Memories of My Parents Mildred Belle Tindell and Eugene Alexander Sharp (and a Few Other Folks)
Compiled by Wayne Sharp
Owners of the Homestead
Owners from 1887 - Present Van Dela Cheek and Thomas Jefferson Tindell Family and Heirs
Owners from 1839 - 1887 The Eliza B. Carr and John Jones Williamson Family
Owners from 1818 - 1839 The Mary Hanby and Nathaniel Smith Family
Owners from 1810 - 1818 Daniel Thomas Family
Owners from 1788 - 1810 Thomas Polk (1788 Land Grant of 5,000 acres for services rendered during the Revolution)
Deaths/Funerals known to have occurred in the home:
David Williamson May 5 1777 – Feb 25 1870
John Jones Williamson Feb 11 1809 – May 2 1882
Elizabeth (Betsy) Rhyan Cheek (Mother of Van Della Cheek Tindell) 29 Mar 1816 - 22 May 1905
Thomas Jefferson Tindell May 2 1845 – April 16 1932
Van Della Cheek Tindell Oct 17 1852 – Dec 28 1935
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Our Maury County Tennessee 1840s Farmhouse.
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Contents Page
Homestead Previous Owners ii
1841 Homestead iii
Homestead Construction Details iv
Mildred Belle Tindell and Eugene Alexander Sharp 1
Bessie Pearl Thompson Davis 7
As I Remember (Stories and Tales of my Family while growing up) 15
Karen Michelle Sharp 37 Forward
(As I was attempting to come up with a forward, this fell into my hands. Although she did not know it at the time, a great lady who worked with me at TSAC provided the material for this forward. I sent my "memories" musings to her and this was her response. Thank you Juanita Fann).
Wayne,
What? No Souse with crackers? No pickled pig feet? My father-in-law, Robert Hooper and I would sit down at the kitchen table and PIG out! Yum! (Pun definitely intended.)
Liver? Tried that at the insistence of my mother-in-law; Never, again!!! Lard biscuits can't be beat; just add some milk gravy and sop it up! Butter Milk cornbread minus cracklings is the favorite bread for son Tony. Whenever I make it, Dottie, who lives with us, always takes some to her brother Tony and his wife Donna.
Wayne, I really enjoy walking down memory lane with you. Your memories bring mine to mind. I experienced like ones at my grandparents' farms. The timing, names and counties are just different. I'm thankful for the memories for soon, there will not be a place called country. At one time, every family in Ashland City was my kin. It was much like Mayberry.
I was told by Harold Bradley the story about my Uncle Robert, driving up to his place, "three sheets in the wind". Harold tried to get him to come into the house but he refused. So, he called his brother, Sheriff Bruce Bradley and asked if he had a cell where Robert could "sleep it off"? "Sure, bring him on over!” Bruce told him. Bruce never carried a gun. Said he did not want to shoot "nobody" as was told in a memorial story in the Ashland City Times.
One more tale, another uncle was sentenced to jail for something or the other. Apparently, he was allowed to work off some of the time, because you could see him out sweeping the Court House walk. At meal times he was told to go on over to the Klondike, which was across the street from the C H. He'd eat and wander on back to the jail; no, supervision. Then, one day, Bruce told him to go on home. He'd done enough of his time!
The above stories were from Mother's side. I thought they were funny. Of course, there were some Aunt Beas', Opies' and probably Barneys mixed in there somewhere.
Oh, one more that might interest you. Uncle Harvey Pace was a recognized genius! (How about that, huh?) Anyway, he was a lieutenant colonel in the Air Force and is buried at Arlington. I remember him telling me that the more wings on his plane, the better he liked it!
Thank you for the wonderful stories.
Juanita Mildred Belle Tindell and Eugene Alexander Sharp
Daddy, Eugene Alexander Sharp, was one of seven children of Mary Elizabeth Rummage and John Robards Sharp. Mama, Mildred Belle Tindell, was one of two children of Annie Mae Hendrix and Wilburn Thomas Tindell. My parents were polar opposites. Mama, small, shy and quite, spoke when spoken to but otherwise just smiled or laughed at what others were saying. She was not a socializer. She did have a temper; Daddy called it the “Tindell” temper and said she was just like “cuddin squealer”, which is what he called his father-in-law, Wilburn Thomas Tindell Sr., at least to his back. When she was angered she let it all hang out with little thought to the
- 1 - consequences. Daddy, 200 pounds, over 6 foot tall, outgoing, always singing or humming, hard to anger, always there to help, made friends easily, respected by everyone who knew him. Mama was the homebody, Daddy the out in the world type. Mama was the excellent home maker and cook and Daddy the quintessential farmer who was one of the first to have his crops in the field, and the first to have them out. He was the person everyone in the neighborhood called on for help when their ox was in the ditch. He was the local plumber, electrician, mechanic, carpenter who built three or four homes, numerous barn sheds and even a few barns, he even tried his hand in television and radio repair at one time when tubes were in fashion.
There is a story that Mama was actually named Mildred Madeline Tindell at birth but when she became older she simply changed her middle
- 2 - name to “Belle”. That was done because her favorite aunt was Fannie Belle Hendrix Cheek. This caused some problems later when she was old enough to begin drawing Social Security payments. She had no birth certificate and there was no record of a Mildred “Belle” Tindell on the census records of her family. This required getting affidavits from people who were around at her birth attesting that “Mildred Belle Tindell” and “Mildred Madeline Tindell” as was recorded on the census records, were the same person.
Of my two parents, I probably understand my Mama the best. She was not a people person and by her actions it is now obvious (Left to right: Daddy and Mama)
to
- 3 - me she recognized that fact. I always wondered why she did not socialize the way Daddy did. I now understand for I inherited her inability as a people person.
Daddy’s Brothers and Sisters
Mama and Her Brother, Wilburn Thomas (Jake) Tindell, Jr.
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Porch Sitting The picture on the first page showing Mama, Daddy and Sis sitting on the front porch is just how it was growing up. My Papa, Wilburn Thomas Tindell Sr., (at left) would sit on the wooden bench, where Mama is shown sitting, and smoke. He always used Country Gentlemen tobacco in both his “roll your own cigarettes” and his pipe. He would sit and watch the world go by. He was there come rain or shine. There was a large post by the gate into the front yard and it was riddled with 45 caliber bullets. Apparently he liked to sit on the porch and shoot at the post; maybe it had offended him at some point. I remember one Sunday upon coming home from the Bethlehem Cumberland Presbyterian Church there was this extremely large rattlesnake in the yard, Papa had shot it with his shotgun as it crawled out from under the porch steps, a not uncommon occurrence in those days.
The fact is when visitors arrived, again not an uncommon occurrence in those days, in the spring, summer, or fall, the front porch was often as far as they got. It was not unusual for them to spend the entire visitation on the porch for that is where the socializing took place more often as not.
- 5 - There were two chairs on the porch, Daddy always sat in the one to the left as you went up the porch steps and Mama always sat in the one on the right. It was the one next to where her Daddy always sat. We kids were left to our own devices.
Every Sunday morning Daddy would sit out on the porch and study the Sunday School lesson he would be teaching that day at the Bethlehem Cumberland Presbyterian Church. Daddy was the Church Treasurer, Adult Sunday School Teacher, an Elder, and general all around flunky for the church as well as being a Trustee for the Bethlehem Cemetery.
There is a story later that tells of his leaving his Bible in the chair and when he returned it was gone, seems our dog was a dedicated Christian also.
