family reunion always scheduled for the second Saturday in April.
Jeanette was the youngest of ten children and she knew the benefit of a loving family relationship. Because she had a loving family as a child, she wanted that experience to be a part of the lives of her children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews. Her love of family is exemplified in the effort she expended on the annual Pruett Reunion. Remember she didn't host just one or two events. She carried the family torch for twenty-two years. Thanks to Aunt Jeanette, that reunion has now taken on a life of its own with a whole new generation of Pruett descendents still coming together in the spring of the year to celebrate their love of family.
Jeanette truly loved the life she and her beloved Delbert created on their Cedar Bluff Road Farm. They worked together carving their home from raw land and loving every blessing of nature that God sent their way: the morning sun, the evening breezes, the spring rains, the March winds, and winter's cold. Every day was a gift and an opportunity to serve their purpose as stewards of God's beautiful, bountiful earth.
Aunt Jeanette, I still want my cleomy seeds you promised me the other day. I'll plant them and I'll think of you. We'll all attend the Pruett Reunion in the spring of the year knowing that you planted those family heritage seed for our benefit and the benefit of our children and our children's children.
Aunt Jeanette, the last word is yours. We know it to be just one, perfect word and that ONE word is LOVE.
She was most certainly the last word on sharing the bounty of her garden. If you visited the Kemps, you left with a package of peas or a bag of tomatoes, and if you looked particularly needy, she would throw in an Angel Trumpet plant just for good measure. If you were not fortunate enough to visit her at home, she would hunt you down with a cake or pie -- just ask the ladies at the beauty shop, or the folks at the bank or news office or the bridge club.
In addition to being the last word on gardening, Our Aunt Jeanette also had the last word on family heritage. She may well hold the record on hosting large family reunions at her home with approximately 22 annual events chalked up to her credit, come rain or come shine. She and Delbert arranged their lives around planting, picking and family reunion planning. When you talked to Jeanette in the spring of the year, there was a special excitement in her voice because she was on deadline for another Pruett family reunion always scheduled for the second Saturday in April.
Jeanette was the youngest of ten children and she knew the benefit of a loving family relationship. Because she had a loving family as a child, she wanted that experience to be a part of the lives of her children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews. Her love of family is exemplified in the effort she expended on the annual Pruett Reunion. Remember she didn't host just one or two events. She carried the family torch for twenty-two years. Thanks to Aunt Jeanette, that reunion has now taken on a life of its own with a whole new generation of Pruett descendents still coming together in the spring of the year to celebrate their love of family.
Jeanette truly loved the life she and her beloved Delbert created on their Cedar Bluff Road Farm. They worked together carving their home from raw land and loving every blessing of nature that God sent their way: the morning sun, the evening breezes, the spring rains, the March winds, and winter's cold. Every day was a gift and an opportunity to serve their purpose as stewards of God's beautiful, bountiful earth.
Aunt Jeanette, I still want my cleomy seeds you promised me the other day. I'll plant them and I'll think of you. We'll all attend the Pruett Reunion in the spring of the year knowing that you planted those family heritage seed for our benefit and the benefit of our children and our children's children.
Aunt Jeanette, the last word is yours. We know it to be just one, perfect word and that ONE word is LOVE.
The more things CHANGE, the more they remain the same
The more things change
the more they remain the same
Five years ago I would have vehemently disagreed with this title. How can things change and remain the same? The very nature of change implies something new, different, strange and unsettling. If things change, by definition they are different. If they are different how can they possibly remain the same?
Through out the course of our 36 year marriage, my husband Roger Weatherly and I experienced the normal changes all families experience. In the early years before our children were born, we moved several times always in search of a better job and a nicer, larger house. Change was exciting. We were moving up in the world; we were getting ahead. Our family soon included a daughter and a son and our lives were filled with change and we loved it.
As the kids grew, there was baseball, football, band, friends, dates, cookouts, parties and finally college, graduations, weddings, and grandchildren, How does it happen so fast? It seemed that in the blink of an eye the kids were just kids and all of a sudden Roger and I were grandparents.
All of a sudden our public school and insurance company careers became long-term - 29 years for me and 35 years for Roger. It happened so fast. We were just kids ourselves and now 35 years later Roger and I were starring retirement in the face.
Retirement was a change that we longed for and we welcomed it. We were ready to move back to the home of our youth, build a new house, reacquaint ourselves with old friends, take long vacations, work in the yard, raise a garden, have family reunions, visit our children and grandchildren, become more involved in the church and do all of those things we never had time for while we were working and raising our family.
We almost made it full circle. We raised a family, completed careers, made it to retirement, but then Roger died bringing about a devastating change. Life as I knew it was gone. The months that followed his August 16, 1995, death were dark and sad. The sadness was so painful that I feared death for myself at times. What could life hold for me? Everything had changed.
Yes, everything had changed, but as the months passed I began to look forward to going to church where I was baptized so many years ago. I continued to reacquaint myself with the friends of my youth. Little by little all of the values I learned in Sunday school and church, all of the character traits instilled by my parents and teachers, all of the decisions in the name of truth, honesty and justice that Roger and I had made throughout our 36-year marriage focused me toward a new life.
I had suffered devastating change in every aspect of my life except what God had given me in the form of Christian values, character traits and integrity. Love, honesty, goodness, family values, caring, work, friends all remained the same. I still possessed all of those intangibles! I learned them as a child, as a wife, as a mother, as a friend and as an employee, and I still had them. The beauty of life and nature were also unchanged and were as vibrant and ever.
My life has continued in spite of devastating change. I remind myself of a gyroscope that falls off a table and bounces and crashes. But if given a little time it will remain true to its properties of design. It will regain its stability and continue spinning without a wobble just as before the fall.
Now I know it's true. Change is life. Change happens to all of us with or without a set of God-given values. As for me, I had much rather walk down this road of life with a good set of Christian values that will ensure the truth of the paradox: The more things change the more they remain the same.
the more they remain the same
Five years ago I would have vehemently disagreed with this title. How can things change and remain the same? The very nature of change implies something new, different, strange and unsettling. If things change, by definition they are different. If they are different how can they possibly remain the same?
Through out the course of our 36 year marriage, my husband Roger Weatherly and I experienced the normal changes all families experience. In the early years before our children were born, we moved several times always in search of a better job and a nicer, larger house. Change was exciting. We were moving up in the world; we were getting ahead. Our family soon included a daughter and a son and our lives were filled with change and we loved it.
As the kids grew, there was baseball, football, band, friends, dates, cookouts, parties and finally college, graduations, weddings, and grandchildren, How does it happen so fast? It seemed that in the blink of an eye the kids were just kids and all of a sudden Roger and I were grandparents.
All of a sudden our public school and insurance company careers became long-term - 29 years for me and 35 years for Roger. It happened so fast. We were just kids ourselves and now 35 years later Roger and I were starring retirement in the face.
Retirement was a change that we longed for and we welcomed it. We were ready to move back to the home of our youth, build a new house, reacquaint ourselves with old friends, take long vacations, work in the yard, raise a garden, have family reunions, visit our children and grandchildren, become more involved in the church and do all of those things we never had time for while we were working and raising our family.
We almost made it full circle. We raised a family, completed careers, made it to retirement, but then Roger died bringing about a devastating change. Life as I knew it was gone. The months that followed his August 16, 1995, death were dark and sad. The sadness was so painful that I feared death for myself at times. What could life hold for me? Everything had changed.
Yes, everything had changed, but as the months passed I began to look forward to going to church where I was baptized so many years ago. I continued to reacquaint myself with the friends of my youth. Little by little all of the values I learned in Sunday school and church, all of the character traits instilled by my parents and teachers, all of the decisions in the name of truth, honesty and justice that Roger and I had made throughout our 36-year marriage focused me toward a new life.
I had suffered devastating change in every aspect of my life except what God had given me in the form of Christian values, character traits and integrity. Love, honesty, goodness, family values, caring, work, friends all remained the same. I still possessed all of those intangibles! I learned them as a child, as a wife, as a mother, as a friend and as an employee, and I still had them. The beauty of life and nature were also unchanged and were as vibrant and ever.
My life has continued in spite of devastating change. I remind myself of a gyroscope that falls off a table and bounces and crashes. But if given a little time it will remain true to its properties of design. It will regain its stability and continue spinning without a wobble just as before the fall.
Now I know it's true. Change is life. Change happens to all of us with or without a set of God-given values. As for me, I had much rather walk down this road of life with a good set of Christian values that will ensure the truth of the paradox: The more things change the more they remain the same.
A Wave of Memories to Eternity
I was born a first child to Carson and Marie Nail October,22 1938, in Houston, Texas. My parents were originally form Mississippi and Louisiana. According to my daddy, he moved to Houston to escape cotton picking season and for an opportunity to work for the Southern Pacific Railroad. My mother who was a Louisiana school teacher with three years of college education was anxious to leave the one-room school house with its wood-burning stove, outdoor privy, and eight grade levels all in the same classroom. Ida Marie Mills married Carson Nail, packed her bags, left her family, moved to Texas and never returned to Louisiana or taught school again.
If I have any memory of those early days most likely it comes from what I've been told and what I've seen in old photographs. I know that in Houston we lived in a little house that was built by my daddy and some of his railroad buddies, and I know that we had a goat named Ally Oop. I also remember our neighbors, the Masons who lived across the street in a somewhat finer house than ours. The Masons had four daughters, Sister, Anna Marie, Deedles and Pam. The Mason family holds my earliest memories of family friendship. The two families kept in touch through the years and eventually, because of pleasant memories of each other, became neighbors again some 50 years later in Cleveland, Texas.
When I was two or three years old, Southern Pacific transferred my dad to Galveston to continue his signal work with the railroad. We lived in two different Galveston houses with the last one being located on Avenue P 1/2 not two blocks from the Gulf of Mexico sea wall. My memories are of a huge, two-story frame house with five gigantic palm trees in front lined adjacent to the sidewalk that bordered our Ave. P 1/2 block. Actually, the house was only a row house built to fit a 25 ft. city lot with most residents being renters. At three or four years of age, I thought it was a large and grand house, and we were as rich or richer than any neighbor on the block and, in fact, we were.
Galveston impressed me with its sea breezes, palm trees, wooden houses, mosquito nets, davenports, tropical decor, and easy life-style. The life-style certainly seemed easy to me: I was a kid with permission to play outside most of the day. I have vivid memories of the Gulf of Mexico and all of the fishing and commercial tourists piers along the sea wall. On special occasions, maybe only one occasion, our family dined out at the now famous Hills Restaurant. The restaurant was located on a street directly across from the sea wall. Of course, I remember it as a grand and fine place with little fish tiles built into the facade near the entrance. While on Vacation years later I found the old restaurant which had long since moved to another location. On that old original building, I found the little fish tiles under layers of dirt and grime, but my memory of that grand place with its exotic aroma has not dimmed. I can still smell it and see the white table cloths and snappy waiters and our family dining out in style.
After his work I often rode behind my dad as he peddled his bicycle to the sea wall. The salty breezes and the brightly clad people walking along the beach are forever implanted into my memory. I played in the gulf sand, attended kindergarten, made leis form Oleander blooms, ran up and down the sidewalk that bordered our block, and generally soaked up an understanding and a love for tropical life that remains to this day.
What are memories? They certainly aren't facts in which one can place any confidence. My memories are more like feelings or impressions that invade my mind on an every day basis. Why do I feel nostalgic every fall and at the same time feel exhilaration when the lights are turned on for the first football game of the season. I am happy when we go to the beach because I loved going there with my dad when I was a child in Galveston, Texas. Happy memories bring happy present day experiences. Sad memories may be conjured up from a past sad experience. It seems that those very first experiences with sound, sight, smell, and touch imprint us forever.
I am sobered by nostalgia and introspection, and I am exhilarated and excited by almost everything else. Thank you, Carson and Marie Nail, for balancing my memories which have in turn balanced my life, My memories, thanks to you two, have carried me far and I plan to ride this wave right through to eternity.
If I have any memory of those early days most likely it comes from what I've been told and what I've seen in old photographs. I know that in Houston we lived in a little house that was built by my daddy and some of his railroad buddies, and I know that we had a goat named Ally Oop. I also remember our neighbors, the Masons who lived across the street in a somewhat finer house than ours. The Masons had four daughters, Sister, Anna Marie, Deedles and Pam. The Mason family holds my earliest memories of family friendship. The two families kept in touch through the years and eventually, because of pleasant memories of each other, became neighbors again some 50 years later in Cleveland, Texas.
When I was two or three years old, Southern Pacific transferred my dad to Galveston to continue his signal work with the railroad. We lived in two different Galveston houses with the last one being located on Avenue P 1/2 not two blocks from the Gulf of Mexico sea wall. My memories are of a huge, two-story frame house with five gigantic palm trees in front lined adjacent to the sidewalk that bordered our Ave. P 1/2 block. Actually, the house was only a row house built to fit a 25 ft. city lot with most residents being renters. At three or four years of age, I thought it was a large and grand house, and we were as rich or richer than any neighbor on the block and, in fact, we were.
