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The nexus of a Southern teacher’s personal and professional lives: The life history of Miss Callie
Luce, Marjorie Brandt, Ph.D.
The Ohio State University, 1993
Copyright© 1993 by Luce, Marjorie Brandt. All rights reserved.
UMI 300 N. Zeeb Rd. Ann Arbor, MI 48106 THE NEXUS OF A SOUTHERN TEACHER'S
PERSONAL AND PROFESSIONAL LIVES:
THE LIFE HISTORY OF MISS CALLIE
DISSERTATION
Presented in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements
for the Degree Doctor of Philosophy in the
Graduate School of The Ohio State University
By
Marjorie Brandt Luce, B.A., M.A.
-kfe a|c afe a|e a|c
The Ohio State University
1993
Dissertation Committee: Approved by:
Elsie J. Alberty, Chairperson
Annmarie A. Zahar lick ______<£ Elsieiie J. Alberty, Advisor Kenneth R. Howey College of Education Copyright by Marjorie Brandt Luce 1993 To
Miss Callie, my husband Ross,
and
my family
ii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am especially grateful to Miss Callie who so willingly and graciously allowed me to enter into her very own world and to share her life’s experiences and beliefs. By doing so, she has afforded me and the countless others who may come to read this a rare opportunity, a gift.
I am also most appreciative of the following individuals who offered me a glimpse into their own lives which contributed significantly to this research: Silas
Hodges, Alma Hodges Johnson, Colly V. Williams, Hershel McDuffie, Crill
Davis Brandt, Cumine Hodges Williams, and Alton Davis. Heart-felt thanks are especially extended to the late Civil Davis McDuffie.
It is with the greatest of respect and admiration that I extend my sincere appreciation to the following professors at The Ohio State University who have not only offered their constant support and perceptive counsel, but who have also modeled the highest qualities of scholarship and teaching: Dr. Elsie Alberty,
Dr. Kenneth Howey, and Dr. Amy Zaharlick.
I also wish to extend my sincere gratitude to Sue Smith Hinson of
Headland, Alabama; Dean DeBolt, Librarian of the Florida Collections, John C.
Pace Library at the University of West Florida in Pensacola, Florida; Maryann Cleveland, Librarian at the State Library of Florida; and Mary Collins of
Chipley, Florida.
With fond appreciation, I acknowledge two outstanding Florida educators who have influenced me in many ways: Robert Blubaugb, former principal of
Cocoa High School and superintendent of the Brevard County Board of Public
Instruction, and to Richard Blake, former assistant principal and current principal of Cocoa High School. And thanks to the thousands of students over the years who have enriched my life and taught me a great deal about the humanness in all of us.
To my family, I offer my sincerest and heart-felt thanks for always being there to help and to encourage me: my mother, Crill Davis Brandt; my sister,
Rita Brandt Hopkins; my niece, Kelly Renee Hopkins; and countless others who understand. And to my late father, Schuyler Buell Brandt, I am forever grateful for your instilling in me the inspiration to forever seek knowledge, to always question, and so much more.
Most especially, to my husband, Ross Guy Luce, who surely knows what words alone fail to convey—thank you for your never ending love, patience, understanding, and help that were a constant source of encouragement, reinforcement, and determination. VITA
September 4, 1950 Bom in Sherman, Texas
1973 B.A., University of Central Florida, Orlando, Florida
1973 - 1980 English teacher and Adult Education teacher, Cocoa High School and Cocoa Beach High School, Brevard County, Florida
1980 - 1984 Administrative Assistant, Klingbeil Company Columbus, Ohio
1985 - 1987 English teacher Grandview Heights High School, Grandview, Ohio
1988 - 1991 Administrative Associate College of Education The Ohio State University Columbus, Ohio
1989 M.A., The Ohio State University Columbus, Ohio
FIELDS OF STUDY
Major Field: Education
Studies in Curriculum, Teacher Education and Professional Development, and Anthropology and Education.
v TABLE OF CONTENTS
DEDICATION ...... ii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ...... iii VITA ...... v LIST OF PLATES...... ix LIST OF TABLES ...... x LIST OF FIGURES...... xi PHOTOGRAPH OF "MISS CALLIE"...... xii CHAPTER PAGE I. INTRODUCTION ...... 1 The Voices of Teachers...... 3 The Absence of the South ...... 5 Purpose of the Research ...... 6 Theoretical Perspective...... 7 Participant Selection ...... 7 Terminology ...... 8 Research Schedule ...... 9 Significance and Limitations ...... 10 Format of the Research P r o je c t...... 11
II. LITERATURE REVIEW ...... 14 Introduction ...... 14 Prospective Research on Teachers’ Lives ...... 15 Chapter Format...... 17 Women Teachers ...... 18 Teachers and the Family ...... 21 Teachers and Communities ...... 23 Career of Teaching ...... 24 Southern Perspectives ...... 26 Conclusion ...... 33 III. METHODOLOGY OF LIFE HISTORY ...... 35 Methodology and Method ...... 35 Purpose of the Research ...... 36 Interpretive Framework ...... 37 Types of Personal Documents ...... 41 What is Life H istory...... 45 Researcher Background ...... 51 Participant Selection ...... 54 Gaining Entry and Developing Rapport ...... 60 Data Sources, Collection and Analysis ...... 62 Trustworthiness and E thics ...... 65
IV. CONTEXTUALIZING HER LIFE ...... 69 Researcher Note ...... 69 Historical Events ...... 70 Econom ics ...... 76 P o litics...... 78 Geographies...... 80 Social Life ...... 81 Education ...... 92
V. THE LIFE STORY OF MISS C A L L IE ...... 98 Researcher Note ...... 98 B ackground ...... 99 Parents and Siblings ...... 99 From Alabama to Florida ...... 100 Learning and Going to S ch o o l ...... 103 Marriage and Children ...... 109 T eaching...... 112 Professional Preparation ...... 133 Looking Back...... 138
VI. THE LIFE HISTORY OF MISS CALLIE ...... 145 Researcher Note ...... 145 Introduction ...... 145 Southern Ties and Origins ...... 151 Settling a Homestead ...... 160 Growing Up on the Homestead ...... 168 The Middle Y ears ...... 178 Conclusion ...... 189
vii FOOTNOTES ...... 196
APPENDICES...... 197
A. SUGGESTED INTERVIEW TOPICS AND QUESTIONS 198
B. INTERVIEW SCHEDULES...... 205 Table 1 Video Interviews ...... 206 Table 2 Telephone Interviews ...... 207 Table 3 Additional Interviews ...... 208
C. GEOGRAPHICAL AND GENEALOGICAL ILLUSTRATIONS...... 209 Figure 1 Map of Relevant Counties in Florida and Alabama . 210 Figure 2 Map of Work and Residence Locations ...... 211 Figure 3 Genealogy of "Miss Callie" ...... 212
BIBLIOGRAPHY...... 213 LIST OF PLATES
PLATE PAGE
I PHOTOGRAPH OF "MISS CALLIE"...... xii
ix LIST OF TABLES
TABLE PAGE
1 Video Interviews ...... 206
2 Telephone Interviews ...... 207
3 Additional Interviews ...... 208
x LIST OF FIGURES
FIGURE PAGE
1 Map of Relevant Counties in Florida and Alabama ...... 210
2 Map of Work and Residence Locations ...... 211
3 Genealogy of "Miss Callie" ...... 212 Plate I PHOTOGRAPH OF "MISS CALLIE"
Caladonia Hasty Hutchison 1992 CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION
Background of the Problem
Education has been a popular topic of scholarly research and writing for well over a century. Despite the proliferation of literature and the different perspectives from which each has been conceived, few answer the question ’What does education mean?’ although most insinuate or claim that they have. Too often, descriptions of early twentieth century education, whether written contemporaneously or retrospectively, generalize from a preconceived Northern or
Northeastern urban norm, exclude the self-reported experiences of women teachers, ignore or misrepresent the South, and disregard the sociocultural context in which people, communities, and schools exist together.
As Johnson points out (1983), histories of education that search for the universal and either gloss over or exclude the particular strip away "the wholeness of human life" (p. 29). Hendrick (1983) adds that generalizing in an attempt to define American education is delusive because regional variations often overwhelm the similarities (p. 198). In effect, generalizations reveal little about the multiple meanings of early twentieth century education held by those across the nation who created, supported, maintained, and participated in it. "When we are dealing with
1 2 reality in terms of concrete human experience—as surely we must do in respect to
both history and education—the most dangerous thing we can do is ’thin’ it out"
(James, cited in Johnson, 1983, p. 29).
The ’thinning out’ to which James refers is pervasive throughout the
majority of histories that purport to document the course of education in the early decades of the twentieth century. Most treat public education monolithically, sweeping the surface of the nation with predetermined models or concepts such as bureaucracy, industrialization, or feminization; individuals and/or areas found problematic or in variance with expectations are diffused or disregarded (Johnson,
1983; Sanders, 1983). In particular, rarely have women teachers and education in the South been serious topics in educational literature on the twentieth century (Hall
& Scott, 1987; Urban, 1981), and neither have they been accorded the opportunity to provide a response to ’What does education mean.’
Literature that purports to tell the story of early twentieth century education by generalization and exclusion does little more than obscure it. Answers to
’What education means’ must include approaches that are person-centered and biographical (Clifford, 1975, 1989), and local or regional (Hendrick, 1983; Rury,
1989; Sanders, 1983; Urban, 1981). As well, only when women teachers and education in the South tell their own stories can early twentieth century education be understood. 3 The Voices of Teachers
Almost four decades after the United States could boast of public education
’from sea to shining sea,’ Elsbree (1939) subtly admonished historians and
educators alike for neglecting to credit teachers for their part in the proliferation of
education. While Elsbree (1939) credits his well-known document history as the
first to tell the story of the public-school teacher, the presentation of teachers in
scholarly literature has rarely ventured far from the title of his book, The American
Teacher or that of another seminal classic, Donovan’s The School Ma'am (1938),
Historically, when teachers have been mentioned in educational literature, they
have been portrayed as aggregates and/or interchangeable (Goodson, 1992a, p. 4), or hidden among topics of teacher education and teacher professionalism (Clifford,
1975, p. 261).
The invisibility, generalization, and stereotyping are indicative of the extent to which teachers have been objectified and spoken about in educational literature.
As members of a gendered profession, women teachers have been "relegated to the very edge of respectability" (Rury, 1989, p. 11). Yet, ironically, in the hands of those very ’schoolmarms* was the immense responsibility of insuring the prescriptive curriculum, the official administrative answer to ’what does education mean,’ was presented and obtained. Still, whatever teachers thought and did in and out of school was defined, described, and told by others not by teachers themselves. 4 Today, fifty some years after Elsbree’s seminal classic attempted to ’right’
the historical record by placing teachers in the spotlight, little is known about what
it was like to be a teacher in the thousands of small communities scattered across
the nation during the early decades of the twentieth century. Still less is known
about how those multitudes of women teachers saw their own lives, and how they
answered ’What does education mean?’ Few accounts of early twentieth century
education have noticed, much less considered why "when teachers are listened to
carefully, their voices deny easy categorization" (Lightfoot, in Bullough, 1987,
p. 84)—and even fewer have thought to ask teachers themselves.
Listening to teachers’ voices represents not only their right to speak, but
also the importance and value of what they say (Butt, Raymond, McCue, &
Yamagishi, 1992, p. 57). When teachers speak for and about themselves, they
relay realities of the personal and the public worlds in which they live which, in
turn, makes clear they are far from being interchangeable and aggregates. Their
stories reveal how ’what education means’ belies prescriptive curriculum and often contradicts what administrative accounts and scholarly literature report. The misrepresentations and hasty generalizations about teachers, teaching, and education become apparent when women teachers’ voices are heard and heeded. As women social scientists have noted, it is important to "see the individual variety in women’s lives, to embrace that, to learn from it before we try to generalize" (cited in Geiger, 1986, p. 334). 5 Only in recent years has research begun to listen to the voices of women
and women teachers, particularly those who taught in the first few decades of the
twentieth century. Still, however, there remains a deep void in listening to what
Southern teachers have to say. Not surprisingly, the lack of attention to Southern
teachers is tied to the broader omission of Southern education in scholarly research
and writing.
The Absence of the South
The propensity to disregard women teachers as individuals also extends to
ignoring the distinctive perceptions of education that varied across the United
States. Historical accounts more often than not are generalizations based on public education in the Northeast or New England with Southern education either ignored or presented as an innumerable listing of exceptions to that norm (Hendrick, 1983;
Urban, 1981). Thus, to Goodson’s (1992a) "one of the most neglected aspects of the taken for granted reality of schooling is the importance of teachers’ lives"
(p. ix) might also be added "New England is not the nation" (Hendrick, 1983, p. 201).
The prevalence of "Massachusetts myopia" (Urban, 1981) in scholarly accounts is reflected in the paucity of attention accorded to the history of Southern education, particularly in the early twentieth century (Boles & Nolen, 1987;
Cunningham, 1965; Faust, 1987; Fuller, 1989; Grantham, 1965; Mitchell,
1987; Plank & Ginsburg, 1990; Sanders, 1983; Urban, 1981). As well, the dominance of Northern or New England urban areas as the norm not only inhibits 6 judging the norm itself, but also misrepresents the sociocultural contexts of
Southern life—the people, communities, traditions and beliefs, rural ism, poverty, and history—that created and molded education.
Just as the stories of women teachers need to be heard and told, so, too, do the stories of education in communities of the South. Understanding education in the early twentieth century can only be achieved when its history is rewritten to include both.
Purpose of the Research
While history will always be rewritten as new questions arise (Clifford,
1975; Tyack, 1989, p. 409), historical interpretation rests on what remains in documents, memories, and pictures. A century ago, the father of American anthropology Franz Boas foresaw the importance of collecting narratives of Native
American Indians before they and their native cultures were gone (Langness &
Frank, 1981, p. 14). Similarly, attending to the personal narratives of those few remaining teachers whose lives have bridged the nineteenth and twentieth centuries assures that neither their beliefs, experiences, and contributions are lost by historical omission, nor that our understanding of them is limited to their voices constrained by someone else's words on the written page. Without their own stories, any understanding of education in the early decades of the twentieth century can only be partial and incomplete, if not in error.
The purpose of this research is to present the life history of a teacher whose life has bridged the nineteenth and twentieth centuries in the deep South; to listen 7 to her beliefs, hopes, and experiences; and to understand what the relationship between education and life means in the context of person, place, and time. The recording of her life story affords an understanding of what teaching and learning have meant to her, both formally and informally, as she reflects upon her life.
The general questions that have guided this retrospective life history research are ’What was your life like?’ and ’What has education meant to you in your life?’ Additional topics and questions that have assisted in eliciting information about her life were borrowed from Gluck (1977) and Thompson (1978) and are listed in Appendix A.
Theoretical Perspective
This retrospective life history utilizes an interpretive approach and is influenced by anthropology. Because anthropological life history references a method and a methodology, discussions of each as well as the underlying theoretical perspective are presented in Chapter III.
Participant Selection
Caladonia Hasty Hutchison is the legal name of a woman who taught almost
40 of her current 96 years in a rural county of northwest Florida from the late
1920’s to the latter 1960*s. "Miss Callie," as she is frequently known, was selected because of her wealth of knowledge, breadth of experiences, Southern background, and her familial relationship to me. The methodological considerations of our being related, our generational differences, her age and 8 health, and my own biography are discussed in detail in Chapter HI, "Methodology of Life History."
Terminology
For clarification, terms utilized in this research document are listed and defined below:
life history—a collaborative process and product in which an extensive,
retrospective account of an individual’s life is elicited by and told to another
person who then edits and writes the record of the individual’s life in
agreement with the individual (based on Langness & Frank, 1981; Watson &
Watson-Franke, 1985). Chapter VI is "The Life History of Miss Callie."
life historian—the researcher who is responsible for the collection of the life
history data and who writes the final life history.
life story—accounts of a person’s life as delivered orally by the person herself
(Bertaux, 1981, p. 7). Chapter V, "The Life Story of Miss Callie," is the
story of Caladonia Hasty Hutchison’s life as she related it to me.
life story teller—the individual or subject whose life is the basis of the life
history.
personal narratives and personal documents—stories of personal
experiences, thoughts, and beliefs that individuals write about and/or tell to
others (based on Personal Narratives Group, 1989). Personal narratives and
personal documents are often used interchangeably. For clarification, the
different types of personal documents/narratives (for example, oral history, 9 diary, biography, autobiography, and life history) are defined and discussed
in Chapter III, "Methodology of Life History," under the section "Types of
Personal Documents."
Research Schedule
Miss Callie and I conducted three interview sessions that were held at her
home in Florida during the months of April and May of 1992, July of 1992, and
April and May of 1993. Table 1 of Appendix B contains a listing of these
interviews. Interviews with additional participants were also conducted during this same time frame and are listed in Tables 1 and 3 of Appendix B. While it was originally anticipated that the interview sessions with Miss Callie in Florida would total approximately 70 hours, our interview in April 1992 was abbreviated due to her brief hospitalization; thus, approximately 60 hours of interviews were conducted.
Interspersed among the interview sessions were telephone calls, each of which was tentatively scheduled for approximately an hour and at least in monthly intervals for us to share current activities and events, as well as to clarify or to answer any additional questions that might arise. Table 2 in Appendix B contains a listing of these telephone interviews.
Data collection and analysis extended from April 1992 to August 1993. The rough draft of Chapter V, "The Life Story of Miss Callie," was forwarded to Miss
Callie for comments and revisions in September 1993. The complete life history research, including the final Chapter VI, was completed in October 1993. 10 Significance and Limitations
The significance of this research is threefold. First, it is grounded in a
woman teacher's voice, direct testimony that evocatively conveys her life as she
reflects upon her experiences, thoughts, and beliefs.
Second, it contributes to filling the current void in historical literature on
rural teachers, schools, communities, and education in the deep South during the
early decades of the twentieth century about which so little is known.
Third, it encourages comparative research derived from similar studies that
are grounded in the personal stories which women as teachers and teachers as
women tell about their lives in different sociocultural contexts.
The recognized limitation of this research deals with representativeness and
transferability. Because the intent of this research is to present the life history of a
specific teacher as an individual, there is no intent to assert that her life is directly
equatable to any other teacher’s life regardless of time, place, or circumstance.
While she undoubtedly shares similarities with other teachers, there is no one-to- one correspondence of her life with the lives of others. The issue of representativeness and transferability is discussed in Chapter III, "Methodology of
Life History,” pages 56-57.
There are two additional limitations associated with this research which are further discussed in Chapter III, "Methodology of Life History," pages 46-48: 11 1) No life history can possibly be a complete account of a life, and 2) An
emphasis on description evolves from my intention to comprehend her life not to
explain it as Little (1980) suggests.
Format of the Research Project
This research project is divided into a total of six chapters. Chapter I is an
exposition and overview of the remaining Five chapters of this retrospective life
history research.
Chapter II, "Literature Review," discusses the relevant literature available on
the lives of early twentieth century women teachers. The introduction details the
small literature base on the lives of early twentieth century women teachers, as well as the lack of available literature on Southern education. The prospects of enlarging the literature base on teacher biographies are also discussed due to an apparent growing interest from both historical and contemporary standpoints. The remaining sections of this chapter represent topical discussions of early twentieth century women teachers based on the available literature: Women Teachers,
Teachers and the Family, Teachers and Communities, Career of Teaching, and
Southern Perspectives.
Chapter III, "Methodology of Life History," contains a detailed discussion of life history as it is perceived in this research. Included are the underlying interpretive framework; distinctions among types of personal documents such as life history, autobiography, biography, and oral history; and a discussion of anthropological life history as a process and product. The collaborative and 12 personal nature of life history research is described, including background
information on the researcher/life historian and the life story teller/subject. As the
life historian, my personal experiences, beliefs, and interests that are pertinent to
the research are presented. As well, the health and age of Miss Callie as the life
story teller are also discussed. The remaining sections of Chapter III include
identifying additional data sources and describing how data were collected.
Trustworthiness and ethical issues in life history research conclude the chapter.
Chapter IV, "Contextualizing Her Life," identifies and describes the socio
cultural context of her life. The data are comprised of historical newspapers,
books, and articles on Chipley and Washington County, Florida; interviews with others as students or relatives who know her; family pictures, writings, genealogy; and personal writings. Chapter IV is organized topically and is written in summary and note form.
Chapter V, "The Life Story of Miss Callie," is the personal narrative of her life as she related it to me.
Lastly, Chapter VI, "The Life History of Miss Callie," combines her Life
Story (Chapter V) with the contextual information obtained from additional sources
(Chapter IV). The collaborative nature of life history also makes clear that, as the life historian, my own biography is also a part of the final product.
The remaining sections of this research document are comprised of Footnotes,
Bibliography, and Appendices. Appendix A is a list of suggested interview topics and questions. Appendix B lists the interview schedules by type in Tables 1, 2, 13 and 3, (video, telephone, and additional interviews during which notes were taken).
Appendix C includes maps of the Florida and Alabama counties that are relevant to
Miss Callie's life, which are referred to as Figures 1 and 2. A genealogical chart listing Miss Callie’s ancestors for three generations is presented in Figure 3. CHAPTER II
LITERATURE REVIEW
Introduction
An extensive review of the literature on teachers’ lives reveals that no similar
retrospective life history of a woman teacher from Florida or, more generally, from
the deep South is currently available. A small collection of brief biographical
sketches on early twentieth century Florida teachers, written as memorials under
the auspices of the Delta Kappa Gamma Society (Williams, 1953), has been located although little information beyond demographic data was included. As a result, the
majority of literature on which this chapter is based comprises the few available personal stories of early twentieth century women teachers from western and northeastern sections of the United States.
There is also little information on early twentieth century education in Florida and in the deep South, which required searching general histories of education for
Southern references. Histories of the South have also been consulted, although few pay substantive attention to education in the early twentieth century.
Literature on the methodological implications of conducting research with women, women teachers, and the elderly has also been referenced and is presented in Chapter III. Other identifiable literature specifically on or about teachers’ lives
14 15 utilizes a contemporary orientation which, due to the historical focus of this life
history research, is discussed only briefly.
Awareness that there is a paucity of research in which early twentieth century
teachers retrospectively share their lives derives from searching literature data bases
(ERIC and dissertation abstracts) and requesting assistance from a variety of
professional individuals. Assistance from a professor at Florida State University
and from librarians at The Ohio State University, the State Library of Florida in
Tallahassee, the University of West Florida in Pensacola, and ERIC regional
laboratories in North Carolina and West Virginia identified no similar research available on the lives and experiences of early twentieth century teachers in the deep South or, specifically, in Florida.
Prospective Research on Teachers* Lives
There does, however, appear to be growing interest in documenting the personal stories of women who taught in the first half of this century. A recent collection edited by Altenbaugh (1992) includes several studies on teachers' lives, as well as discusses the lack of information currently available and encourages additional research to eliminate the void. Rinehart (1983) and Manning (1990) each present multiple personal stories of early twentieth century teachers in a single study. While Rinehart (1983) follows the traditional concentration on Northern teachers, Manning (1990) offers a glimpse of teachers’ lives in rural Texas, which contributes to eliminating the blanks that currently exist in the history of rural and
Southern education (Mitchell, 1987; Sanders 1983). 16 The proliferation of research on teachers’ lives prior to the twentieth century
based on autobiographies, diaries, and journals is evident in the works of women
scholars such as Clifford, Finklestein, and Hoffman. Finklestein (1974) provides a
bibliographic listing of nineteenth century teacher autobiographies, memoirs, and
biographies, separated chronologically and regionally. The sheer number of titles
is surprising, although the few listed for the South is not (Hall & Scott, 1987,
p. 458). Hoffman (1981) provides an extensive collection of nineteenth century
teachers' personal stories; however, it wholly concentrates on those who taught in
the Northeast which, as she readily admits, represents a geographical bias (p. xxi).
Schwager’s (1987) concise discussion of the education of women includes teachers;
however, reference to Southern women is limited and, not unlike most publications
on education, that which pertains to the South is presented in terms of exceptions
(Urban, 1981). Still, as Clifford, Finklestein, Hoffman, and Schwager suggest,
awareness that so little historical attention has been accorded to the lives of women
teachers will also encourage research that is more representative of teachers’
experiences across the United States.
There also appears to be a special emphasis on documenting the lives of early
twentieth century teachers in Florida and in the deep South. A professor at Florida
State University informed me that research there is currently underway to locate women teachers of Florida and the deep South who are still living so that their life stories can be collected. Moreover, Rosser (1991) notes that a major reason the prominent women’s studies journal Signs was relocated to North Carolina’s Duke 17 University in 1985 is to promote more research in the Southeast (p. 60). The work
in process at Florida State and the location of Signs highlight the importance of
contributing to the histories of education, teaching, and women by filling in the
blanks where lives and experiences in the South should be placed.
Collecting the personal stories of contemporary teachers appears to be as
prevalent if not more so than those more historically oriented. A recent collection edited by Good son (1992) includes several contemporary teachers' personal stories and general discussions about teacher biographies. Woods (1987) also details the importance of teacher biography to teaching practices in the context of teacher in- service and pre-service, as do Knowles (1992) and Berlack & Berlack (1987).
Moreover, there also seems to be a current trend in teachers writing their own autobiographies or including their personal thoughts and experiences in contemporary accounts of teaching and curriculum theory.1
Chanter Format
The majority of the literature discussed in this chapter is centered on the early twentieth century and is comprised of those studies that are available on women and women teachers’ lives, as well as document histories that address teachers and education in the South. Because the literature is almost wholly dominated by references to New England or the Northeast, Southern education is discussed separately. 18 Based on the literature consulted, this chapter is divided topically into five
interrelated sections: Women Teachers, Teachers and the Family, Teachers and
Communities, Career of Teaching, and Southern Perspectives.
Women Teachers
Historically, generalizations not only have defined the persona of women teachers, but also have succeeded in ignoring the very real differences among them.
Donovan’s The School Ma’am (1938) blames the cartoons of the 1890’s for immortalizing the negative stereotype of women teachers as ’old maids.’ She contends that while people are generally typecast by their occupations, because more teachers are women only they have a negative stereotype that is nationally recognized. Elsbree’s (1939) concern with women teachers is not Donovan’s ’old maid’ stereotype, but the ramifications of ’female supremacy.’ Large numbers of women teachers from the lower middle class, he claims, necessitates elevating their cultural background which is the most difficult of the many tasks for teacher preparation institutions.
The propensity to view women teachers as a cut out of the same mold and a fixed group was seemingly sanctioned by Coffman’s 1911 comprehensive survey.
In "The Social Composition of the Teaching Population," Coffman describes the early twentieth century woman teacher as the daughter of a farmer or tradesman rather than a professional man and
twenty-four years of age, having entered teaching in the early part of her nineteenth year when she had received but four years’ training beyond the elementary schools...She is native bom of native-born parents, both of whom 19 speak the English language. When she entered teaching both of her parents were living and had an annual income of approximately $800 which they were compelled to use to support themselves and their four or five children. The young woman early found the pressure both real and anticipated to earn her own way very heavy (cited in Elsbree, 1939, p. 550).
The picture of the woman teacher Coffman paints is little changed by Hill
(1927) in a survey of those in teacher training or by Moffett (1929) who adds that
the woman teacher has no familiarity with music beyond local talent, has not
ventured more than one hundred miles from her rural home, and her family
possesses no masterpieces of art or home library (both in Elsbree, 1939, p. 551).
Concern with Elsbree’s (1939) ’female supremacy’ of the teaching force was
prevalent as early as Coffman’s 1911 survey, despite that major differences existed
regionally (Rury, 1989, p. 7). Coffman attributed this peiplexing condition to
changes that had taken place in public schools in terms of management, specialized
labor, narrowed requirements for teacher intellect and versatility, and simply that
women were willing to work for less money than men (in Altenbaugh, 1992, p. 8).
The feminization of teaching in relation to domestic ideology and
industrialization has been a standard topic of discussion (Clifford, 1989; Strober &
Tyack, 1980, p. 502). The now familiar words of Horace Mann, "she holds her commission from nature" (cited in Altenbaugh, 1992, p. 8) and Catherine Beecher,
"she does not look forward to the duty of supporting a family, should she marry; nor the ambition to amass a fortune’1 (cited in Grumet, 1988, p. 39) are echoed in
Elsbree (1939) and Donovan (1938). Both have become commonplace in 20 explanations of not only why women chose to teach, but also why the majority of
teachers were women.
The problem with grand analyses that purport to explain teachers* lives and/or
that rely on official public records from which generalizations are made is the
distortion that ensues. Such generalizations ignore the very real differences that
existed within the United States and the contextual considerations of perhaps why
they varied (Hendrick, 1983; Rury, 1989). Moreover, despite noble attempts to
’right’ history by including women teachers, such analyses objectify and treat them as passive, naive, or willing victims (Atkinson, 1982, p. 253; Clifford, 1978b).
Multi-disciplinary social science research of women’s experiences in diverse cultures, in and through time, has highlighted the importance of the theoretical and methodological assumptions that undergird research by and with women (Geiger,
1986; Atkinson, 1982). Foremost from these research projects is the apparent recognition that when women talk about their lives, their stories reflect both agreement and challenges to norms (Gluck & Patai, 1991, p. 7). Thus, researcher perceptions of domesticity have ranged from viewing women initially as victims or prisoners of an ideology, to manipulators of the ideology, and most recently, as agents with their own subculture in which strength and identity are promoted (Cott in Nelson, 1992c, p. 178).
Not surprisingly, research in which women teachers relate their own stories often reveals stark contrasts between what they tell and what is told in official reports (Clifford, 1975, p. 268). While Tyack and Hansot (1982) base descriptions 21 of women teachers’ experiences on official administrative reports and rules, teachers themselves often speak of their own. For example, Nelson’s study
(1992c) illustrates that teachers often ignored edicts requiring them to be single, and dealt with pregnancy in their own way. Likewise, teachers in Carter’s study
(1992a) were far from passive; they actively sought equal pay, and the right to marry and to have children. Both studies note that early twentieth century teachers cannot be characterized by either acquiescence or insubordination; they were neither simply passivists nor activists. More importantly, however, both studies illustrate that reasons for the restrictions and the reactions to them center on the same source—women who could marry and bear children.
Teachers and the Family
References to marriage and children are consistently made in teachers’ personal accounts and reinforce the importance that the context of the family plays in their lives as women, not simply as teachers (Clifford, 1978b). Much of the current insights into how women contextualize their lives derives from multi disciplinary research.
Based upon a plethora of social science research by and with women, it appears that all women seem to share a sense of ’familial embeddedness’ regardless of their differences in culture, class, race, ethnicity, or religion (Geiger, 1986, p. 348). Specific family, marital, and heterosexual relationships not only define women’s lives, but women also nurture and maintain them (Geiger, 1986, p. 348;
Personal Narratives Group, 1989, p. 20). 22 The influence that networks of family and kin have on women teachers’ lives pervades their personal narratives. Teachers in Nelson’s study (1992b) readily compare their family and school life, and see the schoolhouse as an extension of family. In Manning (1990), Rinehart (1983), and Vaughn-Roberson (1992), women teachers report that encouragement from parents and/or teacher relatives was decisive in their becoming teachers. The frequency with which this
’occupational inheritance’ affected decisions to teach is often overlooked, as
Clifford suggests (1978, p. 303). As well, the stories of women teachers in
Manning (1990) and Rinehart (1983) reflect the importance parents played in their lives as children and as teachers. They hint that a great deal of their success as teachers is due to parental teaching and support, often drawing upon what their parents had taught them and relying on their parents for emotional and, at times, financial support.
Research by Landes (1976) delves deeper into the topic of parents and family to include how genealogical backgrounds and family cultures affect teachers’ beliefs, perceptions, and actions. As a result of both men and women teachers collecting their genealogies and family histories, they not only came to understand the diversity of the ’American experience’ and the universality of family pride, but also the seemingly timeless ebb and flow of cultural change and continuity.
Landes’s study seems to have been the first to use genealogy and family history as in-service activities that encourage teachers to understand themselves and others and, in a broader sense, to respect the commonalities and diversities inherent in 23 being human. In much the same vein is the current emphasis on utilizing teacher biography as pre-service and in-service activities suggested by Woods (1987) and by several authors in Good son (1992).
Teachers and Communities
The relationship between teachers and communities is often described in terms of subjugation and endurance of the former due to social constraints dictated by the latter (Tyack, 1989, p. 408; Waller, 1932). Vet, an insightful Beale (1936) notes that the close ties between the teacher and community make a large part of the difference: "the majority of teachers do not need freedom, because they share the views of the community from which they sprang and in which they live" (p. 636).
The personal stories of rural teachers in Manning (1990) and Nelson (1992a,
1992c) often tell of a close affiliation that existed with local parents and community members. As Clifford (1978a) notes, many young women teachers’ accounts contradict the generalized descriptions of teachers as ’secular nuns’ (in Quantz, in
Nelson 1992a, p. 83) or as ’outsiders’ (in Tyack & Hansot, 1982; Altenbaugh,
1992, p. 62). Moreover, their stories suggest that community expectations of teacher behavior had only slightly more to do with their occupation as teachers than it did because they were women.
Not all twentieth century women teachers, however, taught in areas where they were raised. Boarding, frequently discussed in nineteenth century teacher stories, was extant in rural areas throughout the early decades of the twentieth.
While many teachers boarded with local families because they were required to live 24 in the area, others in rural areas did so simply because they had no other choice.
Equally so, some of their stories relate the warmth and hospitality of their
’adopted’ family, while others speak grudgingly of enduring the situation until they
could leave (Manning, 1990; Rinehart, 1983; Nelson, 1992a; Schwager, 1987).
The variability of experience determined by regional and local differences negates
the too hasty generalization.
Career of Teaching
Based on women's oral reports, social science research has suggested that women’s reasons for and perceptions of work comprise multiple and interrelated factors, including material and marital independence, and psychological and social identity (Passerini, 1989, p. 195). Biklen (in Altenbaugh, 1992, p. 11), Clifford
(1989), and Feldberg & Glen (1979) have suggested as well that the concept of career must be reconceptualized to account for women’s perceptions and experiences.
Discussions of teaching as a career in terms of low salary, limited advancement, lack of autonomy, and brevity often do not always coincide with the stories women tell about their teaching lives (Clifford, 1989). Despite that some early twentieth century teachers were disappointed with their salaries and some actively sought higher salaries (Carter, 1992b), others were also satisfied if not pleased (Clifford, 1975, 1989; Manning, 1990). The assertion that teachers preferred assignments in urban rather than rural schools as a means to career advancement (Fuller, 1989, p. Ill) does not always comply with teachers’ stories, 25 particularly their reactions against consolidation (Manning, 1990; Nelson, 1992c).
Moreover, the traditional characterization that early twentieth century teachers only
taught an average of four years disregards regional variations (Rury, 1989) and
local contexts in which rules against married teachers were often overlooked
(Clifford, 1989).
Teachers’ personal stories in Clifford (1989), Manning (1990), and Rinehart
(1983) also negate the assertion that teaching was chosen only because it was the
"one and true honorable vocation for women" (Carter, 1992b, p. 127). As well,
many teachers in rural areas report that they did not see their teaching lives as
shackling, inhibiting, or lacking autonomy. In fact, a majority acknowledge their
disdain for school consolidation—not necessarily in terms of lost autonomy, but
rather it inhibited closeness with the local community (Manning, 1990; Nelson,
1992c). An interesting contrast is Fuller’s (1989) notion that consolidating schools
made them larger and more cost-efficient "if not more caring—as local control gave
way to the professionals" (p. 114), although he does concede that "those
characteristics of country-school teaching that made it rewarding—were lost" (ibid.).
Teachers’ stories also speak of knowing they were role models in the
community (Carter, 1992b, p. 128), and receiving special recognition and respect
which provided them some measure of power in the community (Nelson, 1992a, p. 86). Whether the status accorded was distinctive of rural areas or not, many a teacher was no doubt perceived as: 26 not only an intellectual paragon and social leader, but also the matrimonial catch of the countryside. A family could indeed walk proudly if a son married the schoolteacher. Her children were presumed to have intellectual advantages both inherited and conditioned (John Steinbeck, East of Eden).
