tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55053332010501583702024-03-05T03:06:55.145-06:00GRAHAM BARTON HISTORYStories from the families of Lawrence Oral (Buster) Graham and Annice Barton Graham, genealogical data, and pictures. Focused on Romulus community in Buhl, Alabama.Compiled by Dorothy Gast, many written by others, used with permission.Dorothy Gasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03033760146971523548noreply@blogger.comBlogger46125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5505333201050158370.post-58307561655957456402015-01-11T21:38:00.000-06:002015-01-11T21:41:48.513-06:00Letters from John C. Graham 1943<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">Letters from John Crawford Graham to niece</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">Buhl, Alabama </span></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">February 26, 1943</span></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">Mrs. Eunice Lee</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">If you are Eunice Graham Lee then I am your Uncle John
Graham. I left Piedmont, Missouri in 1905 to come to Alabama. After father died
I brought the other children down. There are four of us living now, Charley,
Jesse, Grace and myself. I have a large
familu. They are all married. Charles has nine or ten;Jesse has three. Grace
has none. If you are my niece please write us and I will tell you all about
ourselves and how we are getting along.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">You Uncle John C. Graham</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">Sunday Afternon.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">Dear Eunice,</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">I am writing a little more. I didn’t tell you how glad
to get your letter. We were all tickled
pink and you didn’t realize you were writing your first letter to me on my 66<sup>th</sup>
birthday. 9THE 3<sup>RD</sup> OF March)I HAVE 3 HOLIDAYS A YEAR. Christmas,
Father’s Day and my birthday. I get lots of presents. Grace sent me a fine wool
sweater this birthday and the rest all sent money. We are living in a good
community with lots of people, two churches within a mile and a 5 teacher
school just back of our house. . We have electricity in our houses and have
good gravel roads. We raise cotton, corn, hay, and everything anyone would
want. Daughter Lucille and James and their family have just been here and have
gone to see the river. It had a 55 foot rise on. Preasha went with them. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">So I must thank you for the letter and you must write
again when you feel like it. JCG</span></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<br /></div>
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</span><br />
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</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">Buhl, Alabama March 21, 1943 </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">Dear Eunice and all,</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">I received your last letter 2 weeks ago but have been
so busy just put it off and now I have so many letters to write that we run out
of news sometimes. You see, our kids are so scattered out. I will give you a
list of them and where they live and the number of kids they have, so you can
see it’s a man’s job keeping up with all of them.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">Eula, 43,was born in Missouri has 2 girls. She lost
her first husband and is married again with 3 stepchildren. She lives at Hold
and has been teaching for 22 years.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">Raymond, 41, was born in Missouri and has been in the navy 23 years.
He is an ensign Instructor and taught Navy boys Engineering at the University
of Illinois last year. But lives in California now. He has a girl and a boy.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">Lawrence, 37was born in Alabama but lives in Pascagoula, Mississippi where he
worked in a government sop. He is married with 3 kids. Loyd, 35 has been with the government 15
years, He was inducted din the Army last fall and is now a Leutentant . He is
an instructor at Swift Camp in Texas, is married but no children/ Lucille, 31
is married, lives close and has 2 boys and 2 girls. She taught school several
years. Her husband is a mule dealer.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">Freda, 28 is married, has 2 girls and lives in Mobile
where her husband is a welder.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">Estelle, 24, married bu has no children. HUSBAN WORKS
IN A SHIPYARD.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">Sara, 21, Married, lives in Mobile where he is an
airplane mechanic, they have no children yet.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">Brother Charley lives in Tuscaloosa, that is our home
town but we get mail from Buhl,Jesse
lives close, Toney died 7 years ago.They have 4 children..Sister Grace who was