For years after Daddy and Mama’s deaths when I drove down the main road toward the “Big House” two chairs were still sitting in their spots and sometimes I could almost swear I saw them sitting there.
- 6 - Bessie Pearl Thompson Davis
(This article was written by Granddaughter Michelle Sharp- Stiteler and appeared in the Lewisburg Tribune as a tribute to Mrs. Davis celebrating One Hundred years of life.)
Bessie was born on March 9, 1911 on her parent’s farm on the Verona/Caney Road. She was the seventh of nine children born to Andrew West Thompson and Mattie Ida Osborne. She attended Hardison School through the 7th grade here in Lewisburg. She enjoyed sitting on the rock wall with her friends at school. She remembers walking to school but her mother would not allow her leave the house without her shoes. She says she removed them as soon as she got out of sight from the house! Her family moved to Nashville sometime around 1924, where her dad went to work for the Haymarket Mills. Prior to moving to Nashville he was a farmer and also a carpenter. It was his carpentry skills, according to Bessie, which he put to use in his employment in the building of Vanderbilt University. She likes to talk about the green touring car her father owned and will tell you he was quite proud of it.
- 7 - At the age of 13 she went to work at the Southern Bell Telephone Company in downtown Nashville as a telephone operator. She worked a split shift, four hours on, four hours off, and four hours on again. She and a friend spent the middle four hours going to the movies. She quit after about nine months because the supervisor “fussed” at her for not being fast enough in answering the incoming calls.
At the age of 15 on November 2, 1926 she married William Carl (Jack) Davis (pictured at right) at a minister's home on the corner of Second Avenue in Nashville. She has stated that she was too “scared” to get out of the car so Jack went in and brought the minister outside and they were married while still in car. They lived on Ludy Street in Nashville for three years and during this time Jack worked in Old Hickory. They couldn’t even afford wedding bands at the time, but that never bothered Bessie. At the urging of Jack’s mother they moved back to
- 8 - Lewisburg and lived with Mrs. Davis on the Davis farm located on Farmington Road for a number of years while Jack farmed. Later, Jack was employed at the Lewisburg Water Plant; being hired by Bessie’s brother, Cecile. Jack, along with his brothers Robert and Grady, served as volunteer fire fighters for the City of Lewisburg for a number of years. Along the way she had two daughters, Linda Carol who was born in 1944 and died in 1989 and later Rita Gale, who died at birth in 1947.
Her husband Jack Davis died in 1959 leaving Bessie with a 15 year old daughter to rear. Since Jack worked for the City, they
were living in City provided housing located at the location of the current City Administration Building. At the age of 48, Bessie was
- 9 - with a 15 year daughter, no permanent home, no car, no job, and little money. She did not allow this to deter her. She “hitched up her britches” and with the help of friends, got a job at the old Linton Pencil Company. Her nephew Wendell Thompson helped her find and purchase a used car, which she then learned to drive. With the help of her brother Robert, she found an affordable home down the street from the pencil company and with the help Pryor Tyree renovated it into livable condition for herself and her daughter. She lived in that home until 1998 at which time she moved to the Summit.
She had been in outstanding health living unassisted at the Summit Apartments until at the age of 89 she began to experience chest pains. After several tests, it was determined she would need surgery. At the age of 89, she had quadruple bypass surgery. She had an excellent recovery from that surgery. At the age of 90 she survived colon cancer. She returned to her apartment and was doing well until at the age of 95 she fell and broke her hip. After hip surgery she went to live at NHC of Lewisburg and it is there she now resides.
- 10 - While living at NHC, she came to enjoy time with her last remaining sibling, Robert (at left), who was also a resident, until he passed away.
One other family member to note is Bessie’s sister in law, Mary Belefant Davis. She and Mary married brothers and have been fast friends since. Mary will be turning 104 July 12 of this year.
Bessie is a lifelong member of the Church Street Church of Christ. She says she remembers taking the buggy there on Sunday as a child. Her strong faith in her God has pulled her through many rough patches in life. She read her Bible every day; up until a few years ago when her eye sight began to diminish, even then her granddaughter bought her a CD player and she then listened to her bible. Her favorite song is “Jesus is Coming Soon”, and you can ask anyone at NHC or the Farmington Baptist Church group that comes and sings at NHC. She loves to hear it and knows it by heart. Bessie contributes her longevity to never smoking, never drinking, never dancing, never “cussing”, irritating her son-in-law at every chance she gets, and living right according to God’s word.
Bessie was recently honored with a birthday party at NHC of Lewisburg which was given by her granddaughter and two great grandchildren. Over one hundred family and friends came to congratulate her on reaching this milestone. She appreciated everyone coming and the cards and gifts. She truly enjoyed herself.
- 11 - Bessie, Thanksgiving 2010, with Grand Daughter Michelle Sharp- Stiteler, Great Grandson Trey Swinney, and Great Grand Daughter Shelby Stiteler.
______Wait a minute, in talking with one of her nephews, it now appears that a 1910 census shows a one month old un-named female to be living in the Thompson house at the time of the census. Based on the birthdates of her siblings and date on which the census was taken, we feel this might actually be Bess!
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Her Final “Gotcha” A few days before Gran Gran’s death I was visiting with her and as I walked into her room she asked me what I was doing “roaming around out here”. I told her there was this ancient mean old woman I often visited when I was in town, she looked at me and said “I ought to get up from here and slap you!.” As I was leaving she said that I should go before they caught me “roaming around out here”. I told her if they did I would simply tell them to check with Bess, and she would tell them what a fine person I was. A wicked little smile came on her face and she said “You might not want to do that”.
On August 13, 2012 Heaven became an even better place.
- 13 - The following pages contain, in no particular chronological order, events “As I Remember It”. They were compiled from my memories of the events surrounding my parents’ lives as I grew up. This epistle was compiled strictly for the benefit of my daughter Karen Michelle Sharp Stiteler, even if she will never read it.
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The earliest memory I have is being held by someone and looking down into a crib and seeing a baby lying there. The baby was my sister, Betty Jean, at left.
A story my mother liked to tell involved Gertie Hardison. When my sister was born, as was the custom in those days, my mother was bedridden for a few weeks after her birth and Gertie was hired to do the cooking and housework during that time.
It seems that Gertie insisted that I call her "Black Mammy", very politically incorrect today by any standard but that was her wish and it was 1943.
One day after finishing playing outside I wanted to come back inside. With the door knob being too high for me to reach I yelled out "Gertie, let me in". Mama said Gertie just kept doing whatever she was doing. Once again "Gertie, let me in", and again Gertie just kept ignoring my cries for help. After a couple more tries I finally relented and yelled “Black Mammy, let me in". Mama said Gertie's face lite up with a big smile and went to the door and let me into the living room.
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The second early memory I have is that of being chased around the big Catawba trees in our front yard by Janice Hardison who was a few years older than me and had come to the house with her dad, Ossie. She was playing with me, but I was scared to death and simply trying my hardest to get away from her.
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The picture of me at 15-18 months is with my first pair of “real” shoes. It was taken at the home of Horace and Mildred Jones when they lived on the farm. Mama said when she put the shoes on me I could not keep my eyes off of them. She said I walked around with my head down looking at my new shoes. You might notice the leggings, only problem is I wasn't wearing leggings. I was a rather chubby baby. This picture was given to Susan by Joan Jones Martin.