Many teachers also speak of pride in their teaching, in themselves, and in
their students (Carter, 1992b; Manning, 1990; Rinehart, 1983). As well,
teaching afforded many the personal freedom to delay marital responsibilities and,
for some, camaraderie and "sentiments of sisterhood with other young women teachers" (Clifford, 1978a, p. 196). To most, teaching was a career—however short or long—and one they proudly performed.
Southern Perspectives
It has been fairly well acknowledged that traditional histories of education, in suffering from "Massachusetts myopia" (Urban, 1981, p. 133), have misrepresented or all but ignored Southern education (Hendricks, 1983, p. 201).
Urban (1981) details the misrepresentation further by noting that even when scant attention is paid to the South, more often than not it is perceived and presented as an aberration. As a result, reminders of the misrepresentation and absence, as well as calls to rectify both have been repeatedly made (Boles & Nolen, 1987;
Cunningham, 1965; Faust, 1987; Grantham, 1965; Mitchell, 1987; Plank &
Ginsburg, 1990; Sanders, 1983; Urban, 1981). It is not surprising then that women teachers of the South have also been excluded in the few historical accounts of teaching, even more so than their counterparts in the rest of the nation (Hall &
Scott, 1987). 27 The neglect of Southern education and women teachers is part of a broader
reflection of what is missing in general accounts of American history and culture.
Recent suggestions have been made to investigate all aspects of the South, as well as to extend beyond the traditional perimeters of just prior to and after the Civil
War, specifically the twentieth century (Grantham, 1965). And perhaps, most importantly, there is growing awareness that scholarly research must perceive the
South on its own terms (Faust, 1987, p. 99).
The traditional propensity to view Southern education from a presumed national norm based on urban areas of the North or New England (Hendricks,
1983; Sanders, 1983) not only ignores the pervasive ruralism of the early twentieth century South, but also strips away the sociocultural context in which people define and construct their lives. As a prominent sociologist noted as late as 1947, "the southern education story is inseparable from the whole biography of the region in its American background" (Odum, cited in Cunningham, 1965, p. 392).
Perceptions that Northeastern and New England cities constitute the norm extend beyond education to all aspects of life which, in turn, also define what is and is not deemed important and what is and is not valued. Not only have the literary works of women and the South been historically excluded from judgments of ’universal import,’ but they have also been devalued to being worthy of only local interest or relegated to minor and regional status (Hall & Scott, 1987, p. 458;
Meese, 1977, p. 63). Only by narrowing the national landscape into regions can reconstructions of history and culture be made that include the experiences of 28 women, Blacks, and poor Americans of the South (Meese, 1977, p. 63). Attending to that regionalism is "an act of survival" for those Southerners whose stories have never been told (Rich cited in Meese, 1977, p. 63).
The applicability of regionalism in Southern research derives from what has been historically referred to as ’Southern distinctiveness.’3 Too often, however, descriptions of this distinctiveness have been dichotomized into disparagement by outsiders and celebration by insiders. Despite the emergence of the ’New South’ with its growing metropolitan areas on the order of Atlanta, there seems to be sufficient reference in the current mainstream to suggest that the South is different— if not in fact, it is in mind. Examples attesting to real or perceived differences and the stereotypical attachments to them abound. For example, the editor of a women’s studies collection acknowledges the "negative perceptions of the South by the rest of American society" (Johnson, 1991, p. x). A reviewer in the prestigious
History of Education Quarterly offers a congratulatory message for "abandoning his white Southern heritage" (Cohen, 1987, p. 380). Linguists note the increasing devaluation of Southern speech since the Civil War (Conklin & Lourie, 1983, p. 95). As well, an historian asserts the 1900’s perception of the ’backward South’ became the 1920’s ’savage South’ which has since defined American thinking
(Grantham, 1965, p. 411). More descriptive perceptions of the South are characterized as evolving from the 'Benighted South,' and ’Savage South’ to the
’Bible Belt,’ ’the Hookworm Belt,’ the ’Chastity Belt,* and finally, to the ’Sun
Belt’ (Hobson, 1981, p. 50). 29 Some scholarly attention has been recently granted to reinterpreting the South
on its own terms, typically borrowing the cultural relativism of anthropology
(Faust, 1987, p. 99) and utilizing the concept of the group (Hendricks, 1983;
Reed, 1972 & 1981). These reinterpretations, although still few, reveal what many
traditional accounts of Southern life have failed to recognize or to understand: "no
matter what you say, or how bad the South is, there’s still a history of people getting along with each other" (Percy cited in Urban, 1981, p. 139). Thus, neither Southern history nor Southern distinctiveness can be defined solely in terms of racism (Urban, 1981, p. 139). Rather, the ’distinctiveness’ of the South should be, because it is, defined by Southerners themselves. And those Southerners are women and men who are red, brown, white, beige, and black; they come in all shapes, sizes, and colors (Johnson, 1991, p. ix).
Winston’s (1991) discussion of the autobiographies and personal stories of
Southern women, black and white, illustrates that their attachment to and identity with the South is part of who they are, despite the oppressive politics and practices commonly associated with the region. The importance of women relaying their own realities of their lives in the South is highlighted in the personal stories of two
Southern black women. Despite that Hurston (in Winston, 1991), an anthropologist, did not see her own life in terms of Southern racism, she was criticized for not discussing it in her autobiography. As well, Erma Calderon’s own personal story (in Geiger, 1986, p. 347) did not indicate that the Civil Rights movement was central to her life, despite the critics who expected that it did. It is 30 suggested then that research on the South look at the pervasive commonalities among all Southerners, for example, in religion (Grantham, 1965), education
(Mitchell, 1987, p. 419), and women’s lives and experiences (Hall & Scott, 1987, p. 458).
The reconstruction and reinterpretation of Southern history on its own terms have direct relevance to understanding the lives of women and women teachers, as well as education in the early decades of the twentieth century South. Hall &
Scott’s (1987) assertion, "both southern distinctiveness and scholarly neglect argue for putting southern women’s history high on the research agenda" (p. 459), is indicative of the growing literature on Southern women. As yet, however, the history of women teachers in the South has not generated an equal amount of attention.
Until the Southern research base grows, much of our current understanding of early twentieth century education and teachers in the South derives from extracting incidental references about both from more generally recognized histories in which they are often hidden. Far too often, however, references to education and women teachers in the South are generally presented as ’Southern exceptionalism* (Urban,
1981, p. 136).
Examples of ’Southern exceptionalism’ (Urban, 1981) usually begin with descriptions of early twentieth century education in the South as being backward, inferior, lagging behind, weak, deplorable, or an equivalent term (see examples in
Clifford, 1989; Knight, 1922; Woodward, 1987). Yet education, most especially 31 higher education in the South was well-established for both men and women before
the twentieth century. Degler (1977) is mindful that the South established state
universities prior to the North (p. 32). As well, Schwager (1987) notes that
contrary to 'persistent claims* that female academies in the South were small and
short-lived, they "enjoyed well-established reputations, long histories, and large
enrollments" (p. 341).
The dismal characterizations of early twentieth century Southern education
have been attributed to singular as well as a variety of combined explanations, for
example: social insanities and complacency (Knight, 1922); self-reliance and
individual responsibility (Cash, 1941; Woodward, 1971); reforms that were not of
their own making (Ezell, 1975; Fletcher, 1930, Mitchell, 1987); stripping away
parental rights (Fleming, 1981); poverty and isolated populations (Hesseltine &
Smiley in Cunningham, 1965; Woodward, 1971); gender (Clifford, 1989,
p. 300); and the highest population of schoolage children with the fewest and
poorest male adults in the nation to fund tax-supported schools (Degler, 1977;
Ezell, 1975; Woodward, 1971). Moreover, most do not fail to mention or allude
to the ramifications of the Civil War and Reconstruction that made Southern life a
struggle for survival. Whatever the mixture of reasons, Southerners rallied to the notion of progress (Cash, 1941; Ezell, 1975), which, by implication, reinforces perhaps why there also existed "widespread devotion to education" (Simkins in
Cunningham, 1965, p. 392), despite claims to the contrary. 32 The most commonly recognized characteristic of early twentieth century
Southern education was its localism (Kett, 1985, p. 172). The implications of this localism may have partially influenced the resistance to consolidation and integration by many rural white and black parents and teachers (Perkins, 1989, p. 349; Reese, 1983, p. 235). Moreover, because many women teachers taught in areas where they were raised (Clifford, 1989), there may have been little concern that a teacher’s actions would be contrary to what the community expected of women or women teachers as Beale (1936) suggests.
The close affinity with the community may also have affected the longevity of teaching careers as "only in the South did it appear that rural teachers remained longer in the profession—and there, some might well have fit the description of
’old-stagers’" (Fuller, 1989, p. 110). Moreover, the prohibition of married teachers had little hold in the South where local needs and personal reputation often determined that exceptions to the rule were the rules people followed (Clifford,
1989). As an example, Donovan (1938) notes that Florida ranked the highest of married women teachers in elementary, junior high, and high schools (p. 59).
The feminization of teaching occurred later in the South than in other parts of the nation for a variety of reasons, as Rury (1989) and Clifford (1989) assert. The world of work for Southern women, whether rich or poor, did not begin with industrialization. Southern women had long bridged the gap between domestic duties in the private world of home and civil responsibilities in the public world of work (Berkeley, 1984, p. 46). 33 The sphere of Southern women was tied to Southern ruralism, culture,
poverty, and the devastating results of the Civil War and Reconstruction (Berekely,
1984, p. 49). Daily lives of those women who struggled through the aftermath
belie the stereotypical image of the ’Southern Belle.’ Work did not dichotomize
the public and private spheres of most Southern women’s lives as it did for
Northern women, whether urban or rural. Unlike their Northern urban counterparts, the overwhelming majority of early twentieth century Southern women continued to contribute to the subsistence of their rural families as they had traditionally done (Clifford, 1989, p. 300).
Conclusion
What is clear about early twentieth century education, women, and women teachers in the South is that too little research has been conducted on any of them.
However, steps to fill the void appear to be underway. Relocating Signs encourages research on women, families, and women teachers of the South. Plank
& Ginsberg’s (1990) collection provides rich information on urban education in the
South which is virtually nonexistent.
The literature base on the history of women teachers throughout the United
States is growing as well. The attention given to pre-twentieth century teachers and education has been prolific. Growing research on teachers of the early twentieth century in Northern, Northeastern, and Western sections of the United States has also generated a great deal of interest. 34 The increasing use of personal narratives highlights the importance of understanding how women—all people—see their lives, rather than how it is perceived by researchers. By narrowing national landscape and discouraging generalizations, collections of personal narratives and local studies can facilitate comparative research, the results of which will more closely approach pictures of the all-encompassing United States.
As has been suggested, the history of education should be part of local history
(Katz in Clifford, 1975, p. 259). Not only do people create, maintain, support, and participate in their local schools, but it is also in local historical societies, community libraries, and family archives where personal documents, especially those of women, are found that provide access to understanding 'what education means.’ CHAPTER III
METHODOLOGY OF LIFE HISTORY
Methodology and Method
Methodology, as Sandra Harding (1987) notes, has so often been interchanged with method that it is typically understood in terms of the latter’s definition, "a technique for (or way of proceeding in) gathering evidence" (p. 2). In an attempt to clarify the differences between them,3 Harding defines methodology as "a theory and analysis of how research does or should proceed" and suggests that methodological discussions include an analysis of how theoretical perspectives are utilized in specific research areas (p. 3).
The distinction between methodology and method assists in clarifying the differences among types of research that are concerned with human affairs, specifically those centered on the lives of individuals. While life history might share, for example, in-depth interviews and written sources with other types of research, the methodologies that inform them are not necessarily the same— methodology is not simply research procedures or data gathering techniques. It is the context in which the methods are embedded rather than what methods are employed that determines the research outcome (Watson & Watson-Franke, 1985,
35 36 p. 253). Pervasive throughout that context is an "interrelated set of assumptions about the social world" (Rist, 1977, p. 43) which is first gleaned from the research question and purpose.
Purpose of the Research
This research constitutes the life history of a specific woman who has lived over ninety years in a rural area of northwest Florida and who taught there for almost forty years. As a retrospective life history influenced heavily by anthropology, this research focuses on the subject as an individual who shaped culture and, at the same time, was also shaped by the social and cultural contexts in which she lived (Langness & Frank, 1981, p. 71; Little, 1980, p. 220;
Mandelbaum, 1973; Watson & Watson-Franke, 1985).
The general yet guiding questions, ’What was her life like? ’ and ’What has education meant to her in her life?* indicate both the depth and the scope necessary to understand the complex and multiple dimensions of her retrospective life—not solely her experiences as a teacher or as an adult. More importantly, such an understanding can only derive from the emic or insider perspective as she recounts her life, and at the same time account for my presence as the researcher to whom her life story is told.
In order to capture and, thus, to share "her personal story of individual experience" (Prell, 1989, p. 248), an interpretive approach of anthropology with its emphasis on holism, context, symbol, and subjective and intersubjective meanings (Agar, 1980) provides the framework for this life history. 37 Interpretive Framework
An interpretive approach to research is often referred to as hermeneutic, phenomenological, naturalistic, or in more general terms as qualitative or postpositivistic. In several instances interpretive and qualitative are used synonymously (Rist, 1977; Smith, 1983). However, because there are variations among research investigations labelled qualitative or interpretive (Jacob, 1988), the following discussion refers to the approach used in this life history research.
An interpretive approach to life history holds several foundational assumptions that describe the relationship between the nature of reality and the social world: it is constructed, it is multiple, and it is contextually bound. Thus, interpretivism posits that research dealing with human experience and affairs is and must be subjective and value-laden precisely because that is what defines and gives meaning to human lives; in studying others, we study ourselves as well (Smith, 1983, p. 7).
The purpose of an interpretive approach to life history is to understand another’s life in light of, not in spite of, one’s own. To facilitate that understanding, interpretivism combines the principles of hermeneutics and phenomenology. Hermeneutics, on which interpretivism relies heavily, offers the grounding for interpretive understanding, while phenomenology, which is situated within hermeneutics, recognizes subjective experience as a phenomenon in its own right (Watson & Watson-Franke, 1985, p. 13). The blending of hermeneutics and phenomenology provides the means to bridge the researcher’s subjective world with 38 that of the life history subject, making understanding through interpretation
possible.
Hermeneutics, originally associated with the interpretation of written texts, is
used both metaphorically and literally in the process and production of the life history. A primary tenet of hermeneutics is the interconnected relationship between the parts and the whole; to be understood, a text must be perceived holistically~as an integration of the parts and the whole. That is, a life, as a text, cannot be understood apart from the relationship between and among the multiple and interrelated contexts and the whole that give it meaning.
Specifically in terms of life history research, the word context plays a crucial role in perceiving a life holistically; it is both an interpretive strategy and an interactive, dynamic process through which the individual and the environment each shape and are shaped by the other (Personal Narratives Group, 1989, p. 19). A holistic perspective draws from the multiple contexts that impact the life by placing the individual’s subjective experiences alongside and within historical, cultural, social, and psychological contexts (Atkinson, 1982, p. 249). At the same time, the context in which the life history research is conducted affects what the subject of the life history tells, how it is perceived by the researcher, and ultimately how the life history becomes inscribed as a written document.
Watson (1976) identifies three major contexts that facilitate perceiving an individual’s life holistically: the sociocultural context, the individual life in context, and the life history construction context (pp. 101-102). The first context, 39 the sociocultural context, represents a broad look at factors that have influenced the
individual’s life. For example, factors such as economics, politics, and educational
transmission should be addressed.
The second context, the individual life in context, represents factors that have
impacted the individual as an individual within a particular culture. For example,
the extent to which gender, age, class, and occupation have impacted an
individual’s experiences should be noted.
The third and last context, but not the least important for methodological concerns, is the life history construction context. Details surrounding both the process and the production of the life history must be explicitly recounted. For example, issues such as the following must be discussed openly and thoroughly: gaining entry; maintaining rapport; the physical and social settings in which the interviews, data collection, and data analysis take place; and, finally, the who, how, where, and why of the life history as a product or document.
Phenomenology, although situated within the larger framework of hermeneutics, accentuates the subjectivities inherent in life history research.
According to the principles of phenomenology, every individual has preconceived notions that are accepted-as-given, objectified as being out there in the world, the life world (Frank, 1979). This natural attitude and its taken-for-grantedness predispose acceptance rather than questioning or self-reflection (Watson & Watson-
Franke, 1985). At the same time, intersubjectivity, or commonly shared meanings, provides for the possibility of understanding in that similar experiences 40 and, conversely, breakdowns are often easily recognized (Langness & Frank,
1981).
The concept of reflexivity lies at the intersection of hermeneutics and
phenomenolgy and plays a crucial role in an interpretive approach to life history.
Briefly defined as "the capacity to arouse consciousness of ourselves as we see the
actions of ourselves and others" (Prell, 1989, p. 251), reflexivity is both a critical
examination and an act of construction. In the process and production of life
history, the researcher critically reflects upon self-held predispositions and
preunderstandings so as not to overshadow the life history subject's realities with
the researcher’s own. Reflexivity is also inherent in the dialogue between the
researcher and the subject as they share past experiences--what they remember and what they recount are influenced by the present context of their interaction
(Watson-Franke & Watson, 1975, p. 250). As well, reflexivity pervades the dialectical relationship, the bridging back and forth, that connects the researcher to the life history text for interpretation and, thus, for understanding to take place
(Watson & Watson-Franke, 1985, p. 61).
The assumptions and encompassing framework of an interpretive approach to life history speak directly to its methodology, and to the research question and purpose as well. They are not, however, always shared or as evident in other types of research that are centered on the lives of individuals. While other types of research appear similar to life history in that they produce personal documents, the evolution of their inscription often differs substantially. 41 Types of Personal Documents
Life history originated as part of ethnographic fieldwork in anthropology over a century ago when the life accounts of Native American Indians were first systematically collected (Agar, 1980; Bertaux, 1980, p. 7; Watson & Watson-
Franke, 1985). Yet, much like ethnography, life history not only has historical ties to anthropology, but it also has been adopted by other disciplines and has been used in a variety of ways, for equally as many purposes (Frank, 1979; Watson &
Watson-Franke, 1985). As a result, life history is traditionally grouped with autobiography, biography, diary, oral history, and the like in a broad category entitled personal documents or oral narratives which tends to blur what often appear to be subtle distinctions among them. For example, life history has been described as a type of oral history (Atkinson, 1982; Hareven, 1978; Robertson, 1983), a type of biography that utilizes biographical methods (Langness & Frank, 1981), similar to the study of the folklore of a people (Agrosino, 1976, p. 135), and a double autobiography (Frank, 1979). While designations of genre types have often been liberally assigned to both oral and written formats, the following definitions are offered as an initial step in distinguishing life history as it is perceived in this research from other types of personal documents.
Life history is "a collaborative process and product in which an extensive, retrospective account of a individual’s life is elicited by and told to another person who then edits and writes the record of the individual’s life in agreement with the individual (based on Langness & Frank, 1981; Watson & Watson-Franke, 1985). 42 Biography is an account of an individual's life that is initiated, collected, edited, and produced by another (Watson & Watson-Franke, 1985, p. 3).
Oral history is an individual’s verbatim eyewitness account of specific prior events, elicited, recorded, and compiled by another (based on Jeansonne, 1983, p. 87, and Stricklin & Sharpless, 1988, p. 11).
Autobiography is a retrospective account of an individual’s life that is elicited, recorded, edited and produced by the individual himself/herself (Langness
& Frank, 1981, p. 89).
Diary is a compilation of an individual’s immediate experiences that are self elicited and self-recorded, usually on a daily basis (Watson & Watson-Franke,
1985, p. 3).
According to the definitions offered above, the most notable difference among these personal documents is who participates in and is responsible for the process and the production of the account. In autobiography and diary, the process and the production are self-initiated and self-directed by the individual whose life and experiences are the basis of the account. Thus, the elicitor, narrator, recorder, editor, and producer are one and the same person—the subject. In contrast, the above definitions of life history, biography, and oral history indicate the presence of two individuals—the subject or narrator whose personal story lies at the center, and the researcher or producer who initiates and is more often than not responsible for the final written account as the author or compiler. Beyond this, the extent to which the subject/narrator and the researcher/producer participate in the process 43 and the production of the account also helps to clarify how these personal
documents differ.
Oral history and biography are associated with the discipline of history,
although their use transcends disciplinary boundaries (Thompson, 1978). Oral
history is based on an inclusive approach to history that attends to the everyday
lives of ordinary persons, rather than history’s traditional great man approach
(Gluck, 1977; Hareven, 1978). The proliferation of oral histories has suggested
grouping them into three main divisions: the topical which is concerned with
events; the biographical which details part of the life of an individual who is
usually a public figure; and the autobiographical which centers on the whole life of an individual (Gluck, 1977, p. 5).
The autobiographical oral history is in many ways similar to life history
(Hareven, 1978). Gluck (1977) notes this similarity as well, "much like the anthropological life history, it should reflect the experiences, values, attitudes and relationships of the interviewee...it is a collaborative effort" (pp. 6-7). Set beside life history as "person-centered ethnography" which endeavors to include the ordinary person rather than the unique or foreign in traditional anthropological accounts (Langness & Frank, 1981, p. 1), the distinctions between oral history and life history are further blurred.
It may well be that, apart from the professional or academic perspective of the researcher, the differences between oral history and life history are more a matter of degree. Yet, because oral history is traditionally associated with history, 44 events of the life might take precedence over the life itself—that is, the event(s) or
the topic(s), not the life itself, drives the research. In contrast, both biography and
life history, by definition, are centrally concerned with the life of a specific
individual. However, it is how that life is viewed that differentiates biography
from life history.
Biography, at least until recently, held dominion of presenting history
predominantly through the lives of great men, many of whom were no longer
living when accounts of their lives were researched and published (Langness &
Frank, 1981, p. 136; Robertson, 1983, p. 63). While the subjects of
contemporary biographies include more women and minorities, and no longer
preclude the living, the process and production of earlier works generally remain
extant. Data that inform the written account are traditionally acquired not from the
subject whose life is being told, but predominantly from archival sources, public
records, and written documents (Wright, 1989, p. 155). Because the majority of these sources are published and thus public, they are ostensibly testimonials to the veracity of the information contained within them.
It is, however, the biographer who selects what information from which sources will be used and how the subject’s life will be inscribed. The point of view from which the biography is told often masks the biographer’s own subjectivity and suggests that the written account stands in equal correspondence to the subject’s life. As highlighted in literary terms, for example, a biographer might choose either the neutral omniscient point of view in which the biographer 45 enters the mind of the subject and records the subject's thoughts without editorializing, or the objective point of view in which the biographer records only what is visible and neither enters the subject’s mind nor editorializes.4 While both points of view suggest that the biographer's role is a neutral one, it is neither impartial nor inconsequential.
Precisely because a biographer directs and controls the process and production, affording the subject no direct participatory role, a biography is the story of a subject’s life seen through the author’s eyes (Watson & Watson-Franke,
1985, p. 3). With a subject treated as an object, biography is not a story of the subject’s life as s/he perceives it, but rather a biographer’s rendition of it. As
Langness & Frank (1981) note, a biography is often "two voices singing different versions of the same melody" (p. 96).
What is Life History
Two prominent authors of anthropological life history texts offer the following definitions of life history: "an ’extensive’ record of a person’s life told to and recorded by another, who then edits and writes the life as though it were autobiography" (Langness, cited in Geiger, 1986, p. 336); and "any retrospective account by the individual of his (her) life in whole or part, in written or oral form,
’that has been elicited or prompted by another person’" (Watson & Watson-Franke,
1985, p. 2).
Implied in these definitions and stressed throughout these anthropological life history texts (Langness, 1965; Langness & Frank, 1981; Watson & Watson- 46 Franke, 1985) is the collaborative nature of life history. Life history brings together two distinct and unique individuals, the subject/life story teller and the researcher/life historian, for the explicit purpose of mediating an interpretive understanding of the former’s life. It is a partnership as well in the sense that because they each bring their own past experiences, interests, values, needs, and motives, they also come to understand one another (Langness & Frank, 1981, p. 61). It is in the context of their interaction, as they both reflect upon and interpret their own and each other's life, that life history has been described as a
"double autobiography" (Frank, 1979; Langness & Frank, 1981).
These definitions and descriptions also allude to four prominent caveats about the process and production of life history:
1) a researcher can never really know another’s life as the individual
her/himself does (Langness & Frank, 1981, p. 74);
2) no life history is a complete account of an individual's life (Watson
& Watson-Franke, 1985);
3) there are always multiple interpretations of a life history (Agar,
1980; Frank & Vanderburgh, 1986, p. 185); and
4) a life history is extremely difficult to analyze (Langness
& Frank, 1981, p. 74).
The first caveat, a researcher can never know the subject’s life wholly, is no doubt an obvious one. The researcher is a unique and distinct individual who 47 possesses her/his own reality and personal history. The interpretive framework
provides the possibility of bridging the worlds of the researcher and the subject to
approximate a combined understanding of the subject/life story teller’s life (Little,
1980). In the truest sense, however, everyone is an outsider in the lives of others
(Patai, 1991, p. 152) as subjective meanings can never be completely shared
(Langness & Frank, 1981, p. 86).
The second caveat, a life history is only a partial account of a life, extends
from the first one by highlighting that the subject selects what is included in the life
story and what is shared with the researcher (Kertzer & Schiaffino, 1986, p. 80;
Mandelbaum, 1973, p. 177). As the subject reflects on his/her life,
self-evaluations of good and bad are made that impact what is and is not told
(Langness & Frank, 1981, p. 5). Beyond recognition that the life story teller can
never recount all that has happened in her/his life, much of what is told relies on
what is remembered. Moreover, what is remembered, selected, and shared with
the researcher constitutes the subject’s past from the perspective of the present
(Bertaux, 1981, p. 52; Frank, 1979).
The third caveat, multiple interpretations, illustrates the mediated meaning
that derives from the collaborative nature of life history and the importance of the contextual relationship between two distinct individuals—the researcher/life historian and the life story teller/subject. The interpretation of the subject’s life evolves
from the quality of that relationship. As a result, there is no one, single interpretation of a life history (Agar, 1980; Watson & Watson-Franke, 1985). 48 The fourth and final caveat, the complexity of life history research, represents
an extension of the previous three. The self-evidence of life history and its
comparability with any reader's life make analysis enigmatic (Bertaux, 1981, p. 14;
Frank, 1979, p. 72; Langness & Frank 1981, p. 34). Moreover, life history
itself can be perceived as an analytical scheme, which makes interpretation and
analysis inseparable from description (Langness & Frank, 1981, p. 74). Placed in
the context of all three caveats and the prevailing standards of research (Frank,
1979), life history is difficult to analyze. The inherent complexities of a life make
life history problematic research as Goodson (1992a, 1992b) further points out.
Goodson's (1992b) discussion on the levels of life illustrates the complexity
of what constitutes a life in the process and production of life history. Goodson
extends Bruner’s three levels to four in order to highlight the process by which a
life history evolves and eventually becomes inscribed as a written text (p. 236).
The goal of life history according to Goodson is to cover all four levels.
The first level, life as lived, is what happens in time and place. The second
level, life as experienced, represents the meanings the individual attaches to
experiences when they happen in time and place. The third level, life as told (the
life story), represents the meanings the life story teller/subject retrospectively attaches to past experiences in the present context with the researcher. The fourth and final level, life history, constitutes the meanings the life story teller reconstructs of past experiences, as well as the researcher’s interpretation of them in the present context of their interaction. 49 These levels of life also illustrate the importance of two key terms in life
history research: retrospection and reconstruction. In the most literal sense, a
great deal of information provided by the life story teller is retrospective. The
extent to which memory is relied upon to relay the life story is what separates two
major types of life history: contemporaneous or retrospective (Frank &
Vanderburgh, 1986, p. 188). A contemporary life history is concerned with the
life story teller’s immediate or current life—her/his daily life in progress. A retrospective life history, as illustrated in this research, focuses on the life story teller’s past and relies on memory to reconstruct personal history as it is perceived from the present context of the interview.
The other key term, reconstruction, emphasizes the primacy of the life story derived from the active participation of the person whose life lies at the very center of life history—that is, her/his living presence. While Langness & Frank (1981) affirm that by definition life history implies living subjects, they also concede that research labelled life history has centered on the lives of deceased individuals.
However, as it is perceived in this research, the interpretation of a life that is based solely on secondary data and that excludes the subject’s active participation is, by definition, a biography. In fact, undergirding life history’s quest to understand another’s life is the assertion that a life cannot be detached from its subjective moorings—the presence of the very person to whom that life belongs (Gluck &
Patai, 1991). As Allport noted, "If we want to know how other people feel, what they experience and what they remember, what their emotions and motives are like, 50 and the reasons for acting as they do—why not ask them?" (quoted in Watson &
Watson-Franke, 1976, p. 97).
A life history is based on a life story—the subject’s narrative of hopes,
dreams, beliefs, experiences, and actions. Life history is not a chronicle, a listing
of events devoid of the evocative power of an individual’s voice relaying what it is
to be human (Frank & Vanderburgh, 1986, p. 186).
At the same time, the individuality of the researcher/life historian is also a
vital part of the process and production of life history as a collaborative venture.
The researcher can never leave behind all of her/his personal history by bracketing,
suspending self-held values and subjectivity, in an attempt to comply with some illusionary notion of scientific objectivity (Honigman, 1976). The etic of the researcher is really emic; there is no dichotomy (Frank, 1979, p. 88; Watson-
Franke & Watson, 1975, p. 257). Interpretation of a life history always contains aspects of the researcher’s own world (Watson-Franke & Watson, 1975, p. 250).
The concepts of self-reflexivity and dialectics embedded in an interpretive approach promote awareness of these preunderstandings and facilitate the connection of the researcher’s world with the subject’s in a context that changes both.
While life history suggests a partnership involving both the subject and researcher, the latter is nevertheless ultimately responsible for the research personally and professionally. Full methodological disclosures of the researcher’s biography and role, and the actual process by which the life history evolves and 51 becomes inscribed are paramount (Langness & Frank, 1981; Watson & Watson-
Franke, 1985).
Researcher Background
Contrary to human research grounded in the facade of researcher objectivity or neutrality, interpretive life history makes the researcher's biography explicit; it is an inherent part of life history as a collaborative venture. More importantly, the researcher's motivation in and commitment to the research are predicated by the similarity of her/his interests, experiences, and ethnic background with the subject’s.& As such, it is readily acknowledged that both personal and professional interests and experiences have influenced my decision to participate in documenting the life of a teacher, most especially a specific teacher from northwest Florida. I, too, am a woman and a former teacher, call Florida my home, and proudly claim my Southern roots.
More than half of my life thus far has been spent as a resident of Florida, including almost a decade as a high school and an adult education teacher. While the Florida I call home is on the east coast in the vicinity of Cape Canaveral, my association and familiarity with northwest Florida are due to my mother’s birthplace there, as well as the residence of relatives whom 1 frequently visited each year until I moved to Ohio a decade ago.
Personal experiences and family ties have afforded me a measure of informant familiarity and some semblance of insider status in a few of the small rural towns that pocket northwestern Florida. However, not unlike researchers who find that 52 ethnicity alone does not assure insider status, I realize that I, too, am a limited one
as the identification of and acceptance as insider and outsider are neither fixed nor
absolute (Aguilar, 1981, p. 25).
My interest in the relationship between and among public education,
curriculum, teacher biography, and culture began as I first looked at my own life
as a teacher some twenty years ago. In retrospect, my understanding of what it
meant ’to teach’ evolved ever so slowly to the point that only now is the picture a
clear one.
Quite by accident and more out of curiosity than professional design, I came
to realize that what happens beyond the school doors greatly impacts what takes place inside. Accepting invitations to revivals, flea markets, fairs, and rodeos in
Florida did far more to reveal who my students were as individuals than did observing their behavior in classrooms. To be sure, my teacher preparation program prepared me for the inevitable gap between my world and theirs in terms of sex, age, socioeconomics, race, and education. And not unlike my fellow novice colleagues, I dutifully deleted and added literature to the curriculum as my teacher preparation suggested. Yet, it was not until I moved to Ohio and began teaching there did I come to understand that the complexity of diversity could not be relegated to assignments of sex, age, or race alone.
Despite that my students in Florida were ethnically diverse, they seemed more and more alike as I compared them to my students in Ohio, only two of whom were minorities and none of whom would have called themselves ’cowboys’ or 53 ’cowgirls/ To be sure, the stereotypical comments made by faculty members
about my being from Florida and the South, some made in humor and some not,
were met with both dismay and curiosity. I found myself wrestling with questions
that had no easy answers: How does who we are affect how we teach?, How do we come to think of education as we do?, What does to educate mean?, What knowledge is to be learned, by whom, and why?, Who decides?, and How and
where is this knowledge to be acquired? The complexity of fitting all of the pieces together intrigued and, at the same time, humbled me.
The notable differences between my teaching experiences in Florida and Ohio encouraged me to rethink what 1 had come to understand as cultural diversity and its place in education. In order to refine and to extend that understanding, I resigned from my teaching position and began graduate school, designing my coursework to investigate how education, curriculum, culture, and biography interact with one another.
The foundation for fitting those pieces together derives from my exposure to anthropology, women’s studies and feminist literature, educational history, curriculum theory and development, teacher professional development, and qualitative research. More directly to this research, the integration of these disciplines highlighted what I perceived as exclusions in educational history, which called attention to broader and deeper epistemological questions about women, history, and curriculum. 54 Throughout my graduate coursework, it became increasingly apparent to me
that the picture painted of educational history in the United States still excludes
more than it includes. While more attention is rightly accorded to the
contributions of ethnic minorities, of the many contemporary academic books and
articles on the history of early twentieth century education, few derive their data
from women teachers themselves, little attention is given to rural schools, and
practically none seem to notice education in the South. In publication after
publication, the examples cited are drawn from public documents rather than
teachers themselves and schools of New England or urban centers of the North.
Beyond the curiosity of wondering why, this life history research is dedicated, in
part, to filling in those blanks by understanding how education permeates individual
lives beyond the boundaries of New England or urban areas of the North. In the
broadest sense it is to militate against the "tendency to allow the few to speak for
the many and the whole to stand for its many parts" (Allen, 1988, p. 99).
Participant Selection
As previously noted, both personal and professional interests and experiences
have not only influenced my decision to participate in documenting the life of a
teacher, but more importantly to select Caladonia Hasty Hutchison as the subject.
Despite the more than fifty years that separate her date of birth from mine and the
many miles that now distance our homes, she and I share commonalities of family, profession, and personal interests. Moreover, I have followed Hilda Kuper’s 55 advice, "choose someone who fascinates you!" (cited in Frank & Vanderburgh,
1986, p. 189), which makes sampling issues irrelevant (Langness & Frank, 1981).
Caladonia Hasty Hutchison, her legal name, spent almost forty years of her life as an elementary teacher in a rural area of northwest Florida from the late
1920’s to the mid-1960’s. Bom before the turn of the century and close to witnessing the turn of another, she celebrated her 96th birthday as we were concluding this research in October 1993. She has lived the overwhelming majority of her ninety-plus years, save the first three months of her birth, within a fifteen-mile radius of Chipley, a small town in Washington County and located in what has always been commonly referred to as the ’panhandle’ area of Florida.
The panhandle of Florida is an area that few associate with the sunshine state of snowbirds and tourism, professional football teams, Disney World, Cape
Canaveral, and the glitter and crime of Miami. In a state where everyone seems to have come from somewhere else, Florida’s panhandle is dotted with small, close- knit communities sparsely filled with native Floridians whose Southern roots stretch back generations.
Not surprising, it seems everyone in Washington County and more than a few in the adjacent counties of Holmes, Bay, and Walton know Caladonia Hasty
Hutchison—whether they were students, parents, teachers, relatives, or peers.