Galveston impressed me with its sea breezes, palm trees, wooden houses, mosquito nets, davenports, tropical decor, and easy life-style. The life-style certainly seemed easy to me: I was a kid with permission to play outside most of the day. I have vivid memories of the Gulf of Mexico and all of the fishing and commercial tourists piers along the sea wall. On special occasions, maybe only one occasion, our family dined out at the now famous Hills Restaurant. The restaurant was located on a street directly across from the sea wall. Of course, I remember it as a grand and fine place with little fish tiles built into the facade near the entrance. While on Vacation years later I found the old restaurant which had long since moved to another location. On that old original building, I found the little fish tiles under layers of dirt and grime, but my memory of that grand place with its exotic aroma has not dimmed. I can still smell it and see the white table cloths and snappy waiters and our family dining out in style.
After his work I often rode behind my dad as he peddled his bicycle to the sea wall. The salty breezes and the brightly clad people walking along the beach are forever implanted into my memory. I played in the gulf sand, attended kindergarten, made leis form Oleander blooms, ran up and down the sidewalk that bordered our block, and generally soaked up an understanding and a love for tropical life that remains to this day.
What are memories? They certainly aren't facts in which one can place any confidence. My memories are more like feelings or impressions that invade my mind on an every day basis. Why do I feel nostalgic every fall and at the same time feel exhilaration when the lights are turned on for the first football game of the season. I am happy when we go to the beach because I loved going there with my dad when I was a child in Galveston, Texas. Happy memories bring happy present day experiences. Sad memories may be conjured up from a past sad experience. It seems that those very first experiences with sound, sight, smell, and touch imprint us forever.
I am sobered by nostalgia and introspection, and I am exhilarated and excited by almost everything else. Thank you, Carson and Marie Nail, for balancing my memories which have in turn balanced my life, My memories, thanks to you two, have carried me far and I plan to ride this wave right through to eternity.
Country Folks: Sylvia & J.P. Dobbs
The old saying that you can take the boy out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the boy perfectly applies to our hometown, country boy J. P. Dobbs. Notice: This description does not apply to his wife, Sylvia, because she was born in the city, raised in the city and has Dallas, Texas city-blood running through her veins.
The question here is how can two people with totally opposite backgrounds come together in marriage and make it for one-half century living ONLY in the country, and I do mean COUNTRY.
Have you been down Linn Flat Road lately? The two (Linn Flat Road and Country) are synonymous. It's where the pavement ends.
J.P. is the product of a long line of Garrison heritage. His mother lovingly called Curly DeLoney was born and raised on-farther-back-up Linn Flat Road where her parents and grandparents made their homes. Upon becoming a young woman, Curly married Preston Dobbs. The couple joined Garrison Methodist Church, sent their kids to Garrison Public Schools and thus began J.P.'s indoctrination into the wonders and beauty of East Texas country life. His was a life filled with fishing, gardening, tractor riding, swimming in the creek, horseback riding, camping and going deer hunting.
Sylvia, on the other hand, spent her formative years in several cities including Marshall, Longview, Houston and Dallas. Although she admits to being a city girl who loved all of the advantages of city life, she also admits that managing the changes associated with moving from one place to another was somewhat unsettling for her and pretty much of big deal when you get right down to it. Even before she met J. P. she solemnly vowed, " When I marry I am going to move to one place and STAY THERE."
What can a small town like Garrison, Texas offer a young couple starting their life together? Well, it has provided job opportunity. J.P. has spent many years in the banking business in Garrison and Nacogdoches. To his credit he has chalked up a 30-year career and has survived three banking takeovers. He presently serves on the Deep East Texas Electric Coop Board of Directors holding most if not all of the Board's official positions. Through the years his Garrison Methodist Church affiliation has utilized his talents including everything from plumbing cleanup to Finance Chairman. He is a lifelong member of the Garrison Lions Club and this year was aptly elected Garrison Citizen of the Year 2005.
Job opportunity for Sylvia has always been and continues to be the responsibility of her loving family. She and J. P. have two children, Kim and Jim who now each have two children of their own providing their parents with a total of four grandchildren. Mostly to Sylvia's credit, the Dobbs home is filled with treasures of tradition including everything from handmade Christmas ornaments to family photos and all sorts of family heirlooms. Sylvia is an avid collector displaying her treasures to promote her family heritage and her children's interests. She is also an accomplished writer with a decade of experience with the Garrison News. Her talents are too numerous to name but at the top of the list are her writing ability, church associated activities and friendships, jewelry collection, general love of all things antique, interior design and her handyman's pursuit of House Beautiful. She collects and displays beautiful things but is not above the painting and scraping drudgery of bottom-line home improvement.
So, maybe our city girl lucked-out when she met our hometown country boy at Stephen F. Austin State University so many years ago where they were both in pursuit of higher education. But what matters most to us is that they found each other, settled in Garrison, joined Garrison Methodist Church, built their home, raised their family and are right now in the process of living together happily ever after in the country.
The question here is how can two people with totally opposite backgrounds come together in marriage and make it for one-half century living ONLY in the country, and I do mean COUNTRY.
Have you been down Linn Flat Road lately? The two (Linn Flat Road and Country) are synonymous. It's where the pavement ends.
J.P. is the product of a long line of Garrison heritage. His mother lovingly called Curly DeLoney was born and raised on-farther-back-up Linn Flat Road where her parents and grandparents made their homes. Upon becoming a young woman, Curly married Preston Dobbs. The couple joined Garrison Methodist Church, sent their kids to Garrison Public Schools and thus began J.P.'s indoctrination into the wonders and beauty of East Texas country life. His was a life filled with fishing, gardening, tractor riding, swimming in the creek, horseback riding, camping and going deer hunting.
Sylvia, on the other hand, spent her formative years in several cities including Marshall, Longview, Houston and Dallas. Although she admits to being a city girl who loved all of the advantages of city life, she also admits that managing the changes associated with moving from one place to another was somewhat unsettling for her and pretty much of big deal when you get right down to it. Even before she met J. P. she solemnly vowed, " When I marry I am going to move to one place and STAY THERE."
What can a small town like Garrison, Texas offer a young couple starting their life together? Well, it has provided job opportunity. J.P. has spent many years in the banking business in Garrison and Nacogdoches. To his credit he has chalked up a 30-year career and has survived three banking takeovers. He presently serves on the Deep East Texas Electric Coop Board of Directors holding most if not all of the Board's official positions. Through the years his Garrison Methodist Church affiliation has utilized his talents including everything from plumbing cleanup to Finance Chairman. He is a lifelong member of the Garrison Lions Club and this year was aptly elected Garrison Citizen of the Year 2005.
Job opportunity for Sylvia has always been and continues to be the responsibility of her loving family. She and J. P. have two children, Kim and Jim who now each have two children of their own providing their parents with a total of four grandchildren. Mostly to Sylvia's credit, the Dobbs home is filled with treasures of tradition including everything from handmade Christmas ornaments to family photos and all sorts of family heirlooms. Sylvia is an avid collector displaying her treasures to promote her family heritage and her children's interests. She is also an accomplished writer with a decade of experience with the Garrison News. Her talents are too numerous to name but at the top of the list are her writing ability, church associated activities and friendships, jewelry collection, general love of all things antique, interior design and her handyman's pursuit of House Beautiful. She collects and displays beautiful things but is not above the painting and scraping drudgery of bottom-line home improvement.
So, maybe our city girl lucked-out when she met our hometown country boy at Stephen F. Austin State University so many years ago where they were both in pursuit of higher education. But what matters most to us is that they found each other, settled in Garrison, joined Garrison Methodist Church, built their home, raised their family and are right now in the process of living together happily ever after in the country.
Elaine & Wayne: A Prince of a Deal
Introducing the new Attoyac Charge newsletter team
Elaine & Wayne: A Prince of a Deal
Wayne and Elaine Prince don't occupy the last pew on the left side of the sanctuary because they prefer to sit a distance from the pulpit. They specifically chose that particular pew because Wayne can look over his left shoulder and view the beautiful stained glass window installed in the mid 1940's in memory of his grandparents Mr. and Mrs. I. T. Allen. "It's comforting to know that things are as they should be and that I am carrying on a three-generation family legacy here at Garrison Methodist Church," explained Wayne. "That tradition not only inspires me but my better half as well," he continued. "Elaine and I attended services here in the early 1960's while we were dating and attending SFA together. Since our retirement two years ago, we have intensified an old friendship with this wonderful church family," he said.
We Methodist love to know what's going on in our church and with our friends. Both Elaine and Wayne, with their long tradition of church affiliation, have an insight and perspective into what's happening now. They are the perfect pair to tell it like it is today knowing full well exactly how it used to be way back when. This special Wayne and Elaine feature is designed to inform the membership and friends of the United Methodist Attoyac Charge that Elaine is the NEW newsletter editor with Prince Wayne always on call for specific details and pertinent information.
That Prince of a Deal named at the beginning of this article includes both Princes. You get a real intellectual deal just conversing with Wayne on any and all subjects associated with science and biology, not to mention all the other stuff he knows as well. The Elaine deal features anything with photos and pamphlets. Elaine rises to whatever the occasion call for. She can make a bulletin, an information flier, a program, a customized bookmark, a refrigerator magnet. You name it and if it can be accomplished using the computer, Elaine can do it.
The new newsletter will feature information from all three churches: Timpson, Garrison, and Caledonia. The membership is encouraged to contact Elaine with event dates and details and all items of news interest to our membership and friends.
Someone once said that if you want a job done ask a busy person. Elaine and Wayne are two busy people who manage to get a lot done. They have a large farm, a large family, a large house, a large pea patch and hay field and some large family responsibilities revolving around three grown children and five grandchildren.
"Yes, we are retired but it doesn't really seem like it," explained Elaine. "Our three children Scott, Larry and Denise along with our five grandchildren and their busy schedules really makes life interesting. We love every minute of every day and we especially love our home and the legacy of the Prince family farm where we live today," she concluded.
We at United Methodist Attoyac Charge are fortunate to have Elaine and Wayne on board with all of the expertise they bring to our church family. You certainly must agree that we have A Prince of A Deal with these two.
Elaine & Wayne: A Prince of a Deal
Wayne and Elaine Prince don't occupy the last pew on the left side of the sanctuary because they prefer to sit a distance from the pulpit. They specifically chose that particular pew because Wayne can look over his left shoulder and view the beautiful stained glass window installed in the mid 1940's in memory of his grandparents Mr. and Mrs. I. T. Allen. "It's comforting to know that things are as they should be and that I am carrying on a three-generation family legacy here at Garrison Methodist Church," explained Wayne. "That tradition not only inspires me but my better half as well," he continued. "Elaine and I attended services here in the early 1960's while we were dating and attending SFA together. Since our retirement two years ago, we have intensified an old friendship with this wonderful church family," he said.
We Methodist love to know what's going on in our church and with our friends. Both Elaine and Wayne, with their long tradition of church affiliation, have an insight and perspective into what's happening now. They are the perfect pair to tell it like it is today knowing full well exactly how it used to be way back when. This special Wayne and Elaine feature is designed to inform the membership and friends of the United Methodist Attoyac Charge that Elaine is the NEW newsletter editor with Prince Wayne always on call for specific details and pertinent information.
That Prince of a Deal named at the beginning of this article includes both Princes. You get a real intellectual deal just conversing with Wayne on any and all subjects associated with science and biology, not to mention all the other stuff he knows as well. The Elaine deal features anything with photos and pamphlets. Elaine rises to whatever the occasion call for. She can make a bulletin, an information flier, a program, a customized bookmark, a refrigerator magnet. You name it and if it can be accomplished using the computer, Elaine can do it.
The new newsletter will feature information from all three churches: Timpson, Garrison, and Caledonia. The membership is encouraged to contact Elaine with event dates and details and all items of news interest to our membership and friends.
Someone once said that if you want a job done ask a busy person. Elaine and Wayne are two busy people who manage to get a lot done. They have a large farm, a large family, a large house, a large pea patch and hay field and some large family responsibilities revolving around three grown children and five grandchildren.
"Yes, we are retired but it doesn't really seem like it," explained Elaine. "Our three children Scott, Larry and Denise along with our five grandchildren and their busy schedules really makes life interesting. We love every minute of every day and we especially love our home and the legacy of the Prince family farm where we live today," she concluded.
We at United Methodist Attoyac Charge are fortunate to have Elaine and Wayne on board with all of the expertise they bring to our church family. You certainly must agree that we have A Prince of A Deal with these two.
Jean Ferraro - How Good Is That!!
"How good is that" may sound like a question but it's NOT. "How Good is That" is actually an exclamation when uttered by our pastor Jean Ferraro as she communicates with her Garrison flock on all sorts of topics: family matters, church matters, community events. You name the topic and Jean's standard, bright, sunshiny response is "How Good it That!"
Rev. Ferraro's bright, sunny disposition certainly must have come in handy about three years ago when she assumed the responsibility of the Attoyac Charge confirming her duties not only to Garrison, but also to Timpson and Caledonia. That's three congregations worth of sermons, funerals, christenings, weddings, hospital visits, counseling sessions, Bible study classes, administrative board meetings, building facility responsibilities, district meetings and conferences. All of that plus coordinating three congregation's worth of holiday services like Christmas and Easter and Thanksgiving.
It takes a very adept person to walk into such a massive undertaking. But she didn't just walk into this Attoyac Charge all figured out and ready to go. She designed it and implemented it and pulled all three congregations along through out the process and we loved it. How Good Is That!!
