Margaret Patterson Mack [1906-2005], My

M Memoirs of an American Woman Born and Raised in Early 20th Century China Preface This is an effort to answer questions of grandchildren about their grandparents and about me when I was little. It’s been fun remembering and I hope it will have meaning for others. This work is written as I would tell it to you—infor- mal and colloquial. Unceasing thanks to my daughter Pat Churchman, for her effort—the vast number of hours dedicated to typing, suggesting, editing, tying loose ends, selecting, and scanning pictures. It would never have made it off the ground without her. Blessings on thee! Margaret Patterson Mack 1906-2005 My Heart’s Recollections by Margaret Patterson Mack 1999 Introduction Our home when I was growing up in China had mama and papa and five children. Craig Houston, our first, (and the one who thought and planned for all of us) went to Washington and Lee, Union Theological Seminary, married Frances Glasgow of Lexington, Virginia and went to China as an evangelistic missionary. Their children are Houston, Jr. (of Chattanooga, Tennessee), Robert Glasgow (of Memphis, Tennessee), and Anne Rutherford Hammes (of La Jolla, California). Pictured: Houston, Norman, Paul, Margaret, and William William Blackwood went to W&L and Union Seminary too, got sick and couldn’t finish. He went to China to be with our parents, working with students, then back to Augusta County where he kept the family informed about each other at the old home place until his death in 1972—a wonderfully unselfish and loving brother. Next came Paul Morrison. Mama was determined to have one missionary in the family, so named him Paul and Morrison for Robert Morrison, the first Protestant missionary to China. Interestingly enough, he was the only one who wasn’t “into missions.” He went to Davidson College, got degrees from the University of South Carolina and Johns Hopkins (a Ph.D.) in his field of science and taught at Hollins College for 37 years. He married Harriet Fishburne of Columbia, S.C. and they had one child, Patricia Rutherford (of Roanoke, VA). He was a reader in the Episcopal church and a lifelong bryologist. Norman Guthrie also went to Davidson, to the Medical College of Virginia, in Richmond, then as a missionary to China. His first year there he met Athalie Hallum who had gone out to teach missionary children. They were married in 1930 in Shanghai. Their children are Norman, Jr. (of Avondale Estates, Georgia), Kitty (Mrs. Jack Farley of Abingdon, Virginia), and Nancy (of Bristol, Tennessee). The family looked to Norman trusting him to solve every problem. He was the first of us to go. And I’m last—Fifth Sister I was. (Wu Jie). This was an honor, listing me with the 1 boys, they said. I met Henry Mack at Biblical Seminary in New York. He was from Pacific Grove, CA. We married at Tinkling Spring Presbyterian Church (Fishersville, VA) in 1930 and have two children: Patricia Ann (Mrs. Charles Churchman of Bridgewater, VA), and Robert Whitcomb (of Cumberland, RI). Already in 1999, these children I have mentioned have grandchildren, so, for them, these pages may bring understanding of their roots in one branch of the family. I feel as if I’m tossing a trestle across a wide chasm of years. We’ ll start with what I remember about papa. Two chapters on mama—what I have read and what I remember. Then Henry and me. These grandchildren will be sorry they asked! Mama and me Papa and me Mama and Houston I Paul, Margaret, and Norman (cov- William and Houston ering up the hole in his pants) Remember Papa Papa was born June 26, 1865, to Margaret Tirzah Willson and William Brown Patterson, in Augusta County, Virginia, between Stuarts Draft and Fishersville. He went to a little school 2 taught by the local Presbyterian minister then on to Washington and Lee in Lexington, Union Theological Seminary which was then in connection with Hampden Sydney College. He was six feet tall, held himself erect, had no false teeth even at 87 years and had a thumb nail on his right hand that was twice the width of the length. As far as I know, Houston Jr. is the only descendent that has this trait. Papa always reminded me to stand straight and to “frown up.” He would see my “furrowed brow” and knew that I’d have a thousand wrinkles when I got older if I didn’t frown up. Alas, all his reminding for nothing! He was a scholar and delighted in studying—his Bible, Chinese characters, stars, stones, plants, grave markings and what makes things work. His study was down by the front gate, in Sutsien, so that he could be more accessible to visitors. He installed a phone between him and the house. Don’t ask me how it worked but I remember that little contraption on the wall in the dining room and how exciting it was to talk into it. Papa had to keep on studying, even after he retired. Mr. Howard Wilson, preaching then at Tinkling Spring Presbyterian Church (near Fishersville, VA), insisted that papa write his memoirs. Mama was very unhappy about that. Papa was sick with many ailments and Barterbrook School mama was doing all she could to keep him going and here he was, knocking himself out every morning, spending hours writing until he was shaking. Of course we are grateful that he wrote them. Not only that, but Papa studied his Chinese. We used to laugh and say, “Papa, why do you study Chinese so much? They don’t talk Chinese in heaven.” He’d grin and say, “How do you know!” He never got started on crossword puzzles. Mama was the one who worked those. One of her sisters sent her a subscription to Liberty magazine so she could work the Ted Shane crosswords. She got a real kick out of his clever definitions. Now and then I find a Ted Shane work in a Dell puzzle Papa and his teacher book and work it “in memory.” When they first went to China, many of the missionaries wore Chinese clothes and some even let their hair grow and braided into a queue, but Papa never wore a queue. He always looked neat. If he got a spot on his clothes, he sponged it off immediately. I can see him now, reaching for my wrists as I came running toward him with sticky fingers. Even when he was sick, he shaved every day, with a straight-edged razor. He looked very proper in his long robe, fastened down the side, with a high collar and long sleeves and a little round hat on the top of his head and hand-made shoes—black. Long trousers were tied with wide strips of cloth at the ankle. Keeping warm in the bitter cold winters where there was no heat was always a problem. At home we had a stove in the living room where we gathered and sat. But on his itinerating trips there was no heat except a little brass pot that held a few coals to hold in his hands or put his feet on. In spite of all the warm underwear from Montgomery Ward and scarves and gloves, he’d come home from his trips with split, bleeding fingers. The thought of the millions of Chinese who spent their lives with no heat was a constant sorrow for them. He delighted in rocks and fossils and how long it took for them to develop. He had grown up believing in the literal six days of creation, so it was faith shaking to think in terms of millions of years. Then he found the verse in the Bible, “A day is as a thousand years to God,” looked again at the story in Genesis chapter one, where there were three “days” of cre- 3 ation before there was a sun to control the day. This gave him pleasurable leeway to believe in the millions of years in the creation that was still going on around him. He was interested in Chinese coins long before mama collected hers—the collection that is with Pat and Charles. He learned the metals, the characters on them, the dates, the dynasties, all of that. He and Mr. Junkin were the itinerating evangelists of our town. They had divided the county north of Sutsien as their area for taking the good news of the gospel. Papa would go out for two weeks at a time, with his wheelbarrow loaded with books, bedding, and clothes, to visit villages where there was a chapel or inquirers into the faith. He would sleep in the chapel or an inn and his wheelbarrow pusher would act as cook. He would go to the market to see what he could find to cook and papa would add bread that mama had baked and sent along, and get out his trusty canned milk. We all survived on Carnation milk. Then he’d eat his skimpy meal with half the town standing around the door to watch the foreigner eating. (The audience that was ever present was always a trial for us, not just because they were watching but also because we knew that they were hungry and we couldn’t share because there would never be enough. A terrible predicament!) Papa would spend his days visiting, answer- ing questions, settling disputes, preaching, selling scripture portions, scratching fleas and lice, and trying to keep mosquitoes away. He got malaria very badly, so he feared mosquitoes more than tigers.

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