There are many, including my mother, who can situate themselves in several of these categories combined. Miss Callie, as she is fondly called, was not only my mother’s teacher, but she is also my mother’s first cousin—and, in genealogical 56 terms, I am her first cousin once removed. So, in understanding Miss Callie’s life,
I, too, expect to learn more about my own.
Few of Miss Callie’s generation remain to share the wealth of knowledge they
possess as tradition-bearers about life and living. The ramifications of ignoring
their presence or neglecting their voices inhibit us from understanding our own
lives as well (Mullen, 1992; Myerhoff, 1978). The elderly are "links between generations, carriers of both tradition and personal experiences, and repositories of a kind of history" (Simic & Myerhoff, 1978, p. 243).
Having literally lived in two centuries, the nineteenth and the twentieth, and being on the threshold of another, Miss Callie can "pass on a living tradition to the future” (Langness & Frank, 1981, p. 138) by sharing what she has seen, done, believed, and experienced in her life. It is fitting that in telling her life story, she like so many "ordinary people can be seen as the small heroes they often are and may be taken as the teachers they can be" (Langness & Frank, 1981, p. 138).
By sharing her life story, Miss Callie can fill the void in our understanding of early twentieth century education in the deep South about which so little is known.
Yet, the question as to whether her life history will in any way be representative of her peers and/or of other women teachers in Florida is difficult to answer.
The issue of whether an individual can be representative of a specific society or culture is a frequent topic of discussion in anthropological life histories. Geiger
(1986) has succinctly pointed out that women have been accorded little attention in research which makes conceptions of 'cultural norm’ tenuous if not problematic 57 (p. 337). Agrosino (1976), on the other hand, implies that an extraordinary
individual's life such as Gandhi’s can be viewed as representative of a culture's
highest expectations, which further suggests that the individual can be perceived as
a "’typical personality’ writ large" (p. 135). As well, Mead contends that "any
member of a group, provided that his [her] position within that group is properly
specified, is a perfect example of the group wide pattern on which he [she] is
acting as an informant" (cited in Langness & Frank, 1981, p. 53). Based on
Mead's statement, Langness & Frank (1981) conclude that because all individuals
are members of a particular culture and society, obtaining information about one of
them also provides insights into the others (p. 53). Criticisms of the transferability
of her life are mitigated by the debate as well as the lack of comparable research
with women and women teachers of the South who were her peers. Unfortunately,
it is becoming increasingly difficult to obtain similar retrospective life histories of
early twentieth century teachers of Florida or the deep South from which
comparisons can be made.
The longevity of Miss Callie's life also calls attention to special
considerations that are necessary when research participants are elderly, especially
with respect to health and memory (Frank & Vanderburgh, 1986). Telephone conversations with Miss Callie over the past few years have assured me that her long term memory, which is requisite in retrospective life history, is quite remarkable. Moreover, she evidences a strong sense of generational memory, the memories an individual possesses about her own family history and more general 58 collective memories of the past, which Hareven (1978) not only coined but also attributes to be stronger among Southerners as compared to Americans of other regions (p. 137). However, not atypical for the elderly, Miss Callie occasionally has a loss of short term memory (Frank & Vanderburgh, 1986; Keith, 1986, p. 9).
Miss Callie celebrated her 95th birthday in 1992 and is in remarkably good health. Until a fall five years ago, she lived alone in her home that she has owned for over forty years. A live-in companion and nurse, Mary, now helps prepare meals, and assists Miss Callie with grocery shopping and other activities.
Miss Callie is mobile and does not require additional aid in walking, although activities outside of her home are, for the most part, limited. Her attendance at
Sunday School and church on Sunday, weekly trips to the Piggly Wiggly grocery store, and biweekly appointments with the hairdresser at the local vocational college comprise most of her outside activities.
In the evenings she is often troubled by angina, for which she has been hospitalized twice since April 1992; however, medication recently prescribed helps to alleviate the pain. Her eyesight is good as she frequently reads Guidepost magazine, the local newspaper, and watches television without the assistance of glasses. Although she infrequently asks that statements be repeated, she neither uses nor needs a hearing aid.
Daily telephone conversations with a peerage first cousin who lives close by, daily visits by her son, and frequent visits by friends and other relatives keep her 59 abreast of family and community news. These contacts no doubt contribute to her
positive attitude about life and reinforce her predisposition to always be in good
spirits.
In addition to health and memory, the extent of generational differences that
separate us is also a pertinent consideration. For example, although we are
relatives and are both women, there may be some topics she is hesitant to discuss.
Keith (1986) suggests that sex and death are two subjects with which some elderly
people are uncomfortable (p. 8). Yet, in the process of relating her life story, an elderly teacher in Nelson (1992c) openly disclosed sexual harassment she encountered as a young woman. As well, Myerhoff (1982) finds that the subject of death may not be problematic for some when they are given the opportunity to share their life stories and, thus, achieve a "sense of continuity and completeness of life" (p. 109).
Life history can be a beneficial experience for the elderly in that it provides an avenue for them to validate their lives (Frank & Vanderburgh, 1986, p. 186;
Myerhoff, 1978). By transcending temporal boundaries of past, present, and future, "re-membering" in life history provides focused unification, a sense of order, and is salvational for those who share their life stories (Myheroff, 1982, p. 111). Moreover, life history abrogates the tendency of a rapidly changing society to believe that the elderly have nothing left to offer, to give, to teach, or to say that is of any consequence or benefit to the here and now (Frank & 60 Vanderburgh, 1986; Myerhoff, 1982). By sharing their life stories, they grant us
and the world a gift that transcends the temporal boundaries of mortality.
Precisely because of the importance life history has on the well-being of the
elderly, the generational differences between the subject/life story teller and the
researcher become even more paramount. The researcher’s interpretation and
inscription must not violate the sanctity of the subject’s life by couching it in
contemporary social or political concerns the subject does not share. This is
especially pertinent to life history research with elderly women who may not see,
for example, their lives through a feminist lens. Thus, there are profound moral and ethical considerations that are pertinent to life history research with elderly participants. Foremost is that the presentation of their lives be in accordance with their own reality (Myerhoff, 1978, p. 244; Frank & Vanderburgh, 1986, p. 197).
Gaining Entry and Developing Rapport
My familial relationship with Miss Callie prevented the concerns generally associated with gatekeepers and first impressions. Nevertheless, I found that speculating about our collaborative research was far easier than actually asking her if she would participate.
Prior to our first interview in April of 1992, the last time Miss Callie and I had an occasion to visit with one another for any appreciable length of time was in
1963, although since then I have contacted her by telephone several times for help with genealogical information on our common ancestors. She has always assisted 61 me in that regard as we share an interest and sense of purpose in learning about our
family history.
Yet because I knew that life history research touches upon experiences and
beliefs that are often personally and privately held, I was initially hesitant to ask
her directly myself if she would participate. While the fact we were related
seemed to be an advantage, it also made me acutely aware of the immense responsibilities I would personally feel if she agreed. Moreover, my respect for the elderly and the sanctity of their lives also made me wonder if considering the
suggestion was not presumptuous in and of itself. At the same time, I was drawn to participating in her life history because of the wealth of knowledge she possesses and the respect I have for her and her accomplishments. In fact, my mother's admiration for Miss Callie was often a part of discussions on family history throughout my childhood and, thus, Miss Callie’s name was well-known.
Instead of making die initial contact myself, my mother volunteered to telephone Miss Callie in February of 1992 on my behalf. After they exchanged family news, mention was made of my interest in learning about Miss Callie’s life as the basis of my dissertation. As my mother had tried to assure me earlier, Miss
Callie responded quickly that she would be glad to participate and added that she would help me in any way she could. At that time, Miss Callie and I spoke about our family history in conjunction with her life story, and I briefly mentioned that my interest was in learning about her life and experiences as a child and an adult; a student and a teacher; a daughter, sister, mother, wife, etc. 62 Miss Callie seemed honored and amazed that anyone at a university, even though a relative, would be interested in documenting her life. At the same time, she seemed pleased that our new project together would require trips from Ohio to
Florida to visit her and frequently scheduled telephone conversations in between.
Data Sources. Collection and Analysis
The majority of data for this life history was obtained from in-depth interviews with Miss Callie in person at her home in Florida and on the telephone
(see Appendix B, Tables 1 and 2). Suggested topical questions which were borrowed from Gluck (1977) and Thompson (1978) were used to guide, but not impede the conversational nature of the interviews (see Appendix A).
While Frank & Vanderburgh (1986) suggest that interviews with life story tellers in retrospective life histories can be done relatively quickly provided that data on the sociocultural context have been acquired (p. 195), 1 conducted approximately sixty hours of in-person and telephone interviews with Miss Callie
(see Appendix B, Tables 1 and 2).
The in-person interviews were videotaped, to which she agreed, and complete transcriptions were compiled (see Appendix B, Table 1). Videotaping not only provided immediate reference and cross checking during analysis, but also assisted in capturing the total context of our interviews. It was especially important to me that the life story she tells be captured and presented as accurately as possible in the life history. Videotaping allowed me to dismiss the temporal distinctions between the ’now’ and the ’then’ of the interviews. Moreover, it lessened the distortion that 63 arises from transcribing the oral interview into written form (Patai, 1988). As
Ted lock noted, prose does not exist apart from the written page and, because it cannot render silence, it is inadequate to represent living speech (in Patai, 1988, p.
149). With videotaping, I was able to return to the interviews as they happened and as they remain, in an extended present.
Telephone interviews and conversations with Miss Callie of approximately one hour each began in February 1992 and continued at least monthly throughout and beyond the research (see Appendix B, Table 2). They primarily served as a continuation of the interviews in Florida in order to maintain consistency in her life story (Langness & Frank, 1981), to clarify questions either she or I might have had, and to generally keep in touch with how she is doing. Notetaking and/or tape recording accompanied the telephone interviews.
In-depth, in-person interviews were conducted with the following individuals who assisted in contextualizing Miss Callie’s life (Appendix B, Tables 1, 2 and 3):
■ two women in their mid-sixties, Crill Davis Brandt and Civil Davis
McDuffie, who were both students and are relatives of Miss Callie
(my mother and aunt, respectively);
■ a man in his late sixties, Silas Hodges, who is a relative of Miss
Callie, considered the family historian as well as a college educated
businessman in the local area; and
■ a woman in her mid-eighties, Alma Hodges Johnson, who is a
relative and approximate peer of Miss Callie. 64 Conversations, as opposed to in-depth interviews, also took place with the
following individuals (see Appendix B, Tables 1 and 3):
■ a woman in her late eighties, Cumine Hodges Williams, who is a
relative and approximate peer of Miss Callie. She and Alma Hodges
Johnson (above) are sisters and represent a generational cohort
(Myerhoff, 1978; Nydegger, 1986, p. 148);
■ a man in his nineties, Alton Davis, who was bom and raised in
Washington County. He is no relation to Miss Callie; and
■ a man in his early seventies, Colly V. Williams, who is Miss
Callie’s son. He is a retired teacher, principal, and Superintendent
of the Washington County Board of Public Instruction.
Additional data were also derived from archival documents including The
Chiplev Banner, an early newspaper in Washington County; family writings and
genealogy; and historical books on Washington County.
A combined collection of field notes and researcher journal was kept
throughout the in-depth interviews, telephone conversations, and fieldwork in
Florida (Wolcott, 1981, p. 256). The notebook was used to guide my thoughts,
track my biases, and note any additional information that arose.
Frank & Vanderburgh’s (1986) suggested procedures were initially used as a
guide, particularly in the fieldwork: learn about sociocultural context from archival
sources prior to interviewing; map the community, visit key locations, such as churches, cemeteries, schools, etc.; collect genealogical data, family pictures, etc.; 65 move from social dimension to life history itself, perhaps encouraging the initial interview with the suggestion to recount her first or earliest memory (pp. 193-196).
Transcriptions from the in-person and telephone interviews were initially coded topically (Bogdan & Biklen, 1982, pp. 145-170; Frank & Vanderburgh,
1986, p. 199). Then, the same data were coded thematically to reveal patterns that were repeated and consistent.
Trustworthiness and Ethics
The interpretive approach to life history makes explicit that the process and production of life history necessarily include the personal and private cultures of two distinct individuals: the subject/life story teller and the researcher/life historian
(Watson & Watson-Franke, 1985, p. 55). As a collaborative venture in which two subjectivities are brought to the forefront, life history utilizing an interpretive approach recognizes four caveats (see pages 46-48 in this chapter) that have direct implications for trustworthiness and ethical issues in this research:
1) I can never know Miss Callie’s life as she does;
2) this life history is not a complete account of her life;
3) this interpretation may be perceived differently than it was intended
and/or may be interpreted otherwise by another; and
4) interpreting her retrospective life is a complex process that renders
an approximation of her life as she views the past from the present
and within the context of our interaction. 66 As a result, this life history cannot, just as no other life history can, be
validated or replicated in terms of standard or normative measures, meanings, or
interpretations (Agar, 1980, p. 256; Frank & Vanderburgh, 1986, p. 185;
Langness & Frank, 1981, p. 32).
Evidence of trustworthiness in this research flows from its interpretive
framework and, specifically, the goal to understand Miss Callie’s life, not to
explain it (Little, 1980, p. 217). Listening to Miss Callie’s voice as well as my
own, referencing a variety of data, and attending to the multiple contexts of her life
have promoted that understanding.
The commitment to understand the meaning she makes of her life calls attention to the primacy of her voice and, correspondingly, her reality. While life history acknowledges and makes explicit my personal history as the researcher, the intention is to understand her life as she perceives it. As a result, vehement opposition to violating realities or illuminating false consciousness (Patai, 1991, pp. 148-149), savage social therapy (Atkinson, 1982, p. 236), and rape research
(Reinharz in Lather, 1988, p. 239-2) is readily acknowledged as they all violate my personal code of morality. Moreover, because of the ethical issues surrounding research with elderly participants (see pages 57-60 in Chapter III), it is assumed that "all autobiographical memory is true" (Passerini, 1989, p. 197); my goal is to understand "in which sense, where, for which purpose" (ibid.). To facilitate that 67 understanding, this research has attended to the following safeguards that are suggested in anthropological life histories:
■ maintain consistent and prolonged interaction (Langness & Frank,
1981, p. 44);
■ search for discontinuing evidence, find something that does not fit
(Agar, 1980, p. 268);
■ attend to breakdowns, problems are where the information is (Agar,
1980, p. 269);
■ rephrase questions, provide examples, (Langness & Frank, 1981,
p. 44);
■ monitor my own reality using fieldnotes and journal writing, be self
reflexive;
■ notice the presence of the absence—be conscious of what is avoided
or not said (Anderson & Jack, 1991, p. 19); and
■ listen with a "third ear"—attend to what she and others say,
while also listening to my own questions, answers, and statements
(Anderson & Jack, 1991, p. 19).
My personal standards of what is right, my familial relationship with and obligation to Miss Callie, and my familiarity with the professional standards of anthropological and qualitative research6 made me especially cognizant of ethical issues and, at the same time, balanced the power I held as the researcher. In the most moral and literal sense, this research belongs to her, and her well-being takes 68 precedence over any desire or need I have in seeing the life history completed
(Langness & Frank, 1981). I, as the researcher, take total responsibility,
personally and professionally, for how her life is inscribed.
Precisely because she has chosen not to use a pseudonym, the presentation of
her life in written form is of paramount importance. While little has been written
on protecting subjects who choose to be identified (Shulman, 1991), I presented the
initial draft of the Life Story (Chapter V) to her for comments and suggestions.
She had no corrections, comments, or suggestions.
Life history as a product in written form and as a "double autobiography"
(Frank, 1979) also draws attention to the audience who reads it. I separated my voice from hers, recognizing that as a researcher I "also construct my own self image in writing" (Watson & Watson-Franke, 1985, p. 21) and was conscious of the fact that "what we know about others (and about ourselves) depends on how the tale is told, to whom, and why" (Langness & Frank, 1981, p. 5). CHAPTER IV
CONTEXTUAUZING HER LIFE
Researcher Note
This chapter draws from archival and document sources, and interviews to
provide a contextual frame for Miss Callie's life. The information is arranged
topically according to seven major categories: Historical Events, Economics,
Geographies, Politics, Social Life, and Education. The major categories are
furthered divided into subtopics.
The bulk of the information is derived from interviews that are listed in
Appendix B, Tables 1, 2, and 3. A brief introductory note on each interviewee is
given when the first partial transcription of the interview is presented. Thereafter,
the name of the interviewee is printed in bold type preceding the actual interview
transcription. All interview transcriptions are referenced in brackets and by the
appropriate letter (V, P, or I) and number as listed in Appendix B, Tables 1,2,
and 3. It must be noted that many of the interview transcriptions contain
overlapping topics even though they may appear under a specific category.
The information obtained from archival and document sources is presented in
note form; sample news articles are also included. The applicable references are listed in the Bibliography.
69 70 Historical Events
CIVIL WAR
The most predominant historical event in the South that lingers in family stories is the Civil War. Just as Miss Callie recalls family stories of that era, Silas
Hodges also knows a great many. He is a relative of Miss Callie—his grandmother
Cordelia (Davis) Hodges was Miss Callie’s maternal aunt. His interest in the Civil
War, specifically its origin in and impact on Southern life, stems from both intellectual and personal curiosity. In many ways, he is the extended family's own
Shelby Foote, the renowned Southern historian and author. He shared these stories and his comments with me, as he has with Miss Callie and others. What follows is a partial transcription of my interview with him.
There were a great many men from the Headland, Columbia, Eufala, Abbeville areas in Henry County [Alabama] that left and did arduous service. They left early and came back late. And there were a lot o f casualties, one o f which was my great-great uncle named Redding Hodges who was captured and never heard from again. For years and years, he was just listed as never returned, and everybody presumed that he'd been killed. We recently found out where he was, where he died. I got some records out o f Washington that said he died in a prison in Camp Douglas, Illinois. It was in the same period o f time that so many men were dyin ' down here in Andersonvilte, Georgia in a Southern prison camp. And some historians note that it was a sort of retaliatory measure made among the prison officials o f the Northern army. The war was closer to the Southern people, and o f course, the results o f the war were much harder on the South. We went through a prolonged period o f poverty in the South that the North really didn 't suffer through. We more or less returned to a colonial, agricultural society that bought all of our manufactured merchandise from the north. And, of course, there was a question o f government. Government down here for years after the war was controlled by people that everybody down here referred to as ’scallywags local people that had cooperated and worked with the Yankees. My great-grandfather Jordan Hodges who was a badly wounded veteran in the Battle of Chickamauga, returned home from the war and vied that he would get all of their land back—carpetbaggers came in and paid 71 taxes on it and took it away from him. They got control of the bank there in Henry County, in Alabama, and they kinda ran the show for a while, fo r a number o f years. And ya know, they had a panic in (18J’71 which affected the whole nation, what we refer to now as a depression. But by 18 and 91 he had recovered all of his acreage. I think like most history and most politics, there were economic factors and there were propaganda factors. After all, the emancipation program that Lincoln has gained so much fame from only freed the blacks in the area o f the Southern states that weren 7 fightin ’—Missouri and Kentucky and places like that, they didn’t even touch them. And o f course, Lincoln made the statement, he says if it takes freein um or if it takes not freein wn— whatever it takes to get the union back together is what Vm gonna do. He made a common-sensical political decision about it. fV-14a]
Alma Hodges Johnson is Miss Callie’s first cousin; Alma’s mother,
Cordelia (Davis) Hodges was Miss Callie’s maternal aunt. She and Miss Callie are especially close, although Alma is ten years younger. She also remembers, although vaguely, stories shared by Grandma Davis about the Civil War;
You know what 1 heard about the War from Grandma Davis? Well, she told about how bad they fared when her and Moss—she called her sister Martha, Moss—and then Aum Becky, but now she lived in Mississippi, she moved there from Alabama. Well, Grandma talked about what a hard time they had, ya know. And her daddy went to war. He was in the War. Now that my great- granddaddy. See her daddy was my great-granddaddy cause Grandma was my grandma. Yeh! That’s what she said . [V I4c} And ya know, her brother was in the War. You watched Gone With the Wind didn’t ya? Well, you see how some o f them [pause] everything was taken away? Welt, now that was in reality I That was based on the truth! Now Grandpa Hodges, he was a rich man in Dothan, Headland. And he was rich with, people called it rich, I mean beside what else he had he had slavery, nigras. But 1 don ’t believe in that though. But anyway, my daddy said he was glad to see the day when they were freed. Well, Aunt Heattie Hodges had lived with um all of her life. And when they was freed, she wouldn 7 leave. She wanted to stay with um right on. That proved to ya there was good to her, didn’t it? And when the nigras was freed—they were nigras then—she didn’t warua leave. That was her home. That’s all she knew. And they loved her too. She was like the family. [V-14e] 72 Florida was the 3rd state to secede from the Union, Jan. 10, 1861; Alabama followed a day later to become the 4th state; Georgia the 5th state, eight days later on January 19, 1861.
After the War, whites who had voluntarily served the Confederacy could neither vote nor hold political office during Reconstruction (Smiley, 1974, p. 30).
The Chipley Banner is the original newspaper that served Washington County beginning in 1893. In the 1940’s it was purchased and renamed the Washington
Countv News as it is today. Microfilm reels of the newspaper highlight the unforgotten ’War Between the North and the South’ well into the twentieth century.
Sample examples follow:
"Attention Confederate Veterans" [from] Headquarters, McMillan Camp, No. 217, UVC. Comrades: You are hereby commanded to meet at Chipley on Saturday August 1, 1908. Business of Importance will come before the camp and every member is requested to be present, [signed] S.M. Robinson, Commander. [1908] (These appear regularly.)
"Wausau" The heroes of 61-65 will meet here again on the 20th. [1908]
"General Stephen D. Lee" One by one the veterans of the Confederacy pass to their final reward. In a few more years more and only the immortal record of their heroic deeds will tell to future generations of their hardships and patriotism. General Stephen D. Lee died at Vicksburg, Miss, last week and the announcement carried sorrow to every nook and comer of the South. There was no braver soldier and as an officer he filled the most deficient and dangerous positions with splendid success and courage. It is fit, perhaps, that he has fallen to sleep in sight of the spot where as commander of the Confederate troops he gained one of die most signal victories of the four years of the bloody war. At the bloody battle of Gettysburg, he gained renoun [sic] that will last through the ages. At the death of Gen, Gordon, he became the Commander of the United Confederate Veterans and has been unanimously chosen at each year’s gathering. 73 His comrades will meet with saddened hearts next week; for it had come to be one of the great pleasures of the reunion to look into his kindly eyes and grasp his worn hand. He will meet with his comrades on earth no more, but will live in their hearts forever. [1908]
"As to L.E. Wright" Jefferson Davis was Secretary of War before the War; but Luke E Wright is to be secretary of War after the War. It shows how far from the War we have traveled. If such a thing had happened 20 years ago many Northerners would have fainted, while others would have rushed forward with loaded mouths to defend the nation. When General AP Stewart, representing the Sec of War, received the Tennessee monument at Chickamauga, it seemed that there was no further need for comment. But now we are to have Luke Wright in charge of the Army. Well, they couldn’t get a broader, a braver, or an honester man. [1908]
"Town Topics" SM Robertson and 2 daughters left Monday for Birmingham to attend the great Confederate Reunion. The great crowds were present at the Confederate Reunion at Birmingham last week. The people of Birmingham did everything they could to make the reunion a success and all the Great Veterans were made to feel at home. [1908]
DEPRESSION
With the Civil War over, the South would not gain national attention again until the Depression. It was then that the nation turned again to the "Southern problem." President Roosevelt’s concern was captured in his words: "the poverty ridden South is the nation’s number one economic problem" (Grantham, 1965, p. 413). It would also lead to studies of poverty in the South, the most famous of which was Agee and Evans’ widely acclaimed Let Us Now Praise Famous Men.
Interestingly enough, the Alabamians that were the source of the book lived in southeast Alabama, too, near the Florida line. And ironically, Agee’s great contribution of fictionalizing their lives for public display and profit has not been 74 forgotten. In a sequel to the book entitled And Their Children After Them by
Maharidge and Williamson (1989), it was said...
"That book! We knew what he was up to! Come down here to low-rate the South. I just resent it to death, him picking those people! People up North are still eating that garbage up!” ...It would not be fair to use them to represent what people in the South are like in general’* (p. 206).
"Walker Evans later wrote that the families understood and applauded what Agee was down there to do. It isn’t true. And now I wonder if Agee understood the families any better than they understood him" (p. 175).
The following interviews suggest the financially hard times of the Depression; yet undergirding the poverty was strength and pride. In contrast, the archival and document information gives the stark statistics.
Total number of farmers identified in 1935 census: 72,857 60,093 white (71% owners, 5% managers, 24% tenants) 12,764 negroes (53% owners, 0.4% managers, 46% tenants) (WPA, 1939, p. 66).
The key problem of the South is farm tenancy. Over one half of all Southern farmers are tenants which negatively influences Southern economy. Most tenancy in the northern and southern sections of the state. Still, not as bad in Florida as in other states of the South Population census of 1935 shows Florida with 28% tenant farmers, and the rest of the South 48% (WPA, 1939, p. 85).
Excerpt of interview with Civil Davis McDuffie (Cv) and Crill Davis
Brandt (Cr), sisters in their sixties and first cousins of Miss Callie:
(Cr) After Poppa died in ’34, I remember we went to live at the ole Chestnut place, Grandpa Chestnut's place there by the creek. / guess I was around five or six. I don't remember too much about the Depression-just that Momma put cardboard in the bottom of my shoes to fill in the holes. And I remember her makin me dresses out o f crocus sacks, burlap sacks . And then 1 remember Dick, Uncle Dick, sending me a brand new pair o f shoes, brogan shoes, when he was workin for the CCC. [laughs] I guess we ran out of cardboard. Oh, they were the heaviest shoes and they blistered my feet all over! I wanted some saddle shoes instead, or some other kind . But he 75 bought those shoes because he knew I needed some, and I guess he knew they’d have to last. [laughs] If I’d have kept them, somebody could still be wearin them today, too! (Cv) Well I remember a lot more cause I was older. I remember poor ole Momma gettin out in the fields pickin cotton or vegetables all day long and Jewel too. And then she’d get me and Crill by the hand and go down to the creek to catch some fish for supper. Then maybe once in a while Laney or Dick when he was there would go catch some squirrel or somethin like that. It seemed like ole Grandpa Chestnut or the rest didn 7 do much for Momma and us. What she got for us was what she worked for. She wasn 7 ever given nothin that she didn 7 work for. You know, ole Grandpa didn 7 want Momma to marry Poppa cause Poppa rejused to be a farmer. He wouldn’t work the land—he didn’t own any. That’s why all that land Momma never got any of it. She just worked her whole life. And after Poppa died, oh I remember how hard it was. [1-2]
Excerpt of interview with Hershel McDuffie, husband of Civil Davis
McDuffie, who is in his early 70*s. He was bom and raised in the country on his father’s farm in southern Alabama, about sixty miles from Panama City where he now lives. The land has been in the family for several generations.
We used to get clothes in sacks from New York City for $5.00 a bag. There was some good clothes in there too, and that was all right. If they didn 7 fit, you’d just remake um to fit. We worked hard, but we had plenty to eat. We ate squirrel and all, fish. We were poor, but so was everybody else. I didn 7 know we were poor until I went in the Army during WWII. [1-3]
Excerpt of interview with Silas Hodges:
The mill my grandfather and father owned was sittin there not runnin when this strange fire occurred. And my father, he bought this farm out there a couple o f years before. Built a good house and a big bam. I can remember hearin him remark to mother, ’Well, if we've got a good place to live out there and it’s paid for, we can hard time it. ’ By ’hard timin it’ that means you can live cheaply as long as you [pause] if you owned a place to produce a farm on, and get hogs and cows and all. And we moved out to the farm and stayed out there several years and then on down here to Panama after the Depression. Daddy had 40 acres of sweet potatoes—he and Uncle Charlie had. You could get all the people, people’d come and work for ya for almost nothin. Daddy had grown them sweet potatoes cause if you feed a hog sweet 76 potatoes he*s got more lean meat. It's a high protein, very healthy food. We had a potato bank [demonstrates] that’d reach from here to the front out there—8 foot deep. And we just had sweet potatoes runnin out of our ears. But anyhow, early in the momin, a lot o f times you’d see people walkin highway 90 up the hill there toward the farm. They'd have this what we called 'crocus sacks ' other people called um burlap bags, but they would walk 7 miles to Caryville and then 7 miles to the farm just to get all that they could carry. Shows ya, it’s a good index of how desperate they were for somethin to eat. Ya know, they were killin rabbit, catchin gophers [pause] what we call gophers, catchin fish. And those potatoes went pretty good with that. That was during the Depression. It was just an example o f how hard times were. And there was a constant flow o f tramps up to our house, [laughs] Oh, there was a man at the mill and he was a highly paid man. But he came home one night and developed a high fever and the next day he was paralyzed. The sheriff over there recognized that he was disabled and couldn 7 work anymore so he let him sell whiskey, [laughs] He built him a window on one side o f the house where they could get curb service. I ain 7 jokin, fo r years he did it! [V-I4A]
Economics
Most of the economic base of Washington County was situated in farming and the timber industry. The news articles and interviews emphasize that while the populace was never really out of the clutches of poverty, they worked hard and were proud of their lives working on their land; hard work, initiative, and land led to prosperity—for themselves, each other, and their communities.
From the Chiplev Banner:
We need settlers in Washington County—men who will work small farms and work them thoroughly. Now let us hustle and get industrious people to come here and we will soon see a large difference in our county. [1908]
Chipley should get a move on her and inaugurate industrial enterprises of some kind that will give employment to laborers and add to the commercial prosperity of the town. If the people fold their hand and close their pocketbooks and do nothing to ’push' the town forward, then we will all suffer. Where public spirit abounds, things progress. [1908] 77 After careful investigation we believe Florida has ’the great West’ skinned by a mile, if we apply intelligence to our farm work. [1908]
The tobacco industry is adding millions of dollars to the wealth of Florida...There is big money in the tobacco industry and now is the time for Washington County to get in the ground floor. [1908]
In the olden time when Moses led the children of Israel there was a land of milk and honey, as the object of the promise, but in good old Washington County we not only have milk and honey, but peaches, watermelons, cantaloupes, berries and fruits in season in greatest plenty which the Israelites didn’t have. If you are looking for a home, Chipley and Washington County can give you all that desired. There is no better section in the world. [1908]
West Florida (panhandle region) noted for agriculture long before Civil War (WPA, 1939, p. 84).
Apart from agriculture, natural resource of northern Florida is timber and has been over 200 years. Naval stores business is big from turpentine and rosin extracted from pines (WPA, 1939, p. 88).
Paper mills established at Panama City and Port St. Joe, using abundant timber of area (WPA, 1939, p. 89).
Tourism became an industry in Florida only after WWI (WPA, 1939, p. 87).
Excerpt of interview with Silas Hodges:
They used to send excursions down to this part o f the coast. And to get fish for those big plantations up there a way. And my father met my mother down here on such a trip, [smiles]. Came down here initially on wagons and later on trucks and hauled fish back up to those big farms. Only business down here when they came in about 19 and 3 was makin ' whiskey and saw millin ’ There were a few scattered farms in that area where we came from. They came in here and put in one o f the biggest mills in the South in—including Michigan, the upper peninsula o f Michigan down to Florida. Called it the Brown Florida Lumber Company. My grandfather opened a store there, Curtis Hodges—Cordelia Davis’s husband. And stayed there until he died, about 1945. And he put up this big mill there which was about the biggest industrial thing that ever happened up until that time here. Fella that built the Brown Hotel in Louisville, Kentucky came down here and established the Brown Florida Lumber Company, [demonstrates] And there was vast acreage of timber in here. They run log trains all down into this country to haul logs to Caryville. The timber was o f 78 such quality, such dense hard tight grain, and big slick bark logs. And most of it was exported to Europe. I know they’d load at night you’d see um pull in the railroad. They’d pull in 6 and 8 big box cars and they’d load the lumber in that. But his sawmill went down in 32 (1932). p/-14a]
Excerpt from interview with Alma Hodges Johnson:
But ya know, farmers were poor. But see. Grandpa (Davis) didn'i own his own land. He was just a farmin for the other fella. He didn ’t have nothin to spend. My Lord, if he made a little ole crop, he didn 7 have enough to last until Christmas. Had to have land. (V-14eJ
Politics
Historically, Southerners have aligned themselves with the Democrats rather than Republicans. Samples of articles in The Chipley Banner illustrate just how firmly they held to that conviction. The examples also show that while most professed a disdain for politics, they actively participated in the process, not without a great deal of fervor and a bit of sarcasm.
"Calls for Democratic Meetings" All Democrats in Washington County are requested to hold meetings in their respective districts. The Denver News has an editorial on Going After Frauds. Every newspaper that attacks the Republican party is engaged in this work. [1908]
The man enjoys his own rights who most respects the rights of others. The trouble with the average candidate is that he cares less for the nation than he does for the nomination. [1908]
The campaign ends next Tuesday for which the Lord be praised. [1908]
"Vernon" Too hot to talk about politics down here, let alone fight about it. [1908]
The Solid South will wheel into line for Bryan & Kem in November, all right! [1908] 79 Farmers may now without fear harvest a big crop. Williams Jennings Bryan will be the next president and he knows what the farmers need. [1908]
"Remember 1893-1896!" Change the dates to 1907-1908 and the Democrats can use this against the Republicans. [1908] (Republicans won previous election.)
If the election was held now, we believe Bryan would win in a walk, but the Republicans have a way of getting together just before the election day that should be an object lesson to Democrats. [1908]
Florida is a democratic state! [1908]
"The Crops Will Grow" One good feature of our American life is that politics cannot keep crops from growing...But in the main the men who will till the soil and tend the crops are not to be drawn from their work by the noise and blare of political enthusiasts...We have too much politics no doubt...Whether the next President is a Democrat or a Republican, whether it is Bryan or Taft, we have the hope and faith that Nature wilt not change her ways; that the earth will produce fruits and crops in their proper season and that inspite of the dissensions, the bitterness, the hurry and worry and turmoil of the political world there will continue to be "seed to the sower and bread to the eater" throughout the land. [1908]
We notice from the news reports that the democrats are organizing Bryan clubs among the negroes of the North. Our advice would be to stop such work—republicans will be throwing nigger at us the next thing we know. [1908]
(In 1908 Kehoe was running for U.S. Congress. His political advertisement in the newspaper lists eight reasons for voters to elect him. All eight of those reasons were associated with his ’roots’ being in the panhandle of Florida— specifically NOT in the east, middle, or south of the state. "Kehoe is a home man.")
A card of Thanks for all political people who ran for office and for those who did not run. [1908]
"Gilchrist, A Guy and Laughing Stock:” if elected will be obligated to the Whiskey Ring. When General Gilchrist was Speaker of the House in 1905 it was the most chaotic body ever known in Florida legislation. General Gilchrist sat in a rocking chair as he presided. He wielded a large palm leaf fan nonchalantly and cracked peanuts in accompaniment to his absent 80 knowledge to what was going on. I saw this with my own eyes...Whiskey men contributed largely to his campaign... Signed Claude L’Engle. [1908]
Now that the campaign is behind us, our people can now get down to business and pull for Chipley, Washington County, and West Florida. [1908]
Geographies
The panhandle or West Florida has had long, strong ties to other states of the
deep South, particularly Alabama. Figure 1 in Appendix C illustrates the close
connection among them, specifically as they relate to Miss Callie’s life history.
Beginning in the second decade of the nineteenth century when Florida was a
territory under General Andrew Jackson’s control, there has been interest in
Florida’s panhandle joining the state of Alabama. Even as late as 1963, an
Alabama senator petitioned for the annexation of Florida’s panhandle to Alabama
(Carswell, 1991, p. 35). Moreover, at one time it was suggested that a new state be created called ’Florabam’--comprised of the panhandle and southeast Alabama because those who lived there had commonalities of family, customs, and traditions
(ibid). The following adds insights into that close relationship.