Jean, these past few years have truly been a joyous journey. We here in the Garrison church love our new friends from the Timpson Church. The spiritual relationships we have developed at our shared services and events have carried over into our personal lives. We truly like those Timpson people and not only do we enjoy meeting them at church, we enjoy their friendship out in the community as well. Our little East Texas world has been enlarged.
Your leadership here at the Garrison church has had a dramatic effect on all of us. We seem to be more cooperative these days. We tend to look for the positive and pay little or no attention to negative issues. We just love getting ready for 5th Sunday services. We love preparing for musical presentations and making our sanctuary and fellowship hall festive and beautiful. That positive shift we have experiences these past three years is most likely in direct relation to the positive spin you put on everything.
• Thank you, Jean, for managing us in such a way that we thought that it was our idea.
• Thank you for having a sense of style and a love of beauty that is evident as you work with our
committees when we are preparing for something special.
• Thank you for making it your business to know all of our names whether you are serving
communion or meeting us on the street.
• Thank you for Pat, the preacher's perfect spouse. He can sing in the choir, bake a cake, cook a brisket, trim trees - you name it and Pat can meet the challenge.
• Thank you for being the teacher that you are as you follow the Methodist church lectionary giving structure and meaning to our Sunday services and weekly Bible study classes.
• Thank you for giving us our share of your time and talent and not ignoring us as you tend to your other responsibilities at Caledonia and Timpson.
• Thank you for keeping us apprised of all major district and conference issues as you led us to meet Bishop Huey's goals of radical hospitality, extravagant generosity and passionate worship.
• Thank you for sharing your own personal problems, letting us know that ours aren't so
monumental after all.
• Thank you, Jean and Pat, for serving us these past few years. Just know that we are reluctantly letting you go and that we will give you our blessing only if you promise to stay close and visit often.
• Jean, thank you for being the ray of sunshine that you are. "How Good is That!!"
Rev. Ferraro's bright, sunny disposition certainly must have come in handy about three years ago when she assumed the responsibility of the Attoyac Charge confirming her duties not only to Garrison, but also to Timpson and Caledonia. That's three congregations worth of sermons, funerals, christenings, weddings, hospital visits, counseling sessions, Bible study classes, administrative board meetings, building facility responsibilities, district meetings and conferences. All of that plus coordinating three congregation's worth of holiday services like Christmas and Easter and Thanksgiving.
It takes a very adept person to walk into such a massive undertaking. But she didn't just walk into this Attoyac Charge all figured out and ready to go. She designed it and implemented it and pulled all three congregations along through out the process and we loved it. How Good Is That!!
Jean, these past few years have truly been a joyous journey. We here in the Garrison church love our new friends from the Timpson Church. The spiritual relationships we have developed at our shared services and events have carried over into our personal lives. We truly like those Timpson people and not only do we enjoy meeting them at church, we enjoy their friendship out in the community as well. Our little East Texas world has been enlarged.
Your leadership here at the Garrison church has had a dramatic effect on all of us. We seem to be more cooperative these days. We tend to look for the positive and pay little or no attention to negative issues. We just love getting ready for 5th Sunday services. We love preparing for musical presentations and making our sanctuary and fellowship hall festive and beautiful. That positive shift we have experiences these past three years is most likely in direct relation to the positive spin you put on everything.
• Thank you, Jean, for managing us in such a way that we thought that it was our idea.
• Thank you for having a sense of style and a love of beauty that is evident as you work with our
committees when we are preparing for something special.
• Thank you for making it your business to know all of our names whether you are serving
communion or meeting us on the street.
• Thank you for Pat, the preacher's perfect spouse. He can sing in the choir, bake a cake, cook a brisket, trim trees - you name it and Pat can meet the challenge.
• Thank you for being the teacher that you are as you follow the Methodist church lectionary giving structure and meaning to our Sunday services and weekly Bible study classes.
• Thank you for giving us our share of your time and talent and not ignoring us as you tend to your other responsibilities at Caledonia and Timpson.
• Thank you for keeping us apprised of all major district and conference issues as you led us to meet Bishop Huey's goals of radical hospitality, extravagant generosity and passionate worship.
• Thank you for sharing your own personal problems, letting us know that ours aren't so
monumental after all.
• Thank you, Jean and Pat, for serving us these past few years. Just know that we are reluctantly letting you go and that we will give you our blessing only if you promise to stay close and visit often.
• Jean, thank you for being the ray of sunshine that you are. "How Good is That!!"
Virginia Belle Hancock Lee
The personification of self-reliance: Virginia Belle Hancock Lee
Born, January 26, 1926, just south of the Naconiche Creek in the community of Cedar Bluff, this east Texas native knows what it takes to get the job done. Whether it's driving a tractor, fixing fence, bailing hay, feeding cows, teaching school, making a dress or baking an Angel food cake, Virginia's your girl. "I used to make all of my clothes from feed sacks and I've baked many Angel food cakes including one for Texas governor Allan Shivers," exclaimed Virginia!
Virginia tributes her dad D. L. Hancock with giving her a set of staunch, realistic values based on hard work and a genuine love and respect for family and friends. According to Virginia, her dad bought and sold land, farmed, drove Garrison's first school bus, worked on the railroad, owned and operated a dairy and hauled milk to Pure Milk and Ice Co. in Nacogdoches. Little Virginia was always her dad's "right-hand man" and she, of course, developed her self-reliant traits from the man she admired most. Her conversations today always include a few hundred well chosen words praising her dad for all of the things he taught her including the value of a good education.
Immediately upon graduating from Garrison High School in 1943, Virginia entered Stephen F. Austin State Teachers College, but before she could complete her degree she was recruited for the classroom by GISD trustees Watson and Ed Lunsford and Robert Stokes. "I was just eighteen years old," explained Virginia, " and my salary was nine hundred dollars for the whole 1944-45 school year. I loved teaching and I particularly remember Jimmy Payne and Roger Weatherly, two of my very best students that first year."
Virginia finished her Bachelors of Science Degree and her Masters Degree in Education and continued her teaching career to complete a total of 32 years in the classroom. She was a strong teacher with a loving touch for her young students. "I just loved every one of them and I wanted them to learn more than anything," she said.
The day after Christmas December 26, 1943, Virginia Belle married hometown boy James Roby Lee. According to Virginia, Roby who was 14 years her senior was tall, dark and handsome and the Salutatorian of his Garrison High School graduating class. Roby raised cotton, cattle and hogs on the Lee place located on a large track of land south of town. In addition to his farming duties at home, Roby served his community and Nacogdoches county as a committeeman and chairman of the ASCS for a period of 33 years.
Virginia and Roby settled into married life a few years before son Michael Roby Lee came along. Michael inherited his love for learning from his parents and proved to be an outstanding student. He graduated from Nacogdoches High School in 1982 and immediately entered SFA where he completed his Bachelors Degree in science and math. He then received a scholarship to Oklahoma University where he completed his Masters Degree in environmental and chemical engineering. After college, Michael met and married Tammy Van of Plano, Texas. The couple have two sons, Michael Tanner and Houston Hancock. As she talked about her son and his family, Virginia's eyes lighted up with love and excitement telling about their 2008 Christmas celebration in Garrison with a large group of their family members.
When asked to give a little background concerning her affiliation with Garrison Methodist Church, Virginia exclaimed, "I love this church with all my heart and that's all there is to it!" She talked about the beauty of the stained glass windows and the natural glow of the sanctuary promoting a sense of reverence and peace. She then gave a history of the pulpit connecting her family to its purchase and donation. Virginia's first cousins, Leroy, Bert (Jo Ann McDuffie Beard's father), Otto, Tommy, Lewin, Ralph and Louvene McDuffie purchased and donated the pulpit in memory of their mother Jimmie Hancock McDuffie.
Another bit of history connecting Virginia and FUMC is that she slept on three mattresses constructed in our church basement. According to Virginia, Helen Muckleroy (Martha's mother-in-law) and several assistants made the mattresses as part of a federal government project during President Roosevelt's administration back in the 1930's. From a long line of Democrats, Virginia became a Democrat at age 21 and a Methodist at age 24 both of which she expresses great pride and a stubborn, unwillingness to change.
Virginia insisted that this article include the fact that she is hopeful of the future and that she deeply believes that she is a steward of God's beautiful earth. She loves her friends and will not waste even one second of her time in anger toward anyone. She also expressed skepticism toward excessive medical treatment. Her advice is to eat a well-balanced diet, work hard, drink plenty of water, take a warm bath and go to bed.
Virginia Belle Hancock Lee is one of our own and a true personification of self reliance.
In Pursuit of Courage
In Pursuit of Courage
Courage is an extraordinary word that carries a lot of clout.
Courage is a character trait that I am not sure I possess. How would I know unless faced with a situation requiring courage.
How would I react if I happened upon a flaming car with someone trapped inside or a person calling for help from an icy river? Would I, with a sudden rush of adrenaline, rise to the occasion? In the flash of an instant would courage over come fear filling me with the strength to render aide to those in distress?
The kind of courage I've just described is what makes newspaper headlines. That kind of courage separates the men from the boys. It makes instant heroes of ordinary people, but not everyone has the chance to prove himself courageous by pulling an injured person from a flaming car or jumping from a bridge into icy waters to save survivors of a plane crash. I can only hope that I have what it takes, but I really have no way of knowing for certain unless such an incident were to present itself.
Surely, if I am in pursuit of courage, I can be courageous on an everyday basis. Surely there is an everyday, garden-variety brand of courage available to people like me who may never have an opportunity to achieve a hero-type courage.
I live an everyday, ordinary life in my ordinary house, surrounded by my everyday friends, doing my everyday, ordinary stuff. As I live the life just described I know for a fact that there are times I need courage or maybe it's encouragement to count my blessings. Let me be perfectly clear. I love my life! I can think of no other life I had rather live, and I am most certainly thankful for my many blessings! What I am saying is that sometimes it takes courage to keep on keeping on in a small town with limited conveniences and limited opportunities. Sometimes an ordinary, garden-variety life-style can become just that -- ordinary requiring encouragement rather than courage to go on.
Recently I've found myself making comparisons to the life I live today in this dying little town to the Garrison I remember more than one-half century ago. My home town from the turn-of-the-century to the mid fifties was booming with activity and was truly an exciting and robust place. Garrison was located adjacent to the Southern Pacific Railroad Depot with trains making daily stops to deposit and take on passengers and all sorts of freight. The town was complete with its own working hotel, several churches, a school, several grocery stores, two black smith shops, two large sawmills, several dry good stores, a dry cleaners, hardware stores, two or three cotton gins, a tomato packing plant, a brick plant, several restaurants, several service (gas) stations, a pharmacy, a variety store, a full time doctor, and a movie theater that featured three (3) different movies each week.
On Saturdays the town was filled with families shopping for the upcoming week and visiting with each other just like downtown Garrison, Texas was the social center of the state. By no stretch of the imagination could my home town or its people be described ordinary.
Of course, that town is now only a memory that I have idealized over the years and elevated to the status of extraordinary. I know those people living during the wonder years of the 50's were no more or less courageous than I am living my ordinary life in the same little town today. If I could compare my description of Garrison today to that of my mother's description approximately one-half century ago, she would probably describe her life from the same perspective that I described mine -- ordinary. Surely, from time to time, we all live ordinary lives, but we must never forget that we are living in God's extraordinary world. The choice to live richly and courageously is ours.
One vivid memory that I have of my mother is of her telling me that life gets sweeter and sweeter as one grows older. Time passes faster and faster and the old song that every day is sweeter than the day before is true. Now that I have the knowledge that everyday is sweeter than the day before I am encouraged to plan to live the rest of my ordinary life always in pursuit of courage and beauty and truth and faith and love and hope and friendship.
When my family, my friends or my church calls, I plan to rise with a sudden rush of adrenaline with my heart filled with courage to whatever the opportunity presents.
Courage is an extraordinary word that carries a lot of clout.
Courage is a character trait that I am not sure I possess. How would I know unless faced with a situation requiring courage.
How would I react if I happened upon a flaming car with someone trapped inside or a person calling for help from an icy river? Would I, with a sudden rush of adrenaline, rise to the occasion? In the flash of an instant would courage over come fear filling me with the strength to render aide to those in distress?
The kind of courage I've just described is what makes newspaper headlines. That kind of courage separates the men from the boys. It makes instant heroes of ordinary people, but not everyone has the chance to prove himself courageous by pulling an injured person from a flaming car or jumping from a bridge into icy waters to save survivors of a plane crash. I can only hope that I have what it takes, but I really have no way of knowing for certain unless such an incident were to present itself.
Surely, if I am in pursuit of courage, I can be courageous on an everyday basis. Surely there is an everyday, garden-variety brand of courage available to people like me who may never have an opportunity to achieve a hero-type courage.
I live an everyday, ordinary life in my ordinary house, surrounded by my everyday friends, doing my everyday, ordinary stuff. As I live the life just described I know for a fact that there are times I need courage or maybe it's encouragement to count my blessings. Let me be perfectly clear. I love my life! I can think of no other life I had rather live, and I am most certainly thankful for my many blessings! What I am saying is that sometimes it takes courage to keep on keeping on in a small town with limited conveniences and limited opportunities. Sometimes an ordinary, garden-variety life-style can become just that -- ordinary requiring encouragement rather than courage to go on.