the little crippe, is well, now big and strong and lives in California</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">So you can see wee are pretty well spread out. Just us
two here and we are very busy all the time raising chickens and farming. We
have a Negro servant here that does the rough work and we go to the curb
market. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">Last week we had a cold spell and lost 95 chicks, but
we have the brooders full again. I have not worked for12 ears though I am well
and fat. I spent 31 years in the sawmill business and I will give you a good
idea of a business man. I went into the sawmill business on my own in 1909. In
the year 1912 I cleared $13,000 then I bought another mill, then a store, then
a lot of mules.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">While we lived at Buhl, I owned a store, 2 sawmills, a
barber chop, soda fount, pool rooms, a good farm and about 15 houses.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">Then in 1914 I drifted down here to Romulus 8 miles
south of Buhl, bought 4 good farms and a world of timber. I had a store here
and one in Tuscaloosa. Then I bought a house in Tuscaloosa, then a filling
station and garage, and bought and sold cars at the same time. I owned a
Telephone 16, helped a central girl and made bushels and bushels of money. I helped my kids off to school until every
one graduated.. Now they love me for what I done for them, so when the timber
was gone I quit. During that time I
wore out 29 cars and trucks, then the depression came and we all had to help
each other so I am about like I was when I started. Only we have a fine bunch of kids, raised
them all, and now they have homes of their own. When one handles all the business
I had he can say that he had his hands full and to start with nothing, too. I
leave it all to good health and hard work </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">.You and my wife are about the same age. She is my second
wife. She was Preasha East. We married near Williamsville, Missouri in 1905.
Came down here the next year and have been back many times.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">We live close to the Warrior River that runs through
Tuscaloosa, Get a map and you can locate us. Buhl is gone, just a school, post
office, and a few stores. I put the first mill in Buhl, layed off the streets
and planted shade trees. Now there are about 16” through. At one time there were 600 houses
there. Now they are gone. Only two are there. Write us again soon, Come to see.
Us. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">Your Uncle John Graham/ </span></span></div>
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Dorothy Gasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03033760146971523548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5505333201050158370.post-75299094887975533292014-04-02T21:04:00.001-05:002015-01-10T13:26:31.892-06:00Privet Hedges <div id="AOLMsgPart_1_bf04fa51-3bcf-466a-9806-f1b2a2cdab90"> <font color="black" face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" size="3"> <div><font style="background-color: transparent;"><font face="Times New Roman"> </font> <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><font face="Calibri">I hate privet <font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">hedges</font>. In the <font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">mid 1900s</font> privet hedges were used in southern landscapes as cheap fences. A row of bushes 3 feet apart would soon grow into a dense barrier. If untamed they might grow 15 feet high and serve as a windbreak or feeding station for birds unlucky to be stuck in Alabama during the winter.<o:p></o:p></font></div> <font face="Times New Roman"> </font> <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><font face="Calibri">Mama Annice found them as an effective source of deterrent to negative behavior. The hedge that separated our front yard form the back was a row 30 feet long and maintained at a height of 32 inches with shears operated by youngsters who were aware of the punishment that could be dealt out by too long branches that could be used as switches. They did switch off rebellious attitudes, sibling fights, and various mischievous endeavors. Even when Mama was in her 80s great grandchildren knew that the skinny 30 in branch care stripped of leaves lying above the door frame was an enforcer of house rules. There would be no picking at<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>younger kids or fighting, no tracking mud on a clean freshly mopped floor, and no backtalk in that house.<o:p></o:p></font></div> <font face="Times New Roman"> </font> <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><font face="Calibri">The bush nearest the house was allowed to grow longer to make switches available instantly. The worst time was when you were sent to get the instrument for punishment for your own misdeeds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The crafty kid who chose a switch under 20 inches would be sent back for a more persuasive size. This served to heighten the drama for the unpenitent, as well as provide a warning for those who had their own plans for mutiny.