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I remember Mama ordering overalls for me to wear for my first year of school. When they arrived I begged her (she was a pushover and I could get anything I wanted from her, Daddy, that is another story) to let me wear a pair of my new overalls, promising that I would not get them dirty. Well, that promise went out the window as soon as I put on a pair. I remember her telling me at the end of the day as I was getting ready for bed that now she would have to wash them before I could wear them to school as if she did not know that is how it would turn out.
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I remember daddy being really sick only one time. That was when he had a severe case of vertigo, so dizzy that he could not stand up and stayed in bed for several days. There was one time that I do not remember and that was when a tractor he was cranking backfired and the crank kicked back and hit him in the head.
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For the first few years after I was born we heated with an open fireplace, although this did not last long being replaced with a tall “potbellied” stove. The only memory of the fireplace being used is of Daddy and Papa (Mama’s father who lived with us, or rather we lived with him) rolling a log up a ramp, into the living
- 17 - room, and into the fireplace. This log was used as a “backlog” and was a method of not having to start a fire each morning. The coals from a fire were pushed back against the log and covered with ashes each night before bedtime. Then in the morning, after the coals smoldered all night, you uncovered the coals, added kindling and some larger wood, and you had a quick fire. I also remember Daddy popping corn in a long handled open mesh corn popper over the fire.
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The “potbellied” stove was the cause of much consternation for Mama. Papa, my grandfather, sat in his oversized rocking chair at the side where the ash pan was located. The reason being he smoked and also chewed tobacco and would pull the pan out and use it either as an ashtray or as a spittoon. He did not always hit his “spittoon”, sometimes hitting the stove, sometimes the floor. Mama was always complaining to him about his inaccurate efforts at hitting the ash pan. Sometime using language best not repeated here.
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I remember our first television. In the early days of television stores would bring a TV, set it up, and allow you to “test” it for a week or so. I remember
- 18 - coming home from school in 1950 and Butler Brothers had an Admiral TV set up in the hallway. The first TV show I ever saw all the way through was Kukla, Fran, and Ollie, a puppet show on NBC with Sherry Lewis. The first TV in the neighborhood was at Bit Hardison's store in Berlin, one channel with mostly snow, but it was a wonder to behold. Unfortunately, although it brought people to the store, it was mostly to watch the TV shows, such as Milton Berle, Ed Sullivan, and John Cameron Swazzey with the NBC News.
In any event, Butler Bros. wound up with a new customer as Daddy bought the TV and moved it into the living room in a corner next to the "potbellied" stove.
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The first day of school at Leftwich was eventful. There was this “older women” of seven or eight who insisted that I play house with her. I remember she had a rock lined off with sticks and that
- 19 - was her house in which she made me play. Apparently I started off early being henpecked. To this day I cannot remember her name and the next year she was not there. I do remember that I finally got the nerve to stop doing her bidding after a few days but that memory is still there. If I were to hear her voice today I would probably stop dead in my tracks.
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During the first few days of school at Leftwich we had a fire drill. Now how was a sheltered six years old to know what a “fire drill” was? I thought it was time for recess, I did know about recess. I was searching through my book satchel for my “recess snack”, an apple, when Miss Louise Jones came back into the schoolhouse and let me know in no uncertain times just what was happening. I do remember the embarrassment of being led out into the school yard where all the others kids had gathered.
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Likewise, the first day of school at Union Grove was eerily familiar. I attended Leftwich for two years and after the second year of my schooling we were transferred to a newly built school at Rock Springs. This new school combined schools from Leftwich, Union Grove, Nicholson, and Philadelphia. However, with the new school not being completely finished we were sent further up the road to the old Union Grove School for half a school year. There, to quote Yogi Berra, it was “deja vu all over again”. I was chased around the school yard for the first few days by two girls. The difference this time was they were “younger women”, of six or seven.
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There was the time in the mid-50s when Daddy brought home used, darned socks (and poorly at that) he bought at the tobacco barn while selling his tobacco crop. Mama though he was crazy and said so, at least to us kids. I do not know what she said to him, but am sure it was pretty much it was pretty much the same thing or worse.
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In the late 1950s Daddy bought this hideous bedroom suite that was covered in mismatching and strangely designed fabric, again Mama accused him of being drunk or at least crazy, the drunken part I did not understand since he was a teetotaler. Mama put the suite in one of the bedrooms that was seldom used. The place has six bedrooms, or seven counting the upstairs open loft between the two upstairs bedrooms. The family who originally built the home had 13 children live to maturity, so seven bedrooms were not overdoing it by any means. I think that suite was still in one of the bedrooms at the “Big House” until mid 2005 when we “cleaned" out the Big House. What we found "cleaning out" is another story to be told.
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When I was little I would often go with Daddy to someone's home to repair or build something. I remember being embarrassed by him always singing or humming as we walked to the door or as he worked. The harder or more difficult a job became the more he sang or hummed. There was one song he was constantly singing but now I cannot for the life of me remember what it was, only that it was a church hymn.
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There was the time he broke down his D15 Allis Chalmers tractor's transmission for repair. It had the usual problem prone to the D Series tractors, slipping out of third gear. In doing so he had every gear carefully laid out in the order he had taken it out of the transmission, only to have the local shade tree mechanic, NaBob, whom he had hired to help him repair the transmission, sit down beside the gears and start tossing them, in no particular order, into two piles, good and bad. That is the only time I ever saw even a hint of panic in Daddy, he finally recovered enough to ask the guy “what are you doing, how will we ever get them back in order”? NaBob said “not to worry”. After Daddy had bought the new gears, NaBob came back, sat down beside the pile of gears, and starting handing them to Daddy, IN THE CORRECT ORDER, for him put back into the transmission. Daddy put the tractor back together and everything ran fine. I am sure he was relieved and also a little embarrassed at not trusting NaBob. But that was understandable NaBob had only a third grade education, Daddy had a 10th grade education!
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Once Daddy was building an addition to a barn for Paul Liggett and had called for cement for the floor but by 6:00 pm the truck had not arrived. Thinking it was not coming, he left for home. I was with him that day and we stopped at the local country store in Leftwich when Willie Liggett, Paul's wife, caught up with him and told him the truck had arrived. He left me at the store (people did such things then with worry), and went back to do the concrete work. Being a little 5 year old the folks there assumed I was not listening to them, but I was. They were talking
- 22 - about Daddy, what a fine person he was, what a good worker, how he did a great job, a very successful farmer, etc. To this day I still remember that and have always thought that if I have been 10% the person he was and have 5% of the respect he had, I have done well. Although he died in 1986 I still have people telling me how much they respected him and how much they still miss his great attitude, although I am sure they also miss his being there when they called for his help and for his almost giving away his labor. ◄──────────────────────────────►
Mama would give anything away, "that old thing, take it, it has been here all my life". The dinner bell that stood outside the detached kitchen and dining facilities fell had fallen from its perch and one day the Bethlehem preacher, Rev. Bryant, and his wife was there, saw it, commented on it, and Mama said "take it" and they did! That dinner bell had probably been there for over a 100 years.
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There was a "long rifle", the Daniel Boone "who chilled a bar'' type, upstairs that I often attempted to play with but was so heavy that I could barely lift it. After Daddy died I tried to locate it and Mama told me he probably gave it away, "it was old and broken anyway!" How the spinning wheel survived I do not know, but Michelle has it now and there will be no hope of anyone getting
- 23 - anything away from her, she will not part with anything attached to her memories of that house.