A large portion of the land that once comprised Washington County, especially down to the Gulf to include Panama City, was taken away in 1913 to create Bay County; Figure 1 in Appendix C shows the pre- and post- Washington
County. When Miss Callie and her family moved to Florida in 1897, Washington
County included that portion of Bay County down to the Gulf. As well, Henry
County, Alabama once comprised almost all of southeast Alabama down to the
Florida line. In 1903 Houston County was created which then separated Henry 81 County from the Florida line. Miss Callie’s relatives originally lived in areas of
southern Henry County that today are located in both Henry and Houston Counties.
Figure 1 in Appendix C illustrates the approximate locations of those counties prior
to and after Miss Callie’s family came to Florida in 1897.
Fifteen years after Florida was awarded statehood in 1845, the 1860 census noted that over 40% of the residents were born in the Southern states (in highest order first) of Georgia, Alabama, South Carolina, and North Carolina, with over 50% of the remaining total being native born (Everton Publishers, 1991, p. 40).
1900 and 1910 census indicates 1/3 of the population of Florida was bom outside of the state, principally in Southern states (Cochran, 1921, p. 209).
Washington County, Florida was created in 1825 from Jackson and Walton Counties (Everton Publishers, 1991, pp. 44-45).
Henry County, Alabama is proudly called "the Mother County" of Alabama because it was created prior to Alabama statehood (History of Henry County).
Land along Alabama and Georgia border is comprised of red clay foothills. Historically, that land has been cultivated longer than any other area of Florida (WPA, 1939, p. 84).
Social Life
WOMEN
The following excerpt from my interview with Alma Hodges Johnson details just how pervasive hard work and independence were for women. The woman discussed is a relative; the name is purposely withheld and indicated with 'XXX*.
Well, the husband, why he just left. Grandma said they never did hear from him after he left . He shirked his duty completely I And so Aunt XXX died o f TB. But Grandma said that what give her TB. ..that there wasn’t no wash in ' machines in them days, ya know. And she takin ’ in washin * right here in the city o f Chipley for people. And made a dollar in the way she could for them three children and herself. And / never did go there, but they 82 said she just lived in a shack. And she stayed out in the cold weather and washed and she takin ’ a cold and pneumonia and from that she takin ' TB. Grandma told me that. Yeh! She talked...she'd cry about what a hard time Aunt XXX had. Why Aunt XXX had to fend for herself. There wasn’t no welfare. No such a thing as no welfare then. She couldn't live with any of her brothers and sisters. No!, the devil. You just didn't do that. She was a grown woman, a married woman. [P-01] You know, women back then they worked in the fields and took in washin and ironin. That’s all there was to do. One’s that didn’t have no husband—took off ya know—but women they worked. [Y-14e]
The following excerpt is from my interview with Cumine Hodges Williams who is sister to Alma (above) and also a first cousin of Miss Callie. She is approximately 88 years old (as of 1992). As the following suggests, her own experiences illustrate the role women often played in the world of work:
Honey, I ’ve done enough work for 15 women in my life. Just a few years after Valery and / married he got polio and was in a wheelchair for 52 years. But we worked together. And we had a little grocery store that he did the books and I stocked the shelves and carried boxes of groceries all over the county deliverin’ um. And then my daughter Frances died and her husband only two years later, and left all these children, five children and three was in diapers. And there was nobody. If it hadn Y been for me they would’ve had to been adopted out—but couldn Y do that. And the Lord just smiled on me and let me be able, it was hard on me to do it. And the babies was twins, but I done it. And three o f the five graduated from college, one had three years of college, and a girl didn’t finish junior college before she got married. {V-14cj
From the Chipley Banner: You don’t have to go to heaven to find angels. You can find them on almost any farm—sweet women around the cook stove, at the wash tub, at the ironing table, flitting about everywhere ministering to the wants of their loved ones— sweet Marthas, the angels that the world can not do without. [1908]
DATING & MARRIAGE
Alton Davis is 98 years old (May 1993) and currently lives in Panama City, approximately fifty miles from Chipley. He was bom and raised in Washington 83 County, just outside of Wausau. As far as is known now, he is not related to any of Miss Callie’s Davis relatives.
Well, sometimes they had dances. But not very often. / met my wife, well, her family moved down near by us on the edge o f Jackson County, about a mile and a half from our house. And, it was just a man and his wife—his second wife, that is. Because his first wife died when she was very young. And they just had the one girl. And they moved in pretty close to us and I just happened to see her. And 1 begin to go to see her every Sunday— not thirtkin * anything about gettin’ married. But we kept on a goin' but we didn V have no way of goin ‘ but to walk. But the person that I was workin' for had a mule and buggy that he loaned me. Later on I'd take the mule and buggy and go get her and we’d go to church or somewhere, ya know. Not even a thinkin' about gettin’ married! And all o f a sudden, / just decided [smiles] well, we oughta get married. I said, 'Well, hadn’t we oughta to get married?' and she said, 7 don't know. ’ And 1 said [smiles] 'Well, I do! * And we was married in a few days! I was 21 and she way 18. I didn't hardly have the nerve to ask her to marry me. I was too bashful. But / finally did. And she, I think she way ready for it and when she says 7 don 7 know ’ and / says 'Well, I know!’ We weren ’t engaged long, we just went ahead and married, right near home. We didn ’t have to ask the parents. We just married because she was 18 and I way 21. Her father way surprised. I carried her in there and my daddy come in the room and says, 'Are you all married?' And I said, ’Yes, sir. ’ I stayed there and worked on the farm, at home for a little while, but not for long. I begin to work in the loggin' woods. I was sawin' logs. And the sawmill company had what they called car boxes out, camps out on the railroad that had a railroad runnin ’ a way out in the woods and camp cars . And we stayed at my daddy's about the first week after we was married. Then we had one o f them camp cars that was vacant, and they just let me move in there. At the camp they called it. That way not far from home, about a couple of miles, maybe or somethin.' And that’s where we lived for a good while. / didn't like sawin' too much. Well, I didn’t have much choice, had to feed my family. [V-14d]
Excerpts from interview with Alma Hodges Johnson:
The social place way at our house. We had a piano and all o f us girls played and my momma played. My momma taught music. And Lord, it was a gatherin' place for the whole country. There was boys and girls at our house all the time. But our daddy was strict as the dickens on us, honey. 84 Oh! he, Oh! he was gonna know that we was with the best or by ourself. Now, I ’m tellin’ you right now. XXX and them they done what they wanted to. And XXX thought my daddy was the biggest man. But oh, how I do appreciate the way they raised me. Because you was gonna stay with the best or by yourself. Now that’s right. He had these high morals and he raised all o f us like that. Well, my momma was like that too, but she was sick so much o f the time. And ya know, 1 appreciate that. IV-14c] When Otley and me married, the first place we went after we married was to Grandma and Grandpa ’s to tell um. And Grandpa just laughed and laughed and laughed. He called Otley, ’ Yatley. ’ And he says, ’Oh I knew ole Yatley was smart enough to get ya!’ But my daddy wouldn 7 let me go with him—he never would. And Otley’d come right on to the house and he'd treat him all right. But I couldn 7 leave the place with him—he wouldn 7 let me go with him. And when we married, he thought as much o f Otley as he did the boys, ya know, all my brothers. Ya know, he thought Otley was too old for me one rime, I think. But I was 19 and a half when we got married, but good Lord, he give me an engagement ring when I was 14! And Otley went off" to near West Point, Georgia. The first time he come home we married. Ya know, my momma warned my daddy to take the boys and go take me away from him that night. That’s what Grandpa was laughin about. See there’s a little church down there, Poplar Head. And Aunt Clare, [pause] there was a big sing there and she had to cook dinner that day. So we went to Aunt Sister, Aunt Clare’s table and we got our dinner. And Otley says, ’Well listen, what’s the use to wait till Monday to get married? L et’s just ride on to Vernon and get married. ’ So 1 said, ’Well, let me go talk to Aunt Sister—that’s Callie’s momma. And I asked would she go to Cary vide, see we lived in Bonifay but my mother always went to Caryville to get a supply o f groceries out o f my daddy’s store there for the next week. And Aunt Sister said she’d go tell um. [laughs] She said when she got there, my mother was dippin her some meal. She said ’Delia ’—her name's Cordelia but they called her Delia— ’Alma wanted me to come and tell ya that she’s got married this evenin. ’ Well, she got off so bad! She hollered like Aunt Annie always hollered, ya know, and like Grandma. She thought I was gonna stay home with her always! It liked to have killed her. My daddy told her to hush, there wasn 7 no use to do that, [laughs] He said, ’that was a sorry man that couldn 7 get a gat when he wanted her! ’ But Otley and me, we didn 7 run off! They accused us of it. But we just rode down to Vernon and got married without askin um. We was both of age, ya see, didn 7 have to. I married a poor man but 1 sure had a good man—one that loved me. They didn’t ever use a mid-wife with a one o f us children, they always had a doctor. So many people in this country had families that never had a doctor. They had a mid-wife. I’ve seen my daddy drive off the last cow we had on the place and sell it, a milk cow, to pay my mother’s doctor bills. But it wouldn 7 be long before he’d get another cow or two. / never 85 remember my mother being anything but sick. And she died at 59!—it was her heart. But don’t you know birthin and havin all them children—23!, could’ve been the cause of it. If a man got a girl pregnant back then and they wasn’t married, why they wanted her to leave the country! They wouldn’t do nothin fo r her. And society put her down. She was never no more. There wasn ’t no such thing as abortion then, I don 7 guess. And there wasn’t no orphan homes in town. She had to raise it. But the man’d ta k eoff—he’d leave the country. Now XXX lives down here in the settlement (not fa r from) where Grandma and thems buried, now her husband got her pregnant and they wasn 7 married. Her daddy went and got the shotgun! And she was in the bed there with the baby. He was gonna kill um or he'd marry her. But they married and had a good life, raised them children and never did separate. But now, he didn 7 want a marry her. But she was a good girl—noboby else didn 7 ever go with her but him. And that was wrong in the men, wasn't it? There wasn 7 as many people here then, but you’d sure hear about it. Me and Cumine’d laugh so many rimes and said, ’our daddy would’ve killed us!’ [V-14e]
ACTIVITIES
Excerpt from interview with Alton Davis:
I enjoyed goin * a fishin ’ and when I got old enough to carry a gun, / enjoyed huntin ’ for squirrels and birds. And t learned pretty early how to skin um. And we cooked um different ways. We’d fry um or stew up, cook um with rice sometimes, [smiles] Squirrel and rice was a good food in them days. And then rabbit and fish. We ate rabbit some, but we didn 7 go for rabbit so much as we did squirrels and birds. Doves and partridges and quails was pretty fancy dish with us. Yep. We didn’t go the store, to town, to buy everything like we do nowadays. [V-14dJ
Excerpt from interview (notes) with Alma Hodges Johnson:
All we did was go to Sunday School and Church—that was our social activities when I was young. Everything was affiliated with that. [1-5]
POPULATION
The first census of the territory of Florida indicated that people west of the Appalachicola River at 5,780 [roughly the panhandle area in which Washington Co. is located]; east of die Suwannee River at 5,077; in between the Appalachicola and Suwannee Rivers at 2,370; and only 317 in south Florida (Tebeau, 1971, p. 134). 86 The population of Washington County, as of the first census of the State of Florida taken in the summer of 1845, lists a total of 1,259: 833 whites 417 slaves 9 free negroes (Dodd, 1945b, p. 29)
Population of Florida tripled between 1860 (140,424) and 1890 (391,422) (W .P.A., 1939, p. 60)
Population of Florida tripled since 1900 (WPA, 1939, p. 32).
Population between 1920-1925 increased four times as fast as any other state. Seven new counties were formed in 1921 (W.P.A., 1939, p. 61),
Population according to census of Washington County: 1890 — 6,426 [large increase after census due to homesteading] 1900 - 10,154 1910 — 16,403 [Bay County established in 1913] 1920 - 11,828 (Carswell, 1991, p. 30).
1960 - 11,249 1970 - 11,453 (Tebeau, 1971).
ISSUES
News articles from The Chipley Banner:
Alabama's new pistol law becomes effective on July 1st. After that, a double-barrel shot gun or a gatling gun will be about all a citizen of that state can legally carry around! Well! [1908]
The Bill passed by the last Congress prohibiting labor by children under 14 and imposing a penalty on those who employ them is a mischievious bill and the entire argument of it is that parents do not know how to rear their children and the inference here is that there is not enough race suicide. It is really a measure for the promotion of vagrancy, although it is all done in the name of reform and morality. Sentimentalism and hysteria are all to [sic] evident in recent legislation. [1908]
The convict lease system in Georgia is at a point of death. The system in Florida has not been feeling well for some time. [1908] 87 Excerpt of interview with Silas Hodges;
When I was in the army there was a lot of talk goin on between, particularly in basic trainin until we kinda got used to each other. I happened to go into the army with a group o f boys that came out o f New England. And they used a whole lot more profanity—not that I ’m any goody two shoes or wasn’t even then. But there was a whole lot more what I call obscenities and profanities used by them than I’d ever heard. And it got on my nerves. And they talked a lot louder and they always had a condescending attitude toward us Rebs. [laughs] We were regarded kinda like the [pause] kinda like we didn 7 have quite as much sense as they did. But pretty soon, we got used to each other. And some o f my best friends [pause] a fella that still comes to see me from Hanford, Connecticut. Drives down here every year. And he and I love each other like kinsmen. But he was one o f the ones that [laughs] I could hardly stand to be around and listen to him talk. I think that the South ’$ isolation to a degree, ya know and a lack of growth, we’ll say from a period of 1865 on up to 1935 or 1940. Actually big things staned happening in the South about the advent o f WWII. It stood still in a lot of ways [pause] a lot of customs and counesies, goods and bads were still very strong. It’s still a puzzle to me how segregation was originally enforced and yet there was a lot o f affection between the races. We knew um and they knew us. I played with black kids. And we had some that came to the house and were friends to my mother and to my father. We had one called himself Chain Gang Slim that worked for us for 44 years and was just like a member of our family. And when he died, I paid for his funeral and bought him the only suit he ever had in his life. And that was love [pause] love and affection and mutuality o f respect. I miss that. I miss that part of livin in the South. There's been so much tommy-rot and [pause] pushed forth by both sides, that the relationships between the races, between people themselves—just that person and this person—I miss that. I played with black boys, played marbles with um, played football and baseball with um and fished with um, hung around with um. They were friends. [V-14a]
FAMILY
Excerpt of interview with Silas Hodges:
Family’s important in the South. We used to get together and more often. My grandfather’s birthday was always sort of a holiday. We’d all get together. And everybody came—all the children, grandchildren, and cousins. And everybody talks about old times. And we all heard the stories of course, you belonged, belonged to a clan. I think that’s goin ’ away fast—that part of our culture. I think that’s important. 88 All the family was cousins, aunts, uncles—all of um. If you didn't show up for grandpa's birthday dinner you were ostracized to some degree. You’d get some static out of it. And the same way on my mother’s side of the family. My father’s mother was Cordelia Davis. I remember with great affection her large and close knit family: Uncle Charlie Davis, Uncle Oscar, and I even remember my great-grandma Davis, Kissiah—they called her Kizzie. One o f my brightest memories was a memory o f her funeral when I was a very young child. The way my family talked, the Davis side o f the family had a substantial injection of Creek Indian, which had come into the family through our family up there called Gamble—Grandma Kizzie was a Gamble who had married Dick Davis. She was noticeably Indian in some respects. She always was, I guess you might say, athletic or lean and strong. I know that some of my family, some of her family she taught some partially Creek language and also how to play certain Creek games, one of them very much like our baseball. I remember the Davises as being part [pause] as coming from the same part o f south Alabama, Henry County, that the Hodges had come from. It is my understanding that the Davises had arrived in Henry County Alabama approximately the same time as the Hodges family which was 1819—the same year Alabama was made a state. It is also my understanding that they probably followed the same pattern of migration down from Virginia to North Carolina around Bertie County, in the area of Greensboro. It was a certain migration route southward that was used by families leaving the Virginia area. I understand they had to shorten up on the tobacco crops up there and caused a lot of them to move further southward. But they started in Virginia up on the James River, a tributary o f the James river called Bennetts Creek. They stayed therefor a generation. And then moved on down to Bertie and Pitt County, North Carolina. And from there on out through South Carolina into what is now known as Dooly County, Georgia. I think their motive in movin on down there was they had what is known as a land lottery where acreage was given to migrants. And the Hodges and the Davises were a part o f the group. Moved on down into what is now known as Henry County and which, at that time, encompassed most o f southeast Alabama. That’s in the area o f Headland, Tumbleton, Columbia. [V-14a]
Colly V. Williams is Miss Callie’s son and is in his seventies. He received
his bachelor’s and master’s degrees from the University of Florida and served in a variety of positions with Washington County schools: high school teacher, principal of Chipley High School, and Superintendent. He retired in 1974. The 89 following excerpt is based on notes taken during our interview; thus the comments do not appear in italics:
Grandma Davis was very smart, very intellectual, and probably had a very high IQ. She was especially knowledgeable in the Bible. She taught Sunday School. She had a great memory. She knew all of the grandchildren's names and ages—and there were a great many of them. She was a fiddler—she could play the banjo and the guitar, too. She was an especially strong woman. She ran the house. She received a pauper’s pension of $2.00 per month. She lived with her children, on and off with each family when Grandpa Davis died. She died when I was about high school age. The Indian blood came in through the Gambles (Grandma Davis). Grandpa Davis had little education. He was a tenant farmer, same thing as a sharecropper and was poor. He moved around a lot, almost every year. He was an especially big man and he drank. He died when I was about in 7th or 8th grade. Uncle Oscar had especially pretty handwriting. Uncle Charlie drank a lot and probably had little reading or writing. Families were isolated back then in the country, but they played together. Everybody worked until Sunday. Granddaddy Hasty told me if there was any question, you were to call a man "Mr" and that you respected the color of people. You didn't run over them. He also taught me to respect my elders. [1-1]
Excerpt from interviews with Alma Hodges Johnson:
One o f my brothers, Jurdan was killed December of 19 and 28. It was the first murder trial in Chipley. And I had 13 brothers and sisters: 6 boys and 7 girls. The oldest ones were bom in Alabama. The rest of us were Florida bom and Alabama bred. I don’t know how my parents could afford to dress us all in those nice Sunday clothes—with 13 o f us. But they did, it took a lot o f hard work to do it! [1-5J I told you about Grandma and Grandpa Hodges would go to church. And they had instead o f cars they had them big fine surreys. Had tassels around the top—was a fancy thing. Two seats, front and back. But they was pulled by horses. But Grandma and Grandpa war always in the front. And they had a sack of gold and a sack of silver. And they set it down in the foot of the buggy and carried it to church with um. Grandma Davis told me that. See they had to take care o f it and I don 7 know how the banks was then. They kept it at home and they didn 7 wanta leave it. 1 reckon they was afraid somebody'd get it. And Grandma, Grandma Davis said she’d seen um load their gold and silver a many a time. And you know, I ’ve thought about it so 90 much. Grandma and Grandpa Davis was so poor. Oh, they was the poorest thing. But she wos a livin angel. I didn’t care a thing about P a’s Ma—not a thing in the world. But we was in heaven if we could just go there and spend one day and night with Grandma, and Grandpa, too. Oh, we loved it. And they never owned a home! They lived in ole rented shacks. It was his management. His management! You know, a man’s the head o f the house. And if they don’t try to have somethin, they don’t have it! And Aunt Maudie would cry. She come over here and stay all summer with us. She loved Chipley better than anything in the world. It was a shame for her to have to stay in Jacksonville. And well, this is not braggin, but we all had so much. I guess we had so much more than they had till it'd bring her back to Grandma and Grandpa. And she’d just cry and cry. And she said, ’Oh, what if poor Ma could’ve drawed a social security check. ’ She said, ’She would’ve been the richest woman in the country!’ She said, ’Oh, she had such a little o f this world’s good. ’ She’d just cry. But she said, ’But just think, she’s the richest woman in the world today, she’s in heaven! ’ Ya know. Grandpa knew he was gonna die. He called my daddy to the bed and he said, ’Curtis, I ’m not gonna be here long’ and said T want you to promise me you’ll do somethin for me. ‘ And he said ’I will if I can. ’ He said 7 want you to take care of the ole woman ’--that’s what he called Grandma. Now he didn’t say nothin about nobody else, he just called my daddy to the bed. And ya know, Grandma and Grandpa moved in the house with us, one time before I married. And I ’ve studied since then, such a crowd of us. I wonder how we piled up to take um, but they taked um in. But that was when the older ones had gone, was married. Ya see when I come along. I was in the second, the younger bunch. And ya know, ole Uncle Charlie was a drunkard from way back yonder. But now, I wouldn 7 call him an alcoholic. He was just a drunkard. I ’ve seen Uncle Charlie go for two and three months and wouldn’t drink a drop. An alcoholic’s got to have some every day. Otley paid him to clear some land for us and Uncle Charlie stayed with us and never touched a drop o f whiskey. Didn 7 amount to nothin when he got his money and got gone with whiskey. And I ’ve seen Early, my brother in CaryviUe, he had plenty of money, owned a lot o f land, he was wealthy. And he loved Uncle Charlie— everybody in the family did. They just worshipped him. But I ’ve seen him give him a fine suit. And Ma said, ’there’s not a bit of use givin Charlie that suit. ’ And Early’d say, 7 don’t care what he does with it. I ’m gonna give it to him. ’ And the next time we’d see him, he’d have on ole ragged overalls. H e’d be traded that suit for whiskey. And I ’ve seen Aunt Sister—that’s Aunt Clare, Collie’s momma, a lot o f us called her that—but I ’ve seen her buy him brand new overalls and jumper and he’d leave. And he’d be gone two or three days when he come back, he wouldn 7 have a rag of it on. H e’d be traded it for whiskey and they’d give him some ole ragged clothes to hide his flesh. But we all treated him like he was an angel. And ole Grandma she 91 just pitied him and prayed for him. She didn 7 fuss at him. She just prayed. But ya know, a lot o f men drank. The whole family on both sides all around drank. Otley wasn 7 an alcoholic, but he loved to drink as good as he loved somethin to eat. But he could sure control it. And ya know, he was a poor man. We were good livers, but we was poor. We always went to church—to the First Baptist Church. And I led the road, whatever / done was fine with Otley. And ya know, Grandma Davis went to church alt the time. Now you know your Grandpa Oscar was raised by one o f the finest Christian women that ever lived. / remember one time [laughs] my mother knew that Callie and Aunt Clare way comin to see us. And she said, ’Now girls, ’ —talkin to me, Cumine, and Pallie — *Callie’s a settled woman. She's married. So when she comes, don 7 y ’all say Callie, y 'all say Cousin Callie . ' See that’s the way people done then. See we were smaller children, and Callie was, being a grown woman, ya know, my momma just thought it would be nice for us to say that. And ya know Callie way a big—tall woman. But anyway, that was just a sign of respect. [V-14e]
ADAGES
From the Chipley Banner:
Self help is about the best uplift. A little push is often more lasting than a strong pull. The saddest failures in life are those that come from not putting forth power and will to succeed. The successful man invariably bears on his brow the marks of struggles which he has had to undergo. Some folks walk farther and display more intelligence in avoiding work than the simplest job requires. The love of work is the joy of living—if it is well requited. Do not sit down in the coolest place you can find and wait for others to improve your town. Do it yourself and do it now. It is better to wear out than to rust out. Keep moving. Do not strike camp and sell your birthright for a mess of pottage. The harder you lift your fellows the less danger of their pulling you down. Yes, the prosperity of the town depends largely on you. Every man has a part in the affairs of the world. Do your part; that may encourage others. Perhaps the world may owe you a living but you will die of starvation if you sit down and wait for it to call and settle. [1908] 92 "Guide Posts to Peace" To be glad of life because it gives you a chance to love, to work, to play, and to look up at the stars; to be satisfied with your possessions and not content with yourself until you have made the best of them; to despise nothing in the world except falsehood and meanness; and to fear nothing except cowardice; to be governed by your admiration rather than by your disgusts; to covet nothing of your neighbors except his kindness of heart and gentleness of manners; to think seldom of your enemies and often of your friends; and everybody to Christ; to spend as much time as you can, with body and spirit in God’s out-of-doors- - the se are the guide posts on the footpath of peace. [1908]
"Good Counsel" You are soon to leave and break away from the tender ties of home. We suppose that you wish to be rich; most people do. We don’t think rich desirable. We should be sorry to have inherited wealth. But a competence is very desirable; it is indispensable. Well the way to get it is by way of forethought to plan, to industry, to execute, and prudence to keep the earnings of your work. Get that you honestly earn, but never more. Money is by no means the best thing in life. You are here in this world to become a good man, a wise man, a just man, an affectionate man, a religious man. Work for your manhood as much as for your money. Take as much pain to [get it] and as much to keep it. Keep it clear of vice, especially intemperance, gambling and licentiousness...We must say to you there is no real happiness without religion... [1908]
Those who suffer most in hot weather are the idle rich who sit around doing nothing except to watch the thermometer. Busy folks don’t feel the heat so much because they don’t have time to notice it. [1908]
Make that boy a working partner. That is give him some interest however small in the rewards of intelligent husbandry. [1908]
Education
Based on interviews and the Chipley Banner news articles, Washington
County was very interested in promoting public education as a means to progress.
News of each little country community scattered throughout Washington County kept their neighbors apprised of school information. As well, interviews suggest 93 that while many of those small communities lacked funds, that did not prevent them from pushing forward for better public schools and, at the same time, maintaining those traditional educational programs such as singing schools.
Excerpt of interview (notes) with Colly V. Williams:
When Miss Callie began teaching, country teachers had little college. There was a great deal of closeness among the community, home, and school. In my day, principals would "tear your tail up" if a kid got in trouble. I was a strict disciplinarian in my school. When kids got into real trouble, they’d be kicked out. It’s not that way now. I finished high school in 1933 and passed the teacher’s exam. I was paid $45 per month for eight months of teaching. [Ml Excerpts from the interview with Alton Davis:
/ don 7 think the school had a name in them days. We just hod a little community school, out there near Wausau. Part of the time there wasn’t but about a dozen [scholars?] who [pausef just, just a little home community. They didn 7 have schools like they got now ... Our schools wasn 7 but about four months long. It wasn 7 long like they are now, terms. I didn 7 like school too much, [butf I liked it fairly well. We had to learn to read and to spell. And we had to team some arithmetic, how to work figures. That was about it. We had homemade benches. We had a pretty nice school building. It was a church, built for a church and a school building so it was a nice building and it had homemade benches. Bur they made, shaped with slats, ya know, and it wasn 7 too bad. There was a chalkboard, and we got to write on it a little bit. We also had slates, [demonstrates] It was a dark colored stone like stuff, it was, ya know. And we had crayon chalk and write on that. And you could rub it out and rewrite what you wanted to. And sometimes w e’d draw on them while the teacher was doin ' somethin ’ else. The schoolhouse was in pretty thick woods [no outhouse], and we just went to the woods. And we drank water from a well like. The first teacher / believe was a man—Tom Gainer. And then most o f the teachers I believe after that was women teachers...! reckon you'd say [I stopped going to school] back in the 4th or 5th grade. The way it was, they had readers, books that was named in the first and second grade. And I think I got up to the 4th one, maybe started on the 5th. I don 7 know. I don 7 know for sure... Yehl Tom Gainer did [paddled me]. My first teacher because I ’d [pause] some o f the others in the school would make an ugly face or somethin ’ and I ’d laugh. And he’d whip me fo r laughin ' out in school. 94 Just paddled me for laughin ’! I ’d laugh at most anything in the commotion my buddies’d make, ya know. And that’s when some of the rest of ’um would do that on purpose because it’d get me to laugh and knowin * that the teacher would whip me if I laughed. Now that [pause] all the other teachers [pause] most o f the other teachers after the first teacher was women, women teachers. They wasn *t so strict. If I did laugh a little bit, they wasn *t so ready to whip me for it. We got along all right after the first teacher. [V-14d]
Excerpt from interview with Alma Hodges Johnson:
The first little country school I ever went to up at Eleanor. It was a sawmill town. I was in the chart class. They had charts. The next school was Poplar Springs. I was in the first grade in Poplar Springs. It’s a big school now, they ’re graduatin ’ all, just like the high school here in town [Chipley]. The chart class, well honey, when we went to school at 6 years old [demonstrates with her hands] they had big charts—they were this big. And it started with the letters and all just like, ya know? And the whole class, instead o f havin * books, we all was taught from that chan class. A, B, C ’s and stuff. We was taught 1,2,3 and the ABC’s and then small, little words, ya know. That’s the way they taught. And they had books in the first grade, but they didn ’t in the chart class. That would be like, sona like kinderganen now, 1 imagine. And we had little desks at Poplar Springs. [laughs] I can V remember what we sat on at the other. 1 was so young till I was in the chan class till I can’t remember a thing about what I sat at. And we carried our lunch, ya know. We had ham, potatoes and just good things, you know, had good things to eat then, ya know. But it was stuff you didn’t have to refrigerate. And we had little lunch pails. And some of um were little round buckets with lids and some of um was square, ya know? And had little flowers on um, them little lunch pails. We walked to school. Might’ve been about a mile or two—it wasn V far. But we didn V go in the rain. I don *t ever remember walkin ’ in the rain. I guess if it was rainin ’, we stayed at home, I reckon. We didn’t have much school, about 6 or 7 months in a year o f school then. That’s about all there was. Now I went to school at Shiloh. I went to school down there. We lived just a little piece. It was up there to walk, I think, but anyway, we went to school out there. There was Henry and Jurdan and Cumine and Pallie and Dutchie and me—that’s 6 o f us went to school out there. And we were the second bunch—the older ones, there’s 7 o f them, they was married and gone by then. Well, any way, all the other kids around [smiles], we had the best time when we got all o f the children in the country walkin ’. First bus I ever remembered was about 19 and 21. We lived out here just about a mile out o f town when they had a bus and there wasn V no 95 top to it. It was just an open bus. We used to have a picture o f it. And I had a picture with my sister Pallie and brother Jurdan and you could see their heads stickin ’ up there in the picture. I don *t know what went with that picture. {V~14cj
Excerpt from interview with Silas Hodges:
We had standard textbooks in school. I know that, o f course, Robert E. Lee was a man right up there with George Washington and Stonewall Jackson, that is to me in my memories o f school. And our teachers were great. I remember that. I wrote one a letter here a few years back who's livin up in Americus, Georgia who I think more o f than anybody else. She and my mother awakened in me an imerest in reading. I can recall that every day at school during that particular year that she taught me, we started off the day and we all looked forward to the first class rather than dreadin it because she spent the first hour reading out o f some good book fo r us. You take the ole James Oliver Kerwood stories, things like that. She got me interested in reading and I ’ll be forever thankful for the sheer pleasure that it’s given me over the years. I went in service before I went to college. 1 went on the GI Bill which was, I think, one of the greatest things that ever happened to this country because there’s a whole /pauseJ a large percentage of males that got a chance for university exposure that affected them in varying degrees—mostly positive. It made a more progressive area out of the South. [V-14a]
Information regarding local country schools and education in general was regularly printed in the Chipley Banner. Samples from 1908 are given below:
Vice President Fairbank’s recent remark that he preferred more schoolhouses to more battleships may not make much of a hit just at this time. Nevertheless, it will do to remember and ponder over. [1908]
Notice: The Grant School needs a teacher to start the school the 1st of September. Teachers please write J.A. Grant, Bonifay, Florida, RFD #2 for particulars. [1908]
We may get other things back that are lost, but a day lost to a school boy or girl is a day we will never have a chance to gain back. Longfellow says ’our brightest hopes are in the children. ’ Last month we made away above our 80% and don’t you bet we feel good about it. We know some of you have some cotton to gather, but just make out the best you can. [1908] 96 "Wausau" We are informed that we are to have no school here until September & probably not until Oct. Too bad. Too bad. [1908]
"List of Textbooks Designated by the State Superintendent of Public Instruction for the Teacher’s September Examination" Orthography Reeds Word Lessons 25 cents Reading Any standard reader Composition Maxwell & Smiths Writing of English 75 cents Arithmetic Millne’s Standard 65 cents English Grammar Metcalfs 60 cents US History Field’s Grammar School $1.00 Florida History Fairbank’s $1.00. Brevard & Bennett’s 60 cents Geography Redway’s Natural Advanced $1.25 Physiology Coleman’s Elements of 90 cents Civil Government Yocum’s Civil Government $1.00 Algebra Milne’s High School $1.00 Physical Geography Tarr’s New $1.00 Theory & Practice (for all grades) Bagley’s Classroom Management $ 1.25
The big school at Oakey Ridge, we are having all kinds of a school, and that’s not all, we have been having excelant [sic] attendance for the past 3 weeks and we heartily insist that the patrons of this school will keep attendance good. If we should be fortunate enough to make the required 80% average, we will get 2 months extra from the state. Think of it, 7 months for us if we will only make the average! Now, patrons, get together and make the average for the good of your children. From the fact that some of we older ones are not advanced etc. is no reason that we should hold the children of the rising generation so get busy & keep the tittle folkes in school. [1908]
"Results of the June Examination for Teachers of Washington County" (also lists names) 29 applicants 19 white 10 colored 15 passed 2 passed [1908]
"Buy your home paper & children learn to read." [1908]
"Falco, Alabama" The singing school has just closed & the young people seem to have taken a great interest in it. [1908] 97 In 1939 in the state of Florida, there were 385,763 school aged children and 12,409 teachers in public schools. Historically, slow growth of schools in Florida (WPA, 1939, p. 103).
According to the 1860 census, there were 2,132 children in public school and 4,486 in private schools (WPA, 1939, p. 100).
Washington County in 1892 contained 55 white schools and 9 colored schools. School terms ranged from 2 to 4 months (Chance, n.d., pp. 37-39).
Consolidation of schools began in Washington County in the 1940’s (Chance, n.d., p. 46). CHAPTER V
THE LIFE STORY OF MISS CALLIE
Researcher Note
Life story, as defined in Chapter I, is "accounts of a person’s life as delivered
orally by the person herself" (Bertaux, 1981, p. 7; emphasis mine). In reading this
chapter it is important to note that the informal, conversational nature of the Life
Story as it was originally presented cannot be rendered exactly into print as there is
no one-to-one correspondence from oral to written communication. Once a life
story is transcribed into written text, much of its natural context is lost—from the
accent, intonation, and cadence to the laughter, smiles, and frowns.
Because it is important that Miss Callie's voice is neither inhibited nor
constrained, the following text of her Life Story is presented to accord that
typically representative of conversational speech rather than that of more formal
written prose. Moreover, while I initially organized the contents chronologically to coincide with the traditional format of personal history narratives and thus the expectations of readers, Miss Callie read the original draft and had neither corrections nor additional suggestions. The following is an account of her life told in her own words.
98 99 Background
Washington County has been my home nearly all my life, and that’s a long
time because I’m 95 years old. I reckon you could say I grew up with the County,
with the grass and everything. But I wasn’t bom in Washington County or
Florida. I was bom at home in Alabama on the 5th day of October, 18 and 97
near Headland, that's about ten miles from Dothan. A teacher that was a good
friend of my mother's in Alabama called Miss Doannie Hamm named me
Caladonia— like the islands, the Caladonian Islands. Miss Doannie named me and
my brother Orastus both. But I was always ’Miss Callie’ to all the pupils and the
neighbors and patrons of the school. You see, I got credit for 36 1/2 or 37 1/2
years in my retirement, and 1 taught nearly all of the children around and a lot of
their parents, too. So most everybody here in Chipley knows who you’re talking
about when you say 'Miss Callie.* And I’ve lived right here in this house in
Chipley since World War II. And nearly all those many years before that I lived
with my parents at the old place down there in the country.