<o:p></o:p></font></div> <font face="Times New Roman"> </font> <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><font face="Calibri">No one ever said wait until your father gets home. Swift and certain were deemed to be the most effective way of maintaining discipline and keeping order. Back then no one ever thought of saying, "You're not my mother!" If you were at her house and guilty you shared the verdict. Parents loved to send their kids down to our place for a week. They would be well fed, get plenty of sunshine and fresh air, a lot of genuine affection, and new, more positive ways of behaving.<o:p></o:p></font></div> <font face="Times New Roman"> </font> <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><font face="Calibri">So they had a purpose. The birds ate the berries. Boundaries for front and back were established and weekly chores with clippers gave us a little chance for shorter, softer switches.<o:p></o:p></font></div> <font face="Times New Roman"> </font> <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><font face="Calibri">Now privet, Wisteria vines, and Bradford pears are taking over my yard and garden and are blocking my view of the highway. Anyone need a cheap growing fence?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With behavior modification potential?<o:p></o:p></font></div> <font face="Times New Roman"> </font> <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><o:p><font face="Calibri"> </font></o:p></div> <font face="Times New Roman"> </font></font></div> <div><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"></font></div> <div style="clear: both;">Dorothy Gast<br> ddgast1@aol.com</div> </font> </div> Dorothy Gasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03033760146971523548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5505333201050158370.post-91057431963710648582013-06-23T17:38:00.001-05:002015-01-10T13:26:39.581-06:00Romulus School<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="contentheading" width="100%">ROMULUS SCHOOL by Dorothy Graham Gast </td><td align="right" class="buttonheading" width="100%"><a href="http://www.alabamapioneers.com/test/index.php?view=article&catid=34%3Aearly-alabama-stories&id=2659%3Aromulus-school-by-dorothy-graham-gast&format=pdf&option=com_content&Itemid=80" rel="nofollow" title="PDF"><img alt="PDF" src="http://www.alabamapioneers.com/test/templates/js_vintage_001/images/pdf_button.png" /></a></td><td align="right" class="buttonheading" width="100%"><a href="http://www.alabamapioneers.com/test/index.php?view=article&catid=34%3Aearly-alabama-stories&id=2659%3Aromulus-school-by-dorothy-graham-gast&tmpl=component&print=1&layout=default&page=&option=com_content&Itemid=80" rel="nofollow" title="Print"><img alt="Print" src="http://www.alabamapioneers.com/test/templates/js_vintage_001/images/printButton.png" /></a></td><td align="right" class="buttonheading" width="100%"><a href="http://www.alabamapioneers.com/test/index.php?option=com_mailto&tmpl=component&link=5fe23f39b70d61d0f7596055fb631f455cd2b2ed" title="E-mail"><img alt="E-mail" src="http://www.alabamapioneers.com/test/templates/js_vintage_001/images/emailButton.png" /></a></td></tr>
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<tr><td valign="top"><span class="small"> Written by Dorothy Graham Gast </span> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="createdate" valign="top"> Friday, 21 June 2013 18:00 </td></tr>
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<span style="color: black;"><b><img alt="" src="http://www.alabamapioneers.com/test/images/stories/dorothy_graham_clements_gast.jpg" style="float: left; height: 226px; margin: 3px; width: 150px;" />ROMULUS SCHOOL</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><b>by </b></span></div>
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<a href="http://alabamapioneers.com/test/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=762&Itemid=109"><span style="color: black;"><b>Dorothy Graham Gast</b></span></a></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> One of the best things about living in the same place for many years is the many layers of memories. Grandpa and Grandma Graham lived in the big house on the top of the hill looking southeast to Romulus School. When I was growing up my brothers and sisters walked past their barn, through their back yard, then the apple orchard onto the school grounds.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> In warm weather our socks were wet from the dew covered grass in the path; in winter we crunched the spewed up icicles from the frozen ground. We caught the scent of apple blossoms over our heads in March and popped maypops on the vines along the shallow terraces in hot September afternoons.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> Grandpa loved the school's sports. He would bring a cane bottomed chair to the home base area to watch the recess softball games and cheer for both teams. Everyone knew that Mr. John was deaf but could read lips and carry on a conversation.