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I remember a black family who lived in the area hauling off antiques in a wagon because Mama gave them to the family, things like a 7 foot tall chifforobe (chifforobe: an often very tall closet-like piece of furniture that combines a long space for hanging clothes with drawers underneath or on the side, the precursor to closets of today) and such. After all "that old thing has been here all my life". ◄──────────────────────────────►
I remember, when small, Daddy backing up the wagon to the upstairs windows and he and Mama "cleaning out" the upstairs. You have probably observed that we do a lot of "cleaning out". He hauled everything they tossed out into the woods and dumped it there. You can still find remains of iron bedsteads and such there to this day.
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Daddy purchased a rotary mower to pull behind his AC WD tractor in the fifties and the first thing he did was remove the shield from around the side of blade so it “wouldn’t become bogged down with cuttings”. Never mind that with the shield off it would then sling rocks and such half a mile. Probably the
- 24 - same reason he removed the fenders from his first tractor, an unstyled Allis Chalmers WC illustrated at right. Farm safety had not yet, if ever, come into vogue for him. I remember driving this tractor for it has the hand brake levers mounted to at the fenders. I could not have been more than ten or twelve years of age.
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One other thing that had not come into vogue in the 1950s was vertical manufacturing; those are companies that make specialty pieces of equipment. If you needed a special piece of equipment around the farm, you both designed and built it yourself, or you had a welding shop fabricate it for you. Up until a few years ago the barn lot held parts of several pieces of such equipment that Daddy designed and built. Among them was an ear corn loader made from wood and angle iron from a windmill he had taken down on the farm, a cut off saw that mounted on the front of a tractor for cutting felled trees into firewood and many other such items. Most of the left over parts went to the scrap yard and are now part of some "new" piece of equipment. ◄──────────────────────────────►
As with most all siblings, there was sibling rivalry. I have a "dent" in the middle of my forehead to attest to that rivalry. I do not remember the exact "why", but I do remember the "what”. It is the result of my sister throwing the broken off glass handle from a jelly stand at me and hitting her mark. If anyone remembers these things you will know they were a very heavy piece of glass.
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My sister and I each had a bicycle when growing up. I do not remember my sister riding hers very much. It might be because of her difficulty in learning to ride. I do not remember
- 25 - having much trouble myself, naturally, but she was a different story. I remember Daddy out in the yard trying to teach her. He would give her a push and she would travel a few feet and fall over, this happened a lot, but eventually she did learn. The most vivid memory of her attempts was the time she headed toward the wood pile, did not make a turn, and traveled half way up it.
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I remember my sister’s first attempt at making coffee. It was so strong it attempted to crawl out of the pot!
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Neither parent was a very strict disciplinarian. However, that did not stop Daddy from threatening us with using the “razor strop. The only problem was we knew he did not actually have a “razor strop”. That is until one day I came home from school and there hanging on a door jamb at the back of the hallway was a “razor strop”. Apparently it had finally dawned on Daddy that if he was going to threaten us with using a “razor strop” he needed to actually have “a razor stop”. He had visited his mother that day and brought one home. As far as I can remember he never used it, although that did not stop his continuing to threaten us with using it. It may very well still be
- 26 - hanging from the very spot he originally hung it 60 or 65 years ago.
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Before starting to school and during vacations, by the time I had gotten out of bed in the morning everyone else had eaten breakfast and gone about their business. Not wanting to eat alone I insisted that my Papa “Watch me eat” each morning. He would dutifully sit in the kitchen each morning until I had finished my meal.
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Daddy had terrible handwriting. His mother said his teacher told her he had the best handwriting of any first grader she ever taught. The problem, well ten years later he still had the same handwriting, it never improved. His handwriting was a cross between hieroglyphics and chicken scratching.
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I wasn’t very close to my Papa (Mama’s father), Wilburn Thomas Tindell, and Sr., growing up, even though he lived with us or more appropriately, we lived with him. My Grandmother Annie Mai Hendrix Tindell died a few days after giving birth to my uncle. Papa died when I was 14 so I never got the opportunity once I was mature enough to realize socializing is a two way street. Apparently grandparents were not of the “spoil the grandkids” mindset in those days as most of us are today. My dad’s mother, my grandmother, was of the same persuasion. Age may have had something to do with it. Papa was in his sixties when I was born and Daddy was the baby of the family so his kids came along when his mother was in her late seventies. Whatever the reason my sister and I never had much contact with our grandparents.
- 27 - Maybe that is why Daddy made such an effort to be part of his granddaughter’s life when she was small.
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Thomas Rummage told me this while at Mama's funeral. He said they were working on a building at his dad, Leonard Rummage's, home. Leonard was Daddy's first cousin, his mother's nephew. They were walking the ridge poles putting up the rafters when the whole thing started to collapse with them at the top. Thomas said the only thing they could do was to ride it down and hope for the best. Luckily the rafter system held together, after all Daddy was a fine carpenter, and the roof came down in one piece and so did they. He said that although Daddy normally had a high voice, he had never heard it as high as he did that day.
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One night we were over at Uncle Bascom's and Aunt Lucy's (Anna Lou), when we were leaving it was unusually dark and Uncle Bascom stepped off the back porch and asked Daddy if he could see alright. Daddy told him that he could make it. At that time there was a tree between the end of the house and the fence and the path to the front gate went between the house and the tree. Daddy had no more than gotten the words out of his mouth when he ran head first into that tree. He did not say a thing for a while, there was only stunned silence. Afterward he told me that was the one and only time in his life he actually saw stars. He
- 28 - said until that time he thought the "star thing" only happened in cartoons. Daddy did not think it was funny, I did, and so did Mama, she wanted to know why a grown man would pick a fight with a tree, and in the dark no less.
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I remember the time Daddy’s nephew, Larry Sharp, wrecked Daddy’s 1949 Plymouth. Daddy, Uncle Jesse and I had gone to Shelbyville to a gospel singing, Daddy loved gospel singing. In the middle of the performance there was an announcement that the police need to see them. It seemed Larry had wrecked Daddy’s car in Lewisburg. It happened because Daddy never carried his car keys on his person. There was ledge under the dash and he always placed them on that ledge, out of sight. Unfortunately, Larry was standing by the car and saw him what he did, and sometime after we left Larry decided to take a little drive. It was not a serious accident, mashing in a rear fender. In those days you simply unbolted the old one, bolted on a new one (which daddy did), had it painted, and you were ready to once again be about your business. It might have cost Uncle Jesse fifty dollars.
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Daddy told me this. When he was in his early twenties he went with Uncle Jessie and Uncle John to Detroit where they worked at the Ford Auto Plant, daddy was a “spot” welder on Model T bumpers. He told me that while there he tried out for a basketball team, he played a lot of basketball when young and he liked to go to high school basketball games. He said he was told to come back the next night for they wanted some of the higher ups to take a look at him. But he said he never went back. I do not know what team. It may have been a beer plant’s basketball
- 29 - team for all I know but I do know that he would have been paid, so it was some sort of professional team with an upper management who made the final decision.
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During the last couple of years of Linda’s life she would tell me of her “visitors”. One night after putting Linda to bed, taking her blood, and connecting her to her dialysis machine, I was in the bathroom disposing of the packaging that all the paraphilia that came with each setup when she called out to me “Wayne, they are back!”. I walked to the door and asked what they were doing and she said “Nothing, they are just standing around my bed looking at me”. I then asked if she recognized them and she said “No, and they are always different”. I then inquired what they looked like and she told me they were, old, young, women, men, dressed in different style clothing. The amazing thing was she was not the least bit concerned with what she saw as happening, she was very matter of fact about the situation. Since this was not the first or last time this happened, she just seemed to have accepted it as a common occurrence.