Parents and Siblings
My father was Daniel Absalom Hasty and my mother was Clara Belle Davis.
They were both bom in Henry County there close to Headland, Alabama. My mother had six children, but one of them died when he was about a year old. I had a brother Orastus who was older than I was. Then I was next. Then came my little brother that died when he was small, just a baby. And then Preston. And
Prim. And the baby of the family was Bessie Lee. She was my only sister. When 100 she came along I was about nine years old, and I was so proud when I found out
that she was girl. Up until then, you know, all my ’sisters* were brothers, and I’d
seen brothers until I was tried of them. I was so proud of her that my mother and
my father both let me name her. But all the children after me were bom in
Florida, there at the old place in Washington County.
From Alabama to Florida
I was three months old when my mother and father came to Florida and took
up a homestead of 160 acres. It was about two miles and a half from Calford
Bridge, about twelve miles from Chipley and about four or five miles from
Bonifay. My father said he and my mother came to Florida because all the land in
Alabama was bought up and under cultivation where they lived and where they
were bom, there close to Headland in Henry County. He said he never could have
owned a home, or raised a family, or accumulated anything if he stayed in
Alabama at the price that land was, and he knew that he’d have to start at a new
place. When he found out there was land for homesteading in Florida, he came to see about it because he wanted to farm, and farming was the only way he knew of
making a living then at that time.
So they came to Florida, to Washington County, and took up a homestead of
160 acres down there in the country. One hundred and sixty acres of just woods and natural growth, with timber on it and everything! My mother said she was afraid when they first came to Florida because she thought that all those bays and low places where there are bays and water were full of bears and panthers. You 101 see, back then there wasn't many people down there in the country. It was thinly settled, and most of them were scattered around miles apart. And my mother, when she first came to Florida, she was lonesome because all of her family was still in Alabama. But my father, now he was a real pioneer! He had a lot of spunk or whatever you call it to come there and settle a place in the woods and not have anything. Most people came only for a few months and then returned to
Alabama, but he came to stay and put his roots down.
The first thing my father did when they came to Florida was build a big split- log house to live in. Until he could get the house done where we could move in, we lived in Duncan Martin’s kitchen. Mr. Martin's place was about two or two and a half miles from the homestead. And my father rented some land from our nearest neighbors, the Harrells, until he could get his land cleared. Mr. Harrell’s land went down to Holmes Creek, and my father planted some rice right down on the creek because rice has to have a lot of water. My mother said that she’d fix breakfast and then my father would take the plow horse and go to work. After he left, she would cook dinner and then take it to my father where he was working and getting his land ready to plant. She had to carry me because I was only three months old, and then carry the lunch and everything for their dinner. That made my brother that was a little bit older, he wasn’t quite two years old, have to walk because she couldn’t carry him, too. She said they’d start out and he’d get tired from him being small and all, and he wouldn’t want to walk. And she said that she’d blow like a train and he’d just run! She’d get him all pepped up. And he 102 was always a railroad man, my brother was. But she always exaggerated things like that—like blowing like a train.
My mother should’ve been a teacher because she was the best story teller!
She’d always exaggerate the details of it and mimic her characters. I never will forget the first story that I ever remember her telling, and she told lots of them after that. It was "Red Riding Hood." My brother and I were small and we’d been running and playing because it was a rainy day that day and we couldn’t get outside. She was piecing quilts or sewing or something and she said, "Sit down and I’ll tell you a story." But my mother didn’t tell it like what it turned out to be in the books. She added to it. She changed it for the setting and to suit herself.
And, oh, it fit the country then! It was a woman, a mother, that went off to borrow some meal. And she told her two little children not to call her when she was gone, that she’d be back soon. But they didn’t obey. You see, that was the moral—they didn’t obey their mother. And so they waited a little bit, but pretty soon they called her. And my mother would say "Oh, Mammy!Mammy!"
"Come on!"—mimicking the children. And, of course, a panther answered and he came when the children called. The panther said "W e 1 1 !" in a coarse voice.
Now you see what that would teach the children?—to be obedient, to mind their mother. And, oh, my mother told on and on about how the panther came and when they saw him, they ran and got in the bed and covered up. And the panther came on to the bed. And you can just imagine how tense they were! And they asked, like in the story, "What makes your EYES so big?" And "The better to 103 SEE you with." And then my mother, she jumped at my brother—"I’ll GET you
and EAT you up!!!," she said. But that’s the kind of story teller that she was.
And she changed it to fit the situation. The woman going off to borrow the meal
fit the country. And we knew what that meant. That was home stuff, that was.
But I remember that story just as well, and my brother he did, too. It just
appealed to us, and we loved stories.
Learning and Going to School
I started school when I was old enough at Union Hill. It was just a one
teacher school out there in the country in Washington County. We walked to school all the time because there were no buses then and it was just a mile from home.
Miss Minnie Yelvington was my first teacher; we called her Miss Minnie.
And I can remember sitting in front of the chart at school. It was kind of like a tripod with big pages, just twelve or fifteen pages, and there’d be pictures. And if we read one page, then we’d go to the next page, and it would be more difficult.
We sat on the long bench where the charts were, and about once in the morning and once in the afternoon she’d go over the ABC’s and little words with us. I remember that just as well, you know, that 'A, B, C.* Then she’d skip around and see if we really knew what we just said.
And I remember just as well ’cat* was the first word I ever wrote that I could tell what it was. They let me write it on the board and I was so proud of myself!
And I remember when I first started reading that I liked the lessons that had 104 pictures with them. It must’ve been easy readers, on probably a first grade level or what they would assume. And we’d have oral reading. But the stories that had pictures, I liked those much better. That’s the kind I wanted and was hoping that
I’d get to read. I liked to read, so I’d read all the books pretty quick and I’d get me a new book. And I remember our parents bought our books. They had a place in Vernon and Bonifay where you could buy the books that you were supposed to. And my father he’d buy me books and I’d race to get them. But we read for ourselves mostly.
You know, you can remember the funny things. I remember just as well how bored I was sitting on that long bench and she'd go over the ABC’s with us. I can remember saying those ABC’s and I didn’t like it. We’d get so tired sitting on that long bench. I didn’t care for it at all! But I was just as afraid of the teacher! Of course, they wouldn’t bother you. But it’s a wonder we ever learned anything because they didn’t know how to teach and they had nothing to work with but the charts. If we hadn’t wanted to learn, we’d have never gotten out of the first reader or the first grade. But we wanted to learn. We came here reading, I think. I’ve just been reading all my life.
Now my father he kept up with everything in education because he and two or three others they did a lot of work in getting good schools established. The county provided money to pay the teacher, but they had to go and hunt them up teachers a lot of the time to come and teach. They were always getting things like that done—get a teacher from somewhere else to come because there was none in 105 Washington County at that time. And my mother she always had to board the
teachers. But my father, he’d get somebody to go with him and they’d go get a
teacher. He got Mr. Martin and they went to Vernon and got Alice Jones. She
was a certified teacher. And I had a man teacher one time. His name was Finney.
I never will forget his name. He ruled the roost! I was just as scared of that man
as I could be. I was afraid to look cross-eyed. Of course I did nothing, but I was just as scared of him as if he’d a been a bear! But I was just afraid that he’d get
mad or whip us or something like that. I was always glad when they’d get a
woman teacher then I wasn’t so afraid. Of course, I know now. I can think back
and it was all unfounded.
The last school I attended was there at Union Hill. You see, there were no
high schools out in the country although they had high school books. My father
and one of the other trustees of the school went and got a Miss Yates. There was
two or three of us girls that were about grown that went to Union Hill out there to
Miss Yates. She grew up here in Chipley and there was a crowd of girls in her family. And we enjoyed her, she was a real good teacher. I got more out of her work than I had in near about all my other work. But the schools didn’t last long, they’d be just a few months, like four or five months, and you couldn’t cover the material. You just couldn’t accomplish very much in that time.
Now my father and mother, they sent me to all the singing schools. They were held at the schoolhouse in the summer because in the winter we were in the regular school just like they have now. My father and this Mr. Martin, Duncan 106 Martin, they’d get a music teacher to come and teach music school for about ten or
fifteen days. They’d get somebody that was well-known and well-informed to
come and teach for about two or three weeks. Mr, Lonnie Register was a teacher
and he was real good. He really taught music. And he played like it was written
too—correctly. You didn’t just go there and play around and sing a little bit and
that was it. We had to know how to sing. And I learned all the rudiments of
singing and playing and everything like that—like the value of the notes, and being
up to date on the newest things. That’s what they taught us. And we had tests and
recitals at the end of the term. They had I reckon you’d call it like a textbook, you
know, so much that they wanted to accomplish depending on the length of time that they were there. And that was according to the interest that was shown and whether the parents had plenty of money to pay for pushing them because they were special schools and you paid extra to go to them. But somebody that was able would sponsor and see that the teachers got well paid. And we were the ones that had to take care of them. They’d live at our house mostly during the time singing school was on. And the men that taught the singing schools, they gave you a lot of work in those two weeks or whatever you had, and it would usually be about two weeks.
The Class Choir was the book they used back then that you learned to sing from and our parents bought it for us. It was a big, thick book. When we were small, we had an aunt that would visit us and she’d want us to sing. So my brother’d get the book and we’d sit down and sing. And I think that was before I 107 was old enough to go to school. I just grew up with music and singing because my mother she loved music and all of us had to sing. Anybody that couldn’t sing, she just didn’t know what to think of them.
As the old saying is ’we came here singing’—you know, me, my brothers and sister. We were just musically inclined from the Davis side of the house because my mother had a lot of music about her. She played the organ and sang, and she had a real good voice. And Grandma and Grandpa Davis both played musical instruments. I heard Grandpa play the violin, just country music, you know, but he didn’t play much. He was not as well versed as Grandma. Grandma was the one that was always interested in music. She loved music and loved to hear good singing, and she wanted all of us to be musicians. And, Grandma she played for the women to dance one time, and I remember that. I was small, but I was so surprised that Grandma played the fiddle, a violin. Back in the country we called it the fiddle. But the ladies wanted to dance, and the men hadn’t come out from work clearing the land and working in the field. It was a log rolling, they called it. Of course when they had something like that, all the mothers and the children went you know. They couldn’t leave the children back then. There was no such thing as getting someone to keep them because there was nobody to do it, you always carried your children with you. Well, the women quilted two quilts out that day and when they got the last one out, they wanted to go to dancing. So they wanted someone to play the fiddle for them, the violin, for them to dance. And
Grandma did. The ladies they got out there to square dancing and, of course, they 108 had done a set before the men came out from the fields. And then the men and the
ladies together, they square danced all night long, way after midnight. But
Grandma played the violin for them to dance. And Uncle Charlie—that was one of
my mother’s brothers—he was a good fiddler. They called them back in the country there, fiddlers. And Uncle Charlie was the best! He could just play anything! He played so well till Grandma just quit playing and Uncle Charlie was the one who played. And he loved to play and have me to accompany him on the piano. When we would start playing, the young people’d get up and roll up the rugs and go to dancing! And he’d play "Under the Double Eagles," and he learned it by ear. It’s a march, oh it’s peppy, you know. And oh, they’d get up and dance, you know. It was very popular. They couldn’t stand to hear the music and not get up and dance. And he’d play "Dixie." Of course I’ve heard that all my life and it just lifts you up. And Aunt Cordelia, my mother’s sister, she taught music. She’d make up a song for her children and they knew their song. She had about fourteen of them and I think about twelve of them were raised to be grown.
But they all just got it from the family, and so we’ve just sung all of our lives.
And I’ll sing now, and get the book and look over it and sing all of them. So many of the songs that I knew are way, way back yonder when I was a child. I just think of them and they come back to me.
My mother and father always promoted things like that, singing and education. My mother, she always was for building everything up, and getting it done, and seeing it through. And my father, he worked quietly. He was always 109 for building things up. The Atlanta Constitution and the Chipley Banner were the newspapers that my father subscribed for because he and my mother they were always looking out for new things. And we had certain things like we had an organ and then a piano when nobody else in the country had one. But my father he always provided things like that. And my mother had us singing the newest songs.
You see, if you had children and wanted them to play or sing or do things like that, you bought them an organ. That was the thing to do back in those days.
Well, it wasn’t long before we got past the organ stage, and we had a piano. And my father bought one of the first Ford sedans and he didn't ever drive. He didn’t want to. But he bought it for us to drive. I was the driver of course. I just learned to drive and did all the driving.
I was tall like the Davis side and I just grew up overnight, so to speak. And
I was never sick, never ill, or never had any childhood diseases. I matured, you might say, early and I married young. My parents fixed it in a way or were willing because I wouldn’t have married anybody that my mother didn’t like. She didn’t want me to marry any of the boys right around home that were poor. She wanted me to marry somebody, when I married, that was educated and that you could expect something later out of—money, a nice home and everything like that.
That was her ambition for me. And my husband, Williams, he was educated for back then and had finished high school, I believe. His family were church-going people and religious, and were well thought of. no I wasn’t but thirteen years old and not experienced in anything much and he
was a grown man, twenty-one or more, when we married in 1910. I was married at home on a Sunday afternoon by an old Methodist preacher, Owens was his name. The preacher was Methodist because all the Williams, my husband’s people, just as far back as 1 know anything they were Methodist. So I was a
Methodist a long time just because the family was. But all during that time at heart
I was a Baptist, because from the time we were old enough we were Baptists, my people, my folks were.
After I married we lived in Wausau—that’s a little town over here going to
Panama City, but it’s in Washington County. Back then the BC railroad went through there and on to Panama City. There was quite a bit of business on the railroad then. He was in business with an older man, Mr. Parrish, and we had a general merchandise store there in Wausau. I worked there at the store a while.
And that’s where my children were bom; all three of them were bom there in
Wausau.
My oldest little boy that died with diphtheria, Arlton, was bom in 19 and 12.
Then next was my daughter, Monette. She was bom in January, 19 and 14. And
Colly V. was bom in May, 19 and 15. There isn’t two years’ difference in their ages. But my oldest little boy, he lived to be three years old. He was a good size little boy when he died with diphtheria or something like diphtheria. I never could figure out where in the world he caught it because I hadn’t been anywhere for my children to be exposed to anything like that. Before we knew how serious it was I l l why he was just too sick. We got the doctor, a good doctor, but he was too late to
save him. And my father he called the home doctor, the one we called our family
doctor. I felt like maybe if I could’ve got him to have started with it, maybe it
would’ve saved him. But I don’t reckon it would’ve done any good. He’s buried
at Hard Labor, down there near Wausau. And that’s where my little brother that
died is buried. We hadn’t been here long in this part of the state because my folks
came from Alabama, and back then they were using Hard Labor as the main
community cemetery.
They had a draft board and my husband volunteered and left and went in
service. He had just led a sheltered life. You see, his mother died when he was just a few days old, and his grandmother and his uncle raised him. And they did a
good job. The family was well thought of and he was a reliable person. But he just got in with the bad company and he was ashamed at what he'd done. So he volunteered and went in service, and they sent him overseas, right on in just a
short time. And that was it. And I had three children at that time. My daddy went and got me and what few things that I had. So I went back home and took the children. But he was a nice fella and he was a good man. He had just led a sheltered life and got in with the wrong crowd.
My last husband was Mr. Hutchison. You see, I’ve been married twice. The
Hutchisons were well-thought of and they were well-educated and respected people.
My husband, Hutchison, he was well-informed in music. He tuned pianos and repaired organs and musical instruments. He worked for Mr. McKinnon at the 112 McKinnon Music House in Pensacola. The main headquarters of the McKinnon
Music Company was there in Bonifay and we lived there a while. I worked there
in Pensacola a year, but I didn’t especially want to work. My husband made good
money and 1 didn’t care about traveling around all the time with him. I was ready
to come back to Chipley and to Bonifay where I could get the children in school.
Colly V. and Monette were old enough to go to school and I wanted to get them back at home in school because Bonifay was my home. But he was an on again, off again Finnegan. I said I’ll never, never, never anymore trust nobody else.
That’s why I’ve been a widow all these years.
Teaching
I think I’ve been involved in teaching all of my life. All along I’d been studying and helping my children; I always helped them in school. But I had to get a job because I had my children to educate. And my sister-in-law, Preston’s wife, was a teacher. Her family was just girls and every one were teachers. She got to encouraging me to take the teacher's exam. After a while, I decided I would. She helped me some with math because I was afraid, you know, and she was good in it herself. It was a big help because when I took the teachers’ examination, I made an even hundred on math. The first teacher’s certificate I had was dated in 19 and 28, I believe.
I remember very well the first job that I ever went to apply for was in
Bonifay. The chairman of the school board was Mr. Brown, and his wife and I were good friends. I had known her as a child and we’d gone to school at Union 113 Hill together, and of course I felt like that made a difference. Anyway, he told me
that some teacher didn't pass the teacher’s exam and they weren’t keeping her any
longer, and he knew that I had a certificate. He said as long as they had a teacher,
they had to use the teacher—they couldn’t show partiality. But he told me that if I
would meet the board and put in my application that he thought I’d get the job.
And they were going to meet on Monday morning, the school board was, and court
was going on there in Bonifay at that time. So 1 went to meet the board. But, oh,
I just felt so out of place! There were a few people, stragglers around, and a few
women because there was some kind of court going on and they had to be there.
Well, the board was in session and the door was closed. 1 stayed around there and
1 never felt so out of place! And a way after a while, I hung around there and I
made up my mind. I said to myself, ’Well, I just can’t stand it any longer!’ But
then Mr. Brown came out and told me, says "Callie, we’ve not got around to that
yet, but we will." And he looked down the hall at the courthouse there in Bonifay.
A long ways down the hall, two men were sitting there talking. And he told me,
he said, "I don’t have time and I can’t leave. But you see those two men sitting
down yonder at the end of the hall? Go down there and tell them who you are and put in your application.” And I did. It was Mr. Andrews and Mr. Bush. And I told them who I was and told them I'd like to apply for the place. And that was
my first teaching job. It was out from Bonifay in a country school there in Holmes
County—New Prospect, I believe. It was a two teacher school, and Mr. Ross and his daughter were the teachers, but they had an overflow—they had more than the 114 number of pupils allowed for two teachers. It was the first of school and a lot of the older children that worked on the farm and had to help gather the crops came.
The overflow didn’t last long, just six weeks or something like that. I just took it
for the time being, and I didn’t have a job any longer than the overflow lasted.
I taught there right close to home at Poplar Head for a number of years. It was a two teacher school, and I was the primary teacher all the time down there. I reckon there were only 35 or 40 pupils in the whole school and I remember them, the first ones I taught.
When I first started teaching there at Poplar Head, this little girl Ramona
White wasn’t quite six years old and she wasn’t old enough to go to school. But the other children were going and she cried to go with them. So I told her mother to let her go. I said, "She won’t bother us, and if she learns or wants to do anything, she can." And her mother let her go. And, that child! Why when she was five years old, she could read all of the first grade books. She just learned!
Now she was a little country girl, and she’d measure up anywhere, any place.
And there was a little Britt boy who was the youngest member of his family and his brothers and sisters were grown. His mother wanted him to go out there to our school, to Poplar Head, so he’d be nearer home. And I just marveled how the older boys, in the principal’s room they called it—those who were maybe twelve or thirteen years old, those big boys—how they played with that little boy and took care of him. Everyone of them sheltered him, and saw that nothing happened to him, that he didn’t get hurt. You see, all of the children had physical education 115 together. We had to have physical education and then had to teach it. They came
around and observed to see if you were doing it right. And you never knew when
they’d come. They’d just show up. But all the children and the students would get out and play together.
There was another little boy one time that told me about when his father was in World War 1 that his father saw a mermaid on one of the ships he was on overseas and it followed the ship. I had already shown them in the dictionary or something like that that there was no such thing as a mermaid and that people just used to imagine that there were mermaids. But I just let it go. I couldn't tell him it wasn’t true. I thought well, when he gets old enough to be like in the third or fourth grade he’ll know there’s not anything to it. I wouldn’t dispute what his father told him because when a child’s father tells them something they believe it.
And I remember two of these little boys one time at Poplar Head wrote a story. They learned how to spell and make up their own little stories before the end of school. And these two little boys wrote a whole page. They said they came to Chipley. And they told what they bought. One of them bought a fiddle and the other bought him a harp—they called it a harp, but they meant a harmonica. And they wrote along and told something else. And they said they played, and they told what they played. And then they said one played his fiddle and the other one played his harp until their mothers ran away! That was funny to me. They just did it by themselves without help. You can just imagine, you know, them playing—how like they would play until their mothers ran away. I reckon that’s all 116 they could think of—that their mothers couldn’t stand the noise. And I saved the little story and showed it to their mothers.
And one time the circus was coming to town, and all the children were carried away about coming to Chipley and the circus. That was something out of the ordinary for them. It was not over once a year that a circus or something that was of any size came to town, so they were up in arms about it. Everybody in the country went to the circus. It was going to be a huge affair the way it was advertised. And the trustees, the men that had the say over our school, said to tum them out and let the children and students all go to Chipley to see the parade. So the principal Wilson Roberts and I, we carried them, wedged them in our cars.
And my mother she went to help me with the small ones because I was the primary teacher. Well, we got to Chipley and there was music going and the band was playing just before it was time for the circus to open. But they didn’t even have a parade! Well, we stayed and kept standing around because we didn’t know what to do. And there we were! Well, we bought the children something to eat because my mother always believed in feeding people. And then the big show was going to open. And the man up there selling tickets was yelling and yelling "Come on!
Come on!— baiting, you know how they’ll do. And the children and all the boys and girls were wanting to get in, but we knew the children didn’t have any money.
People just didn’t have much money in the country. Well, my mother, she was a fixer and she always had money. She was the kind that always took the bull by the horns, so to speak. She said, "Let’s take these children in and let them see the 117 circus. They’ve all come here to see the parade and they didn’t even have a
parade!" We knew they were so disappointed, and they looked to me to do
something. Well, I noticed something that made me know that the Chipley
students, the students in town, were going to get to go in at a reduced price. That
meant everything, you know. When I found that out, I got a hold of myself and
thought, ’Well now, the country children just as well to have the benefit of seeing
the show and the animals and all as the people in town. They’re our children,
they’re school children, and they’re supposed to have the same treatment and the
same rates as any of the other school children anywhere in the county and not just
Chipley!* So 1 just didn't do a thing but walk up to the ticket man and I told him.
I said, "I’m a teacher and these children, these students here, are from the country
but they deserve to see the show just as much as the town’s students. They’re
Washington County school children and they belong to get in and have the same
rates as the other children." And he said "How many tickets did you want?” And
I said, "Let me call them up and I’ll see." And I said, "Come on boys and girls."
And they came running because they were hanging around. They were so proud
they were going! And that was the older boys and girls from the principal’s room,
too. We carried them all in because the principal, they called him Mr. Buddy, had
gone downtown I reckon to eat lunch. So, my mother and I we paid their way and
they were thrilled to death nearly. And you know, the next day nearly everyone of those children brought us the price of their ticket and gave us our money back for paying their way. 118 But things like that, they make you feel good. You know, you’ll be
remembered for things like that. The children thought that I could just do anything
and they loved me. I was always ’Miss Callie.’ I let them ride to school—that was
before the county put on buses. I'd pick them up in the morning, and in the
evening I’d carry them home. They were just like my children and they just
thought I belonged to them.
I taught there at Poplar Head a long, long time. When I first started teaching there, 1 taught for $45 a month. I took that in due bills because the county didn’t have any money. It was the Depression, I believe. But I was able to keep the due bills by being there at my father’s. They were on a farm and we had plenty. But one time I took those due bills and used them as collateral for my father. He borrowed money to upgrade on from the Federal Land Bank in Columbia, South
Carolina—that’s where the headquarters were. When the time came for him to pay that he couldn’t. He didn't have any money and couldn’t get any. Nobody could.
And so I wrote the Bank in South Carolina and I told them that I was holding the due bills. And they wrote me and told me they would accept them as collateral until they were paid. And I sent two for my father, for the place. And when the superintendent wrote me and told me that one of them was ready to be paid, I had to write and get it because it was in Columbia. And they wouldn’t send me that due bill until I sent them another due bill in place of that one that was being paid!
But I held those due bills until the county paid them off, and they were paid in a few months. I didn’t lose any money on them. 119 I always had a job teaching because I’d been here all my life and I was known all over the county, you know. I went to Union Hill and taught there a year or two. It was a country school there in Washington County. I was home and the ole place was close to it. It was a three teacher school—the principal and two other teachers. The principal had the highest grades. Then one teacher would have the middle grades, and the other would have the primary grades. There’d be about two or three or four or more pupils in each grade. Mr. Ross was the principal, and I first worked with him and his daughter when I was an overflow teacher there in Holmes County. And I taught there in Vernon some.
I taught in Bay County for a year or two. I wanted to get where I could teach one grade so I went down to Panama City to teach with Mr. Roberts, Colly
V.’s friend. World War II was going on and then he was called into service and another man Finished out the term. I decided that I’d better not teach where I taught the first year I was there because I was afraid that I couldn’t get gas to drive because they were rationing gas. I accepted this place with Mr. Brock, another friend of Colly V .’s who had taught school there at home and was a graduate of the
University of Florida. He was well-qualified and was a principal there at St.
Andrews. And I liked St. Andrews School. They had double shifts and I taught in the second shift in the afternoon. Well then it was getting so tight about gas rationing and everything, and I was afraid I couldn’t get gas. So I thought I’d better get on a bus route where I could catch a bus to school over at St. Andrews. 120 But I didn’t have to, because it was during that time that I went to work for the
U.S. Employment Service.
You know, you have to make opportunities. I never did believe in just sitting
back and waiting, and I always investigated everything that showed up that would
help me out. I decided to work for the United States Employment Service because
I got quite a bit more money than I did in just ordinary schools. When I took the
examination, I went and got up early one Saturday morning and went to De Funiak
Springs—that's forty to sixty miles from home, you know, from Bonifay or
Chipley. I passed the test for interviewer and they asked where I would accept
work and I told them in Panama City. So I bought a place in Panama City and
closed the trade. It was a small place but that’s all I needed for my mother and
me. I was going to let Colly V. use it for the first year because he was a principal
there. He had traded and I knew he was coming back to Washington County after
a year. See I had my children in mind all the time, to help them out anyway I
could. But it was not intended for me to stay in Panama City! The Lord just had a hand in it, because all this unexpected stuff came up about my brother coming back from Texas and moving back to the old place.
Out of the clear blue sky one Saturday morning, I was in the office there working in Panama City and there was a personal call for me. My brother said he had decided to come back to Florida. You see, after my father died my brother bought the old place. And when he decided to come back that caused me to fix a place for my mother. So I came home and told my mother about it and we came 121 up here to Chipley to ask Alma and her husband Otley where they thought we might get a place to buy. You see, Alma’s mother and my mother were sisters.
Well, Otley was buying and selling cows, and he wanted a lot of pasture land because this place here wasn’t big enough. So he said, "Well Aunt Clara if you and Callie like this place, I’ll let you have this." And the price was fair and all right—$1,700. But, I knew that if I bought a place here in Chipley, I’d have to have a way to get to my job in Panama City. Gas was rationed and I knew I couldn’t get gas to go and come that far—an ordinary citizen couldn't. But I knew that a veteran could, they could buy gas all they wanted. So I went out there and saw Mr. Higdan that worked in our office in Panama. He was in charge of the veterans and he was driving back and forth. And he said he’d be glad to have a rider. So we came here to Chipley and I bought this place, these two lots, from
Alma and Otley.
The very next week, I think on a Monday night, Mr. Blue the county superintendent of schools and Ms. Magahan the principal came out here after supper one night to see if I’d take a vacancy in the school here in Chipley. The woman who was a second grade teacher had already resigned on account of her health and they had a substitute then. And I decided that I would take the job.
Now that was nice work in Panama City. I worked there about a year, had a raise, was buying a bond a month, and was on the register in Tallahassee. But there was something about it I didn’t like as well as I did teaching. It just wasn’t my kind of work. I liked teaching and I was familiar with everything and I decided that I’d 122 rather have a teacher's salary. So on the spur of the moment, I just bought this
place here and moved in less than a week’s time. And that just changed my whole
life. I’m really and truly thankful the Lord was in my favor. He sent me to
Chipley. All within a week’s time, why I was right back into the school room
where I’d been for so long.
The grade that I first began teaching there at the Chipley school was the
second grade and I had to teach them how to read. So, I told Ms. Magahan the
principal of the grammar school here in Chipley that I wanted to teach reading in
the first grade. I said, "If a child can’t read, he can’t do anything." So I taught
reading and the first grade. That’s what I wound up doing for years because I had
had a lot of special work in reading and remedial reading.
There were five first grade teachers there at Kate Smith, and they kept the enrollment as near even as they could among the five teachers. Ms. McClellan she was a good teacher, and she and I worked together and planned together. We’d kind of keep up with each other, you know, keep the children together on the books. We used a combination of methods of teaching reading. You know, when you have a room full of children you have to use a lot of methods. But I presented it in my own way, and she’d say "Miss Callie, I’ll bet you’ve got some that can already read."
I had lesson plans in big blocks of time for different subjects, and it depended on what the children were doing. I followed a pattern because I think it’s upsetting to children, especially to little ones, small younger children, to have a routine and 123 a certain thing at a certain time. Of course you can always change when you want
to. I always think a combination of something and the more different ways you
have the better for the children. Language arts covers more than anything, it
covers the writing and spelling, and you can give as much time as you need.
That's the reason that I was successful with reading. And I think I was considered
a good reading teacher.
I had a little girl one time there at Kate Smith whose father was a lawyer and
they came here from Panama City. It just happened that she fell in my room
because they always tried to keep the enrollment even with the teachers. They
brought me the material where she'd withdrawn from a school there in Panama
City. I looked over it, and she didn't have any readiness program that I could tell
from the withdrawal material. She wasn’t reading any books or anything, but she
was old enough. So, I just tried her out and I found out that she was ready to
read. And I went to work with her. I know it wasn't over a week or ten days, but
that child just went to reading overnight! And when she found out she could read, she just begged and begged me to let her carry a book. Well, I let her carry a book, a supplementary book, not a book that was adopted. They wouldn’t let them take their readers, the adopted text, home. And her father said that she just followed him with a book all the time wanting to read. She just went by leaps and bounds. Of course he thought I was the one that had just blossomed her out. He was so proud and he thought I was an excellent teacher. 124 Being as interested as I was in the schools, you know, you have to be
observant. You learn not to overlook things. I had one little girl, Wiggins was her
name, and she told me she could read so and so. Well, you know, a lot of
children read by the pictures. They just tum the pages and say they tell the story.
And school had just begun, about the first week, and I didn’t pay much attention to
it. I had two little old boys that I kept over. They were young or had the measles
or something, but they didn’t pass. So I started them where we had left off the
year before because they didn’t need the readiness work, they’d already had that.
And I was letting them read in their little books where they were the year before
when school got out to see if they had forgotten anything, and the little girl told
me, she said, "I can read that.” And I said, "You can?" I thought she just read
the pictures, but I began to investigate. I knew that we had had no long reading
readiness program—not even two weeks. So I went back and got her permanent
record of kindergarten. Well, on her reading readiness record it said she was ready
for first grade. So I went to the principal with it and I said, "She can just read anything!" So he came down and thought he’d try her out. He pulled out a first grade reader and he said, "You reckon you can read that?" And she just began reading like that! So he got the test man, the man who was just hipped on tests.
You know, some people just depend on tests for everything. And pretty soon, they took her out of my room and put her in the second grade! The principal asked her where she learned to read. He said, "Did your parents help you?" She said "No, I learned to read to my little brother." I learned to check things out. 125 After I retired, I went back and helped them out at Kate Smith to teach reading. That’s the year they had so many that failed. Ms. Benson and I took those pupils that had come in and couldn’t read or write. They had the children in pretty strict grouping—first, second and third. The third group were the poor ones, the ones that couldn’t do as well as the others. And that’s the children that we worked with that couldn’t read—the ones they said that weren’t even ready for reading readiness and just didn’t know anything. But those children could learn!
They got to be good readers before the end of the year. It was just a matter of settling them down and presenting the material, I reckon, in the right way. Later,
I asked Ann Johnson, she was the second grade teacher, about certain pupils I had that did so well. Naturally, you know, the first graders went on when they were ready for the second grade. She said she had the high group that year and that means that next year, she'll have to have the low group. And she said, "Why those children are in the high group! I didn’t even get them!" They weren’t in her group at all! That made me proud of what we had done, Ms. Benson and I, for those children.
I reckon I was cut out to be a teacher. 1 was really in earnest. I loved to teach and have the children respond. And you can learn how to keep their attention. But, they need to enjoy it. You’ve got to get a child’s interest. That’s the biggest thing.
You know, children just love to write on the board! When I first started teaching they didn’t buy those little first graders paper and pencils and things like 126 they have now—supplies. The school didn’t furnish it. And I wanted the children to learn how to write their names and learn the other children’s names. They’d get up there at the board and I’d mark it off according to the number of children that I had. Then, I’d let them swap places and write the other child’s name. And they learned to write on the board. Give them a piece of crayon, and if they didn’t make it to suit them, they could erase and then write again. They called it ’rubbin it out.* And, oh, they just loved to write on the board!
And to keep their attention, every morning I’d start out with new words and
I’d use those words in something about them. And they were watching to see if I was gonna say something because they want to see their names. That just thrilled them! And I didn’t copy something out of a book. There at Poplar Head one whole side of the schoolroom was blackboard, and it was a big room. I’d write the board plum full—all the way across the whole room. I’d write all those little words, the first ones they have to learn so they can read. ’Here’ is always a word that was pretty bad for them to remember. But every day I’d write something about them or about something they had done. They just loved that. And I’d take their little stories and put in words that they were familiar with, and then I’d write them on the board. That would be their writing lesson. And some of them would say, " Oh, I can’t write." And I’d say, "Oh, I know you can’t. I couldn’t write when I was a little girl like you. I’m going to help you to write."
I'd always draw something on the board for mine to look at and illustrate my stories and things. I liked art and did right smart with it. I used to draw things, 127 seasonal things like witches and ghosts, valentines, clowns and Santa Clauses and
things like that. I'd draw life-size reindeers and Santa Claus with his sleigh going
up in the sky and let them go on out at the end of the board. Oh, the children got
a big thrill out of it.
Afternoon was when we had ait, never in the morning because that was
reading, writing, and spelling. They liked to draw pictures of different animals
and things, and they’d draw on their paper. They just loved to draw. And I’d
show them, you know, how to start. I always started with the head of an animal
and then go on to the back and to his tail and then finish. We’d have lessons, a
unit of work on something like the Eskimos in the winter. We’d have little stories
about them and we’d have art that would go with it—correlated it, you know. And
I’d save my best pictures that the children would draw. I don’t say it bragging
except just that my room, my children, always won the prizes in art. We’d always
win because I would draw and show them how and they did a lot of art.
The cutest thing was the sheriffs little boy. Watts. Nobody had said a word
about Christmas or Santa Claus because Mr. Roundtree was the principal there at
Kate Smith and he was a reasonable man. He said let’s not start Christmas and
Santa Claus and everything so early. Two weeks would be long enough to let them just draw and fix things for Christmas. And so we did, we would. But, oh, one day out of the clear blue sky the sheriffs son, George the third, he took his paper that he had written on and on the back of it he drew Santa Claus and his reindeer 128 way up in the sky. It was a little picture of them you know—had to be, to be way
up in the sky. When he drew that and they all saw George’s Santa Claus and his
reindeer, that just opened up the way then for them. That set the children on fire!
From then on, for two weeks or more, it was Santa Claus and his reindeer and all
the different things they were going to get. And they’d write long lists of words,
and ’how do you spell this and how do you spell that*-you know, long lists of
things they were going to get. The boys they wanted guns and slingshots and
maybe something new that had come out that I never had even heard about or seen.
And the girls they’d want certain kinds of dolls, you know, something like that.
You know, they think all they’ve got to do is wish for it and they’ll get it. It was just fascinating to see what they would come up with.