Recently I've found myself making comparisons to the life I live today in this dying little town to the Garrison I remember more than one-half century ago. My home town from the turn-of-the-century to the mid fifties was booming with activity and was truly an exciting and robust place. Garrison was located adjacent to the Southern Pacific Railroad Depot with trains making daily stops to deposit and take on passengers and all sorts of freight. The town was complete with its own working hotel, several churches, a school, several grocery stores, two black smith shops, two large sawmills, several dry good stores, a dry cleaners, hardware stores, two or three cotton gins, a tomato packing plant, a brick plant, several restaurants, several service (gas) stations, a pharmacy, a variety store, a full time doctor, and a movie theater that featured three (3) different movies each week.
On Saturdays the town was filled with families shopping for the upcoming week and visiting with each other just like downtown Garrison, Texas was the social center of the state. By no stretch of the imagination could my home town or its people be described ordinary.
Of course, that town is now only a memory that I have idealized over the years and elevated to the status of extraordinary. I know those people living during the wonder years of the 50's were no more or less courageous than I am living my ordinary life in the same little town today. If I could compare my description of Garrison today to that of my mother's description approximately one-half century ago, she would probably describe her life from the same perspective that I described mine -- ordinary. Surely, from time to time, we all live ordinary lives, but we must never forget that we are living in God's extraordinary world. The choice to live richly and courageously is ours.
One vivid memory that I have of my mother is of her telling me that life gets sweeter and sweeter as one grows older. Time passes faster and faster and the old song that every day is sweeter than the day before is true. Now that I have the knowledge that everyday is sweeter than the day before I am encouraged to plan to live the rest of my ordinary life always in pursuit of courage and beauty and truth and faith and love and hope and friendship.
When my family, my friends or my church calls, I plan to rise with a sudden rush of adrenaline with my heart filled with courage to whatever the opportunity presents.
Bob Barton Award
Garrison business man Bob Barton has historical ties to his family owned crosstie company dating back to the year 1885 and the founding of the town of Garrison, Texas. The year 1885 was also the year that the Houston East and West Texas Railroad came to town as a result of a land sale negotiated by the town's founder, Captain Jim Garrison. Captain Jim subsequently became the first area railroad crosstie contractor.
Since 1885 the crosstie contract has passed from the Captain Jim Garrison Estate to the R. T. Patterson Estate to the Belton Latimer and N. H. Jarrett Estate and finally in 1957 to its present owner/managers, the K. L. Barton family, known today as the Barton Tie Company.
As young men in the year 1948, twelve-year- old Bob and his brother Kenneth, now deceased, began working in the woods with their father K. L. Barton loading ties purchased primarily from local land owners. The ties were loaded first on the shoulders of hired laborers. They were later loaded by a wench truck crudely fashioned by Bob's Uncle N. H. Jarrett from a 1946 Chevrolet log truck. The Barton family still owns the old truck which reminds them of the timber industry struggles of days gone by.
Bob and Kenneth as part of a five-man crew were paid five cents per each loaded tie. At the end of the day, the crew's wages were split five ways among its members, and the pay was the same, whether the tie was loaded by shoulder or by the wench truck. A present-day crew using a forklift to load would draw a significantly higher wage based on the fact that in 1948 ties sold for $3 each and today sell upwards of $20.00 each depending on the size of the tie.
Today Barton Tie Co. buys ties from 25 to 40 different East Texas, Louisiana, and Arkansas sawmills. These sawmills in turn purchase from numerous logging companies that each employ five to fifteen man crews to harvest the logs,
During World War II, the railroads monopolized the transportation industry requiring possibly more ties during the 1940's and '50's than they do today. Yet, even competing with today's trucking industry, U. S. railroads used 21,000,000 wooden ties not counting the use of composite ties made from plastics, concrete, steal, and laminates. Union Pacific alone, the largest class one railroad west of the Mississippi, has 33,000 miles of track and approximately 3,000 ties are required for each mile.
Since the founding of the town of Garrison and the 1885 initial contract with the HE&WT, Barton Tie Company has sold ties and contracted with Southern Pacific, Santa Fe, Berlington Northern, Kansas City Southern and Union Pacific Railroads as well as with several creosote treating plants.
In 1968 Bob's father K. L. Barton built a pallet mill designed to use the excess or side lumber from the sawmills. The pallet mill is still in operation today recycling lumber and using all logs too small to qualify for ties. Pallets used for storage and transportation are a vital part of the timber and tie industry.
Timber is only one component of an integrated East Texas process including both the poultry and the cattle industry. Because individual farmers use and are dependent on each others' land, trees, wood chips, sawdust, fertilizer, and hay, all three industries are interrelated and thrive as a result. The process is based on economics, but that same process promotes goodwill and lifelong relationships among farmers and generations of families.
Barton Tie Company and the Barton family as well their friends and neighbors are a vital part of that integrated process. According to Bob Barton, his is not just a job. It is an integrated life-style that he lives and loves every single day.
Since 1885 the crosstie contract has passed from the Captain Jim Garrison Estate to the R. T. Patterson Estate to the Belton Latimer and N. H. Jarrett Estate and finally in 1957 to its present owner/managers, the K. L. Barton family, known today as the Barton Tie Company.
As young men in the year 1948, twelve-year- old Bob and his brother Kenneth, now deceased, began working in the woods with their father K. L. Barton loading ties purchased primarily from local land owners. The ties were loaded first on the shoulders of hired laborers. They were later loaded by a wench truck crudely fashioned by Bob's Uncle N. H. Jarrett from a 1946 Chevrolet log truck. The Barton family still owns the old truck which reminds them of the timber industry struggles of days gone by.
Bob and Kenneth as part of a five-man crew were paid five cents per each loaded tie. At the end of the day, the crew's wages were split five ways among its members, and the pay was the same, whether the tie was loaded by shoulder or by the wench truck. A present-day crew using a forklift to load would draw a significantly higher wage based on the fact that in 1948 ties sold for $3 each and today sell upwards of $20.00 each depending on the size of the tie.
Today Barton Tie Co. buys ties from 25 to 40 different East Texas, Louisiana, and Arkansas sawmills. These sawmills in turn purchase from numerous logging companies that each employ five to fifteen man crews to harvest the logs,
During World War II, the railroads monopolized the transportation industry requiring possibly more ties during the 1940's and '50's than they do today. Yet, even competing with today's trucking industry, U. S. railroads used 21,000,000 wooden ties not counting the use of composite ties made from plastics, concrete, steal, and laminates. Union Pacific alone, the largest class one railroad west of the Mississippi, has 33,000 miles of track and approximately 3,000 ties are required for each mile.
Since the founding of the town of Garrison and the 1885 initial contract with the HE&WT, Barton Tie Company has sold ties and contracted with Southern Pacific, Santa Fe, Berlington Northern, Kansas City Southern and Union Pacific Railroads as well as with several creosote treating plants.
In 1968 Bob's father K. L. Barton built a pallet mill designed to use the excess or side lumber from the sawmills. The pallet mill is still in operation today recycling lumber and using all logs too small to qualify for ties. Pallets used for storage and transportation are a vital part of the timber and tie industry.
Timber is only one component of an integrated East Texas process including both the poultry and the cattle industry. Because individual farmers use and are dependent on each others' land, trees, wood chips, sawdust, fertilizer, and hay, all three industries are interrelated and thrive as a result. The process is based on economics, but that same process promotes goodwill and lifelong relationships among farmers and generations of families.
Barton Tie Company and the Barton family as well their friends and neighbors are a vital part of that integrated process. According to Bob Barton, his is not just a job. It is an integrated life-style that he lives and loves every single day.
How do you describe an icon? According to the dictionary an icon is a representation or an image. Maybe it is a standard or a Benchmark by which other persons or things are referenced. If the word ICON can be defined in our own East Texas terms, it's very likely that Ed McNair would personify all of the character traits we hold near and dear here at Garrison First Methodist Church.
Yes, she did exemplify friendship, loyalty, dedication, service, truth, intelligence and humor just to mention a few of her most notable traits. But, of all her many personality and character assets, the one that endeared her to this church and community was her quick sense of humor tempered by an unconditional love for her friends and neighbors and a deep understanding of human nature.
Ed McNair lived in Garrison all of her life . There was very little that she did not know or understand about this place and the people who live here. Even at the tender age of 95 she could reach back into her memory and come up with a name or an event and the correct spin on any situation and the circumstances at issue.
A conversation with Ed was like taking a walk down a country lane with a special, trusted friend who was in the know about almost everything. Between Ed and her friends, there was no generation gap because she related to young and old alike, and there was absolutely no hypocrisy in what she said and what she meant. In the Arlam community Ed was known for politely speaking her mind. She always told it like it was as recently as even a few days ago.
December 23, 1942 was the beginning of major change for most everybody who lived in Arlam. Nineteen forty-two was the year the Big Storm (tornado) destroyed the church, the school and many of the homes between Arlam and Caledonia.
On one occasion not too long ago as she remembered those easy, lazy country days, Ed explained that everybody in the Arlam community went to church together before the big storm. The entire community would listen to the Baptist preacher on one Sunday, and the next Sunday everyone would be in attendance at church to hear the Methodist preacher. According to Ed, it didn't really matter who preached. Everyone just came to worship and fellowship with each other without much denominational distinction.
The year of the storm, 1942, marked the year that Arlam children transferred to Garrison Schools. It was also the year that Ed McNair and Frances, Billie Young and Billie Wheeler and their families as well as several others families moved their membership to Garrison First Methodist Church.
Not too long ago, Ed proudly announced that she had been a member of Garrison First Methodist Church since 1942 and had attended regularly for the past 67 years. When asked how she felt about all those years in association with FUMC, she remarked that the Church was and always had been the center of her life. She was involved with Sunday school, worship services, revivals, weddings, funerals, socials gatherings, vacation Bible schools, Ladies group meetings, celebrations and basically whatever took place, Ed McNair was there. Through the years the church became a source of stability for Ed and her family and friends, because even though many Garrison landmarks changed, the Garrison First Methodist Church remained a secure and stable refuge. Just recently Ed explained that being in church on Sundays was a wonderful source of comfort for her. She remembered the early days when the Ladies Sunday school class was full every Sunday. Bonnie Garrison was her teacher and some of the class members who attended through the years were Fay Ramsey, Johnnie Francis, Laura Cook, Margaret Simms, Mildred McDuffie, Lamerle Bryan, Curley Dobbs, Lola Hancock, Helen Muckleroy, Billie Nix, and Anna Bell Hudman.
According to Ed, the church was the center of her life and a place where everyone came together on Sunday mornings. The women she worshipped with on Sunday mornings were the same women she talked to on the phone and visited with on a daily basis during the rest of the week. The church sustained almost every aspect of her life.
It is certain that the comfort of the sanctuary along with its beautiful stained glass windows and memories of friendships and days gone by are a source of pride and peace for Ed McNair, our very own Arlam Community and First Methodist Church ICON.
Yes, she did exemplify friendship, loyalty, dedication, service, truth, intelligence and humor just to mention a few of her most notable traits. But, of all her many personality and character assets, the one that endeared her to this church and community was her quick sense of humor tempered by an unconditional love for her friends and neighbors and a deep understanding of human nature.
Ed McNair lived in Garrison all of her life . There was very little that she did not know or understand about this place and the people who live here. Even at the tender age of 95 she could reach back into her memory and come up with a name or an event and the correct spin on any situation and the circumstances at issue.
A conversation with Ed was like taking a walk down a country lane with a special, trusted friend who was in the know about almost everything. Between Ed and her friends, there was no generation gap because she related to young and old alike, and there was absolutely no hypocrisy in what she said and what she meant. In the Arlam community Ed was known for politely speaking her mind. She always told it like it was as recently as even a few days ago.
December 23, 1942 was the beginning of major change for most everybody who lived in Arlam. Nineteen forty-two was the year the Big Storm (tornado) destroyed the church, the school and many of the homes between Arlam and Caledonia.
On one occasion not too long ago as she remembered those easy, lazy country days, Ed explained that everybody in the Arlam community went to church together before the big storm. The entire community would listen to the Baptist preacher on one Sunday, and the next Sunday everyone would be in attendance at church to hear the Methodist preacher. According to Ed, it didn't really matter who preached. Everyone just came to worship and fellowship with each other without much denominational distinction.
The year of the storm, 1942, marked the year that Arlam children transferred to Garrison Schools. It was also the year that Ed McNair and Frances, Billie Young and Billie Wheeler and their families as well as several others families moved their membership to Garrison First Methodist Church.
Not too long ago, Ed proudly announced that she had been a member of Garrison First Methodist Church since 1942 and had attended regularly for the past 67 years. When asked how she felt about all those years in association with FUMC, she remarked that the Church was and always had been the center of her life. She was involved with Sunday school, worship services, revivals, weddings, funerals, socials gatherings, vacation Bible schools, Ladies group meetings, celebrations and basically whatever took place, Ed McNair was there. Through the years the church became a source of stability for Ed and her family and friends, because even though many Garrison landmarks changed, the Garrison First Methodist Church remained a secure and stable refuge. Just recently Ed explained that being in church on Sundays was a wonderful source of comfort for her. She remembered the early days when the Ladies Sunday school class was full every Sunday. Bonnie Garrison was her teacher and some of the class members who attended through the years were Fay Ramsey, Johnnie Francis, Laura Cook, Margaret Simms, Mildred McDuffie, Lamerle Bryan, Curley Dobbs, Lola Hancock, Helen Muckleroy, Billie Nix, and Anna Bell Hudman.