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There was the time Daddy needed some item and could not find it and finally went to Griffin Cook’s in Lewisburg. Griffin said he had just what Daddy was looking for and gave him the price. Daddy told Griffin so and so sells it for such and such but they are out of it. Griffin said "That is also my price when I am out of the item."
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I remember one time during a flood we were at the store in Leftwich. “Uncle Mec” Liggett was keeping an eye on the waters as
- 30 - they rose and had a large rock marking the level he last checked. The only thing wrong with it was the larger boys there kept moving the rock back and forth as he checked it, giving the illusion that the waters were rising one moment and receding the next. I can only assume he actually knew what they were doing for each time he checked it he gave them the reaction they were hoping for, fuming at them to stop messing with his marker.
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Daddy was the Sunday School teacher at the Bethlehem Cumberland Presbyterian Church and each Sunday Morning, weather permitting, he would sit on the front porch and study his lesson. One morning he left his bible and Sunday School book on the porch floor and went inside, when he returned his Bible was nowhere to be found. After a little searching he found it in the yard, chewed on rather heavily by the dog. He picked it up and kept using it for the rest of his life, torn cover and all. Michelle now has Daddy’s bible.
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The first hamburger I ever ate was the time I rode along with Uncle Jake to Lewisburg on one of his errands. He stopped at a little hamburger joint (the little building is still standing at this time) that was between Sanders Lumber Company and the Marshall Farmers Coop (the spot is now a parking lot for Church Street Church of Christ) and bought hamburgers that were the same size as the ones Krystal serves.
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This story was told to Daddy by Porter Nickens. Porter, one of the few real “characters” I ever knew, and Daddy were first cousins, his mother, Cora Bell Sharp, being a sister to John R. Sharp, Daddy’s father. Porter said that one Christmas Eve First National Bank in Lewisburg was giving away candy canes. He said he had gotten his and as he was walking out the bank he heard a candy cane hit the floor. Thinking he had dropped his candy he went to pick it up just as a little boy also went for it. Porter beat the boy to it and pocketed the candy. It was only once he was outside and up the street he realized that he had his candy in another pocket and he had stolen the little boy’s candy. He said it was too late to make amends so he just kept walking, one candy cane better off!
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This one could be said to be applied to most of those that lived during the same era as Daddy. As with most children of that time, if they were going to go to school they were going to walk. This was the case with Daddy. He went to Beechland School in what was then called the March Community of Maury County. To be truthful it was a rather long walk from his home to the school.
- 32 - Every time he told of his having to walk to school “when I was young”, the snow got higher, the miles were longer, the weather more extreme, and by the time he was in his seventies it was up hill both ways.
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Marie England Tomlinson told this one about Daddy. She said she was in the store at Leftwich with her father, Grove, and Daddy bought her a candy bar. She said she waited until the candy bar was in her hand then she said to Daddy, “I have three brothers and sisters at home” hinting to Daddy that he should buy them a candy bar also. From what I have gathered, he did.
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Daddy always like to tell of the time he asked Billy Hendrix, Mama and Billy shared the same grandparents, just why be became an Optometrist. He said Billy told him that it seemed to be as good a racket as any!
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This story is on me. I worked with this lady who was a big Church of Christ person, but she sang with a gospel group, the Stevens out of Franklin Tennessee, and played piano for them. I said to her one day “What gives, you will play the piano and sing in other folks churches but not in your own, explain please”, she said if you have to ask you would not understand.
One morning she came in and told me she just found out she had a “Cumberland Presbyterian” dog. When asked just what that meant, she said it rained the night before and the next morning when she put her dog out to do its business it “tippy
- 33 - toed” out, did its business, and “tippy toed” back in, it just did not want to get wet, so it must be a Cumberland Presbyterian dog!
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This story is on me also. Daddy had stopped at the Berlin Store run by Bit Hardison and I stayed in the car. I still remember that car, a baby blue 1949 two door Plymouth. While he was in the store I slipped behind the steering wheel and was pretending to be speeding down the road, all of a sudden the car started to bounce and shake like crazy, scared the daylights out of me. After recovering, I looked up in the rear view mirror and there was Junior Watson laughing his fool head off. First he had scared me, now I was embarrassed.
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This is another story Mama like to tell concerning our neighbors.
Mr. Alfred I. McCullough and Miss Lena were neighbors who owned the farm across Franklin Pike from ours. Miss Lena told of the time Alfred went out to take photos of his prize dairy herd with his brand new camera. After taking the pictures and having them developed he excitedly opened the envelope containing his photos. Miss Lena said he looked at one then hurriedly looked through them all, and his face dropped, then he showed the photos to her. It seemed that he had turned the camera the wrong way when taking the photos and instead photos of his prize herd; all he had was twelve blurred photos of his nose!
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I remember the “Hog Killings” that took place every Thanksgiving. Come rain or shine (well maybe not rain), warm or
- 34 - cold Daddy was going to kill hogs that day. Louis Nicholson, a black farmer whose farm joined ours, would always help with the hog killings as did Uncle Jake along with Bert Derryberry, and anyone else that could be pressed into service. Everyone outside the immediate family took home their choice from the killing, no hams or shoulders please. Uncle Louis, whose father Jim had been a slave on the Nicholson Plantation, always cleaned the intestines and took them home for chitterlings, he usually also took the lights (lungs as I found out later) home as we would not be using them. Also, I seem to remember that Aunt Bell Steel, another black neighbor, helped at times with the cooking off of he lard.
Early in the morning a fire was built under the scolding pan. Then we went to the fattening pen where four or five large fat hogs were kept. One by one they were shot between the eyes with a 22 rifle (Daddy would never have to shoot twice), stuck with a pointed knife in the jugular for free bleeding, drug to the vat where they were dipped in the scolding water, then all their hair was scraped off. They were then hung on a pole by their hind feet with a gambol stick. They were split down the middle and disemboweled. The inside of the carcass was washed out and the head was cut off. The backbone, ribs, shoulders, sides and hams, back strip, and tenderloins were cut out.
The carcasses were then left overnight for cooling. Early the next morning the meat was taken and moved to the cutting block for trimming and shaping. The joints were placed in the saltbox
- 35 - where they remained for several weeks until cured. They were then taken out and hung by string from the smoke house joists. It was my job to climb up into the smokehouse above the joists and tie the strings as Daddy held then up after stringing them with twine. This was our main source of meat for the coming year.
We always had fresh liver with biscuits and gravy for supper after every hog killing. I always remember thinking as I was eating how this had been walking around eight hours earlier.
Daddy always sold most of the back strips, tenderloins, some of the liver, heads, and feet, either peddling them house to house or more often to Akin’s Grocery, a black grocery just off the square in Columbia. I only remember one time he ever had souse made from the heads and feet and that was made by Miss Laura Aldridge a neighbor who lived across the woods.
All of the lean trimmings were ground into sausage, which was stuffed into long cloth bags and hung up in the smokehouse. I do remember that the longer the sacks hung in the smokehouse the longer the mold grew on them and the more sausage Mama had to cut of each slice to be able to cook them.
Daddy would eat the pork brains scrambled with eggs, something I never cared for. He also ate mountain oysters; Mama would batter and fry them, also something country I never cared for.
The morning after all of the fat pieces would be cut up and cooked in an outdoor black kettle. The liquid was then strained
- 36 - through cheese cloth and poured into lard stands and stored for cooking lard for the year to come. The bits of cooked meat were shared with those helping with the lard with some being kept for crackling bread, also not one of my favorite things.