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> Double hung windows were nearer the ceilings than the oiled wooden floor and were high enough to let sunlight in and keep out distractions for the students. In winter they shivered in their potbellied coal heated classrooms. Later in 1966 the wood frame five room building was deserted and the school was be consolidated with Ralph and Fosters schools to form the new Myrtlewood School. It was located at Fosters on Gainesville Road near US highway 11. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> The Romulus building was used by the community for a meeting place. Bushes grew in the path we had walked and weeds filled the baseball field and the red clay basketball court where county champions had learned to compete with only 10 players in the junior high grades. There were five A team and 5 B team players. If anyone fouled out, team played with 4 players.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> Eventually the spirit of the school that had been the center of the community for decades and the building with its fading white paint was gone, the structure bid out for $365 to be torn down and moved. Pine saplings grew around the abandoned outhouses and rabbits chased across the entrance yard. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> Trees grew and the signs of its importance existed only in the memories of the students and men who remembered setting out pine trees along the country road than formed the western boundary. Giant oak trees that provided shade along the road on the south leading to Fosters making the second boundary were cut down as both roads were widened and paved.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> In 1997 the newly formed Romulus Fire Department asked and gained permission to build a station at that intersection and used proceeds from the pine grove in financing the metal building. Parking asphalt replaced pine straw. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> Change multiplied in the rural cluster of neighborhoods called Romulus. A fire department increased the potential for new housing developments. The census count of 643 in 1990 quadrupled as clustered housing developments filled hills and hollows and changed the courses of creeks. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Our children, then grandchildren, and great-grandchilden caught school buses to go the larger brick building six miles east near the Warrior River and I 20/59. Two-car families sent both father and mother rushing toward Tuscaloosa to work.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> Years passed. The new state-of -the-art Sipsey Valley High School and Middle School opened 3 miles from the empty playground behind Romulus Fire Department building. Now Google or Mapquest directions tell distances from the fire station or the new pair of schools. Only the oldest residents remember the old wooden school by the apple orchard and the honor of a having our own local school.</span></div>
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Dorothy Gasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03033760146971523548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5505333201050158370.post-79089584171254360622012-08-09T22:43:00.000-05:002012-08-09T22:43:09.495-05:00Barton Family Video<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzSVBpHONRHBRTBMzuOmkMVRwtEiX13PGIqf4zjPns4N2GtXcVgJNrzfiW1eS-ffIiNcp1pAx4EJRUh95kpgw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
</div>Dorothy Gasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03033760146971523548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5505333201050158370.post-61408142890310583912012-08-03T10:44:00.000-05:002012-09-21T17:35:53.537-05:00Bartons<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Florence Barton Quarles resting under family pictures. ? She was very seldom still enough for a picture, always busy with good works.</span></blockquote>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXcX9HcDhtvj_gzap6ky4YIzlUg8ZSP7MitOHT30gPYkN0_4bDUSTYaHI3g_Qh4nFV6LF9B3VxJEshtKAAT_lJd0YZ0gVNtCSofyJzdcwjdkjispFpJsjEqR5xGumPEZDajEf-tdOJv-qW/s1600/Aun+t+Floorence.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXcX9HcDhtvj_gzap6ky4YIzlUg8ZSP7MitOHT30gPYkN0_4bDUSTYaHI3g_Qh4nFV6LF9B3VxJEshtKAAT_lJd0YZ0gVNtCSofyJzdcwjdkjispFpJsjEqR5xGumPEZDajEf-tdOJv-qW/s320/Aun+t+Floorence.jpg" width="281" /></a><br />
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Annice Barton Graham continuing the tradition os community service and good works.<br />
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Dorothy Gasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03033760146971523548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5505333201050158370.post-69651605632281233342012-07-30T10:07:00.003-05:002012-07-30T10:07:25.416-05:00Leland and Mamie Barton<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidYma8PVTpxEpQFfyPZkWKQ-s_HFeuDTBwyv4giezS0WJfq3VK1seFm48PfIpYZXxfckRLyCQZjlneRRxSFe9PdRpFHzqUg7YF1nflkvRu-mD6NdH3PjLz5MAliVP0PUY2Y4bJv38wVO9Y/s1600/jl&mamie.tif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidYma8PVTpxEpQFfyPZkWKQ-s_HFeuDTBwyv4giezS0WJfq3VK1seFm48PfIpYZXxfckRLyCQZjlneRRxSFe9PdRpFHzqUg7YF1nflkvRu-mD6NdH3PjLz5MAliVP0PUY2Y4bJv38wVO9Y/s320/jl&mamie.tif" width="235" /></a></div>