We always had some good plays and things like that. They wanted you to include little bit of everything that they had done through the year. And I don’t think 1 had a play book, 1 just got them out of the Bible because you had to have devotion. I’d get an idea and pick out the story that I thought they could handle and then fixed it up. And then I’d maybe tone it down a little bit or add something or take out a little bit because they were expected to do better. And we’d use all the children because all the children had to have that experience. And I always taught my children to sing. I love for them to sing. You know, if you can get children to sing, oh they enjoy doing it. Their mothers made them costumes you know the right kind if they needed one. And then we’d play them in one of the classrooms and the parents would come and watch. The people enjoyed it. All the 129 mothers turned out, you know, to see their child. Some of the fathers came and
they were just as proud of their children as the mothers were. You know, when
their own child is performing it’s better and they’re proud of them. There at Kate
Smith all the teachers had to put on a play and I always had the last play of the
year. The last play I put on before I retired was the Bible story ’David and
Goliath.' And, oh, they got a big thrill out of that. He had a slingshot, you
know, and they liked that. I had the cutest little boy that was David. The
Colemans that are here now, their son read the story of David and Goliath. He
was my Bible reader because he was such a good reader. Mrs. Dearmont that lives
here up yonder on North 6th Street she was there that morning and she said she didn’t think that a first grade child could read like that. But he was extra smart and could read the Bible as good as he can now. He’s grown now and a famous lawyer down South so you can tell how long it’s been.
You know, they say that you’ve got to want to do something—get the children where they want to read. And you’ve got to teach a child to want to read by showing him pictures and all. When I’d read them a story, I’d go around and show them the pictures that go with the stories. That’s what holds their attention.
And then let them hold the book. I always let the children look at the books. That means a lot to a child. And they took good care of them as best they could, but they just wore out from being used so much. I used to read my children a story every morning. Then after dinner when they’d come in and be hot from playing and running, I’d read them a story and show them the pictures and they just loved 130 it. That's a way to settle them down. It makes them more alert and that’s better
than punishing them some way. I always had something better than standing them
in the comer. I'd give mine a pep talk, you know. That’s a lot better than being
dry and threatening. I never did threaten mine or do anything to them. Give them
something to do and entertain them if you can’t do anything else. And so I’d show
them the pictures that go with the stories and all—that’s what holds their attention.
I reckon 1 was sort of like my mother, you know, I’d call attention to the
details, and show them pictures and sort of act it out. We had one little story
called "The Slow Turtle"—it was always behind. The slow one, you know, all the others had to wait for him. And you know how tired you can get. I’d try to
’wall’ my eyes to show them how his brothers and sisters looked at him when he’d come in. I always looked out of this eye and then that one, you know, that’s the way the turtles did. And of course they love for the story to be like that. I never could ’wall’ my eyes much, but if you don’t act it out it’s not interesting. And they’d always want me to tell about the ’slow turtle.’ They remember the story and they can tell it, just almost like it was word for word. And it didn't make any difference how many times you’d read a story. They love to hear them over and over. One time I had to have a substitute for a day or two when my mother got sick and had to go to the hospital. When I came back the children brought the book and wanted me to read a story for them. But someone said that my substitute had read that story to them. And I said, "Well, if you’ve already heard it..." And the children said, "Oh no. We want you to read it. She doesn’t read it like you 131 do. We like the way you read it to us." Now that sounds like bragging on myself,
but I reckon there is a right start like that. This monotonous stuff just...! I
showed them the pictures and all like that and let it be a story.
You know the illustrator is really better, when they do good illustrations, than
the author. And our books were well-illustrated. There was a rabbit story, "The
Reasonable Rabbit” and those illustrations now they were real good—in color too,
every one of them were in color. I wish I’d have kept that little book. But the
rabbits disappeared and disappeared, and they decided something had to be done.
And there were all these rabbits, you know, and the children would look at them.
One of them even had a horn, a hearing aid horn. And every morning the old
rabbit would take roll and call and look and the re’d be two or three rabbits gone.
The bobcat was getting them and eating them up, and they had to do something.
Well, they tried different plans and yet the rabbits just kept disappearing. It turned
out that the ’Reasonable Rabbit’ was the one that followed a plan. He’d come out
of the barnyard before dark and hide somewhere. Then when he’d see the bobcat
go down to the bam where they all slept and stayed, why he’d go on up to the
bobcat’s house. And the pictures would show where he'd drink bobcat’s water and
eat up his grass and just eat on everything he had. Well, the bobcat began to get
thin. You could tell, you know, it’d show the illustrations, how loose his pants
were getting and he was losing weight all the time. When the other rabbits found
out what the Reasonable Rabbit was doing, why they said "We’ll all do that." So every night they’d get out and hide and when they’d see the bobcat come down to 132 the bam to look for rabbits, then they'd go up to his house and stay there. And it
showed his bedroom and everything, and they ate up all of his honey, and drank all
of his water and ate up all of his grass around. And it’d show two or three lying
on his couch, and some on top of his woodbox, and one on top of his refrigerator.
You know, it’d show things that were common to the children, things that
everybody had and they could see just fine. Well when the bobcat’d go back to his
house, he’d say he smelled rabbits but he couldn’t find a rabbit anywhere! He’d just smell them all over! Finally the old bobcat decided that he was tired of that place. He said "I’m gonna leave here and never come back! I’m going where there’s rabbits anywhere that I look for them!" And it shows him with his suitcase, valise, in his hand--a little old bag, you know. And his pants were setting a way off. And there he was going down the road saying "I’m leaving and never coming back!" And those illustrations, if you could’ve seen them! The illustrator was as good as the author. Oh, they loved that story! It didn’t matter how many times they heard it.
I’d always look for stories they’d enjoy like that. There at Poplar Head, the officers and trustees of the school didn’t know what to get, you know, and they left it up to me. We raised a little money somehow or another and I bought some little books. And I always put part of my money back in my business, back in my job.
I had a pretty good collection of books like that for the children. I had children’s literature in Tallahassee and I knew what stories to look for. They had recommended books, you know, and I bought some books over there before I left. 133 I bought "Uncle Remus" in Tallahassee over there at the college. I gave two dollars for the book because the children loved the story. But you know, I don’t think they recognize "Uncle Remus"—that was slavery days—and it got to where you couldn’t use it. And I had "Bambi" and "Briar Rabbit," and I bought a lot of little stories and supplementary readers like that.
Professional Preparation
After I decided I was going to teach and going to make a career of that, why that’s when I started back to school. You see, I was a widow and I decided 1 just as well go back to school because the thing I could do was teach and 1 liked it.
My sister-in-law, Preston’s wife, and I started taking extension courses from the
University of Florida. They would send a professor or someone out and if you made a certain grade you’d get credit for it, and high school work, too. So lots of us did that and started our college work. I went one or two semesters to the
University of Florida in Gainesville. But it was a long, long way down there so I transferred to Tallahassee where it was closer to home. I saved some money out of what I made because I was at home, you know, with my parents and I didn’t board. I was paying to go and they were proud for me to do something like that.
So I’d go in the summer just as quick as school was out and I’d stay there in a dormitory. Tallahassee was like my second home.
At first I didn’t think that I would be able to finish. I just felt like everybody else had advantages that I hadn’t, people that had gone on to school and finished like you’re supposed to. I thought everybody knew more than I did and I had been 134 deprived of my chance. But you know, I began to find out like I did when they
gave us a test in English. They made everybody take an English test because they
said people were just coming in there from everywhere who didn’t know a verb
from a preposition and just didn’t have any background for freshman English. My
principal where I was teaching then had to take it too, just like any of the rest of
us. And he was smart, Archie Hutchison was. Well, when they went to hand back
the papers I could see the margins were just written full in red pencil on most all of
them that were handed out. And there was a big crowd of students there because everybody there was having to take it and some of them spoke up. And way on after she kept handing out and handing out and handing out, something was said and she said "Oh, 1 saved the best for the last." Well, my paper was in it and that gave me a big lift! And one time, I reckon we were freshmen, we were taking a course that was required in history and a lot the them were complaining. They seemed to think it was real hard, but it was something that I knew and liked. But they got to talking about it and someone spoke up and said, "Well, that Ms.
Hutchison seems to be the only one that knows anything about this course." And that gave me lift. And when I went to take music, I got exempt on everything and
I didn’t even have to take the test. I’m not saying that to be bragging, we just had a talent for music and I'd been around it all my life. Well I made an A on music because of those little singing schools that I went to when I was just, you might say, a child. Things like that, they give you a lift. Now if I had had all these opportunities that most girls or women have this day and time, why I wouldn’t 135 have thought anything about it. But I learned you can do anything when you want
to, near about.
I always wanted an education. I think it was just bom and bred in me. And
getting an education was important to me because I remember how I felt about my
readers, when I’d get a new reader, you know when I was a child. So I wanted to
get a degree and be well-qualified. Of course, the more money goes with the
better qualifications, but money wasn't the whole aim of getting an education. But
it seemed like a lot of the teachers, their ambition was just to get a high enough
certification or a degree to get more money. You see, back then when I first
started teaching you didn’t have to have to go to college. If you came to Chipley
they had high school subjects, and if you graduated with good grades and took this
teacher training, then you were qualified to teach. My brother’s wife, my sister-in- law, why her father sent her to school here in Chipley and she had the teacher training. And if you took the teachers' examination from the state board and passed or made a certain average, well then you could teach certain grades. In the meantime, if you wanted to and liked to teach you could extend that with courses.
But I never did take the teacher training. I just went on to Tallahassee and I didn't stop after I started. I was always striving until I got my four year degree. I reckon I took that after my mother. Now she was the kind that didn’t give up.
She didn't let anything bluff her. And I was that way about my education. I don’t remember missing a summer that I didn't go until I got my degree. 136 If you're a successful teacher, you have to keep abreast of all the things that
the job involves and keep up with the newest things. They got to stressing in
colleges especially at FSU that children couldn't read in so many schools and even
high school students were poor readers. I decided I didn't want to teach teenagers
because you could have a greater influence on the smaller children—take them
before they get any preconceived ideas. And so I got into remedial reading and
teaching reading. Naturally that would fall in the lower grades if they were going
to begin where they should begin and reading ought to be in the first grade. Then
after that if they can’t read, it would go into remedial reading. And that's what I
did a lot of work on. I had a lot of good instruction in Tallahassee in reading.
There was some man there that taught reading courses. As the old saying, you
could see he was 'hipped on reading.' Well, I took a lot of his courses, how to
teach reading, and things like that. And I took children’s literature, and physical
education courses—the kind with games and everything, group games and games
where one or two can play according to purpose and the way it’s supposed to be.
But I learned a lot from experience, too. There at Poplar Head when I
started out I didn’t really know just what would be the best. I just had to use my own judgment. I found out that a child’s got to enjoy it. If you want to keep a child’s attention and interest, why they want to see their names and something about them. So I’d write something on the board about them and use their names.
And I had the children write on the board because they just loved to write on the board. And I found out the first time I went to summer school that that was the 137 very thing! I was doing the right thing according to the rules of teaching to let the
children write on the board and things like that. And said to myself, 'Well, I've
been doing the right thing and I didn’t know it.' And you feel proud of yourself
when you know that you've been doing the right thing, like they wanted, like it
should be.
1 had the equivalent of a degree a long time before I graduated at Tallahassee,
and I was being paid by the county as though I had a degree because I had the
number of hours. And I had a lot more hours than was required because I took all
the courses that would help me out in teaching. Well, then I decided that I really
wanted to graduate. All I lacked was my high school diploma, I didn't have a
showing for that. So I took one of these GED tests, you know, that they give
instead. I didn’t hear until the last minute; however, I knew in a way, but you've
got to have proof and verify everything. And so I had a letter showing I passed
the GED, Ms. Smith, the principal of the school, told me to divide my children
between the two other teachers and go to Tallahassee, and she said then show them
the letter and have them tell me what I needed to do for my graduation. When I got there to Tallahassee the office was closed for lunch because of the time difference for Chipley and Tallahassee—the time zone. So I waited until they opened again and the lady there when she saw me, she said, "Ms. Hutchison, we knew you’d come. We were looking for you," They knew that I was reliable and dependable and I’d make the deadline. A lot of just little things like that give you a lift. So I finished at Florida State and got my sheepskin, my diploma; "Callie 138 H. Hutchison, a degree of Bachelor of Science, School of Education, Florida State
University, 1951." And if I hadn’t gotten old and had to make a living during the
time, I’d have just gone right on to school at FSU because I love FSU. I was so
pleased with the way everything turned out. The Lord just took care of it and
everything just fell into place.
Looking Back
Time flies! I’ve been retired for over 25 years, and my children they’re
retired too. My daughter Monette was a kindergarten teacher for years and she
lives in a retirement community in Pensacola now. And Colly V. my son lives
here in Chipley, over there in the historical district, and he was a principal and
superintendent in Washington County. He has two children, a boy and a girl,
Margie and Larry. And Larry my grandson now he has three little girls. And then my daughter Monette she has two boys and one of them has twins. Now you know how twins run in the family. So I have children and grandchildren and great grandchildren.
A gourd and a piece of driftwood are all I have left of my school goods. I gave the rest of them to my children and grandchildren. I’ve always been a collector and the children at school would bring me things. And I’d give them a dime, ten or fifteen cents because they didn’t mean anything to them and they liked the money. I had a nice collection of arrowheads the children at Union Hill would bring me. I saved them and gave them to my grandson, Monette’s son. And he was taking voice lessons so I gave him my piano. And I collected shells. One day 139 there at St. Andrews a little boy brought me a pretty little shell. I don’t know
what kind it was, but he knew I liked them. I told him to lay it on the desk and he
went and laid it on my desk. And in a little bit I heard kind of a big noise and we
looked and the little shell was crawling off on the floor! It had a little animal in it!
He had just picked it off of the surf and I reckon he didn’t know. And I had a
nice collection of books, but I gave them to my grandchildren and great grandchildren. You see, as old as I am, I got books and all for my great
grandchildren just like I did for my grandchildren. And the house, and the back
lot—I could have sold it a number of times but I didn’t want to—I’ve already given them to the children. And I gave my children what money I had and told them if they wanted to spend it on their grandchildren to go to college why they could do that. So I've just gotten rid of everything.
I’ve had a good life and prosperous I reckon you’d say. I never lived high on the hog and I never got in debt. What I made I gave to my children. And what
I accomplished is just nothing, in a way, any more than a lot of them were trying.
I was just a little country girl and that’s all there is to report.
You know, I can think back and I couldn’t imagine being to where I couldn't just do anything that I wanted to do and it not bother me. As you get older age creeps up on you. But I reckon I’m doing pretty well for being 95. And I’ve always attended to my own business. I started doing it when I went to work when my children were young and small. But for the last year or two, Colly V., he’s taking care of my business and he wants to keep somebody here with me all the 140 time. That’s the reason Mary’s here, Mary Collins, she’s a nurse and keeps me
company. And she's just like a member of the family. But I try to respect my
age—I’m 95—and I try not to overdo myself. So I just take things easy.
As long as I was teaching I was ’staying in the groove,’ so to speak, and I
went with the Bay County teachers to St. Petersburg and all down there as a
delegate. But you kind of dismiss things from your mind when you retire. I’m
still interested in schools and I read about them. It seems like teachers today don’t
know much about their pupils’ home life. I reckon I was just lucky in being at or
that close to home. I’ve lived in Washington County nearly my whole life and
Chipley has always been my hometown, and I had known all the parents practically
all my life. I taught there so long the parents, as children, had grown up there
with me because I first had them. All of them thought that I thought like they
thought, so to speak. They knew what I was and who I was and had known me all
those many years. That’s the reason I fit in. I was one of the group, so to speak.
And I loved the parents and they knew that I’d take care of their children just like they’d been mine. And the children had a good time. They were just like my children and they looked to me just like they would their parents. So I reckon my calling was teaching. And I always wanted to be one. And I reckon one reason that I made a teacher was because my mother was a good story teller and I remember how she used to put them across.
I’ve always trusted the Lord and 1 know that he’s made a way for me. You know, the Bible says "honor thy mother and father" and "that your days be long 141 upon the Earth which the Lord thy God giveth thee." And I think that’s why I’ve
had a long life—I took care of my mother and father. When my father had a stroke
and he was an invalid, he couldn’t work and it affected his mind. He was a good
businessman up until then, but he was never able to attend to his business anymore.
So I had to take that over and see about it for him and he had a farm and cows and
all things like that. And I did, I was the one that assumed the responsibility. I
took care of his business and I sent the Federal Land Bank due bills for collateral on the old place for my father. I was living at home and teaching and I would
have pursued further with my education if my father hadn't had a stroke. But you see there was no such things as putting him in a rest home or anything like that.
We had to take care of him at home and I had to help my mother look after him.
He only lived a year or two after the stroke and he’s been dead a long, long time.
He died when he was 65 and he and my mother were practically the same age, a few months’ difference in their ages.
Well then that left my mother there with all that land and the place and all.
So we lived together at the old place after my father died. And then she lived right here with me, right in the house where we are now, and I just went back to teaching. Well then I retired from teaching in 1965 from Kate Smith so that I could take care of Ma. I couldn’t find anyone to stay with her and there was no such thing as rest homes. And Ma was active right on just as long as she lived.
She was in the hospital nearly two weeks when she died and that’s as long as she was ever in the hospital. And some of them have told me that she worried about 142 dying and leaving me, that I'd be by myself. We were just closer than any of the
rest because we lived together as long as she lived and she lived to be 91. She was
91 in October and she lived until January of the next year. And you know, there
are times now that I think and I feel like Ma is right here and just knows...I feel
her presence.
And you know, I'm looking forward now to seeing my mother and father, all
of my grandmothers and grandfathers and brothers and all of my folks.
My mother and father both are buried there at Piney Grove—it’s an old
cemetery. And I’ve got my place fixed there by them. I had some work done
down there and had it enclosed and bought a big family tomb. Almost every one
of the rest of the family, well not all of them—my sister, her husband put her there
with his family at Bethel—but most of the immediate family are there at Piney
Grove. That’s where they buried Uncle Oscar’s son that got killed in the woods.
Grandma and Grandpa Davis both are buried there. And Uncle Charlie. And
Uncle Oscar. And Aunt Levada, that’s one of my mother’s sisters, and her
husband are both buried there. And my mother and father and brother and his
wife. And that’s where I’m going whenever I die. You know that’s always been
kind of a community cemetery. Everybody that ever lived anywhere around there
buried their folks there. That’s the one and only place. And people that had once
lived there, if they moved away or went some place else and if some of the family died, they’d bring them back there to Piney Grove to bury them. 143 You know they say that old people live in the past. And that’s what I’ve
been recalling was my past and so I’ve enjoyed it. This has just been the highlight
of my latter days and it’s just been a highlight for me because I never dreamed of
anything like this. Sometimes 1 think well, I’ve done right well and I'm thankful
of what I have accomplished. And then I can think back and, well, the Lord has just blessed me. I think the Lord has guided my life—really and truly. I had a
good childhood. I had plenty to eat and I reckon my mother must’ve been proud
of me. I had as good or the best clothes of any little girl around. I was up with
Vernon and the rest of them! And my mother and father always provided
opportunities and they always pushed for the best. And I can think about what if
the Lord hadn’t smiled on me and helped me out in going to Tallahassee. And I’m
really and truly thankful the Lord just worked in my favor and sent me back to
Chipley. I was there where I grew up and you know that makes a big difference when they know your family and all like that. I would’ve like to have not had any ups and downs, but I was a lady alt the time and I never wanted to do anything that didn’t look just right. My parents stressed that. My Grandma Davis was my inspiration for high and noble things and I tried to be like her. So I’ve tried to live an upright, decent life. And everybody trusted me because my father was known as being a truthful, honest man. People here and everywhere that I’ve been have accepted me for what I was worth. And I can even see now, I can look back and see where, well, I’ve been wonderfully blessed. People know what I stand for. 144 They know what my family stood for. And everybody has been nice to me. I’ve had a good life. And I’m truly thankful—Grandma used to always say that.
You know, I lay there the other night and I don’t know how I came to think about it, but I got to thinking about when I first started teaching down there at
Poplar Head and I was ’Miss Callie* __ CHAPTER VI
THE LIFE HISTORY OF MISS CALLIE
Researcher Note
Life history, as originally defined in Chapter I, is "a collaborative process
and product in which an extensive retrospective account of an individual’s life is
elicited by and told to another person who then edits and writes the record..."
(based on Langness & Frank, 1981; Watson & Watson-Franke, 1985). As a life
history, this chapter draws from the contextual frame in Chapter IV and her Life
Story in Chapter V, and blends them together with the additional interviews Miss
Callie and I shared.
In order to separate my voice from Miss Callie’s, her comments from the
interviews are printed in italics and indented. All of the direct quotations which appear in italics are referenced according to the interview schedules listed in
Appendix B, Tables 1 and 2.
Introduction
The small, dark red brick house is nestled among pine trees on an old settled street in Chipley, Florida, and brings faint recognition to mind. The neatly printed
"Callie H. Hutchison" on the mailbox hugging the street brings assurance and
145 146 brightens memories faded somewhat by time. Miss Callie is standing, waiting at
the screen door as I arrive for our first extended visit in some three decades. It is
the first of several visits we will share in 1992 and 1993 to document her life.
Despite the passing of time, she looks much the same as I remember seeing
her thirty years before from the eyes of a then not-quite teenager. It seems the
clock, for her, has moved ever so slowly, giving no hint of her 95 years and a
lifetime in the Florida sunshine. The dark brown hair with subtle streaks of gray is
professionally styled and frames the thinly lined face. The neatly pressed pink and
pastel check dress, stockings, and low heels accentuate the still tall and slender
frame, and seemingly mark a special occasion. I marvel at her appearance, not
failing to notice the matching pink lipstick and high cheekbones brushed ever so
lightly with rouge. A bit self-conscious, I wonder if perhaps my husband Ross and
I should have been more mindful of the occasion, casually dressed as we are in
loafers, slacks, golf shirt and blouse.
We greet one another with warm smiles and a heart-felt embrace, the kind
reserved for long lost relatives now found and meeting again. Without hesitation
or reservation, she extends a warm and gentle welcome to my husband Ross whom
she is meeting for the first time. "Now you all just come on in and make yourself at home, make yourself comfortable. We're just gonna make kinfolk out o f you, "
she adds turning to Ross with a smile. After all, by extension, he is now family.
"Let's just sit down on the settee over here, " she says while walking slowly, yet deliberately in that direction, about six feet from the door to the carport where 147 we entered. "Then we’ll get reacquainted and acquainted, as the case may be " she
adds, referring to the two women who are also there. One is Alene, her niece,
whom she introduces as mmy only sister's daughter, but Bessie Lee’s not livin’
anymore . But Alene, she’s just like mine. " Alene is a tall, attractive widow in her
late sixties with a hearty laugh and who is, Miss Callie reminds me, " your kin too,
since Bessie Lee and I are Crill’s cousins, you know, your mother’s jirst cousins on
M a’s side o f the house. ” Alene and other relatives who live close by make a point
of frequently stopping by to visit Miss Callie. Others who are long time friends
and associates also come by to visit. As Miss Callie says, "Oh, I enjoy people
coming by. It’s nice to have company because I ’m always here, and it gets
lonesome sometimes. " fP-5]
The other woman, Mary, is in her mid-fifties and has lived with Miss Callie
for the past three years as a companion and nurse. More often than not she remains seated close by during this and all of my subsequent interviews with Miss
Callie, occasionally participating in our discussions. For the most part, she is quiet and reserved, yet friendly. Mary was born in Washington County and is, "like kinfolk, too” since Miss Callie has " known the family a long time, ” and their current living arrangement naturally encourages closeness. Mary enjoys recounting her father’s tale of having a boyhood crush on Miss Callie when they were both young and unmarried. For her part, Miss Callie greets the story with an abbreviated smile. With the exception of Alene’s presence, the scene remains much the same throughout all of my interviews with Miss Callie. 148 "/ live in this room nearly all the time, rather than in the living room, " Miss
Callie remarks as her arms, outstretched, draw my attention to the interior
surroundings. The wood panelled room is dimly lighted and the air is warm and
heavy. Curtains on two small windows attempt to hide the bright Florida sunlight
and partially impede the extreme heat outside. To discourage the heat but not
arrest it, the only direct light emanates from a table lamp located in front of the air
conditioner that remains silent and next to the two chairs in which Mary and Alene
are sitting. Miss Callie and I face them on a flowered couch of early American
design that is draped with a protective, color-matched cover. Ross sits close by on
the red brick fireplace hearth manning the video camera.
Family pictures dot the room, seemingly resting in their own special place.
A recently acquired oval shaped picture of Grandma Davis, Miss Callie’s maternal grandmother and my own great-grandmother, sits in the built-in bookcase on the
shelf above Miss Callie’s diploma from Florida State University. Both are prized.
After searching for years, Miss Callie explains, Grandma Davis’s picture was finally located in the possession of another First cousin. The picture like other items in the room has its own part to play in the family history. Because it is the only known picture of Grandma Davis and was taken not long before she died in
1932, two of Miss Callie’s maternal aunts Aunt Levada and Aunt Maude used to take turns ’stealing’ it from one another. Miss Callie’s enthusiasm for finally locating the picture is met by my own when Mr. Colly V., Miss Callie’s son, presents copies to my mother and me. 149 Not far away from Grandma Davis’s picture are treasured others, once black and white now recognizably old in faded charcoal and ivory hues. Three oval pictures are vertically displayed in a long rectangular frame that hangs on an otherwise blank wall. At the top is a picture of a young Miss Callie and her first husband Joseph Lee Williams, whom she describes as father of her children. Ross and I remark about how pretty she looks, tall with long dark hair in a white dress, and wonder if it is a wedding picture. She replies with a laugh, "ShahI That ole picture. It’s no wedding picture. I was already married and I reckon I was about fifteen or somewhere in there. ” The compliment we give is really no exaggeration.
Despite the eighty some years that separate the picture from today, Miss Callie is easily recognized. The next picture, in the middle of the frame, is of her mother which was taken Miss Callie tells me, "in front o f this house not long before Afa died in 1966. You know , we lived here together, right on since World War II. ”
The final and bottom picture in the frame is of her paternal grandparents whom she identifies as "my father's parents. You know, Grandpa Hasty was in the Civil War.
His name was W.J. , William Jefferson Hasty, and hers was Lavonia Singleton.
They died as young persons, I believe. But they stayed in Alabama, you see, so I didn 7 get to know them very well. "
In the comer of the room on top of the television cabinet are more recent pictures, noticeably in color, of her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. She proudly goes down the line of each one, providing particulars along the way. With a hint of apology, Miss Callie mentions that all of her other 150 family pictures and important papers, too were given to her son Colly V. when she was sick a few years ago.
Other items placed around the room, deliberately it seems, also have their own kind of history which Miss Callie shares in detail. The one painting in the room that hangs above the couch is large, conspicuously so, and portrays a slice of rural Southern life: a well-used bam in the background with a mule and an old turn mill in the foreground, depicting perhaps the grinding of cane and a life and time long ago.
Across the room on the fireplace mantle is a large antique pendulum clock that, after winding, has a noticeable click as minutes go by. It is, Miss Callie tells me, an eight-day clock that is older than she is because her parents married in 1894 and " my mother said when they married, they had $25.00 to buy their furniture with. And they bought um a stove and a few things to cook with, / reckon, and they bought that clock for $3.00 ."
Another of her mother’s prized possession is a highback wooden chair that is located below the clock and in front of the fireplace. "Now try that out. That has a leather bottom!" she says to Ross, concerned that he is uncomfortable sitting on the fireplace hearth. Accepting the offer, he sits lightly in the chair for a moment or two and then returns to hearth and the camera. As I do, he feels a reverence for treasures not easily replaced.
The last item Miss Callie directs our attention to is a light green wooden chair with a cane-bottom. It is, she announces, her ’Florida State’ chair—one of two she 151 purchased for two dollars a piece back when Brine Hall was being remodeled. "I
want you to see how heavy that chair is ." As I struggle to lift it, I had to agree
"They don V make them tike that anymore . "
Not bothered by the heat that hangs in the air, Miss Callie drapes a white
cardigan sweater over her shoulders. Directing her eyes to me, she remarks with a
smile, " Well, honey, you saw me last when I was young . And the next time you see
me, / was warty 1001 ' A sa way of explanation, she continues with a reminder
that her mother, my great-aunt whom I called Aunt Clare,
was from long life people—you know, Grandma Davis was in her 8 0 ’s and, of course, Ma lived to be 91. And Ma was active right on nearly till she died . And your Momma, 1 know she could tell you about how Aunt Clara was. My mother, you see was her aunt, because your grandfather and my mother were brother and sister.
So it is that our first lengthy interview about her life begins with our Davis relatives—our family, our kin. It is what brings Miss Callie and I together, what we share, and what continues to be interwoven throughout all of our later conversations about her life. It is a life of the family, the land, and the place she loves.
Southern Ties and Origins
Miss Callie has lived all of her current 96 years in the South and, with the exception of the first three months of her birth, northwest Florida has been her home. In many ways, her ties to the South are representative of many who settled the Southern states, and similar to more than a few of them who made their way to
Florida's panhandle. 152 Miss Callie is descended from a long line of those whose ties to the
geographical and cultural South begin, according to family tradition, in Virginia
where both her paternal and maternal ancestors first made their homes. Following
the same migratory patterns of and with others who were often relatives or
neighbors, subsequent generations of Miss Callie’s ancestors continued to move
ever southward into what is now North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, and
finally to Alabama. Six of Miss Callie’s Hasty (paternal) and Davis (maternal)
great-grandparents were bom in Georgia during the first two decades of the
nineteenth century when the great land lotteries brought thousands to Georgian soil.
That same generation of great-grandparents later moved into Alabama where they and the next generation, Miss Callie’s grandparents, once again built their homes,
farmed their lands, and raised their families. It is also here in Alabama’s Henry
County where Miss Callie’s parents Daniel Absalom Hasty and Clara Belle Davis were bom and married, and where she, too, was bom Caladonia Hasty on October
5, 1897 (see Figure 3). Hers is the last generation to witness that traditional movement southward, building new homes and forging new lives on sparsely populated lands of the South. It is a tradition that ended in the southernmost state of all—Florida—in December of 1897 when her parents homesteaded 160 acres in
Washington County, less than twenty-five miles south of the Alabama border.
Like other counties of Florida’s panhandle and northern rim, Washington
County has more than just geographical proximity to Alabama, Georgia, and other states of the Deep South. The border separating Florida from Georgia and 153 Alabama was crossed many times from the mid-nineteenth century to the first few
decades of the twentieth according to the birthplaces of Florida residents in federal
and state census records (see Chapter IV). Many followed another family member
and/or neighbor into Florida’s panhandle just as most of Miss Callie’s maternal
relatives did. As ever, they brought with them their values, beliefs, and traditions
that grew from the interconnectedness of family, land, and religion.
Within five years of her parents’ move to Washington County in 1897 in true
traditional style, most of Miss Callie’s maternal relatives crossed the border of
Alabama to make Florida their home. Her maternal grandparents, Richard and
Kissiah (Gamble) Davis, were in their early fifties when they left their native
Henry County, Alabama in 1902 to settle not far from their daughter and son-in- law, Clara Belle (Davis) and Daniel Hasty in Washington County. Only one daughter, Annie (Davis) Killingsworth, remained in Alabama. Six of Richard and
Kissiah’s remaining children also came to make the panhandle their home, bringing with them their own immediate and extended families: Cordelia (Davis) Hodges;
Joel Oscar Davis; Charlie Davis; Alice (Davis) Carroll (twin to Annie); Levada
(Davis) Roberts; and Amanda (Davis) Love. One of those children was my grandfather and Miss Callie’s uncle, Joel Oscar Davis, who was in his early twenties and then unmarried. The few relatives that remained behind in Alabama, including most of Miss Callie’s paternal (Hasty) relatives, made occasional visits across that same border despite the difficulty of traveling in horse-drawn carts on 154 bumpy dirt roads—transportation conditions that were extant after the advent of the
twentieth century.
The Southern ties of Florida’s panhandle appear in the story Miss Callie tells
about her life and those around her—a story characterized by an independent and persevering spirit combined with love of the family, land, and God. In her own
way, Miss Callie mirrors the sentiments of her cousin Silas Hodges who expresses
how the Southern bonds of family are all encompassing, inclusive, and strong.
I am dedicated to my family. I don V mean just the immediate family, my own children of which I have five, but to my relatives and ancestors. I feel a kinship with my kinsmen o f past generations. That’s very strong in the South. IV-14a]
And to Miss Callie, "a good heritage is important. And I ’m proud o f mine. You know Margie, you come from nice, good stock. Yes, it’s important to blow about your family, your bn. " [P-1J
Because family and kin are relational links that are not temporally bound, no mention of either one can exclude the South’s participation in the Civil War.
America’s contemporary interest in the war with the plethora of books, television documentaries, and annual re-enactments, is not new to those who are recipients and caretakers of family stories—and there are many that have been passed along.
While the stories have since lost their immediacy, they have retained their own private sense of value. With quiet intensity and subtle pride, Miss Callie gladly passes along the stories she has inherited in order to sustain the generational links of family and to share with others who are willing to listen, for the sake of history.
The latter is perhaps the most difficult: 155 You know, history doesn’t give you too good a picture (of the South]. But, you know, you have to see BOTH sides. Now the Confederate flag and ’’Dixie, " they’re about a patriotic South. And "Dixie, ” now I’ve heard that all my life. Oh, it lifts you up! But it isn *t meant to be mean, at least not to my way of thinking. And / don’t think that was the reason for the division between the North and the South where the trouble started. (V-IIJ
Miss Callie was born a mere thirty-six years after the Civil War began and
less than twenty after Reconstruction officially ended in the South. Not surprising,
the "War between the North and the South" as she refers to it held considerable
memories for those who lived through it and were not far removed from Miss
Callie’s early years when accounts of those experiences were relayed.
Miss Callie’s maternal grandmother, Grandma Davis, experienced the war firsthand. Kissiah Gamble (Grandma Davis) was a young girl in her early teens when the Civil War came to Henry County, Alabama. She was one of five girls and three boys in the Gamble family who lived in the vicinity of Shorterville, a small town in southeastern Henry County. Although Kissiah’s parents were both born in Georgia, Thomas and Lucinda (Willis) Gamble, were living in Henry
County, Alabama prior to the 1840 federal census. In 1850, Thomas made a living as a blacksmith, although like most others he also had a small farm. He was neither rich nor poor with real estate valued at six hundred dollars—a far cry from wealthy Southern family, the O’Haras, made popular by Gone With the Wind.
Miss Callie, as well as all my elderly relatives of her generation, tells the same story of her great-grandfather Thomas Gamble, only after first prefacing with the evils of slavery: *Grandma’s father trained a male slave in the blacksmith trade who was later sold for fifteen hundred dollars" [V-4], Although Thomas owned no 156 slaves in 1850, the 1860 slave census of Henry County indicates that he indeed owned one and only one slave: a twenty-one year old male. Thomas was the only one of Miss Callie’s great-grandparents to have actively participated in slavery; none of the others owned slaves. By the start of the war, Thomas was in his mid forties and his three sons ranged in age from the oldest at twenty-four to the youngest at fourteen. As Miss Callie relates, life was difficult for the Gamble men and women during the Civil War:
Oh, Grandma Davis told me that is was hard on the South. You know, her father and brothers by the name o f Gamble—that was Grandma's maiden name—they were all in the war. I heard Grandma tell about how the soldiers would write home for clothes and things like that. And she said all the ladies of the community, which wouldn’t be more than three or four, they would have to spin and weave and make the socks and clothes and get them to them. O f course, you know, the Southern soldiers were very poor. And food, the crops [pause], you know with all the men off to war, the women had to do all the work. It was hard, you know. [V-1J
Silas Hodges, Miss Callie’s cousin, is a quarter of a century younger than she, but he is also the recipient of family stories about the Civil War. He fondly recalls a story about his great uncle Alex Gamble, Grandma Davis’s brother, who was in his mid-teens when the war began. It is the same story that is found in the memories of relatives of Miss Callie’s generation, including Miss Callie herself.