According to Ed, the church was the center of her life and a place where everyone came together on Sunday mornings. The women she worshipped with on Sunday mornings were the same women she talked to on the phone and visited with on a daily basis during the rest of the week. The church sustained almost every aspect of her life.
It is certain that the comfort of the sanctuary along with its beautiful stained glass windows and memories of friendships and days gone by are a source of pride and peace for Ed McNair, our very own Arlam Community and First Methodist Church ICON.
A 9/11 New York Experience
When my good friend Lillian Cook called and asked if I wanted to go to New York City, I asked no questions never giving a second thought to the date, time or money and promptly answered: YES, I want to go!
She told me that a small group from Palola College had pulled together a trip at the last minute and that I would have to have my money in by the first of the next week, I quickly checked my checking account balance trying to figure out a way to make a large withdrawal without Stacy finding out. Then I decided that it didn't matter how he felt about it, I was going. I thought about the museums, the theaters, the stores and shopping, the restaurants, the hustle and bustle and excitement and knew that the trip was worth any consequences that I would have to suffer at the indignation of Stacy. He sensed my determination and wisely said nothing at all.
When I called my daughter Janis, I could calculate her approval from the pitch of her voice. "You're going to New York. I want to go!" I had promised that we would go together on the next trip, but there just wasn't enough time for her to make all of the necessary arrangements by deadline. Of course, she forgave me for this trip but we made a vow that the next trip would be ours together for certain.
After we talked about some of the highlights of my upcoming trip, Janis asked, "Are you going to Ground Zero?"
"No I don't think so," I said. "I went to the top of the World Trade Center in the early 1990's and I just don't think I want to replace my memory of that grand structure with the sadness that surrounds the site today." So I didn't plan to go, and Lillian and I didn't really talk about it very much. I noticed that nobody talked about it very much. The tour guides on the Grayline and Circle Line Tours didn't really mention it. But I felt that some how it was present in everyone's thoughts. It was kind of like remembering my dad talking about his brother who endured the harrows of WWII. "Emily Kay," my dad would say, "don't ask a bunch of questions about your Uncle Bob's war experiences. Those memories are very strong and vivid to him and they are something he wants to keep private."
"But why," I always asked? "Why wouldn't he want to share his experiences with everyone?" My dad tried to explain that there are some things a person cannot share. There are some feeling too graphic, too personal, too emotional making it impossible to express with mere words.
Well, I felt that impossibility of expression in New York. The reality of what happened on 9/11 was everywhere, just under the surface of what was happening and what was being talked about.
That reality became overpowering as our tour guides talked about Ellis Island, about the early years when their ancestors left their European homes to come to America; the struggles they endured as they began new lives in this new land; and, most of all, when they talked about their pride and love for New York and this country. They never mentioned the tragedy of 9/11. They didn't have to because we all knew.
The same reality was present at the Radio City Music Hall Christmas Spectacular as all 5.000 in the audience(mostly tourists) felt that insurmountable New York pride. A three dimensional Santa cast toys from his sleigh as he swept the audience and the streets of New York across Central Park, through Time Square, through Rockafellow Center, past Macy's and Chinatown and into the financial district's Wall Street area where the Twin Towers of late so grandly stood. Ground Zero wasn't mentioned but a tremendous swell of spirit erupted as the 3-D Santa circled the skies above the site. Nobody had to say a word. We all knew and we all shared the same reality of what had happened. We all shared in New York's pride and determination to never, never forget what freedom means to all of us.
Lillian and I did go to Ground Zero. There were hundreds if not thousands there. They weren't talking. There was a somberness that I'll never forget. I really can't even describe it because the shared emotion took on a life of its own and is beyond description. I saw the steel beam cross erected from the wreckage just hours after the horrible crash. I saw that church yard fence completely covered with mementos from all over the World.
The tragedy of 9/11/01 is truly a shared American experience. Certainly for those living in New York, but also for those tourists representing every state in the U.S. as well as most countries around the World. Those tourists, thousands and thousands and thousands of them every day, represent you and me from every nook and cranny little town and big city, USA.
Nine-eleven is a personal experience too close to our hearts and souls to fully express. And we know that it's an experience that has bound us together forever and ever as Americans.
She told me that a small group from Palola College had pulled together a trip at the last minute and that I would have to have my money in by the first of the next week, I quickly checked my checking account balance trying to figure out a way to make a large withdrawal without Stacy finding out. Then I decided that it didn't matter how he felt about it, I was going. I thought about the museums, the theaters, the stores and shopping, the restaurants, the hustle and bustle and excitement and knew that the trip was worth any consequences that I would have to suffer at the indignation of Stacy. He sensed my determination and wisely said nothing at all.
When I called my daughter Janis, I could calculate her approval from the pitch of her voice. "You're going to New York. I want to go!" I had promised that we would go together on the next trip, but there just wasn't enough time for her to make all of the necessary arrangements by deadline. Of course, she forgave me for this trip but we made a vow that the next trip would be ours together for certain.
After we talked about some of the highlights of my upcoming trip, Janis asked, "Are you going to Ground Zero?"
"No I don't think so," I said. "I went to the top of the World Trade Center in the early 1990's and I just don't think I want to replace my memory of that grand structure with the sadness that surrounds the site today." So I didn't plan to go, and Lillian and I didn't really talk about it very much. I noticed that nobody talked about it very much. The tour guides on the Grayline and Circle Line Tours didn't really mention it. But I felt that some how it was present in everyone's thoughts. It was kind of like remembering my dad talking about his brother who endured the harrows of WWII. "Emily Kay," my dad would say, "don't ask a bunch of questions about your Uncle Bob's war experiences. Those memories are very strong and vivid to him and they are something he wants to keep private."
"But why," I always asked? "Why wouldn't he want to share his experiences with everyone?" My dad tried to explain that there are some things a person cannot share. There are some feeling too graphic, too personal, too emotional making it impossible to express with mere words.
Well, I felt that impossibility of expression in New York. The reality of what happened on 9/11 was everywhere, just under the surface of what was happening and what was being talked about.
That reality became overpowering as our tour guides talked about Ellis Island, about the early years when their ancestors left their European homes to come to America; the struggles they endured as they began new lives in this new land; and, most of all, when they talked about their pride and love for New York and this country. They never mentioned the tragedy of 9/11. They didn't have to because we all knew.
The same reality was present at the Radio City Music Hall Christmas Spectacular as all 5.000 in the audience(mostly tourists) felt that insurmountable New York pride. A three dimensional Santa cast toys from his sleigh as he swept the audience and the streets of New York across Central Park, through Time Square, through Rockafellow Center, past Macy's and Chinatown and into the financial district's Wall Street area where the Twin Towers of late so grandly stood. Ground Zero wasn't mentioned but a tremendous swell of spirit erupted as the 3-D Santa circled the skies above the site. Nobody had to say a word. We all knew and we all shared the same reality of what had happened. We all shared in New York's pride and determination to never, never forget what freedom means to all of us.
Lillian and I did go to Ground Zero. There were hundreds if not thousands there. They weren't talking. There was a somberness that I'll never forget. I really can't even describe it because the shared emotion took on a life of its own and is beyond description. I saw the steel beam cross erected from the wreckage just hours after the horrible crash. I saw that church yard fence completely covered with mementos from all over the World.
The tragedy of 9/11/01 is truly a shared American experience. Certainly for those living in New York, but also for those tourists representing every state in the U.S. as well as most countries around the World. Those tourists, thousands and thousands and thousands of them every day, represent you and me from every nook and cranny little town and big city, USA.
Nine-eleven is a personal experience too close to our hearts and souls to fully express. And we know that it's an experience that has bound us together forever and ever as Americans.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Judy, Judy, Judy, My Friend Judy
Using a line from the 1940's movie Only Angels have Wings, is the best way I know to describe the depth and complexity of Judy Stoker's personality. In that famous old movie, Cary Grant exclaimed, "Judy! Judy! Judy!" because ONE Judy was not enough to describe his female co-star, Rita Hayworth. Well, the same emphasis holds true today for my beloved friend and classmate Judy Stoker. It definitely takes three JUDYs because ONE Judy simply is not enough.
Judy #1 - the smart student. She made good grades and possibly was the teacher's pet in the elementary grades. She and her sister Lynda Lou always got off the bus together scrubbed clean, both with bows in their hair, lunches in hand, and their class assignments prepared the night before. It was evident that Judy had done her homework because she was well behaved and had the correct answer when the teacher called her name.
Those early years in the classroom and at recess, particularly in a small, country school like Garrison, tend to imprint students with character traits and memories that last a lifetime. The Judy I know today is still the same smart, little Judy Stoker who got off that bus well over one-half century ago.
Classmates Jo Ann Goodman, Jimmy Strong, Laverne Jones, Leon Manning, Curtis Herrington, Kenneth Boyette, Jean Sanders and I all recently visited with Judy at Memorial Hospital in Nacogdoches. Of course, we all conferred by phone and compared notes about how we though she was doing and what we thought her prognosis was. Our consensus was that she may be sick and possibly terminal, but she certainly still possessed all of her mental faculties. She knew every one of us and commanded the conversation telling us exactly the state of her health and the extent of her illness. Once we got through all of the hospital and illness dialogue, we reminisced and laughed together about what it was like to grow up in the glorious 1940's and 50's.
Judy #2 - the friend. Our friendship spans a period of more than sixty years with the most memorable years being those once-in-a-lifetime experiences we shared at Garrison High School. We studied together (a little), spent the night with each other as often as possible, played in the band together, swam in the creeks together, went to the State Theater together, double dated together and told each other our deepest darkest secrets. We even established a girls club named the GGG's. We wrote GGG's on our notebooks, exchanged notes in class signed the GGG's, talked about our exclusive GGG club at recess gloating to all who were not members, mostly the boys and even established a GGG sign language including all the letters of the alphabet. We could silently communicate from one side of the classroom to the other using our exclusive language. The boys were wild to know what GGG stood for and as far as I know, we never did tell them.
When I last saw Judy at Memorial Hospital in Nacogdoches, we reminisced about the GGG's and all the fun we had those many years ago. Just to check her memory I asked if she could still sign the GGG language. She sat straight up in bed with her eyes fully alert and together we signed all 26 characters. We laughed and laughed and for a moment we were fourteen years old filled with friendship and the security of our youth.
Judy #3 - the adult. Right on schedule, high school graduation, marriage, children, careers and responsibility separated us from our youth. Judy and her classmates kept in touch through the years by way of letters and Christmas messages and periodically we could visit at class reunions and homecomings. On such occasions, Judy would give us the details of her nursing career as well as the accomplishments of her sons Randall and Michael and her daughter Janet. Those occasions were always brief leaving a nagging feeling that there is never enough time to really communicate who we are today and exactly what is in our hearts that we want to share with our friends.
In preparation for this brief account of my dear friend Judy Stoker, I contacted several of our classmates to gather a thought or phrase that would pin point exactly who she is. They listed traits like smart, live wire, funny, serious, ambitious, responsible, generous, a true friend, and a proud mother.
So, I'm back to my opening remark and just as perplexed as Cary Grant was as he described his co-star, Rita Hayworth. It takes an exclamation like JUDY! JUDY! JUDY! to describe my dear friend, because ONE JUDY simply is NOT enough.
Judy #1 - the smart student. She made good grades and possibly was the teacher's pet in the elementary grades. She and her sister Lynda Lou always got off the bus together scrubbed clean, both with bows in their hair, lunches in hand, and their class assignments prepared the night before. It was evident that Judy had done her homework because she was well behaved and had the correct answer when the teacher called her name.
Those early years in the classroom and at recess, particularly in a small, country school like Garrison, tend to imprint students with character traits and memories that last a lifetime. The Judy I know today is still the same smart, little Judy Stoker who got off that bus well over one-half century ago.
Classmates Jo Ann Goodman, Jimmy Strong, Laverne Jones, Leon Manning, Curtis Herrington, Kenneth Boyette, Jean Sanders and I all recently visited with Judy at Memorial Hospital in Nacogdoches. Of course, we all conferred by phone and compared notes about how we though she was doing and what we thought her prognosis was. Our consensus was that she may be sick and possibly terminal, but she certainly still possessed all of her mental faculties. She knew every one of us and commanded the conversation telling us exactly the state of her health and the extent of her illness. Once we got through all of the hospital and illness dialogue, we reminisced and laughed together about what it was like to grow up in the glorious 1940's and 50's.
Judy #2 - the friend. Our friendship spans a period of more than sixty years with the most memorable years being those once-in-a-lifetime experiences we shared at Garrison High School. We studied together (a little), spent the night with each other as often as possible, played in the band together, swam in the creeks together, went to the State Theater together, double dated together and told each other our deepest darkest secrets. We even established a girls club named the GGG's. We wrote GGG's on our notebooks, exchanged notes in class signed the GGG's, talked about our exclusive GGG club at recess gloating to all who were not members, mostly the boys and even established a GGG sign language including all the letters of the alphabet. We could silently communicate from one side of the classroom to the other using our exclusive language. The boys were wild to know what GGG stood for and as far as I know, we never did tell them.
When I last saw Judy at Memorial Hospital in Nacogdoches, we reminisced about the GGG's and all the fun we had those many years ago. Just to check her memory I asked if she could still sign the GGG language. She sat straight up in bed with her eyes fully alert and together we signed all 26 characters. We laughed and laughed and for a moment we were fourteen years old filled with friendship and the security of our youth.