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I remember what was called a rolling store or the “Peddling Wagon”. The one I remember was run by Dick Trulove at Leftwich. I do not remember it being stopped but a few times. He always stopped in the middle of the road (traffic on Leftwich Bridge Road was very light to rare in those days) and let us rummage around in the store.
I also remember Daddy trading at the general stores in the area, Leftwich, Berlin, and later at Sam Lovette’s store at Hardison Mill. At each store he would usually trade eggs out for groceries. The clerk would candle the eggs first for any bad ones and figure up the amount you were owed. In those days Mama made a list of the items she needed, no choice of brands, and the clerk would gather up what was listed and put them in the same basket you brought the eggs into the store. At the end of the visit the store either paid you or you paid them the difference between what the eggs brought and the cost of the groceries.
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I remember listening to the radio, Sargent Preston of the Yukon and his dog King, Boston Blackie, Bobby Benson of the B Bar B, The Shadow, and others. The radio was, of course, a battery powered one since we did not get electricity until 1947. Daddy powered it with telephone batteries instead of the more expensive regular large batteries meant for such.
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I remember Daddy having to kick Paul Thomas Webb out one Saturday night when he stayed too long watching TV. His family lived in the tenant house of Alfred McCullough just across the fence from our farm and they did not have a TV. Paul Thomas was addicted to wrestling and came to our house to watch the matches. The problem was wrestling did not start until late Saturday night and lasted till it was finished, whenever that was. That night Daddy had had enough.
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I remember the morning Mr. Arthur Sampson came to our house to tell us that his son Richard had been killed in Korea. A shell exploded near him, causing serious injury and shortly thereafter he died.
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Bert Derryberry had “nervous” goats that roamed our woods occasionally spilling out onto the road. These were the kind that keeled over, fainted, when exposed to loud noises. Their legs would become paralyzed and for a minute or so would be unable to move. After a while they would regain the use of their legs and move on off.
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We had Leghorn chickens, mainly because they were light and could actually fly some and could escape predators more easily than the heaver hens. Also, they roosted in the trees at night as a deterrent against predators.
They were allowed to roam the yard and left presents all over the place. This required much “due diligence” when playing in the grass.
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Electricity came down the Franklin Pike in 1947 and onto Leftwich Bridge Road that same year. Daddy was a licensed electrician and did the wiring of our home and several other homes and churches in the area. Before that we heated, and Mama cooked, with a wood stove. Daddy said he and Horace Jones looked at each other across a cross cut saw for days on end cutting firewood for both our home and for the Jones home as they lived on our farm. We used coal oil lamps for lighting. I remember having an Aladdin Lamp that was an improvement over the normal lamps as it had a “mantle” which caused more light with less smoke.
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I remember our outdoor toilet, nuff said. We used Sears and Roebuck catalogs as toilet paper. Ours did not have a pit but was open under the “seats”. We had a “two holer”, now just why one needed a “two holer” still escapes me to this day, was the toilet actually shared? Not by me! I was always scared to death the chickens were going to peck at me from underneath while I was using that thing.
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We grew just about everything we needed except for seasonings, salt, sugar, a few can goods, etc. In those days you could put grain, wheat and corn, on “deposit” at the mill and later as you needed flour or meal you simply made a “withdrawal” with the mill taking it tare for processing the grain. Daddy always had his account at Columbia Mill and Elevator in Columbia. The mill, actually the facility is still standing as of this writing, was near the old Central High School and I remember going with him on his trips to the elevator.
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Daddy grew tobacco. At that time there was an acreage base instead of a poundage base. Daddy grew is own plant in a plant bed that required often weeding. At first he “pegged out” his tobacco plants, you would punch a hole in the ground with a wooden peg, put the “slip” in and close up the hole. Later he acquired a tobacco setter that was pulled by a tractor. The tobacco was cut by hand in the hot sun so the leaved would not be harmed, speared onto a wooden “tobacco stick”, left in the field for a period of time, then hauled to the barn for “hanging”. After several months it would be air cured and ready for
- 40 - “stripping”. That involved pulling the leaves off manually, sorting into four “grades”, tying into “hands”, placing into a stack, later a press, hauling to the tobacco barn where it was placed on a basket, set in the auction row, and sold at auction. This was a farmers’ “Christmas Spending Money”. Daddy kept all of the auction tickets of this tobacco sales and I still have them to this day.
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We always had tractors as far as I remember, but Daddy used mules for some jobs on the farm. One of those was “gathering” corn. The ears were manually pulled, pitched into the wagon, and then manually shoveled into the crib. He at some point bought a Case one row corn picker and later added an ear corn elevator which greatly aided in his corn production.
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When I was very little I remember taking baths in the summertime on the back porch in a number 8 washtub. Usually we took “pan baths” sometimes called sponge baths; this consisted of using, not sponges, but washcloths and a pan of warm, if lucky, water. This usually took place in the kitchen.
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My sister and I were the second ones on the bus. Bert Derryberry, whose farm joined ours, drove the school bus the entire time of my and my sister’s public education. We and the Clay sisters were the first on in the morning at six thirty and the last off the bus in the evening at four thirty, a long day made longer by the bus ride. But, I never gave this a though until many years later.
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The four mules and one horse on the farm belonged to my grandfather and he would not part with them for anything. Daddy
did not like having to raise the hay and corn they ate and provided nothing in return. The horse was his buggy horse and held some sentimental value for him. Daddy hated the things and after my grandfather’s death he sold them all. I do not think the last shovel of dirt had been placed on my grandfather’s grave when those animals were being hauled out the front gate.
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I do not remember too much about our pets but do remember when I was very young there was a black cat that Mama said was twenty years old when it died. My parents also had a very old yellow dog that had lost the use of his hind legs
- 42 - and every time a thunder storm came it would try to tear off the screens to get into the house. I do remember there was a very small dog that came to the house and I named it Pedro. It followed my sister and I to the school bus stop one morning and instead of returning home it laid down behind the wheel of a tractor that was parked there for some reason. When the owner came to get his tractor, not seeing the dog asleep under the tire he started to drive off and squashed it.
I do remember Daddy have one dog he called “Boss Hogg”, he loved that ole dog. When it died he actually did something he never did with dogs, he actually buried it in the field behind our house under a cedar tree.
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We usually had biscuits and corn bread as our breads of choice. We did have “store bought” bread on occasion, in those days it was called “light bread”. I remember one time being give 10 cents to buy a loaf at the store. I assume it was called “light bread” because it was lighter in texture than homemade bread.
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The church we attended was the Bethlehem Cumberland Presbyterian Church. This church stood in a corner of my grandfather’s farm and it was just understood that is where you attended church each Sunday. I had many family members over its one hundred seventy odd years of life who had attended that same church; great uncles, great aunts, uncles, parents, sister, wife, and child. My father was an Elder, Sunday School Teacher, and its treasurer. I was a Sunday School Superintendent for many years until its finally closing due lack of membership.
- 43 - We had a lot of different preachers during my time of attendance but the one that stands out the most was a man by the name of John Pope. John Pope was an old farmer who farmed during the week and preached on Sunday. This man knew his bible backward and forward. When preaching, he was quoting from it the entire time but never once opening it for reference.