There was a story about Uncle Alex Gamble—that’s the side the Indian blood came in on. He was a veteran who had gone off and stayed four years. Nobody ever heard a word from him. And he survived and came back some several months after the war when they all thought he was dead. Surprised ’um one night playin ’ his coronet as he came up to the house. He lived to the ripe old age of almost 200. And a lot of people still remember his ability to walk seven miles to the post office and seven miles back to pick up his Confederate pension check. He’s buried in Tolbert Cemetery, right above Headland on what used to be the northwest comer of my great-great grandfather’s property up there in Henry County, Alabama. [V-14a] 157 Civil War stories were also recounted to Miss Callie by her second husband’s grandfather. These stories apparently served to entertain as well as to document personal experiences that history often left untold. As such, they relayed experiences that in their retelling would not be forgotten. True to that, Miss Callie has not. She tells these Civil War stories much like I suspect she told stories to her students and in the same way her mother told her "Red Riding Hood." They were as interesting as they were entertaining.
I enjoyed Grandpa Hutchison telling about the war because he was in it. He was a tellin ' me one time about his buddy—you know, they all had a special friend. His buddy was shot down and he ran to carry him off the battlefield, you know. He said the man was shook up, and I reckon maybe sufferin ’ too— he *d been shot in the leg or somewhere. So he grabbed him up and was a tryin' to run with him. He was a man, o f course, and he was heavy, I reckon. And he said—that was kinda interesting, funny, you know in a way— he said his buddy wanted him to go back and get his hat! That’s what he said—wanted him to go back and get his hat. His hat fell off where he was shot down. Of course, he was scared and he wasn V himself. He didn't know. Well naturally he'd o f had to risk his life, you know. And you woutdn 7 go back to get your hat. No sir. The hat isn 7 important when it comes to life and death. [V-1J
And then he told me about another time. Grandpa said that one morning he got up and warned some coffee, but of course they didn’t have any because Southern soldiers were poor. And he said he looked and a way up on top of the hill, a good ways from where they had slept that night, he said he saw this house and saw smoke comin ' out o f the chimney. And he decided he *d go up there and see if he could get himself a cup o f coffee. He said he had walked a good ways, and he came to this big gate. He said he went in at the gate and right after, as he started up the road to the house where he saw the smoke, he saw a man comin ’ toward him. [demonstrates] And the man was doin ’ like that—motionin ’ him to go back. But o f course, he had his gun and his knapsack or whatever, you know, 1 reckon they had to carry one bag with ’um. Well, he said that he just went right on. He didn 7 pay any attention to the man. But the man walked faster and met him before he got to the house. He told him that there was a Union soldier there on his porch asleep and not to come on that he didn 7 want any trouble. Grandpa said he just [demonstrates, shoving him aside]. He had his gun, and he just punched him 158 and said ’Get out of the way!’ So he went on up there and said the man was asleep, a waitin ’--the woman was a ftxin ’ him some coffee or ftxin ’ him some brea/fast. Well, he just walked up, he said, and give him a good swift kick, enough to awake him there on the porch. And, o f course, he said he had his gun ready. And when the man raised up, o f course, he had his gun on him. And, anyway, he got a furlough for that—for capturin’ the enemy. [V-IJ
Just as stories document experiences before and during the war, they also tell
of its aftermath. Defeat, reconstruction, and condescending attitudes by Yankees
lingered in the minds of many. Resentment was deep and widespread as illustrated
in the post-Civil War story Miss Callie shares about an incident that took place in
the early decades of the twentieth century.
You know. Grandpa Hutchison was a Civil War veteran. And they were bitter those veterans were—the war veterans from the South. He was down there when they first began to settle around the beach, before Panama City was a town, you know. Well, somebody had to feed them, because there was just no places to eat, no hotel or motel down there then. It was not settled up. So they fed some of the people that came—some were prospectin ’ and seein ’ the beach. Why just to accommodate the people who had no place to eat, they *d help them. And this man was a Union soldier or I reckon some o f his people had been. And he got to belittlin ’ the people of the South at the table, you know. It was a long table, and ole Grandpa got up and [demonstrates] reached across the table and got him in the collar! Oh! He said he stopped him right then! But that’s the way he felt about it. [V-IJ
Resentment often led to determination in the wake of post-Civil War Alabama
where Miss Callie’s ancestors lived at the time. In addition to Silas Hodges's
stories and comments in Chapter IV, the following best illustrates Southern perseverance, pride, and industry in the wake of a history not forgotten:
Most of our ancestors grew up or passed through that period under severe financial circumstances. Ya know, the ole story about ’um not havin ’ enough money to plant seed com or to plant a crop when they got back. There was a lot o f resentment for it, but it seemed to strengthen the old people that lived here. It was terribly hard on ’um, but they made it. You know, Southerners were much like, I think, most of the early immigrants to this country that 159 came and were willin’ to work hard. The ole Gone with the Wind version is not at all accurate, not from the stories I heard. They didn’t own a lot o f slaves and some didn’t own any. They had a lot o f hard work. And o f course, it took us until World War II actually to recover in the South. A good case in point was the freight rates. It was much cheaper to ship a ton of steel from Pittsburgh to Birmingham than it was to ship the same ton o f steel from Birmingham to Pittsburgh. It was called preferential freight rates. They were controlled by the Interstate Commerce Commission. Those laws had been passed in the late [18/60's and early fl8J70's, during the post-Civil War days, as a punitive measure against the South and to keep us more or less in an agricultural state down here. They only removed the preferential freight rate in 1942. [V-14a /
As these stories and comments suggest, the Civil War retains its importance
in each retelling, yet it is the past—it is history. To be sure both Miss Callie and
Silas take pride in their Southern heritage. As they both look back at the past from
today, the Civil War remains as memories told to them about another time—
memories to be protected, to be shared and passed along. Yet, today, being
Americans—Southern ones perhaps—but Americans none the less is what is important. With assurance, Miss Callie puts the past in perspective:
1 think they have come to realize that we ’re more like one big family. Some may be hardboiled, but I ’m willin’ to give ’um the benefit o f the doubt. I like people. But you know, some people are extremists. So I don 7 believe in holdin ’ things like that. [V-IJ
And, in his own way, Silas mirrors that same sentiment:
World War II served as a good mixin ’. Ya know, we got a chance to look at each other and know that actually that guy from Indiana wasn’t a hell o f a lot different from the guy from southeast Alabama. [V-14b]
But, still, there is a difference. "YES!" is the resounding answer both Miss
Callie and Silas give to my questions: "Is there such a thing as a ’Southerner’ today? And if so, do you consider yourself a Southerner?" 160 Rather than offering herself as a model, Miss Callie explains what is good
and fine about a Southerner: "Now my grandmother, Grandma Davis, what she
stood for, she represented Southern culture’ [P -ll]. What she means by that can
be gleaned from excerpts of the numerous descriptions and lengthy discussions she
gives of her grandmother:
Oh! Grandma was a devout Christian and always stood fo r the right thing. She wasn’t nobody's hick [laughs], whatever you call um. No! She was you might say on a level by herself. The higher, better things were what she was strivin 'for all the time. And on the Bible! Why she conversed with the preachers and everybody and the upper crust. If any o f um questioned or anything ever came up, why they said 7 know what I ’ll do, when I see Ms. Davis I ’ll ask her, she’ll know!" Now Grandma, she could just talk on any subject and just kept up with everything that was goin ’ on in the county all the time and all things that were happenin ’. And she read the newspaper from cover to cover every day! And listened to the radio! She was unusually smart, Grandma was. I would have loved to have known what her IQ was. And she had the most wonderful memory! She could remember the names and birthdays o f all her children and grandchildren. And she had her views and she could present it in a way to where you knew she was right! She was a persuader! And she was a historian and she knew law and everything. Oh, she was well-informed. And Grandpa, he sure respected Grandma. He held her in high esteem, you know. No matter if everybody else was off track, Grandma wasn ’,t. We just thought Grandma was perfect and we all just doted on Grandma—now doted, that’s a word isn’t it? Well, but you know how our family has certain sayings. [V-6; V-9; V-ll; V-13J
Still, Miss Callie’s own life exemplifies why she is "proud that Southern women are strong" [V-9], and why she’s proud of her Southern family and kin.
Settling a Homestead
When the young Hasty family crossed the border of Alabama into Florida in
December of 1897, the only personal worth they left temporarily behind were family members—grandparents, sisters, brothers, and other relatives. Along with 161 their two young children Elmer ’Orastus’ a toddler of two and Caladonia or
’Callie’ a three month old infant, Daniel Absalom Hasty and his young wife Clara
Belle (Davis) placed all their worldly possessions into a horse-drawn wagon and
with the few cows they owned made the forty some mile trip into Florida. Not
unlike their Southern ancestors before them, they had little of material worth; yet,
they had what money could not buy—the will to work hard to make a home and a
life on their own land. They looked to Florida, specifically to Washington County,
to provide them with opportunities that Alabama could not.
While Washington County at the turn of the twentieth century was in one of
the more populated areas of the state, the northern rim, there was still a vast
amount of unsettled land within its borders. With the exception of a few miles
south of the Alabama-Florida line, Washington County stretched all the way down
to the Gulf (see Figure 1). With the salt mining days of the Civil War over, the
gulf and bay areas had little more than a few small, isolated towns and fishing
hamlets. Panama City's reputation as a haven for tourists and an industrial
complex for the military had not yet come. There was plenty of unsettled land in
Washington County available to those willing to cultivate it. The young husband and father Daniel Absalom Hasty took advantage of the offer which, following the
five-year homestead requirement of ’proving it up,’ would make the land theirs.
After all, it was land ownership that made possible a place to put roots down— something he and his wife Clara Belle could ill afford in Alabama. Renting and 162 working someone else’s land in Alabama did not provide a future, and it was a
future they were planning.
The 160 acre homestead they came to settle in Washington County was
relatively isolated with only a few other homesteads dotting the nearby countryside.
The two largest towns were several miles away, and like the Hasty homestead, they
were relatively new (see Figure 2). Chipley, some ten miles northeast, was less
than twenty years old and owed its birth to the railroad. To the north in Holmes
County was Bonifay a smaller and younger, but growing town that hugged the
Washington County line at the time. There were two other towns in Washington
County although neither could compare with the size of Chipley. Southwest of the
homestead lay Vernon, the county seat of the day, and to the east was Wausau.
Both were little more than a crossroads and had no commercial advantages to offer
to farmers. Although Washington and Holmes Counties had been created for over
a half of a century, their development was slow. After all, it was Florida—a state
that was called "the last frontier" well into the twentieth century.
The Hasty homestead in 1897 was as nature made it, growing wild and
untouched with vast pines, scrubs and dense thickets blanketing the land, and only
two and a half miles away was the free flowing Holmes Creek. It is that very wilderness that lies at the center of Miss Callie’s earliest memory of life in
Washington County. As she recounts in her Life Story (see Chapter V), her mother Clara Belle’s dramatic presentation of "Red Riding Hood" had a lasting impression as it both entertained and taught about appropriate standards of behavior 163 and life on the homestead. At the same time, the setting of the story highlights her
mother’s initial impression of Florida and the rural wilderness that was to be her
home. For Clara Belle, the young wife and mother of two, it was a far cry from
the land she left in Alabama, settled as it was with her parents and siblings, and covered with neat rows of crops. The possibility of Florida panthers lying in wait appeared as real to Miss Callie, then a young child, as to her mother Clara Belle
who imagined it just might be:
Now her version of the story was a country woman goin ' off to borrow some meal. The country woman, you know, that was typical. Country people didn’t borrow unless it something like meal. That was a must. Had to have that. Now that was a commodity, you see, that if you got out of meal, you had to borrow some until you could go to mill. And you'd carry a big sack o f com if you had several children. And I remembered, you know, how my mother’d say be sure to have the miller to grind it fine. She liked it fine meal. Well, anyway, the children disobeyed, you see, and the panther came when they didn’t mind their mother. And the panther, you know, that suited the place there, that 160 acres, the homestead. You see, my mother was afraid when she first came to Florida. And of course my brother and / we believed every bit of it because at that time we were small and we thought that those bays were full o f panthers and bears and things like that. She didn V tell us any better until we got older, / reckon old enough to know better. But my mother she made it fit the occasion, you know, in the country then. [Y-H ; V-1SJ
Clara Belle may have been afraid of the panthers and the unknown that awaited in Florida, but she was not afraid of work. She and her seven sisters and brothers had long worked in the fields of Alabama picking cotton and vegetables to help their large family eke out a living. Like her husband Daniel Hasty, Clara
Belle knew that with their own labor, industry, and land they would build a better life and future. Panthers or not, she was determined to do that. 164 My mother was never satisfied to be poor. She was always strivinand she never gave up. You know, you’d think that you have to have just some certain job, but she made jobs. She didn't have a job like anybody’ll have now. She wasn *t just any ordinary housewife like you’d see today . And we had a lot o f hogs to kill and cows to sell and things like that. And on the two-mule wagon, why she’d take a load of meat and vegetables and everything like that that we had and take it to Caryville and sell it. And if money was low, she’d take a load of vegetables, peas, and go to the Mill there in Caryville and sell it. fP-5; P-10]
Living in the country meant that a family’s labor and land went together,
providing the means not only to be self-sufficient and beholding to no one, but also
to get ahead and prosper. With the family’s hard work and determination, there
was little the land did not provide. The Hastys planted com, beans, sugarcane;
raised cows, pigs, and chickens; tended bees; extracted rosin from the trees and
felled them for timber; and caught fish out of the nearby creek. Nothing on the
homestead went to waste; "they made money off of the land in every respect" {V-
10]. As models, both Clara Belle and Daniel were "hardworkers," "farsighted," and "good managers" who instilled in their children, most especially their young
daughter, Callie, that success was a measure of hard work, determination, and
initiative.
The values of independence, industry, and prosperity that bound the family grew out of shared Southern traditions passed along by generations working the land. A family, regardless of its makeup or circumstance, worked together for its own sustenance and benefit as a strong work ethic went hand-in-hand with pride.
Charity was an anathema, seldom accepted and rarely offered as such. For example, whether by sudden illness, death, or desertion, a woman and children 165 without a husband and father continued to work on behalf of their own needs while, at the same time, they also put their labors to work for others either for pay or barter. Generally, only those physically unable to fend for themselves accepted charity, how ever grudgingly, and only then in the guise of a loan; a humble promise to repay the debt, one way or another, quickly followed. Neighborly help and community support were offered and accepted provided that the need was requested, deserved, and reciprocated.
People’d help um if they were true blue people, you know, if they stood up fo r the right things. They d kelp um any way they could, and they d share. Back then people just didn 7 laze around and let somebody else or the government take care o f um like they do now with food stamps. fV-Jl; P-7]
Grandma Davis she always wanted, and my mother did too, to help people who were tryin ' to help themselves. And if they were poor and try in ’ to help themselves, she *d help them. And she’d do anything for um she could. But if it was somebody just happy go lucky like, well, she'd do what was fair or right, but she wouldn 7 take up much time with um. [V-6]
It was those same values that were shared by neighbor families that made the nearby countryside a community. ’Proving up* your own land also meant an obligation to participate in building up and improving the local countryside.
"There were no big I ’s and tittle you’s in the community'’ [V-10J. Prosperity and progress were accepted and embraced, so long as deeply ingrained values were not impinged or violated. As such, outside help or interference, which were often seen as one and the same, was typically neither requested nor welcomed. The responsibility for initiating progress rested with those who originally settled the area and, thus, were considered the more established members of the community. 166 As one of those families, the Hastys—Daniel and Clara Belle—accepted those
responsibilities and often initiated them. They understood the importance of
learning and education as both had attended what public schooling was available in
the country of their native Alabama. While their own formal education was
limited, they also understood that learning was never static. Apart from hard
work, prosperity also meant that keeping up with the latest news was requisite.
Their sessions listening to the radio and reading subscriptions to the local
newspaper the Chipley Banner and to the largest metropolitan newspaper of the
South the Atlanta Constitution provided that information. As well, they always
provided their children with "books to read and music and things like that to keep
up with everything " [P-I5J. Moreover, not unlike parents of time immortal they
wanted more for their children. They were instrumental in facilitating
opportunities for their countryside community, particularly for children, by
establishing and maintaining schools.
My parents they'd promote things, you know. Now my father, if he wanted to do something or to put something over that the rest o f the country didn V know about or hadn’t done anything about, why he'd get Mr. Martin. Mr. Martin he was a quiet reserved fella, you know, and everybody knew him. And they’d promote things, you know. They'd go get a teacher for the school. And my mother, she was a big help. She always pushed for things like that. And my mother she always boarded the teacher. (V-l 1; V-l]
Public education was embraced as a means not only to build upon opportunities to ’get ahead,’ but also to pave the way for progress. Still, tradition- based programs that were also educational continued to be offered for a fee.
Singing schools promulgated and maintained the importance music played in 167 Southern life. The programs provided the necessary basics in music with
instruction in reading notes and vocal training, as well as introduction to the newest
songs. Students were young and old alike, but generally the singing school was
more focused on children. As Miss Callie notes in her Life Story (see Chapter V),
music was a natural part of her life and singing schools played an important role,
which she later partially credits for her success in college. Her parents Daniel and
Clara Belle also sought out teachers for singing schools and offered them a place to
stay during the session. One such teacher was Clara Belle’s nephew.
Writing schools were another type of educational program offered for fee that
emphasized neat and orderly handwriting, along with basic instruction in grammar.
They were intended for adults and older children who had finished primary school.
The sessions were short, lasting no more than two weeks, and were held when an
appropriately qualified teacher could be found. My grandfather Joel Oscar Davis
and perhaps some of his brothers and sisters including Clara Belle apparently attended writing school as Miss Callie says "Oh, Uncle Oscar, he went, his mind turned to things like that. He could write a beautiful hand! " [V-l3]. With the proliferation of public schools, however, writing schools slowly faded and were gone by the time Miss Callie was old enough to attend. Their demise was probably due, no doubt in varying degrees, to the lack of money, interest, and qualified teachers who found more security teaching in a public school.
With such an abiding interest in a variety of educational programs and only limited funds to support one, priorities dictated that the country school house would 168 be an educational, social and religious center for the local countryside. As a
magnet, the school house brought children for public school, students for singing
school, and parishioners for church and religious gatherings. To accommodate
multiple purposes, the building itself was simple, yet it provided the basic needs of
those who came: long hand hewn wooden benches, a blackboard, a wood stove,
an outside privy, and a water pump. The school house at Union Hill became a
familiar place to Miss Callie and to those who belonged to that small country
community in an otherwise expansive Washington County.
Growing Up on the Homestead
The young Miss Callie began her school days in about 1903 at the one room
Union Hill school house not far away from the Hasty homestead. She and her
older brother Orastus walked the long dirt road to get there, often meeting along
the way the few other local children who attended. The school year, like their daily lives and their parents’ wallets, followed nature’s clock and plans not their
own. The school year was short, only lasting four or five months, and the young
Miss Callie yearned to leam more. Learning new things was her passion, especially by reading, and getting new books brought delightful anticipation. A few positive experiences of those early school years, coupled with her mother’s lively stories, held special meaning for her then and again many years later. She remembers with excitement having books with pictures, writing and recognizing the word ’cat,’ and writing on the blackboard. 169 For the most part, however, her early years of schooling did little to nurture her interest and enthusiasm. The school day was long and tiring with hard benches, inactivity, rote lessons—and sometimes, a man teacher. As she recalls in her Life Story (Chapter V), teaching methods and the teacher, especially a man, did more to motivate fear-based silence than it did to foster eager anticipation to leam. For young fidgety children, most especially boys, who were anxious to participate "the trustees of the school would always like to get a man, you know, they thought a man m u just such a good disciplinarian' [ V-9 /. Because silence and stillness were indicative of attentiveness and respect, proper behavior was the bulwark of learning at school. Not surprising, the expectations of behavior at school differed little from 'doing things right’ and 'following the rules' that were also taught at home.
The young Miss Callie learned early that proper behavior was an important part of her life—requisite for her sake as well as for her family’s. A family name and reputation went hand-in-hand; a presumed tarnish placed on either one equated to both and was not easily forgotten. Another of Miss Callie’s early memories of her life is based on such a lesson. Her father’s quiet admonition of her behavior at church was devastating and had lasting impressions:
I remember one time I went to church with my father . My mother had something with her teeth so she stayed at home. And my father and / we walked. It wasn 7 far, about a mile to the church. And / had two little friends. They had a little brother or sister, but / don 7 remember what the baby was. So / went with ’um out to the wagon, it was a two horse wagon, to get something to keep the baby quiet. And when church was over with, I was out there with them. You know, they had gone to get a cookie or somethin ’ for the baby, for their little brother or sister, and I wasn 7 even in 170 the church. I was out there with them, you know, and I didn't think anything about it. And goin ’ home, we were walkin \ my father and I, and he told me that I did somethin ’ that looked mighty ugly. He told me that I wasn 7 supposed to get up and leave and go out o f church, unless, you know, you have to. And Oh! I was so ashamed! I never was so ashamed in all of my life! I thought I had done something that never could be outlived—bein' out o f church and makin' that mistake. And I never forgot it. And I'll tell you I never have. A lot of people now just leave when Sunday School is over. But that's just not my—I've just never practiced that. [V-l]
Young girls were held to high expectations of behavior, the standards of which mothers were responsible for instilling in their daughters. Miss Callie’s mother Clara Belle was no less intent on teaching those same expectations to her daughter than her own mother had been to her.
Oh! My mother stressed that [morality]. You know people were strong in those days about your character and everything like that! Yes! I had such teachin' in that. And I was always so self-conscious about things like that! I never wanted to do anything that would cause anybody to say anything that didn't look just right. [V-3]
Activities specifically for youngsters and teenagers were infrequent occasions since families generally attended community events together. At the few musical parties and an occasional hayride held with them in mind, a single girl without her mother was a rarity, if not a subject wrought with avid discussion should it occur.
Mothers almost always chaperoned their young single daughters, and Miss Callie’s mother was far from being an exception.
Ma always went with me when the neighbors or anybody like that'd have a party. She warned me to go and I was always asked. But she went with me. Yes sir, I didn't go draggin ’ off somewhere by myself—I mean with a boy nor nothin Most mothers did that and they acted like they enjoyed it. You know, they’d participate in whatever was goin’ on. [VII] 171 The virtue and honor that her mother stressed became central to Callie’s
young life when her maternal grandmother, Grandma Davis, came to live in
Florida about 1902 with the other Davis relatives. Grandma Davis had a pervasive
and positive impact on the lives of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren as evidenced by their fond recollections of her (see Chapter IV). Miss Callie’s
Grandma Davis particularly looms large in her life as a model who guided her beliefs and actions: "My Grandmother Davis was my inspiration for high and noble things and I tried to be like her. " [P-9]
According to Miss Callie and all who knew Grandma Davis, she lived by the
"Good Book." She shared her religious beliefs and knowledge with those who inquired, and also taught a men’s Bible class at the Baptist church. In recognition for her services, the men of the class presented her with a new Bible to replace the worn and tattered pages of her own. She also passed along her strong and abiding faith to her daughter Clara Belle which she, in turn, passed on to Miss Callie. As well, Daniel Hasty, Miss Callie’s father, also had a firm religious background which insured that Miss Callie was raised with a deep spiritual foundation. Still, for the very young Miss Callie the innocence of youth was compounded by the consequences of a religious teaching she had yet to understand. It was only natural that Grandma Davis would be the one she turned to for help.
Now my Grandmother Davis she’s the one that set me straight on what my aunt told me when people died—she said they all went to hellI And [laughs] that was Aunt Maude—she was the youngest member o f the family. And she told me when you died, well, she talked like everybody went to [pause] she didn 7 say anything about heaven! And it was all hell, and what the devil would do to you when you died! And that was the first time that I ever 172 realized what death meant. But it registered with me. / was small, but I realized what dying meant. And it was just terrible to me and it just preyed on my mind, as a child—a little child! Of course Grandma set me straight and told me about, you know, how people wouldn 7 be good. And if you were good and lived right, why o f course the devil wouldn't have any part with you. [V-2]
The Baptist Church was an important part of the lives and activities of the
Hastys and other families in the nearby countryside. When the Baptist preacher
made his rounds and his way to their community, the small school house was filled
with the faithful members of a young and old congregation, and among them were always the Hastys. And the preacher, not unlike the public school and music teachers, found the Hasty homestead a warm place during his periodic stay. By the time the community could afford to build the new and larger Bethsadia Baptist
Church, the first pastor Brother McIntosh, "the witty ole fella , " [V-5] had come to share the simple yet industrious country life with the Hastys and their nearby neighbors.
The church provided both spiritual needs and social friendships as it was one of the relatively few occasions that brought the countryside community together.
Buggies and wagons pulled by horses or mules travelled the long, pitted clay dusted roads bringing each large family to church in daylight and dark. Church service was a special affair and, as such, attendance dictated the ’best' behavior to match the ’best’ Sunday clothes. Not surprising, the young Miss Callie modeled both.
Families of young and old filled the pews with the women, adolescent girls and small children filing to the right of the altar, and men and older boys to the left.
Pallets were placed on the floor to the right by the women, scattered around with 173 babies sleeping and playing. The service was solemn and serious with a spiritually
intense sermon and interspersed by uplifting biblical song. The solemnity that
characterized the service ended as quietly as it began. The doors then opened to
the sunlight and gaiety of the church social outside filled with food, conversation, and laughter. Sundays were days of rejoicing and one of the few times when
families could and were at rest.
With the exception of church services, all day sings, and the annual revival, community activities were infrequent events and almost always centered on work.
’Log rollings’ brought families from the local area together to help clear a neighbor’s land, typically for planting. While the all day and evening event involved hard work, it also provided one of the few opportunities to socialize.
Everyone, young and old alike participated: men and older boys felled trees, removed stumps and the like from the fields; women and girls prepared the food, washed the dishes, and sewed quilts; and young children played ’stealin* sticks* under the watchful eye of a young, but older sister. A large bonfire made from the felled trees provided the cooking source for the hungry group, and light and warmth for the women and children sitting close by.
It was such a ’log rolling* that took place on the Hasty homestead that appears early in Miss Callie’s Life Story (see Chapter V). Later, she elaborates her vivid recollections of the event and her Grandmother Davis’s participation in it.
Her discussion offers not just a glimpse of the log rolling itself, but more 174 importantly her Grandmother’s beliefs and the traditional expectations of country
life from the eyes of a young and impressionable girl:
Well, you know, 1 told you that Grandma played the fiddle for the ladies to dance one time. It was right funny. She was so modest, Grandma was. And she was a devout Christian, Grandma Davis was. She didn 7 ever want to do anything that didn 7 look just right. Well, the men were in the field clearin ’ land. It was my daddy’s land, you see, we had 160 acres there and had to do it piecemeal, you know, get it cleared up. And all the neighborhood men came and worked all day that day. And we had a big dinner, you know, and fed ’um real well. When you had something like that, the men did land clearin’ and the women, they put in two quilts. Well, the men hadn 7 come out from the workin ’, but when the women got through, why they wanted to celebrate. They wanted to dance and they had to have somebody to play the fiddle—they called it the fiddle, you know, the violin. So Grandma was the one that had to play the violin. Well, she played and the women danced. But she felt kinda bad about that. She thought that wasn 7 very ladylike, you know, but it way. [V-8J
A ’cane grinding’ was another event that brought the Hastys and other families in local countryside together at night for necessary work and welcomed entertainment. They each brought their large stalks of cut sugarcane to be ground for juice which was then boiled for syrup and brown sugar. Like everything else in country life, there was little that did not have collateral use; seldom was anything discarded. The skimmings from the boiled juice were often fed to the hogs or with a bit more work could be made into the more potent and lasting drink of legend—moonshine.
As a young girl, Miss Callie attended many cane grindings with her family.
She shared one such occasion that fondly remembers her mother in a humorous light. At the same time, the event reveals much about life in the country. It not only calls back the homestead as a basis for the setting of "Red Riding Hood" and 175 her mother's role in the community, but also vividly illustrates the different
standards set for girls and boys:
You know, my mother was always afraid, like I told you about when she came to Florida. And she always boarded the schoolteacher—whoever taught out at the school there close to home. One of the girls, pretty good size one, you know, old enough to be likin ’ boys came home with the teacher to spend the night. And they went down there to the Harrells for a cane grinding. Well, when they got ready to leave the cane grinding, why the girls took the boys ’ hats because the boys were goin’ to go a huntin ’—there’s a lot of coons and possums, and they had their guns and dogs with ’um. So the girls got the boys ’ hats I reckon because they didn’t want to go back by themselves and it night. And o f course Ma was there as the chaperon. Well, when the boys found out they had their hats why they decided to play a trick on them . You know men they always got to have their hats. Wearin ’ a hat, you know, is just part o f the dress. So, the boys—my brother Orastus and Charlie Harrell— why they ran through the woods and got ahead o f Ma and the girls when they left the cane grindin left the mill. And they got over inside o f the fence there where my daddy he had a little two or three acre patch of land that he hadn 7 taken in, hadn 7 cleared. And it was dark and the boys had their guns. Well about the time Ma and the girls came up the road, the boys yelled ’HALTl ’ you know in a massive tone of voice and they shot their guns, fired right up in the air!! Well, Ma and the girls they just took off runnin’. They said Ma out run um ail—she led the race! They said she said ’Well I thought that being that I ’d been shot at and missed. I ’d be out of reach for the next shot!’ And that was when Ma was goin ’ through the prunin ’ days, the menopause. And the boys began yellin ’ at ’um to try to stop ’um, but they said Ma led the race. And later of course Ma took the teasing good naturedly. fV-11}
Unlike girls, boys had few restrictions on their activities. For the young Miss
Callie and other girls, "Oh! You didn’t do certain things if you were a girl! A lot o f things were unlady-like, and you can guess about that! That’s the way / was taught, ya know, you couldn 7 do this and you couldn 7 do that !" {V-3J. But it was different for Miss Callie’s brothers and other boys: "Oh, they were kinda allowed to just grow up and do whatever they wanted to do * [V-6]. While boys were expected to exhibit appropriate behavior and manners in and away from home, they 176 still had far more leeway in the decisions they made for themselves. To be sure, the only time a boy had the requisite woman/mother chaperon in tow was when there was also a young girl unrelated to him close by. Rough and tumble boys could venture beyond the boundaries of their family land almost at will with a friend, providing of course their chores were finished. As the cane grinding story indicates, Miss Callie’s older brother Orastus and a friend went hunting at night for raccoons, possums, and gophers which were sold for pocket money. Opportunities to make extra money were not available to Miss Callie and other young girls of the day. Babysitting, the extra money maker for girls of my generation, was part of a young girl’s family obligations in hers. In any event, paying someone to care for a child was out of the question not simply because families could not afford such luxury, but because those responsibilities rested with the family—typically the mother and daughter.
The responsibilities to the family prosperity were for the most part segmented along gender lines, although it was for the sake of the family’s subsistence and betterment that dictated the work to be done and who was to do it. Still, Miss
Callie’s brothers along with her father did the plowing and work requiring physical strength and endurance. For her part, the young Miss Callie worked with the bees; gathered eggs; tended the garden; helped to harvest crops; and swept the yard, along with the more traditional domestic chores of washing, cooking, and canning.
When most of the farm work was finished in late summer, ” lay in’ by" time brought days at the swimming hole at Burnt Sock Landing—a local landmark aptly Ill named after a man's socks burned as he slept by the campfire. She could go there
because her brothers went, too.
There was, however, one job that was hers and hers alone: "Afy mother
taught me to wash dishes when I was so small that J had to stand up in a chair to
reach the pan. And I've been washin ’ dishes ever since!" [V-7J. And, although
she never considered it a job, she also had a special role when it came to the ever
present music at the Hasty homestead: "/ had to play /organ and piano}—I was the
girl" fV-8]- But, still, it was her brother Orastus who always said * sound the
chord" [V-1J. "You know, men always led the songs, directed them, they’d tell the
time and how they wanted them to sing. " [P-17]
Apart from the periodic church and community related activities, entertainment was a family affair that almost always included other relatives and often the closest neighbors in the area. With music so much a part of Miss Callie’s life (see Chapter V) and of Southern life in general, the Hasty family gatherings always combined the aroma of hearty home cooked meals with the melody of the fiddle or guitar and, later an organ or piano. Miss Callie’s mother Clara Belle insured that those who came to the Hasty home ate well and also joined in the musical merriment. For her own children, music, singing and playing, was both expected and required as far as she was concerned.
Now my mother she saw that we sang! / don ’t mean to be braggin ’ but we just came here singing, just inherited it from M a’s side o f the house. They, you know, the Davis side just had that talent. You know how like / told you, Uncle Charlie and Grandma and all played the fiddle, the violin. Everybody just sang and played. And my father he knew we had musical abilities. And 178 that rs why we went to singing schools. And he bought us an organ and then a piano before anybody else in the country had one. [P-l 7]
The Davis side was typically represented by Uncle Charlie, Miss Callie’s
maternal uncle, as the family’s primary musician. It was he who always played
such traditional and uplifting songs as "Dixie” and "Under the Double Eagles" that
Miss Callie fondly recalls in her Life Story (see Chapter V).
The activities of the Hasty gatherings gained renown and popularity in the countryside community as time went on. More and more neighbors came to participate in the song and dance festivities as Uncle Charlie’s fiddling was accompanied by a now older Miss Callie’s piano playing. Still, the shy and quiet young Miss Callie never participated when everyone else " rolled up the rugs and went to square dancing or round dancing " [V-l]. And although they were there, the young local boys with whom Miss Callie had grown up did not do much dancing either. They had not failed to notice, probably not long before, that the little Hasty girl who lived down the road had changed.
The Middle Years
By 1910 and now a teenager, Miss Callie had finished her education where she started, at the local country school called Union Hill. She had always enjoyed learning, but her last teacher at Union Hill reinforced her yearning to learn more.
Miss Callie wanted to continue beyond the equivalent eighth or ninth grade that
Union Hill offered. But for now that was out of the realm of any possibility. The only high school was in Chipley, ten or more miles away. It may as well have 179 been a million. Accepting her lot, she contented herself with reading the
newspaper and books and, as ever, continued to share the responsibilities on the
homestead. And there was plenty to keep her occupied.
The family gatherings filled with song and dance, and church and community activities—church socials and revivals; all day sings; log rollings; and cane grindings—continued and she went with her family or her mother as she had always done. By now, the local boys could no longer hide that they noticed their neighbor had changed and along with her, so did their interest. To their detriment and disappointment, no doubt, Miss Callie merely considered them "just boys that came to the house . I didn 7 think o f ’um as boyfriends. I ’d known ’um all my life, you know, and it just didn’t register with me that they were boyfriends. " [V -ll]
She was a tall, attractive young lady with long dark brown hair, quiet, serious, and shy which made her seem much older than just a budding teenager.
And perhaps she knew what others did not, that she wasn't what she appeared; underneath it all, she was still growing and learning. But maturity then was measured by age or by demeanor and stature. When girls crossed over either threshold, they became eligible young women. Looking back on her thirteenth year, Miss Callie describes herself:
I just got grown early, just grew off. 1 reckon, I was like the Davis side. You know, Grandpa Davis was a big, tall fella. Uncle Charlie was a six footer—that was one o f the sons. And Uncle Oscar, your grandfather, was a big, tall fella. Yes sir. And my mother was tall and kinda raw boney. And then I had two younger brothers, Preston and Prim . Now Prim, oh, he war a Davis! He was a big, tall fellow. But Preston he was like the Hastys. He was kind o f short. fV-8} 180 I was a pure Hasty. Now you know, I ’ve always been kind o f a retired person. / was like my father. / was quiet—all together different from what my mother warned. She wanted me to be entertaining, lively. But I was inclined to be the other way. IV-I/
In the fall of 1910, Miss Callie did as young women were supposed to do, she married with her parents’ encouragement, approval, and blessing. Her mother
Clara Belle had always been known as the family "match maker." She enjoyed seeing young people together, happily building their lives. It was only natural for her to want to do the same for her daughter Callie, and to insure as best she could that her future son-in-law met the appropriate qualifications: a respectable family background, educated, and "forward looking." He met them. His family was well-known around the county as hard working and religious, although Methodist not Baptist; they were upright people. He was mature, over twenty-one, with a bright future planned in the retail business. So, not without her own hesitation and reservation, Caladonia Hasty, at age thirteen, became Mrs. Joseph Lee Williams.