Judy #3 - the adult. Right on schedule, high school graduation, marriage, children, careers and responsibility separated us from our youth. Judy and her classmates kept in touch through the years by way of letters and Christmas messages and periodically we could visit at class reunions and homecomings. On such occasions, Judy would give us the details of her nursing career as well as the accomplishments of her sons Randall and Michael and her daughter Janet. Those occasions were always brief leaving a nagging feeling that there is never enough time to really communicate who we are today and exactly what is in our hearts that we want to share with our friends.
In preparation for this brief account of my dear friend Judy Stoker, I contacted several of our classmates to gather a thought or phrase that would pin point exactly who she is. They listed traits like smart, live wire, funny, serious, ambitious, responsible, generous, a true friend, and a proud mother.
So, I'm back to my opening remark and just as perplexed as Cary Grant was as he described his co-star, Rita Hayworth. It takes an exclamation like JUDY! JUDY! JUDY! to describe my dear friend, because ONE JUDY simply is NOT enough.
Barbara Roberts, New York State Transplant
Dear Friends,
Barbara, the wife of our beloved pastor Walt Roberts, came to our church and community about four years ago. Although she is NOT a product of the South, coming heaven forbid from the state of New York, she did not let a little thing like deep (and I do mean deep) East Texas protocol intimidate her. No sirreee! She grabbed hold and found her way into our East Texas hearts.
The old saying that it takes at least 50 years to become a bonafide East Texan certainly did not deter Barbara from jumping right into the middle of the ladies group, the bridge club, the heritage society, the teachers sorority, the Lions Club, and public school activities. This energetic, enthusiastic, generous, lovable extrovert swept into our sleepy little town of Garrison, Texas and literally rattled our Methodist souls to the bare bone.
Her personality exudes friendship. She is the first to give a compliment complete with details of how and why she finds this or that becoming. Her genuine interest in YOU as an individual is evident, because she remembers events such as birthdays and little things like a favorite color or a special dessert. On the dreariest day Barbara beams a smile to all she meets. No wonder her favorite flower is the sunflower.
Yes, to say the least, she is exuberant, but exuberance certainly is NOT her only personality trait. She has a big, tender heart and is always ready to help the helpless and give to the needy. Many of us tend to give lip service to going the extra mile, but not Barbara. She has befriended one lady in particular who is plagued with financial problems. Barbara did not merely make a monetary contribution and wish the lady well. Barbara found the lady a job and went the extra mile by seeing that the lady has transportation and the materials and supplies to do her job.
We Garrison Methodists woke up one day and found that our congregation was old and had nothing to offer young folks. Our church, like many small-town Methodist Churches of today, has a dwindling number of children and youth in attendance. At that point, Barbara, not a spring chicken herself, took matters into her own hands. She rallied a group of five or six young strays and organized a youth group. The group had a spectacular first year. Not only do they attend church services and their own youth meetings, they hold church-wide fund-raisers. That first year, they made enough money to take a week-long skiing trip to Washington state.
Youth meetings, bible study, and many special events are often held at the Parsonage or at the Roberts' home in Chireno, Texas. Barbara loves to entertain and loves to have guests in her home, where she is truly in her element and has proven herself to be the hostess with the mostess. She is an excellent homemaker and cook and takes pride in serving her friends.
I've already mentioned that she is generous, and generosity may well be Barbara most outstanding character trait. She is generous with herself, her belongings, her time and her talents. She always has time to talk. We've discussed everything from the beauty of the day and the glory of nature to the intricate plot and character development of some new movie. Most often her concern is about our church and our membership and how we can be of greater service. Yes, she is very generous. If you need something and if Barbara has it, you can use it. She will offer what she has and if you cannot come to get it, she will take it to you, and if necessary, come after it when you are finished.
Barbara Roberts is my friend and I know for a fact that I am a better person because of our friendship. She is all of the things I have described her to be and more. She is a New York state transplant who has truly worked her way into our red-necked East Texas hearts.
Sincerely yours,
Emily Adams,
Garrison First United Methodist Church
Barbara, the wife of our beloved pastor Walt Roberts, came to our church and community about four years ago. Although she is NOT a product of the South, coming heaven forbid from the state of New York, she did not let a little thing like deep (and I do mean deep) East Texas protocol intimidate her. No sirreee! She grabbed hold and found her way into our East Texas hearts.
The old saying that it takes at least 50 years to become a bonafide East Texan certainly did not deter Barbara from jumping right into the middle of the ladies group, the bridge club, the heritage society, the teachers sorority, the Lions Club, and public school activities. This energetic, enthusiastic, generous, lovable extrovert swept into our sleepy little town of Garrison, Texas and literally rattled our Methodist souls to the bare bone.
Her personality exudes friendship. She is the first to give a compliment complete with details of how and why she finds this or that becoming. Her genuine interest in YOU as an individual is evident, because she remembers events such as birthdays and little things like a favorite color or a special dessert. On the dreariest day Barbara beams a smile to all she meets. No wonder her favorite flower is the sunflower.
Yes, to say the least, she is exuberant, but exuberance certainly is NOT her only personality trait. She has a big, tender heart and is always ready to help the helpless and give to the needy. Many of us tend to give lip service to going the extra mile, but not Barbara. She has befriended one lady in particular who is plagued with financial problems. Barbara did not merely make a monetary contribution and wish the lady well. Barbara found the lady a job and went the extra mile by seeing that the lady has transportation and the materials and supplies to do her job.
We Garrison Methodists woke up one day and found that our congregation was old and had nothing to offer young folks. Our church, like many small-town Methodist Churches of today, has a dwindling number of children and youth in attendance. At that point, Barbara, not a spring chicken herself, took matters into her own hands. She rallied a group of five or six young strays and organized a youth group. The group had a spectacular first year. Not only do they attend church services and their own youth meetings, they hold church-wide fund-raisers. That first year, they made enough money to take a week-long skiing trip to Washington state.
Youth meetings, bible study, and many special events are often held at the Parsonage or at the Roberts' home in Chireno, Texas. Barbara loves to entertain and loves to have guests in her home, where she is truly in her element and has proven herself to be the hostess with the mostess. She is an excellent homemaker and cook and takes pride in serving her friends.
I've already mentioned that she is generous, and generosity may well be Barbara most outstanding character trait. She is generous with herself, her belongings, her time and her talents. She always has time to talk. We've discussed everything from the beauty of the day and the glory of nature to the intricate plot and character development of some new movie. Most often her concern is about our church and our membership and how we can be of greater service. Yes, she is very generous. If you need something and if Barbara has it, you can use it. She will offer what she has and if you cannot come to get it, she will take it to you, and if necessary, come after it when you are finished.
Barbara Roberts is my friend and I know for a fact that I am a better person because of our friendship. She is all of the things I have described her to be and more. She is a New York state transplant who has truly worked her way into our red-necked East Texas hearts.
Sincerely yours,
Emily Adams,
Garrison First United Methodist Church
Paul Young's 80's Birthday
February 15, 2004
Dear Tami and family,
I am honored to receive your invitation to Paul's 80th birthday celebration and so sorry that I will be unable to attend. On Feb. 29 I will be in Austin visiting with my son and family. Please let Paul know that although he left Garrison nearly 50 years ago, memories of him and his drug store days are still alive for those of us who remember the glorious days of the 1950's. It was a perfect world back then, and Paul Young and his drug store were perfection personified!
Although I was just a kid in junior high school, I remember the buzz of adult conversation about the new pharmacist moving to town. Everyone in town was anxious to meet him and within just a few weeks Paul Young was a Garrison fixture. The old saying is that it takes at least one-half century for a new-comer to become accepted into East Texas culture. That was not the case with Paul. Acceptance for him, in his pharmacy smock standing behind the counter helping all who entered the door, came immediately.
During the early 1950's the Garrison Square was THE hub of activity and the drug store was truly the center of everything that happened. Continental Bus Lines stopped there to deposit and take on passengers and to pick up and deliver packages and supplies. People were in and out of the drug store all day long whether to fill a prescription, to stop in on their way to and from the Post Office, to buy a gift or greeting card, or to refresh themselves at the soda fountain with a cherry coke, a coke float, a banana split or an ice cream sundae. The soda fountain could accommodate a person's most decadent request for whatever ice cream concoction their heart desired. You could sip a coke while sitting on a stool next to Mrs. Ruth McDuffie who was generally there several times a day. You had a choice. You could prop your feet on the fountain rail or hide away in a booth at the back of the store just to the right of the pharmacy.
On Saturdays just before and after the picture show, the drug store was so full of folks that you had to stand in line to get a seat and place your order. If there were customers making gift selections for a Saturday afternoon baby or bridal shower you could expect nothing short of a mob in the store. The chrome and black fountain shined and sparkled with customers reflected in the mirror. My memory of the store's gift section with all of those bottles displaying Cody, Faberge, and Evening in Paris perfumes is now comparable to the expanse of items displayed in a Bloomingdales or Dillards department store. The smell of the place was a combination of antiseptic medicines, ice cream and perfume, and the store was always cool and inviting even before the days of air conditioning.
I knew Paul as a pharmacist but I also knew him as a father and family man because over a period of several years, I baby sat with his children. Paul would always pick me up at my home and upon arrival at his house I was greeted by an excited and energetic little Vickie. Paul would brief me about where he was going, how to get in touch with him and when he would be home. He then gave me a tour of the refrigerator and the pantry which were both filled with SNACKS. My mother never bought SNACKS. Our pantry was filled with potatoes, beans, flour and sugar, but in Paul Young's house there were COKES. They had RITZ crackers and CHEESE WHIZ and little jars of pimento and pineapple spread, and they had store-bought cookies.
If my memory serves me correctly, I must have been in the 9th or 10th grade when I went to work for Paul after school and on Saturdays at the Drug Store. Bonita Patterson had the job before me and when she graduated and left for college, I was hired. I loved the job. I loved Rachael Harris. I loved talking to all those folks who came in every day.
I realize that I must have asked at least one million questions, and I know that I was somewhat flighty and impulsive, but my most memorable experience of gross irresponsibility was brought home to me loud and clear one Saturday afternoon in Stripling Drug Store in Nacogdoches.
What made me think I could go to Nacogdoches with my friends, run around all over town and get back to the Drug Store (Medical Center Pharmacy) in Garrison by 2:00 P.M., when I was scheduled to go to work? We were in Striplings Drug Store talking to Dora Lee Peterson who worked there, when I felt a firm tap on my shoulder. I looked around and there was Paul Young standing right there beside me.
"What are you doing here, Emily," Paul questioned? "You are supposed to go to work in 15 minutes. How do plan to get home? What are you going to do about your job," he said, and he wasn't smiling either. Well to say the least, I was embarrassed, and for some reason Paul didn't fire me. I know he was mad, but true to his nice guy image, he let me slide by that one. Paul, I know you haven't forgotten this incident, and I want you to know that I haven't forgotten either. As I write this story, my face still burns red with embarrassment.
Well, I got in his car and we quietly rode home together. When we got to Garrison, I went inside the Drug Store and went to work and kept my mouth shut for the remainder of that day and several days well into the next week.
Paul Young, you are still a Garrison fixture as far as I'm concerned. Your mark on this town is as indelible as that of the tomato shed, the cotton gin, the depot, the old wooden school gym and the Methodist Church. Thanks for the memories. Have a great 80th birthday.
Love,
Emily Nail Weatherly Adams
Dear Tami and family,
I am honored to receive your invitation to Paul's 80th birthday celebration and so sorry that I will be unable to attend. On Feb. 29 I will be in Austin visiting with my son and family. Please let Paul know that although he left Garrison nearly 50 years ago, memories of him and his drug store days are still alive for those of us who remember the glorious days of the 1950's. It was a perfect world back then, and Paul Young and his drug store were perfection personified!
Although I was just a kid in junior high school, I remember the buzz of adult conversation about the new pharmacist moving to town. Everyone in town was anxious to meet him and within just a few weeks Paul Young was a Garrison fixture. The old saying is that it takes at least one-half century for a new-comer to become accepted into East Texas culture. That was not the case with Paul. Acceptance for him, in his pharmacy smock standing behind the counter helping all who entered the door, came immediately.
During the early 1950's the Garrison Square was THE hub of activity and the drug store was truly the center of everything that happened. Continental Bus Lines stopped there to deposit and take on passengers and to pick up and deliver packages and supplies. People were in and out of the drug store all day long whether to fill a prescription, to stop in on their way to and from the Post Office, to buy a gift or greeting card, or to refresh themselves at the soda fountain with a cherry coke, a coke float, a banana split or an ice cream sundae. The soda fountain could accommodate a person's most decadent request for whatever ice cream concoction their heart desired. You could sip a coke while sitting on a stool next to Mrs. Ruth McDuffie who was generally there several times a day. You had a choice. You could prop your feet on the fountain rail or hide away in a booth at the back of the store just to the right of the pharmacy.
On Saturdays just before and after the picture show, the drug store was so full of folks that you had to stand in line to get a seat and place your order. If there were customers making gift selections for a Saturday afternoon baby or bridal shower you could expect nothing short of a mob in the store. The chrome and black fountain shined and sparkled with customers reflected in the mirror. My memory of the store's gift section with all of those bottles displaying Cody, Faberge, and Evening in Paris perfumes is now comparable to the expanse of items displayed in a Bloomingdales or Dillards department store. The smell of the place was a combination of antiseptic medicines, ice cream and perfume, and the store was always cool and inviting even before the days of air conditioning.