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Daddy had this “while you are resting, run down to so and so and get such and such” thing. His idea of resting and mine were two different things. I remember one time a part on the tractor cultivator had broken while he was cultivating corn. I was with him and he told me that; I replied “I’ll go but I am not going to run!” ◄──────────────────────────────►
The first two years of my schooling was spent at Leftwich, that’s me in the stripped overalls. Then when the Leftwich, Union
- 44 - Grove, Nicholson, and Philadelphia schools were combined at Rock Springs I completed through the eighth grade there. The teacher for my first five grades was Miss Louise Jones, later Louise West after the death of her first husband Ross Jones (she was to be married two more times before her death). Miss Louise and Daddy were second cousins, something I did not know at the time. I had a different teacher each year for the sixth, seventh and eighth grades at Rock Springs. The teacher for these grades also served as the principal.
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Christmas Eve has always been a special time in which our families have gotten together. Starting when my mother’s brother married in 1955 our families have gotten together on Christmas Eve for a meal, socializing and the exchanging of gifts, children only. First it was an alternating of their home and my parents’ home. After Linda and I were married and when Michelle came along in 1973 we started having it at our home, this lasted for some twenty plus years. When Michelle moved into her childhood home she was the one responsible for hosting for several years. For the last 8 years or so the celebration has alternated between Michelle’s home and two cousins home who live just across the road.
This year, 2012, will be the 57th year our families have gotten together to celebrate on Christmas Eve. How much longer? That is yet to be determined, but with six children growing up, and leaving the nest over the next several years I am sure there will be changes and absences but hopefully there are many more years of Christmas Eve celebrations left.
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Once Daddy sold seed wheat to a relative, whose name I will omit, and for some reason could not be there when he picked up his seed. This person was known for “expanding his boundaries” shall we say. (Kind of in the same vein if you are poor you are crazy but if you are rich you are eccentric, if you were family you were not a thief you were simply “expanding your boundaries”).
Daddy told me to be sure he only took the number of sacks of seed for which he had paid. When he came to get the seed his son, a year older than me, was with him and naturally we got to playing and I paid little attention to what the man was doing. When Daddy got home the first thing he did was go to the old cabin from which he was sell his seed wheat and counted the one remaining, guess what, one was missing. I did not get into trouble over the missing sack because Daddy apparently realized he had asked a child to do a man’s job.
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I did not have a lot of toys as a child, yes there were toys, but of the more simple nature. Of course at the time it was not an issue, everyone was in the same boat. About the only “good” toys I had were given to me by Mama’s brother who was not married at the time. I still have one toy my Uncle gave me; it is a G. I. Joe type toy. A soldier is sitting a Jeep which has a swiveling front axle and when you wind it up it goes all over the place.
I assume the lack of emphasis on toys traced back to my parent’s upbringing. Neither was brought up in a poor family,
- 46 - both families were farmers and land owners, but neither did they have a lot of toys when a child so toys simply were not a priority.
I guess the lack of farm toys as a child is the reason I now have a collection of over 400 farm toys, mostly Allis-Chalmers and Farmall tractors, with a few implements thrown in for good measure.
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Daddy was probably one of the least sentimental persons to every grace this earth. If something was no longer needed or wanted it was repurposed, that is taken apart and used in other things, sold as a unit, or sold for scrap. There simply was no space for anything that was not immediately useful to him. The piano story is a perfect example. I never knew of him to buy anything simply because he wanted it, there had to be a good reason for buying or keeping everything.
He simply was not into “stuff”. Except for one brother, Uncle John, named for his father, all of Daddy’s brothers and sisters, Daddy was the baby, were of the same mindset. He did have one brother, Uncle Lexie, an old bachelor and World War I Navy Veteran, who was a little over the top that way. He did not buy much but he did have one trait that set him apart; when he bought something he bought the best available. I remember at one of our annual Sharp reunions he had bought a new car. Now, whenever someone showed up at a reunion in a new car it was customary they take everyone out for a test ride. I remember our showing up at the reunion and Uncle Lexie’s new car was not parked with the rest of the cars; he had parked his at the end of the driveway all the way out to the highway and walked up. The
- 47 - message was loud and clear, “not in my car you don’t.” That was classic Uncle Lexie, a very good, fine person, but so tight he almost squeaked.
One of Daddy’s sisters, Aunt Lottie, was also one who was “set apart”. She was a very domineering person, had to be in charge. She made all the decisions in her family. Her own mother, my grandmother, was not too thrilled to be staying at her house when my Uncle Lexie, who lived with her, was in the Veterans Hospital in Nashville. She said she nearly starved to death when there, she said Lottie would cook such small portions she was afraid to take the food for fear of someone else going hungry. Her daughter Olivia, my first cousin, everyone called her “Sis”, was just like her mother. During Olivia’s funeral the preacher was talking about how she made the decisions, on what crops went into what fields, when and what to sell, when and what to buy, it was deju vu all over again.
It just may be that both Aunt Lottie and Olivia got their personality honestly. At the left are two pictures of my Sharp Grand Parents, one taken early in their marriage and the other very late in their marriage. Which one do you think was in charge in that family? Does the hand on the shoulder in the first one and the stern look and ramrod straight posture in the latter one tell you anything?
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Karen Michelle Sharp Stiteler (Three Months to Eighteen Years)
- 49 - Here’s to You Girl
There once was a girl named Michelle
Who caused her parents much hell
But, to her credit
And should you ask, I will admit it;
She actually turned out quite well
- 50 -
Betty, me, Girl, Shelby, Jim and Trey (There is probably a conscious purpose for Girl holding Snake’s arms down, but I am not privy to that purpose.)
FYI, I have always called Michelle “Girl”, just seemed the right thing to do.
I call Trey “Bubba”. The reason being I simply am not going to call my grandson something you use to carry your food in a cafeteria.
I call Shelby “Snake”. The logic there is a little confusing, but makes sense to me. Shelby Mustang -Mustang Cobra, Cobra – Snake,
- 51 -
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One story concerning Girl has to do with her having to “stand in the corner” as punishment. I don’t remember just why she was being punished but I do remember her reaction to it. As she was heading to her room and her “corner” she turned to me and said “I’ll go, but you can’t punish me forever, and when it is over I am going finish what I started”.
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When Girl was little and did something that required she be sent to her room, she would stay there a while then we would hear little feet running into the kitchen and a piece of paper would come flying into the den (she was a prolific note writer as a youngster). One of the messages I distinctly remember was this one “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, May I please have a cheese sandwich?”
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Coleman Poteet, (Girl always called him Mr. Po-tee-tee) who was living in Uncle Bascom’s former home, was visiting at the “Big House” and Girl was playing in the yard. Suddenly she started for the front porch of the house where Daddy and Mr. Poteet were sitting yelling “gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta pee”. Mr.
- 52 - Poteet jumped up and held the door open for her. Considering she usually just kept playing and ignored the “gotta pee” thing, it was a breakthrough for her to actually want to go to the bathroom instead of simply taking the “easy” way. ◄──────────────────────────────►
When Girl and Jim were taking the Dave Ramsey Financial Peace course at their church in Lewisburg (Just why she was taking the course I have no idea as she was never going to follow it) the lecturer had gotten to the part where you should have a certain number of months of living expenses and at least a $1000 emergency fund. Jim said she leaned over to him and asked “May I tell him I do not need to do that because I have daddy?”