As a new bride and with a new bedroom suite to match which was a wedding gift from her parents, she and her husband moved to the small but hopeful town of
Wausau. It was there in Wausau, less than ten miles from the Hasty homestead, where she lived as a young housewife and mother, attended a Methodist rather than a Baptist Church, and worked periodically in their merchandise store. It was also here in Wausaw where her three children were bom, perhaps the only topic of her life there about which she speaks without hesitancy. She delights in introducing her children: Arlton bom in 1912, then Monette in 1914, and the baby Colly V. in
1915. After her children, there is little left to be said. Those few years in Wausau 181 are blurred, marked only by the tragic death of her oldest son, Arlton at age three,
just a baby. The rest, well, some things in the past had just best stay there.
Things just do not turn out, but they happen for the best. With that, she harbors
no resentment, Miss Callie moved on and back to the Hasty homestead—back
home. It was World War I. Her older brother Orastus was off in Europe serving
his country. Other than that, little had changed at the homestead.
"Necessity is the mother of invention, " Miss Callie says, "so I decided to
become a teacher" [P-2]. She could have continued to help out on the homestead
as she had always done. With her family—her mother and father—and the
homestead, there was plenty to eat and to do; she and her two children would have
been fine. But Miss Callie was determined to make her own future and not rely on
anyone else. That’s the way she was raised—to work hard, to be independent, to
take the initiative, and do what was right. What was right for her was to move on
and not look back at another disappointment. World War I had been over for a
decade and in the interim her life had gone on, but a marriage that made her name
Callie Hutchison just did not work out like she had planned. Maybe relying so
much on someone else never would. He was from a well-respected family in the county, too, but standards were different for men: "Some just went on and did
what they wanted to, / reckon, and women were just supposed to accept it" (V-9j.
Contrary, perhaps, to the decisions of other women, Miss Callie was proud and would not ’just accept it.’ With interminable strength and perseverance, she refused to give in and let hurt and disappointment dictate her life. Again she 182 moved on with her life. With a sense of finality to the topic, she sums up two
marriages with a common sensical approach to people and to life:
Welt, you just can 7 tell how people will turn out. You know, you feel sorry fo r people because they get into things. They aren 7 strong enough. They let it get the upper hand. [V~3j
Her decision to become a teacher was neither simple nor all that complex.
She always enjoyed reading and learning; "getting an education was just bom and
bred ” [V-l] in her. She also had two children to think about. Although they were
no longer small, they needed an education for their own prosperity, their own
futures. She had a life to think about, too. There were no jobs out in the country
and Chipley, the largest town in Washington County and closest to the Hasty
homestead, offered little more than a few secretarial and clerical positions. Neither
of those she qualified for in terms of skills or interests. While they could provide a
good, honest living, neither required much initiative—at least not the kind she
wanted—nor much learning beyond the job itself. She wanted to leam and keep
learning; she wanted a career, a future, and she wanted to "do things right."
With encouragement and support from her parents and her sister-in-law who
was also a teacher, Miss Callie drummed up the courage to take the teacher’s
exam. It was 1928, and with the newly earned certificate in hand, she also went
on her first job interview in Bonifay, less than ten miles from the Hasty homestead.
As she relates in her Life Story (see Chapter V), the experience was initially a
trying one. For all that had happened in her marital past, she held her head high and remained ever vigil of her reputation. Despite that divorce and spinsterhood 183 were rare where women were concerned, the trustees at the courthouse that day at
her interview knew her and her family. Passing both tests, the one on knowledge
and the one on character, she got that temporary job teaching in Bonifay as an
’overflow teacher.’ When the Bonifay job was over, she got another job teaching
the primary grades only a few miles from the homestead at Poplar Head. She was
truly on home ground and building her own future.
Being the only primary teacher at Poplar Head and with little teaching
experience, Miss Callie relied on memories of her own school experiences as a
guide. They would become the model for her teaching until she gained more experience. With some, however, she knew she would never waver because what
she remembered was vivid, the good as well as the bad.
..Jike / told you we sat on those long hard benches in front o f the chart and called out those little words. Now that’s just wastin’ time. I never taught like that! You’ve gotta get a child’s interest, get *um to where they want to leam. [P-4]
[The teacher] would threaten them. But you know, I never did want to be bad or anything like that. I just wasn V raised that way . (V-l]
But I never did threaten my children. I appealed to their age. One day this little girl sailed her coat in the back o f the room where the coat hangers were. / had a man make a little stand, and we had plants on top o f it and I put coat hangers back there so the children could hang up their coats—not just throw ’um back there on the floor. Well! She just sailed her coat back there on the floor! And / said somethin’ to her like ’My, my. That’s baby stuff. ’ Oh! They didn V wanta be called babies. And so that broke her. She picked it up and hung it on the hanger. You know, you’ve got to try to teach um things like that....Manners and all like that. [P-6]
/ remember just as well, ’cat’...the first word I’d ever written that I could tell what it was. They let me write it on the board. / was so proud of myself [V-7] 184 She also remembered the way her mother read stories, particularly "Red
Riding Hood," enunciating the words and performing the ’script.’ She, too, used
that same method of gaining children’s interest and making school fun—entertaining
so they would want to leam.
My mother was a good story teller. I reckon that’s the reason that I made a teacher. You know , / remembered those stories and how she used to put ’um over, put 'um across. She was a good storyteller, Ma was...she’d exaggerate it, you know. Like when the panther answered, said ’Hee, Hee, Heel—she made it sound, you know squeaehy like. Oh, my brother and I we just loved stories. (V-llf
For all her success as a teacher thus far, based as it was on her own personal experiences and sense of right, Miss Callie also believed that "if you’re going to make any progress, you have to take things as they come” [P-14'], As extension courses were offered at the county level and more emphasis was placed on educational programs for teachers, Miss Callie decided "to go for the whole thing...get my degree” [P-14]. She embraced what she had taken the initiative to leam herself, but she also wanted to be a good, qualified teacher. That meant going to Florida State University.
Now my parents they always kept up with everything. And I knew I ’d have to go back to school to get ahead and know more about teaching. And they encouraged me to...I wanted to be well-qualified. [P-5]
As quick as I went to teachin ’ or soon after I began goin ’ back to summer school in Tallahassee because to keep up with everything, if people have a good job, why let ’um keep abreast o f all the things that the job involves. In that way, you know, you keep up with the newest things and what works the best. [V- 7] 185 Miss Callie graduated from Florida State University in 1951—over forty years ago. Not surprising, she remembers little about the content of the courses she took. Her memories of Florida State are comprised of mini-stories that took place, all of which she shares in her Life Story (see Chapter V). Perhaps what stands out the most is what she learned about herself:
And the first time / went to summer school, / found out that that was the very thing! That I was doing the right thing—lettin ’ ’um write on the board! And you feel proud, kinda proud of yourself when you know that you’ve been doin ’ the right thing, like they wanted, like it should be. [V-l3]
I felt so inadequate over there and around others like that. You feel like that everybody, you know, they know a lot more than you do and you ’re afraid you’ll expose your ignorance—afraid you’ll do something. But / soon found out that / was equal to the others. And I didn’t have any problems ax all. [V-7]
Miss Callie taught at Poplar Head for many years and lived at home with her parents on the old Hasty Homestead. As she relates in her Life Story (see Chapter
V) she was there through the Depression when she was paid in ’due bills’ and used them as collateral so her father would not lose his land, the homestead. It was a time when,
everybody was poor. Your neighbors were all poor. But those children their parents were all farmers. We all had plenty to eat, the land provided that. But it was hard to buy anything else like clothes and shoes and things like that. You made do. Like my mother said, ’there were weeks and months that we didn ’t see a nickel! fV-6J
There is a special history at Poplar Head for Miss Callie. All of her most poignant memories are there. But the school is gone. It was tom down long ago after the 1940*s brought consolidation and all the children were bused to Chipley and Vernon. After that many of the children’s parents, like the Davidsons who 186 opened a gas station in town, only worked their land part-time. With World War
II came jobs in the ship yards of Panama City that paid much more than they could
make on their farms. There were others, although only a few, like the Chesnuts
who continued what they had always done, working their land as some of their children do today.
The brick chimney and the old sycamore tree are what remain of the Poplar
Head School Miss Callie knew. They stand near one another but alone, seemingly anachronistic, between the new section of the Poplar Head Church and the new picnic tables. The dirt road that separates the church from the cemetery is still there, too, rewly packed with red clay.
The memories live on, too, in my mother who walked to school there during the Depression and cleaned erasers on that old sycamore tree. She remembers the stories Miss Callie read that made the world inside school a lot brighter than the one right outside the door. Thoughts of the quiet and gentle scolding for something she’d done wrong bring both laughter and gratitude. Going home with
Miss Callie to spend the night and riding in the big, bright shiny car call back pleasant times, the kind she’d like to relive. The cool evenings filled with music when she and Aunt Clare sang gospel songs as Miss Callie played the piano, they still bring a smile. Waking the next morning to the smell of ham frying and biscuits baking that Aunt Clare made for their school lunch that day are the kind that never die. And the experience of a bright eyed nine year old who, along with 187 her two little friends Cosetta Dolphin and Rebecca Davis, was awed by Roy Acuff
at the Bonifay Theatre is one she holds in memory because it was Miss Callie who
took them there. Miss Callie remembers all that, too, and more—much more.
Miss Callie remembers when the circus came to town in Chipley and she
stood up for the country children and what was right (see Chapter V). She recalls
giving other children who lived on nearby farms a ride to school each day in her
car so they wouldn’t have to walk. One of those children later became my aunt,
Melbaruth (Davidson) Davis who was, along with the others, Miss Callie says "like
my kin. Their parents had known me all my life . Poplar Head people were
’homefolksrH [P-10J. And one of the Davidsons still brings her fish that she loves
so well, those caught in the same creek where she grew up and where her mother
always wanted to "go catch us some fresh ones. " /V / /
In her Life Story (see Chapter V) Miss Callie also mentions teaching in other
schools in Washington and Bay Counties as well, and memories are there, too: the
little boy and the shell he brought her that crawled off the desk, the Indian arrowheads and the driftwood the children would bring for a dime. With a sense of relief that it is past, she discusses her abbreviated venture out of teaching during
World War II for more money. But, as she says, "the Lord had a hand in it...I reckon teaching was my calling " [P-1J. Miss Callie went back to teaching for something money could never buy. 188 She could have had a man in her life if she had wanted one. She was a
school teacher, attractive, intelligent, respected, and from a good family that
everybody knew. There was only one who didn't take her polite disinterest too
willingly so she just had "to take the bull by the horns and tell him—you just go
on!" [ V-7] . And there was another who had his plans well-rehearsed, although he
hadn’t shared them with Miss Callie. It was Uncle Charlie who got wind of it and
*called him on it and nipped it right in the bud! He told him to just get along.
Uncle Charlie he always stood up for the family ” [V-3J. Miss Callie had better and
more important things to do; teaching and her family were her life. I suppose
they were all she really wanted and needed.
The old Hasty homestead burned to the ground not long after her father died
in 1939 when her brother, the one who was " always the railroad man” (VIJ, came
back to Washington County from Texas. His children weren’t used to wood stoves and, with the house gone, they later sold the land to real estate developers who
sectioned the once frontier 160 acres into lots. The Hasty homestead is not as it was, but the land from which "roots" evolve is still there. Perhaps as long as memories and family stories survive it always will be there ”two miles and a half from Calford Bridge” (V-IJ, near Holmes Creek and in the heart of Washington
County. If Miss Callie harbors any resentment about it, it’s not something she shared with me. I suspect that while there are memories of what it was and what it meant, they lie deep within cradled by her abiding faith that the Lord had a purpose just as she says he does in all things. 189 Miss Callie has lived in Chipley, "her hometown, " for over fifty years in the
same home she shared with her mother. As she says in her Life Story (see Chapter
V), her mother Clara Belle (Davis) is still there in memory, perhaps more. Her
mother rests today next to her husband, Miss Callie's father, Daniel Absalom Hasty
at "Piney Grove, the home burying ground. All [pause] almost all the family 's
there ” [P-J]. And Miss Callie says she’d going there, too, and she’s looking
forward to seeing her relatives again and meeting the ones she never had the chance
to met—those Southern ties of family.
Conclusion
It is May 4, 1993 when Miss Callie and I last sit down together in her home
to talk about her life. Although my husband and I are leaving to return to Ohio, a
sixteen hour drive away, this is to be a special day. Miss Callie insists that we
have ’dinner’ as Southerners say or ’lunch’ to Yankees. Today’s menu is the same as I had here some thirty years before when Aunt Clare insisted on cooking: cabbage, baked ham, crowder peas, fried combread, and fresh tomatoes. Miss
Callie wanted to surprise me, and insisted that the menu be the same:
We 're having what you liked that time. We planned it like this, and Mary’s a good cook. You know, I can remember hearin my mother and father when somebody would come in and if it was around mealtime , they'd always ask urn to eat. [V-13]
That my husband Ross and I are here visiting and will soon be leaving trigger
Miss Callie’s memories of the Hasty home filled with relatives and friends, musical 190 entertainment, and an array of homecooked food. Calling back those days long
ago, Miss Callie continues:
You know my mother’s folks’d always come to see us and visit us. And Uncle Charlie, he lived with us most of the time. I mean, that was his headquarters, he called it home. And he'd go down to Vernon; he loved Spurgeon Hodges—that was another nephew, one of Aunt Cordelia's sons, you know, Alma’s brother. H e’d go down there and stay some.
With mention of Uncle Charlie, our conversation again turns to our family
and "gatherin up our kinfolks ’ as we pass the time waiting for dinner. Miss Callie
calls back fond memories of Uncle Charlie whose musical talent was well-known
throughout the countryside, bringing scores to ’roll up the rugs’ at the Hasty home
while she accompanied him on the piano (see Chapter V). There is little doubt that
Uncle Charlie holds a special place in her life, and it seems important to her that I
come to understand Uncle Charlie as she did in his own time and place. With
laughter and yet a tinge of sadness in her voice, Miss Callie shares with me the
Uncle Charlie she knew and loved so well:
We knew that he drank and all, but when he was drinkin he was just perfect. / laughs] He was just the sweetest fella that you ever saw in your lifeI You couldn't make him mad. And he’d just smile, you know. He was just as happy as he could be and everybody else was with him, you know. And my mother, he felt closer it seemed like to her. And she scotched fo r him, you know. I mean, she kept him clothed and saw that he had clean clothes alt the time, and just sorta toted him, you know. You know, he had to have somebody to back him up and she did. {V~llj
I was never able to meet Uncle Charlie—he died seven years before I was bom. Yet, through the stories Miss Callie and others have shared with me, I have come to know him in some undefinable and immeasurable way just as I have other 191 relatives that I was never able to meet in their own time and place. Like Miss
Callie*s, other family members’ fond recollections of him (see Chapter IV) are
marked by personal experiences, knowing who he was and what he meant to them:
by Alma, "Oh everybody in the family loved Uncle Charlie... they just worshipped
him...we all treated him like he was an angel" [ V-14e] ; by my mother, Uncle "
Charlie would set me on his knee and I ’d sing while he played, and / can
remember smetlin the liquor, but it didn’t matter. I just loved him to death " [1-2];
and by Silas, "Lordy, Lordy, I wish someone could’ve interviewed ole Uncle
Charlie Davis..." [V-14bJ
Uncle Charlie seems a tragic figure, yet a loving and gentle one. His propensity for alcohol apparently neither singled him out alone among men there and then, nor lessened the love and respect of those who knew and understood him.
Just as Miss Callie says a man always had his ’hat,* so too a man had his alcohol.
Life was hard there and then, Miss Callie says, and men drank—they all did.
Perhaps what separated Uncle Charlie from any other man was the amount he consumed. And, while they all acknowledge that Uncle Charlie drank more than his fair share, they all describe him as a hard worker, a loving and loveable man who always ’stood up for the family’ and ’stood up for what was right.’ Mirroring
Alma (in Chapter IV) Miss Callie tells me, "And you know. Grandma she never said anything to Uncle Charlie about his drinkin. She just prayed fo r him. " With that, we leave Uncle Charlie there, in memory, for the moment. 192 As she places today’s issue of the Panama City newspaper the News Herald on her lap, Miss Callie announces, "You know, Grandma was well-educated! Why she read the newspaper from cover to cover everyday of her life! Oh, she kept well-read, up on everything that was happening. And / do, too. I ’ve been readin all my life. ” Glancing at the front page, Miss Callie adds as an aside that since having eye surgery a few years ago, she hasn’t needed to wear glasses. It was a new technique that came to her attention and, after checking into it, she had a doctor in Dothan (Alabama) perform the surgery because "you know, you have to keep up with things and take advantage of them. "
Holding the newspaper in her hand, Miss Callie begins reading aloud headlines and sections of articles, enunciating words to help me follow along. For only a moment there is silence, although her eyes continue to move with the same intensity as before. Her response is to an article on the performance of the new
U.S. President Bill Clinton. Shaking her head, she explains that she had been an avid supporter of his during the election and gave him her vote by absentee ballot.
With noticeable disappointment in her voice, she continues:
/ was all for him when he was elected. But I don V know now. I ’ve been readin complaints. But I always read about it and sorta weigh it up, you know you have to know about these things. And now they [gays marching in Washington] are throwing it back, I reckon.
We discuss politics only for a few minutes as dinner is almost ready. When I simply conclude that I wouldn’t want to be President, Miss Callie replies, "No, me either. There’s too much politics involved! But I always vote. And my father he did too. I ’ve been votin since I taught at Poplar Head." She readily adds that like 193 "the rest of the South I've always been a democrat, especially in local elections,
but here lately for the last several years, the South has changed and voted the other
way ."
It perhaps is fitting that our last meeting at her home symbolically captures
what education has meant to Miss Callie throughout her life. To be sure, she
considers reading a foundational skill because "you know, if you can’t read, why you ’re handicapped. " Formal education and professional training are also
important as they further one's potential, but not assurance, to achieve success in
terms of being well-qualified, getting a good job, and doing a job well. Indeed,
education includes skills, courses, and a diploma; yet it is more than that.
Education goes beyond what is generally found in the printed curricula of public schools and universities to include those traditions that are centered on what has been valued to know throughout her life. Determination, hard work, initiative, independence, ’knowing what to do and when,’ and 'doing things right* are integrated with earned qualifications, ’far-sightedness,* and ’keeping up with the latest news’ in every facet of life—in politics, music, medicine, science, teaching, and the like—these also point to what education entails. What education means lies within her experiences, embodied by the pervasive and perennial interplay of learning and teaching. That interplay becomes clearer and clearer as we sit together this last day, looking back at our interviews and gathering up what we share. 194 I think about the change Miss Callie has seen in her 96 years: the automobile, airplanes, the space shuttle; refrigerators, dishwashers, washing machines; indoor plumbing, electricity; movie cameras, video cameras; telephones and televisions... computers! She has witnessed two World Wars, the
Korean War, the Viet Nam War, and the other conflicts in between and since. She has seen voting laws change for women and minorities, child labor laws, prohibition, the Depression, and school consolidation and integration, and so much more. All of them have no doubt affected her life, though not in ways 1 expect.
We say goodbye Miss Callie and I for this trip, this year. As my husband and I drive away, I can’t help feeling that there’s something here that is a part of me, too—something that has always been with me. We ramble along the highway to Dothan, not far from where Miss Callie was bom. I read the Alabama license tags that proudly proclaim "the Heart of Dixie" and smile, pondering its meaning.
Miss Callie did not present her life in terms of historical events or social issues. Rather, her voice tells the mini-stories of her life that are connected to family and to place. Family and place share an inextricable bond that defies easy definition because it is deeply steeped in feeling:
The homeplace is as vital as the beating of your own heart...It is your anchor in the world, that place, along with the memory of your kinsmen at the long supper table every night and the knowledge that it would always exist, if nowhere but in memory (Crews cited in Banes, 1985, p. 2).
Miss Callie’s life as "just a country girl " [V-8J, and as a teacher is located there in mini-stories of family and place: "Red Riding Hood," family gatherings, the log rolling, the cane grinding, singing schools, her behavior at church, her 195 experiences at FSU, her first interview, and all of the "children who were like my kin " [P -lj. True to the stories that bind the family and place in memories are the long line of teachers who have passed them along to Miss Callie: her mother, grandmother, father...and, along with Uncle Charlie, countless many more.
I knew everybody in Washington County! / say everybody because I’d been here all my life. We came here to Florida and lived right here. Like I said, I reckon / grew up with the county along with the grass and trees. / P- 7]
My family, they’ve always been settled and quiet and everything like that. People had known me all my life. And 1 was a lady all of the time because I was there where I grew up, you know. And that makes a big difference when they know your family and all like that. And 1 never had any trouble gettin ’ a job and everybody loved and respected me. fV-11] FOOTNOTES
1. See for example: M. Grumet (1988), Bitter milk: Women and Teaching. Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press; G. Keizer, (1988), No place but here: A teacher’s vocation in a rural community. New York: Viking Press; S. Middleton (1992), Developing a radical pedagogy: Autobiography of a New Zealand sociologist of women’s education, In I- Good son (Ed.), Studying teachers’ lives, (pp. 18-50); J. Pagano (1990), Exiles and communities: Teaching in the patriarchal wilderness. New York: State University of New York Press. For a discussion of the psychoanalytic model in teacher autobiographical accounts, see W. Pinar, (1988), Autobiography and the architecture of self. Journal of Curriculum Theorizing £(1), pp. 7-35.
2. A plethora of publications have discussed ’Southern distinctiveness.' Perhaps the first to celebrate this was I’ll Take My Stand: The South and the Agrarian Tradition, first published in 1930 by a group of twelve Southern writers and historians who celebrated the culture, traditions, and values of the rural South. Other seminal works later followed of which W.J. Cash’s Mind of the South (1941), John Shelton Reed’s The Enduring South: Subcultural Persistence in Mass Society (1972), Carl N. Degler’s Place Over Time: The Continuity of Southern Distinctiveness (1977) are only a few of the representative examples.
3. Harding also attempts to disentangle the synonymous use of epistemology, "a theory of knowledge," for methodology. See "Introduction: Is There a Feminist Method?" In S. Harding, (Ed.) (1987) Feminism and Methodology, (pp. 1-14), Bloomington, Indiana, Indiana University Press.
4. Sylvan Bamet, Morton Berman, & William Burto. (1960). A Dictionary of literary Terms. Boston: Little, Brown and Company, pp. 70-71.
5. See in the bibliography for example: Nelson (1992c) selecting fellow women teachers who also lived in Vermont (p. 167); Freeman selecting fellow Afro- American subjects In Watson & Watson-Franke, 1985, p. 12; Robertson (1983) as an Afro-American woman selecting African women; Simic selecting fellow Yugoslavs, Cuellar selecting fellow Mexican-Americans, and Myerhoff selecting fellow Jews — all In Myerhoff & Simic, (Eds), 1978.
6. Principles of Professional Responsibility (PPR) adopted by the American Anthropological Association and the Human Subjects Review.
196 APPENDICES
197 APPENDIX A SUGGESTED INTERVIEW TOPICS AND QUESTIONS
198 199
SUGGESTED INTERVIEW TOPICS AND QUESTIONS
The following topics and questions provided guidance in the interviews with Miss Callie. Most of the topics and questions were extracted from S. Gluck, (1977), Topical guide for oral history interviews with women. Frontiers: A journal of women studies. 11(2), 110-118; and from P. Thompson, (1978), The voice of the past: Oral history. Oxford: Oxford University, 243-252.
I. General Background Information
A. Family history/genealogy
Grandparents/pre-grandparents: Identify family history and background beginning with earliest family members as are known by Miss Callie. Where, when, and how they lived—men vs women; work/occupations; religion, traditions; customs; values; beliefs; children; hobbies/talents; birth and death dates and places. Family stories associated with individuals, and what their lives were like when they were young. Include special interest topics such as Revolution, Civil War, or any events contemporaneous with family members’ lives. Determine availability of pictures, writings.
"What do you remember most about (or being told about) them?" "What were their daily lives like?" "What did they teach you?"
Parents: Identify names; birth dates and places; death dates and places; where, when, how parents met and married; children and birth order. Where, when, and how they lived; work/occupations; educational backgrounds; religion; traditions; customs, values. Involvement and beliefs in education, community, politics, religious activities—participation of mother, of father, and both together. Family stories associated with parents/relatives, and what their lives were like when they were young. Include special topics such as Civil War, Depression, etc. Determine availability of pictures, writings.
"What do you remember most about them?" "What was your mother’s daily life like?" "What was your father’s daily life like?"
Miss Callie: Identify birth date and place; whom, where, when, and how she met and married, divorced; number and order of children. Availability of photographs, personal writings. 200 B. Social Environment
The sociocultural environment of Miss Callie’s early life.
Community: size, texture, relationships, and affiliation of family with. Topography, occupations, etc. Availability and location of churches, cemeteries, stores, schools, hospitals, library, medicine, food, newspapers, mail, police and fire, doctors/dentists, etc. Social gatherings; special holidays, events. Communication among community members—where, when, how. Community leaders—who, why.
Family home: location, members of household (extended family members?), arrangement of living spaces (sharing bedroom), conveniences (plumbing, water, lighting, heating), cooking, washing, etc.
Household responsibilities: mother, father, Miss Callie, brothers and sister regarding food, cleaning, maintenance, etc. Who made which decisions in household regarding child rearing, punishment, finances, purchases?
Family relationships: family traditions and customs regarding ’family time,’ holidays, birthdays, visitors. Did family eat together, pray? Family discussions? How did family spend holidays—with whom, where, activities. Did parents talk about politics (local/ national), household finances, etc.
Recollections of weddings, deaths/funerals, births, family reunions—traditions about. Role of religion-family prayer, church attendance (when, where). Explanations of parents about these.
II. Early Years—childhood/adolescence
A. Education
Recollections of teachers, school building and conveniences, materials, books, seating arrangements, activities, curriculum, instruction, rules, traditions/ customs; level attained. School location, term in months, number of fellow students, grading, assessment. Parents attitudes of, participation in, expectations of male and female children. Parents ever discuss education, the teacher, why go to school? Best memories of school—what and why.
B. Social Relations
Childhood friends and activities for play—games, sports, events (what, where, and how often). Separate rules for boys and girls? 201 Teenage associations, activities, and events (where, when, who, and how). Dating and courtship rules and traditions—for boys and girls. Friends regarding ethnicity, religion, family backgrounds. Discussions of ’girl talk’— about what? ’Boy talk’—about what?
Participation in community affairs, events. Interaction with adults and community members—when, how, where. Expectations for behavior; Responsibilities.
C. Family Relations and Responsibilities
Responsibilities to home and family (jobs performed in and around the house)—different for boys and girls? Which liked best, least? Who disciplined, father, mother, both—how, when? Disagreements of parents— over what, how resolved. Particular things mother and father (each) stressed regarding values, traditions, marriage, cooking, etc.
D. Being Female—Puberty and Sex
Preparation for menstruation—by whom, when, and how informed, and reasons given for. Feelings about it; availability of materials. Teasing from boys or others?
Awareness about sex—from whom, when (girls talk about it and pregnancy?). Feelings about it when first heard.
Things you wanted to do but could not or would not because you were female?
E. General-Childhood and Adolescence
What are best memories of childhood regarding family, school, friends, relatives, community (activities, events, circumstances involving each)? The worst?
What are best memories of adolescence regarding same? The worst?
What did you most want to do or be ’when you grew up’? What did you daydream about? Looking back, anything you would have liked to have done and did not, or wish you had done differently?
In whom did you confide with problems, concerns? Whom did you feel closest to while growing up? 202 III. Adulthood
A. Marriage and children
Before marriage, did anyone prepare you for marriage regarding traditions, rules, expectations? For pregnancy and child rearing? Who, when?
Description of marriage traditions, beliefs, and customs: when and how decided to marry, parental attitudes about. Wedding ceremony: when and where held, attendees, rituals, gifts, honeymoon.
Expectations, pressures, attitudes toward marriage, children, working. Differ between husband and wife? Responsibilities inside the home; decisions about child rearing, finances, purchases. Responsibilities outside the home. Activities of wife outside the home—rules for. Activities of husband outside the home—rules for.
Relationship to husband: how was time spent together? with family and/or other couples? What were his expectations of you as ’his wife’? What were your expectations of him? How did you handle conflicts?
Family planning/children: Discussions about having children before your marriage? Knowledge of birth control? Children planned? By whom? Feelings about pregnancy; traditions about pregnancy and behavior in the home and in public. Husband's reactions to pregnancy.
Childbirth: prenatal and maternity care? child delivery by whom, where? Traditions, and feelings about.
Child rearing: expectations for boys versus girls. Amount of time spent with children, how and when? Who disciplined? Rules children expected to follow. Important values, traditions impressed upon children. Participation in children’s education?
Decision to end marriage: initial feelings about; reactions of children, husband and his parents/family, community, your parents/family. Emotional/financial support you received, from whom.
B. Social life:
Activities and events outside of the home in which you, your husband, and children attended as a family—where, when, how often (church, family reunions, community events, etc.). 203 To whom did you confide most with problems, concerns, etc?
Participate in your own activities apart from duties in home (hobbies, clubs, knitting circles, etc.)?
Attitudes and activities after ending marriage. Perceptions of dating, marriage, career aspirations?
Impact of being divorced/single in attitudes of others. [So-called ’Roaring Twenties,’ revolution in manners and expectations of women, and women’s right to vote affect you?]
C. Work/Teaching life:
When was decision made to become teacher and why—encouragement from others? Did other women work outside of the home? If so, what did they do?
Did you work outside of the home before you became a teacher—where and when?
First teaching job—how received, description of interview. Describe location and condition of school and teaching there—students, building, length of term, grading procedures, supervision, curriculum, materials, activities inside and outside, instruction, special events. Best/worst remembrances—specific incidences funny, sad, etc. [Do the same for remaining teaching experiences.]
Were there restrictions on behavior or activities attended because you were a teacher? By whom? What were they.
Did parents participate in their children’s education? How? How were conflicts resolved with parents?
How often were you visited by school officials? What was their purpose in visiting you?
Were in-service activities available to you during your first few years of teaching? What and how often. Later years of teaching?
What prompted you to work on your college degree? When and how did you receive your degree? Which courses helped you the most in day-to-day teaching? Which were your favorite courses? How did you feel when you received your degree? 204 What did your husband, parents, relatives, friends, and children think about your decision to teach? How was child care managed? What were their reactions to your working on your college degree?
How did your husband react to your working? Would his feelings have been different if you had not been a teacher (if you had been working in an area other than teaching)?
What were the biggest differences between teaching in the rural school and town school? Which did you prefer, why? In which did you have the most support, autonomy?
Did you belong to or participate in any educational organizations, groups, or clubs?
What were the reactions of the students, parents, teachers, and community regarding consolidation, and later integration?
Did you ever consider working elsewhere—outside the teaching field? If so, when and why? Why did you return to teaching?
How do you think your teaching/work experiences would have been different if you had been a man?
What are your best recollections about teaching, and being a teacher?
How do you think your life would have been different if you had not become a teacher and/or have lived somewhere else? APPENDIX B
INTERVIEW SCHEDULES
205 206 Table 1 Video Interviews*
Tape Date Participants Location Ref U V-l July 3,1992 Miss Call e, Alene, Mary V-2 July 3&4, 1992 Miss Call e, Alene, Mary V-3 July 4, 1992 Miss Calle, Mary V-4 July 4, 1992 Miss Call e, Mary Miss Callie’s V-5 July 4, 1992 Miss Call e, Mary home in Chipley, V-6 July 5, 1992 Miss Call e, Mary Florida V-7 July 5, 1992 Miss Call e, Mary V-8 April 26, 1993 Miss Call e, Mary V-9 April 26, 1993 Miss Call e, Mary V-10 April 26, 1993 Miss Call e, Mary, neighbor V -ll April 27, 1993 Miss Call e, Mary V-12 April 27, 1993 Miss Call e, Mary V-13 May 4. 1993 Miss Call e, Mary V-14a May 2, 1993 Silas Hodges Hodges Lumber Panama City, FI. V-14b May 2, 1993 Silas Hodges [.5 hours] Hodges Lumber Panama City, FI. V-14c July 3,1992 Alma Johnson, Cumine Williams Cumine’s home, Chipley, FI. V-14d May 3, 1993 Mr. Davis [1.5 hours] Mr. Davis' home, Panama City, FI. V-14e May 3, 1993 Alma Johnson Alma’s home, Chipley, FI. Complete transcriptions of all tapes were made. All tapes consisted of two hours of interviewing time, except where noted otherwise. 207 Table 2 Telephone Interviews
Data Time R ef# Status1 Date Participants (min) P-l n February 1992 Miss Callie 27 P-2 n March 19,1992 Miss Callie 22 P-3 n May 9, 1992 Miss Callie 19 P-4 n June 25, 1992 Miss Callie 32 P-5 n July 1, 1992 Miss Callie 29 P-6 t July 13, 1992 Miss Callie 73 P-7 t July 23, 1992 Miss Callie 51 P-8 n/t August 20, 1992 Miss Callie 44 P-9 n October 2, 1992 Miss Callie 107 P-10 n October 19, 1992 Miss Callie 83 P -ll n January 12, 1993 Miss Callie 65 P-12 n March 5, 1993 Miss Callie 50 P-13 n April 8, 1993 Miss Callie 52 P-14 n April 17, 1993 Miss Callie 69 P-I5 t May 28, 1993 Miss Callie 53 P-16 n July 7, 1993 Miss Callie 25 P-17 n/t July 9, 1993 Miss Callie 78 P-18 t July 23, 1993 Miss Callie 26 P-19 n August 26, 1993 Miss Callie 34 P-20 n October 5, 1993 Miss Callie 19 P-21 n October 14, 1993 Miss Callie 17 P 01 t June 3, 1993 Alma Johnson 86 1 n = notes, t — taped and transcribed 208
Table 3 Additional Interviews
Ref Date Participants Location # 1-1 April 1992 Colly V. Williams Miss Callie's home in Chipley 1-2 April 1992 Civil Davis McDuffie McDuffie's home in Panama Crill Davis Brandt 1-3 April 1992 Hershel McDuffie McDuffie's home in Panama 1-4 May 1992 Civil Davis McDuffie McDuffie’s home in Panama Crill Davis Brandt 1-5 July 1992 Alma Hodges Johnson Alma's home in Chipley APPENDIX C
GEOGRAPHICAL AND GENEALOGICAL ILLUSTRATIONS
209 210
Figure 1 Map of Relevant Counties in Florida and Alabama 211
Figure 2 Map of Work and Residence Locations Caladonia Hasty
1897 AL
Clara Belle Daniel Davis Absalom Hasty 1874 1966 19391874 AL FL GA FL
Richard Kissiah William Lavonia Davis Gamble Jefferson Singleton Hiisty
1852 1926 1851 1932 1842 1910 1842 1907 AL FL AL FL GA AL AL AL 1 1 1 William F. Martha Thomas Absalom •> Lucinda Martha • • Davis Robinson Gamble Willis Hasty Hammock
1807 1886+ 1819 1886+ 1815 1873 1837 7 1818 1890 1819 1901 GA AL GA AL GA AL GA AL GA AL GA AL
Figure 3 Genealogy of "Miss Callie" BIBLIOGRAPHY
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