I knew Paul as a pharmacist but I also knew him as a father and family man because over a period of several years, I baby sat with his children. Paul would always pick me up at my home and upon arrival at his house I was greeted by an excited and energetic little Vickie. Paul would brief me about where he was going, how to get in touch with him and when he would be home. He then gave me a tour of the refrigerator and the pantry which were both filled with SNACKS. My mother never bought SNACKS. Our pantry was filled with potatoes, beans, flour and sugar, but in Paul Young's house there were COKES. They had RITZ crackers and CHEESE WHIZ and little jars of pimento and pineapple spread, and they had store-bought cookies.
If my memory serves me correctly, I must have been in the 9th or 10th grade when I went to work for Paul after school and on Saturdays at the Drug Store. Bonita Patterson had the job before me and when she graduated and left for college, I was hired. I loved the job. I loved Rachael Harris. I loved talking to all those folks who came in every day.
I realize that I must have asked at least one million questions, and I know that I was somewhat flighty and impulsive, but my most memorable experience of gross irresponsibility was brought home to me loud and clear one Saturday afternoon in Stripling Drug Store in Nacogdoches.
What made me think I could go to Nacogdoches with my friends, run around all over town and get back to the Drug Store (Medical Center Pharmacy) in Garrison by 2:00 P.M., when I was scheduled to go to work? We were in Striplings Drug Store talking to Dora Lee Peterson who worked there, when I felt a firm tap on my shoulder. I looked around and there was Paul Young standing right there beside me.
"What are you doing here, Emily," Paul questioned? "You are supposed to go to work in 15 minutes. How do plan to get home? What are you going to do about your job," he said, and he wasn't smiling either. Well to say the least, I was embarrassed, and for some reason Paul didn't fire me. I know he was mad, but true to his nice guy image, he let me slide by that one. Paul, I know you haven't forgotten this incident, and I want you to know that I haven't forgotten either. As I write this story, my face still burns red with embarrassment.
Well, I got in his car and we quietly rode home together. When we got to Garrison, I went inside the Drug Store and went to work and kept my mouth shut for the remainder of that day and several days well into the next week.
Paul Young, you are still a Garrison fixture as far as I'm concerned. Your mark on this town is as indelible as that of the tomato shed, the cotton gin, the depot, the old wooden school gym and the Methodist Church. Thanks for the memories. Have a great 80th birthday.
Love,
Emily Nail Weatherly Adams
Weatherly Family Remembrances
When I married Roger Weatherly on Saturday, February 7, 1959, little did I consider the fact that my life would forever be impacted by his family. It's now nearing one-half century and the Weatherly legacy is still very much a part of my life as well as the lives of my two children Janis and Darryl and their families.
` The particular Weatherly I have in mind today on this 50th anniversary occasion is, of course, my sister-in-law Carolyn Weatherly Ash. Carolyn with the fiery red hair is now the Ash/Weatherly matriarch. As far as she is concerned she runs the family show - not just the Ash show but the Weatherly show as well and if you have any doubt just ask her.
Carolyn has full authority on Most every issue including Christmas, all other holidays, all family events, all menus, all gifts, all whatever - you name it and she has control. I say MOST every issue because, in fact, she does have one governing factor in the form of Augustus Claude Ash, who can tame her flaming red personality with little more than a look and a word.
Take it from me. I've seen the LOOK and I've heard the WORD and neither are pretty. To put it mildly, Augustus Claude has the ability to dampen her red hair and flaming personality to a mousy, drab brown putting her in her place in a matter of seconds. You can always expect a quick response from Augustus except when he is quietly sitting in his chair watching sports.
Now that we have the Ash family hierarchy in proper perspective with Gus really running the show as "Big Daddy Ash Patriarch," please indulge me with a few softer and kinder memories of years past.
Let's look back to the 1950's and 60's when all family events were loosely planned and controlled by Marie and Lewin Weatherly of Garrison, Texas. The center of activity was always the dining room table loaded of Marie's golden fried chicken, stuffed bell peppers, cream peas with chow/chow, peach hand pies and gallons of iced tea. Marie and Lewin loved their family and the way they proved it was to have mountains of food to last an entire weekend.
Back then it really didn't matter about the nature of the event. It could be Christmas, a funeral, bad weather, birthdays, homecoming or just because it was the weekend. Whatever the reason all of us hit the road to Garrison. And it didn't matter that Lewin and Marie's house had little more than 1, 000 sq. ft of living space with one bathroom the size of a Cracker Jack box. We all came anyway - Carolyn, Gus, Tina, Brad, Jeff, Roger, Emily, Janis, Darryl and of course there was Judi and Lewin and Marie. That's twelve people all eating, bathing, running through the house and spending the night - not just one night either. We stayed from Friday night through Sunday afternoon late allowing just enough time to get home and go to work on Monday.
There is another thing about those numerous weekend visits to Lewin and Marie's that I did not consider until I, myself became a grandmother and great grandmother. It didn't seem to matter to us whether or not Lewin and Marie had other plans and really didn't want company for the weekend. We still showed up on a regular basis to eat and laugh and play and have the time of our lives right there in that little house with the tiny bath room. We came because we knew that was the house that was filled with love and good food and the making of memories that have lasted a lifetime.
Many of those memories are associated with Christmases we all spent there piled on top of each other watching our kids rip into their presents as they spilled hot chocolate and cookies all over Marie's living room sofa. But most of the memories come from the everyday, ordinary family exchanges we all shared.
Those wonderful memories now repeat themselves each year when we gather together in Marshall the first Saturday in December to celebrate the Weatherly Family Christmas Reunion. The twelve I mentioned earlier in Lewin and Marie's little Garrison house have now exploded to 23 adults and 17 kids. That's a total of 40 Weatherlys and Ashes who all pile in on top of Carolyn and Gus to eat, laugh, rip open Christmas presents and generally have the time of our lives. Yes, our kids and their kids have made it to the fifth generation building their memories each and every year all over again.
This 50th Anniversary tribute is really little more than a very special Thank-You from your sister-in-law Emily Nail Weatherly Adams and her entire family. Thank you Carolyn and Gus for caring enough to assume the position of Family Patriarch and Matriarch. Thank You for taking the initiative to invite us all back year after year. And Thank You Carolyn with the red hair and red personality for planning the menu, cooking most of the food, organizing the day's activities, wearing a smile, cracking endless jokes, and cleaning up the mess. We look forward to Christmas 2005!
` The particular Weatherly I have in mind today on this 50th anniversary occasion is, of course, my sister-in-law Carolyn Weatherly Ash. Carolyn with the fiery red hair is now the Ash/Weatherly matriarch. As far as she is concerned she runs the family show - not just the Ash show but the Weatherly show as well and if you have any doubt just ask her.
Carolyn has full authority on Most every issue including Christmas, all other holidays, all family events, all menus, all gifts, all whatever - you name it and she has control. I say MOST every issue because, in fact, she does have one governing factor in the form of Augustus Claude Ash, who can tame her flaming red personality with little more than a look and a word.
Take it from me. I've seen the LOOK and I've heard the WORD and neither are pretty. To put it mildly, Augustus Claude has the ability to dampen her red hair and flaming personality to a mousy, drab brown putting her in her place in a matter of seconds. You can always expect a quick response from Augustus except when he is quietly sitting in his chair watching sports.
Now that we have the Ash family hierarchy in proper perspective with Gus really running the show as "Big Daddy Ash Patriarch," please indulge me with a few softer and kinder memories of years past.
Let's look back to the 1950's and 60's when all family events were loosely planned and controlled by Marie and Lewin Weatherly of Garrison, Texas. The center of activity was always the dining room table loaded of Marie's golden fried chicken, stuffed bell peppers, cream peas with chow/chow, peach hand pies and gallons of iced tea. Marie and Lewin loved their family and the way they proved it was to have mountains of food to last an entire weekend.
Back then it really didn't matter about the nature of the event. It could be Christmas, a funeral, bad weather, birthdays, homecoming or just because it was the weekend. Whatever the reason all of us hit the road to Garrison. And it didn't matter that Lewin and Marie's house had little more than 1, 000 sq. ft of living space with one bathroom the size of a Cracker Jack box. We all came anyway - Carolyn, Gus, Tina, Brad, Jeff, Roger, Emily, Janis, Darryl and of course there was Judi and Lewin and Marie. That's twelve people all eating, bathing, running through the house and spending the night - not just one night either. We stayed from Friday night through Sunday afternoon late allowing just enough time to get home and go to work on Monday.
There is another thing about those numerous weekend visits to Lewin and Marie's that I did not consider until I, myself became a grandmother and great grandmother. It didn't seem to matter to us whether or not Lewin and Marie had other plans and really didn't want company for the weekend. We still showed up on a regular basis to eat and laugh and play and have the time of our lives right there in that little house with the tiny bath room. We came because we knew that was the house that was filled with love and good food and the making of memories that have lasted a lifetime.
Many of those memories are associated with Christmases we all spent there piled on top of each other watching our kids rip into their presents as they spilled hot chocolate and cookies all over Marie's living room sofa. But most of the memories come from the everyday, ordinary family exchanges we all shared.
Those wonderful memories now repeat themselves each year when we gather together in Marshall the first Saturday in December to celebrate the Weatherly Family Christmas Reunion. The twelve I mentioned earlier in Lewin and Marie's little Garrison house have now exploded to 23 adults and 17 kids. That's a total of 40 Weatherlys and Ashes who all pile in on top of Carolyn and Gus to eat, laugh, rip open Christmas presents and generally have the time of our lives. Yes, our kids and their kids have made it to the fifth generation building their memories each and every year all over again.
This 50th Anniversary tribute is really little more than a very special Thank-You from your sister-in-law Emily Nail Weatherly Adams and her entire family. Thank you Carolyn and Gus for caring enough to assume the position of Family Patriarch and Matriarch. Thank You for taking the initiative to invite us all back year after year. And Thank You Carolyn with the red hair and red personality for planning the menu, cooking most of the food, organizing the day's activities, wearing a smile, cracking endless jokes, and cleaning up the mess. We look forward to Christmas 2005!
Cane River Book Review - Oct 20, 2010
Cane River by Lalita Tademy
October 20, 2010
I. Introduction
I loved the book but then I would because Cane River is set in Louisiana. As the crow flies, Natchitoches, LA is possibly no more than 80 miles from here which heightens my interest because it is so near yet so far away considering the contrast of Texas and Louisiana culture.
I have been intrigued with Louisiana culture since I was a little girl traveling to Lake Providence, LA to visit my grand daddy Phylander Mills who owned a general merchandise and grocery store right on the banks of the Mississippi River. I can remember back to at least the mid 1940's seeing cotton pickers scattered over what looked to be 100's of acres of cotton field. They were all dragging long, light-colored sacks in the midst of clouds of dust and intense heat and humidity. And I also remember staring at the little shacks where those cotton pickers lived all set in a row near the road that we traveled - no trees - no shade - just miles and miles of cotton and dust. Of course they were not slaves, not in the 1940's, but generations of their ancestors were.
I guess my roots are in Louisiana because that is where my grandparents lived and where my mother grew up. When my mother married my daddy, who was from Mississippi, he brought her to Texas where she spent her entire life longing to return to Louisiana. I've often thought that if I had my life to live over, I would live in or near New Orleans in a wooden pier and bean creole house with 12 ft. ceilings and a metal roof and I would go to LSU. For what it's worth, that give you an idea of my connection to Louisiana and why I found this novel so intriguing.
II. Lalita Tademy
Cane River is her first novel. Tademy was born in 1948 and exactly how she happened to find her way to California, I don't know. She was a real achiever though because she climbed the corporate ladder all the way to the position of vice president of Sun Microsystems in Silicon Valley California. She said that for two decades she hoisted herself upward professionally always looking for the next promotion that brought all-consuming work, status, long hours, and stock options.
I did gather that she knew her roots because she described visits with her parents back to Colfax, Louisiana located not far from the Cane River. On one trip with her father in 1978 ( at that time she was thirty years old) she describes visiting with a cousin named Gurtie Fredieu in Shreveport, LA who had written a 2-page history of her family. Lalita was, to say the least, intrigued by Gurtie's stories of distant ancestors, grisly murders, suicides, and forbidden love. Gurtie was light-skinned with sharp features and according to a photo in the book Gurtie was very beautiful when she was young.
Lalita figured that Gurtie exaggerated for effect, but that did not matter. Lalita was hooked and spent the next 17 years on the job at Sun Microsystems day-dreaming about her past. She gives an account of her great, great grandmother Philomene coming to her in her dreams demanding that she do whatever necessary to understand the generations of her family. So in 1995 when she was only 47 years old, Tademy quit her high profile job to follow her great, great grandmother's demands. She spent the next 10 years researching, interviewing family members, writing and promoting Cane River which was completed in 2001 but not mass marketed until 2005.