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Girl was fourteen or so and she dressed up for Halloween at school. She used one of her Papa’s pair of overalls and hat, my old military brogans (shoes for you non-military types), and other paraphernalia. I was at home that day when she came home from school. But, I did not see the school bus and I did not know that was her walking down the road. I saw her and thought "who is that old man, and just why is he walking up our driveway?" It must be some bum wanting a handout. It wasn’t until she got most of the way up the driveway that I figured
- 53 - out just who it was.
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When Girl was very small she was placed in a playpen to both sleep and play. That lasted only until she was able to walk. We would be elsewhere in the house and hear the “plomp” of her feet hitting the floor where she had climbed the mesh siding of the pen. There would be a short silence, a giggle, and then the running of little feet to where ever her feet would take her.
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There was the time when she was five or six and was with Mama and Daddy in Lewisburg. She wanted them to do something but they refused. Well, that did not sit well with her; refusal never did, so she threw a hissy fit then and there, rolling on the sidewalk and screaming at the top of her lungs. She was very good at the rolling bit, but usually it was on a floor.
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After her Mama died, Girl would make a best effort at “fixing” supper on occasion. Each time as I was putting something into the trash after her latest attempt I would see this sand looking “stuff”. I couldn’t figure it out. Then one day I caught her scrapping off the burned portion of the bread into the trash can, that mystery was solved and so was the one as to why her bread always looked as if sandpaper had been taken to it.
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During one of Girl’s “stunts” I told her she was more trouble than any boy could ever be. She replied that I always told her she was the only boy I had, so she was just trying to live up to the billing.
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Even though Girl is now grown and has her own family, she still has trouble when it comes to bread, any kind of bread, even toast. As it is now, when we hear the smoke alarm in the kitchen go off, we know “supper is ready”, no need to bother calling us.
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There was the time Michelle was staying with her Papa and Granny at the Big House and got her bottom too close to the heater. It was cold and when she got up that morning she went up and stood by the wood heater to change clothes. So far, so good, the only thing is she got a little too close and when she bent over to put on her clothes she roasted her behind for a fraction of second.
- 56 - Trey’s Eagle Scout Award
- 57 - Maple Dean Watson Tindell 1888 - 1964
Maple Dean Watson was the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. William (Bill) H. Watson and the wife of Henry Madison Tindell.
Aunt Maple is shown standing in front of her home in Columbia TN. She and husband Henry lived at 1107 South Main Street in Columbia TN. on the site where the current Daily Herald Newspaper Offices now sit.
Aunt Maple was a favorite of her extended Tindell Family. Unfortunately Aunt Maple and Uncle Henry did not have children. But if her love of her nieces and nephews in both her and her husbands families meant anything she would have been a fantastic mother.
Aunt Maple was a very well educated lady and was quite prolific in her writings. The following contain two of her ‘poems’ I found
- 58 - while researching ‘tha’ book that were contained in some of her writings, letters, etc.
Time Passes (Contained in a letter to an unknown person)
Time passes, infirmities appear and I have become accustomed to limited action except as to eating and talking. There is no bitterness in me because I am growing old. The birds sing as sweetly as they ever have. The flowers bloom as usual. I find my interest in gardening is as high as ever, even if I have to limit my activities. There is a sweetness in small pleasures I never noticed when I was young. Everyone is kind to me. Reading is still possible and pleasurable. Television "kills" some time. Quiet meditation, contemplation of the passing parade, weather, seasons, children...all add interest and pleasure. It is decidedly better to be "quick than dead".
Spring
On wings of ecstasy my Soul is lifted up When the narcissus first opens its yellow cup.
My Soul with the first purple violets sing For then we know it must be spring.
When weeding tarragon, sage and balm, My Soul achieves a blessed calm
With hands at work in the good rich dirt, My Soul disposes of all that hurt.
So, my very dear, I shall carry on as best I can until such time as the Lord either needs me or out of consideration of others, sees fit to remove me from the scene.
- 59 - My Prayer
Dear Lord, when my time comes to go, Let there be no wait. To plant right up to sunset Would be a pleasant fate.
Let me go to sleep as usual With heart and mind at ease. Let me awake in your kingdom Please, Dear Lord, please.
This prayer is not as selfish As others might think. For there are those who would Follow to death's brink.
Caring for me ever if in bed I should stay. It is to spare these, Dear Lord, that I pray.
- 60 - Columbia as it was in my Day by Maple Dean Tindell
Now so many houses are being torn down I felt it incumbent on me to jot down some of what I remembered about what was once a lovely residential area.
On the east side of South Main starting at Eighth Avenue Mr, Buchanan had a candy shop. There were no more houses until you reached the bottom and was W. H. Watson's livery stable, sales and hitch barn. A colored man ran a drug store south of the livery stable. Then nothing until Lazarus Wholesale Grocery and Saloon. How I wondered what was back of the green door!
On the corner of South Main and Ninth, Lazarus owned a tavern for colored people. How many remember the cover over the sidewalk and the old blind black woman who played the accordion and sang songs that were old even then? She also had a tin cup for donations. A very colorful place.
Across Ninth was the home of Mrs. McGregor. Then a house I supposed was rented. My playmate, Leonie Johnson, lived there. Next was the home of Mrs. Williams. She as well as Mrs. McGregor, both daughters of James Andrews who lived on West 7th where Mrs. McKnight lived back of the Memorial building. The William's home is still standing occupied by Cheslea Williams. Mrs. McGregor and Mrs. Williams had so many box bushes around their yards and bordering walks that to my childish mind I thought they had a funeral appearance.
Then was the Lazarus residence. Many will remember Henrietta, a very gifted person. Next was the home of Ben Lazarus who always carried his head to one side. Next, was a house with a bay window where Billy McEwen and his brothers and sisters lived. Next was Mrs. Dexter's home, still standing. It has been occupied since by Dr. Martin, later by Wallace Sowell, Miss Vera's home. Next was Grant Courtwright's home. Mr. Courtwright was a traveling salesman and shared honors with Mr. W. E. Gambill for owning the first automobiles in Columbia.
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Next was Mrs. Moore, the Aunt of Frank and Addie Sims Bennett. Now we cross the street, now known as Andrews Street and come to the Meade Frierson home.
Next was what was known as the Harvey Thompson home. My daddy bought a dwelling that stood in front of the livery stable around seventy years ago and moved it up the street on rollers, attaching it to the front of what is now Harvey Thompson's house. The first house 1 ever saw moved, is still standing, it is now my home at 1107 South Main Street. There was not anything then until we reached the Ashton home. On the vacant lot next to Short Tenth was where one-ring circuses were held. They would get water from our well. They kept a rattlesnake in a glass covered barrow in our drive. They showed it to people for a dime. To even the score, they would give us each a pass to the circus.
After we pass the Ashton house, there was a house, I believe, that was built by Mr. Frierson. The supposition was that he gave it to Miss Linda when she and Mr. Chaffin married. Next door was the Frierson home, where where F. A. Osborne was reared.
Next came Cemetery Avenue, across this street was the home of Mr. and Mrs. Walker Scott, whom I believe are Mrs. C, A, Padgett's grandparents. Anyway, it was a favorite place for me to go. Paper bags were not so prevalent then and Mrs. Scott would sew up a newspaper to form a sack. She would fill it with ripe apricots from her trees. How happily 1 would go home to show what was given to me.
Across Cemetery Avenue 1 could just see a little square log house. Across the street on the West side from the Walker Scoty property was starting toward the railroad where Mr. Theo Lipscomb's home stood. Then toward town was the Andrew's Home. They not only had a bay window but a pool where the fountain played. Next was the Andy Sellers home, immediately in the corner of South Main and Eleventh Street.
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