This is a direct quote, "It is important to know that Cane River is a work of fiction deeply rooted in years of research, historical fact, and family lore. The details of cousin Gurtie's accounting weren't always supported by other documents I uncovered. Some of the dates were off, some facts twisted, but I found that each precious line of Gurtie's history had at least a grain of truth, and a family story had arisen around it. Many official and historical documents had inaccuracies in them as well. MY challenge was to marry all of the data. In piecing together events from personal and public sources, especially when they conflicted, I relied on my own intuition, a sometimes daunting experience when I felt Philomene's judgmental presence over my shoulder. There were gaps that I filled in based on research into the events and mood of the place and time. I presupposed motivations. Occasionally I changed a name, date, or circumstance to accommodate narrative flow. I hope I have captured the essence of truth, if not always the precision of fact, and that the liberties I have taken will be forgiven." she concluded. Today Tademy is 63 years old.
The Book Cane River
Cane River covers 137 years of family history. It begins in slavery, sweeps through the Civil War and brings us into the pre-Civil Rights South. Those pre-Civil Rights years are years that we can all relate to. The book garnered critical acclaim and became a New York Times best-seller. The San Francisco Chronicle said Tademy had written "The quiet unmapped stories that make up history," and Oprah made Cane River one of the most popular picks of her book club. Now, what this book is about is those quiet unmapped stories which are about what went on in the kitchen, in the field, in the big house and down in the quarter. Those quiet unmapped stories are also about the generational and gradual lightening of the skin of some of the black slaves. It's about the mixing of the races into a group called gens de couleur libres. Here's a little bit of Louisiana history before the 1803 Louisiana Purchase. In the early days when French planters immigrated to the French Colony known as Louisiana, many of them took African women as mistresses or common-law wives. Even when more women of European descent were in the colony, wealthy young white Creole men often took mixed-race mistresses before, or in addition to, their legal marriages, in a system known as placage. Creole, by definition, "means born in the colony." So anyone born in the colony of Louisiana was a Creole. John James Audubon was a white French Creole. Creole originally had nothing to do with skin color. If you were born in the colony as opposed to born in France or other European countries, you were Creole. Because those French planters had union with blacks, Cagens, whites, Indian, Creole also took on a meaning of "mixing of the races" and" lightening of skin color." And that's what happened to the main characters of Cane River: Suzette, Philomene, and Emily all were chosen by their masters and became common-law wives. Their skin color was lightened from one generation to the next as was the skin color of their off spring. The young women's mothers often negotiated a form of dowry or property settlement to protect them. The white men would often transfer social capital to their mistresses and children, including education and freedom for those who were enslaved in the early years.
With enough numbers, the free people of color or also called "Creoles of color" also married among themselves to maintain their class and social culture. Under French rule, Louisiana developed a three-tiered society. This three-tiered society allowed for the emergence of a wealthy and educated group of mixed-race Creoles. Their identity as free people of color, Gens de couleur libres was one they had worked diligently towards and guarded with an iron fist. By French law they enjoyed most of the same rights and privileges as whites. These Gens de couleur descended initially from male planters and wealthier merchants and their African or mixed-race mistresses. They acquired education, property and power within the colony, and later, state.
The main character is probably Emily in the third section of the book. Emily was described as having flawless skin, thick chestnut hair, high cheekbones, a thin sharp nose and an impossibly narrow waist. Painstaking research uncovered Emily's mother to be Philomene who was definitely the strongest character. On back through the generation, Tademy discovered Philomene's mother Suzette and Suzette's mother Elizabeth who was born in the year 1802 in Virginia. As Tademy gathered information she was haunted by one nagging question: Were Philomene, Suzette and Elizabeth someone else's property, a slave, or were they for one reason or another free. Or were they free people of color, light-skinned Creoles known as gens de couleur libre.
Here is a recap of the story line: The book is divided into three sections: Suzette, Philomene, and Emily. Tademy's great grandmother Emily was born, in 1861, a slave on the Derbanne Plantation in Cane River, just as the Civil War was beginning and she was freed at the end of the war when she was about five years old. Emily's mother Philomene and her grandmother Suzette were also born there on Cane River. Emily's great grandmother Elizabeth came from Virginia, not Louisiana. In Tademy's own words, "A few years ago, after a long search, I found the Bill of Sale of my great-great-great-great-grandmother Elizabeth. In 1850 she was sold for at least the second time, away from her Cane River family, for $800. Holding that bill of sale in my hands was a life-changing event. As I examined the bill of sale my slave relatives who were being sold were listed on the left side of the ledger and on the right side of the ledger were listed the buyers and plantation owners who many were my relatives as well.
As I read the book, my observation is that Tademy did not sensationalize the lives of either the slaves or the slave owners who owned the plantations. She did not go into detail of the sexual relationships that were an everyday event between slave and plantation owner. She did not really place blame because that's just the way things were. The slaves owned nothing not even themselves and the planters and owners had everything. The slaves had no choice concerning any aspect of their lives and that's just the way things were. She tells a story of resilience and strength and the everyday events of plantation life in the fields, in the kitchen, in the master's house and down in the quarter. It's a story about what happened and how it happened. It's a story about fun, pain, joy, cruelty, love, comedy and sorrow. It is remarkable....riveting...a rich blending of historical fact with beautifully written and factually accurate fiction....it is compelling and enjoyable capturing the intricate rhythms of plantation life in all it harshness and beauty. The book is very well written and most certainly worth your time to read.
IV. Natchitoches Parish and Historical Cane River trip:
October 20, 2010
I. Introduction
I loved the book but then I would because Cane River is set in Louisiana. As the crow flies, Natchitoches, LA is possibly no more than 80 miles from here which heightens my interest because it is so near yet so far away considering the contrast of Texas and Louisiana culture.
I have been intrigued with Louisiana culture since I was a little girl traveling to Lake Providence, LA to visit my grand daddy Phylander Mills who owned a general merchandise and grocery store right on the banks of the Mississippi River. I can remember back to at least the mid 1940's seeing cotton pickers scattered over what looked to be 100's of acres of cotton field. They were all dragging long, light-colored sacks in the midst of clouds of dust and intense heat and humidity. And I also remember staring at the little shacks where those cotton pickers lived all set in a row near the road that we traveled - no trees - no shade - just miles and miles of cotton and dust. Of course they were not slaves, not in the 1940's, but generations of their ancestors were.
I guess my roots are in Louisiana because that is where my grandparents lived and where my mother grew up. When my mother married my daddy, who was from Mississippi, he brought her to Texas where she spent her entire life longing to return to Louisiana. I've often thought that if I had my life to live over, I would live in or near New Orleans in a wooden pier and bean creole house with 12 ft. ceilings and a metal roof and I would go to LSU. For what it's worth, that give you an idea of my connection to Louisiana and why I found this novel so intriguing.
II. Lalita Tademy
Cane River is her first novel. Tademy was born in 1948 and exactly how she happened to find her way to California, I don't know. She was a real achiever though because she climbed the corporate ladder all the way to the position of vice president of Sun Microsystems in Silicon Valley California. She said that for two decades she hoisted herself upward professionally always looking for the next promotion that brought all-consuming work, status, long hours, and stock options.
I did gather that she knew her roots because she described visits with her parents back to Colfax, Louisiana located not far from the Cane River. On one trip with her father in 1978 ( at that time she was thirty years old) she describes visiting with a cousin named Gurtie Fredieu in Shreveport, LA who had written a 2-page history of her family. Lalita was, to say the least, intrigued by Gurtie's stories of distant ancestors, grisly murders, suicides, and forbidden love. Gurtie was light-skinned with sharp features and according to a photo in the book Gurtie was very beautiful when she was young.
Lalita figured that Gurtie exaggerated for effect, but that did not matter. Lalita was hooked and spent the next 17 years on the job at Sun Microsystems day-dreaming about her past. She gives an account of her great, great grandmother Philomene coming to her in her dreams demanding that she do whatever necessary to understand the generations of her family. So in 1995 when she was only 47 years old, Tademy quit her high profile job to follow her great, great grandmother's demands. She spent the next 10 years researching, interviewing family members, writing and promoting Cane River which was completed in 2001 but not mass marketed until 2005.
This is a direct quote, "It is important to know that Cane River is a work of fiction deeply rooted in years of research, historical fact, and family lore. The details of cousin Gurtie's accounting weren't always supported by other documents I uncovered. Some of the dates were off, some facts twisted, but I found that each precious line of Gurtie's history had at least a grain of truth, and a family story had arisen around it. Many official and historical documents had inaccuracies in them as well. MY challenge was to marry all of the data. In piecing together events from personal and public sources, especially when they conflicted, I relied on my own intuition, a sometimes daunting experience when I felt Philomene's judgmental presence over my shoulder. There were gaps that I filled in based on research into the events and mood of the place and time. I presupposed motivations. Occasionally I changed a name, date, or circumstance to accommodate narrative flow. I hope I have captured the essence of truth, if not always the precision of fact, and that the liberties I have taken will be forgiven." she concluded. Today Tademy is 63 years old.
The Book Cane River
Cane River covers 137 years of family history. It begins in slavery, sweeps through the Civil War and brings us into the pre-Civil Rights South. Those pre-Civil Rights years are years that we can all relate to. The book garnered critical acclaim and became a New York Times best-seller. The San Francisco Chronicle said Tademy had written "The quiet unmapped stories that make up history," and Oprah made Cane River one of the most popular picks of her book club. Now, what this book is about is those quiet unmapped stories which are about what went on in the kitchen, in the field, in the big house and down in the quarter. Those quiet unmapped stories are also about the generational and gradual lightening of the skin of some of the black slaves. It's about the mixing of the races into a group called gens de couleur libres. Here's a little bit of Louisiana history before the 1803 Louisiana Purchase. In the early days when French planters immigrated to the French Colony known as Louisiana, many of them took African women as mistresses or common-law wives. Even when more women of European descent were in the colony, wealthy young white Creole men often took mixed-race mistresses before, or in addition to, their legal marriages, in a system known as placage. Creole, by definition, "means born in the colony." So anyone born in the colony of Louisiana was a Creole. John James Audubon was a white French Creole. Creole originally had nothing to do with skin color. If you were born in the colony as opposed to born in France or other European countries, you were Creole. Because those French planters had union with blacks, Cagens, whites, Indian, Creole also took on a meaning of "mixing of the races" and" lightening of skin color." And that's what happened to the main characters of Cane River: Suzette, Philomene, and Emily all were chosen by their masters and became common-law wives. Their skin color was lightened from one generation to the next as was the skin color of their off spring. The young women's mothers often negotiated a form of dowry or property settlement to protect them. The white men would often transfer social capital to their mistresses and children, including education and freedom for those who were enslaved in the early years.
With enough numbers, the free people of color or also called "Creoles of color" also married among themselves to maintain their class and social culture. Under French rule, Louisiana developed a three-tiered society. This three-tiered society allowed for the emergence of a wealthy and educated group of mixed-race Creoles. Their identity as free people of color, Gens de couleur libres was one they had worked diligently towards and guarded with an iron fist. By French law they enjoyed most of the same rights and privileges as whites. These Gens de couleur descended initially from male planters and wealthier merchants and their African or mixed-race mistresses. They acquired education, property and power within the colony, and later, state.
The main character is probably Emily in the third section of the book. Emily was described as having flawless skin, thick chestnut hair, high cheekbones, a thin sharp nose and an impossibly narrow waist. Painstaking research uncovered Emily's mother to be Philomene who was definitely the strongest character. On back through the generation, Tademy discovered Philomene's mother Suzette and Suzette's mother Elizabeth who was born in the year 1802 in Virginia. As Tademy gathered information she was haunted by one nagging question: Were Philomene, Suzette and Elizabeth someone else's property, a slave, or were they for one reason or another free. Or were they free people of color, light-skinned Creoles known as gens de couleur libre.
Here is a recap of the story line: The book is divided into three sections: Suzette, Philomene, and Emily. Tademy's great grandmother Emily was born, in 1861, a slave on the Derbanne Plantation in Cane River, just as the Civil War was beginning and she was freed at the end of the war when she was about five years old. Emily's mother Philomene and her grandmother Suzette were also born there on Cane River. Emily's great grandmother Elizabeth came from Virginia, not Louisiana. In Tademy's own words, "A few years ago, after a long search, I found the Bill of Sale of my great-great-great-great-grandmother Elizabeth. In 1850 she was sold for at least the second time, away from her Cane River family, for $800. Holding that bill of sale in my hands was a life-changing event. As I examined the bill of sale my slave relatives who were being sold were listed on the left side of the ledger and on the right side of the ledger were listed the buyers and plantation owners who many were my relatives as well.
As I read the book, my observation is that Tademy did not sensationalize the lives of either the slaves or the slave owners who owned the plantations. She did not go into detail of the sexual relationships that were an everyday event between slave and plantation owner. She did not really place blame because that's just the way things were. The slaves owned nothing not even themselves and the planters and owners had everything. The slaves had no choice concerning any aspect of their lives and that's just the way things were. She tells a story of resilience and strength and the everyday events of plantation life in the fields, in the kitchen, in the master's house and down in the quarter. It's a story about what happened and how it happened. It's a story about fun, pain, joy, cruelty, love, comedy and sorrow. It is remarkable....riveting...a rich blending of historical fact with beautifully written and factually accurate fiction....it is compelling and enjoyable capturing the intricate rhythms of plantation life in all it harshness and beauty. The book is very well written and most certainly worth your time to read.
IV. Natchitoches Parish and Historical Cane River trip:
Emily's first Post - Welcome!!
Welcome. I have established a BLOG to include my essays featuring interviews, reviews, columns and general writings. I'll be in touch via email requesting your free subscription to receive Emily's Post.
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