</div>Dorothy Gasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03033760146971523548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5505333201050158370.post-49352759660119680072012-07-30T10:04:00.000-05:002012-07-30T10:04:02.927-05:00John Leland and Mamie Cork Barton about 1960<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
</div>Dorothy Gasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03033760146971523548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5505333201050158370.post-59387382563847708192012-04-08T21:24:00.001-05:002012-04-08T21:24:59.362-05:00Young Annice<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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</div>Dorothy Gasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03033760146971523548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5505333201050158370.post-27740196356147144072012-04-08T21:23:00.000-05:002012-04-08T21:23:36.343-05:00Cousins Daughters of Preasha, Lora, and Thelma<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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</div>Dorothy Gasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03033760146971523548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5505333201050158370.post-12718746162452717572012-01-19T04:32:00.000-06:002012-01-19T04:32:17.543-06:00John Leland Barton<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: medium;">John Leland Barton</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mr. Leland was 5’7”, weighed 140 pounds in his 70s, and looked in silhouette like a 14 year old boy not finshed growing, but I heard tales about him that were greatly different from the Grandpa I thought I knew. I never knew him to drive a car nor a tractor. He farmed land that had belonged to his father that was almost a mile from a paved road.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But politicians from Montgomery made their way to his out of the way farm to request his support in their election campaigns. He wasn’t rich, was not a society person, yet influential people came to seek his help. He served as Beat Committeeman for the Democratic Party for 65 years; he was a constable even longer . He was re-elected every four years.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Rumors said when a fight happened at a dance, someone would go after John Leland Barton to settle things down. It was said he’d walk in and say, O.K. boys, that’s enough “and the fighters would back away from each other. I asked him what kind of gun he carried as constable.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He replied “If you always say what you mean and mean what you say, you don’t have to carry a gun.” It didn’t make sense when he said it to me and doesn’t really make sense to me now, but it worked. Maybe it was because folks knew when you had a family member dying, he would come sit with the family, then help get things ready for the funeral. If a house burned , he would help fight the fire and bring his tools to help you rebuild. He’d bring his wife, Miss Mamie, over in his wagon to help bring a baby into the world, or help doctor your only horse that was injured. None of his children were seen giving him back talk, yet he didn’t holler or make a lot of threats. He just looked straight at people and they listened.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In 1985, Tuscaloosa News Staff Writer, Bob Kyle, wrote a news story entitled “Little Bit of Rough Weather Can’t Stop This Democrat” about “J. L. Barton, 88, of Ralph, Alabama. Five inches of snow would not prevent him from showing up.. Barton said he had a duty to do, so he got his son, A.B. Barton to drive him to the scheduled meeting of the Tuscaloosa County Democratic Executive Committee. He was one of the oldest members of the group and the only one that showed up at the court house that Saturday morning.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The picture that accompanied the article showed him heavier since he had stopped doing his own plowing. His lined face was as determined as ever.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The article quoted, “Yes, sir, I started out as a Democrat and I’m going to end up as one. I have a lot of friends who claim they are Republicans, but I don’t hold anything against them. I’ll like them as long as they don’t try to convince me.’</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Barton went on to tell of his nine children, eight still living, 28 grandchildren and 36 great grandchildren, and many of the next generations. People come from all over the Southeasst seeking his extensive memory of family relationships to complete their family trees.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi966XiY5wh_WLVKJDl054ZmvxaV5w6lI3AhSgsZyqqX1QMN6dS6zfeKEs-4due-s5s7njmHWzl3rnmNhMdDoSnJTQ_EDWWG3K6YgaX-fxvvdq5cD9nVbCCwufhyphenhyphend7yiouM-VLycQToY982/s1600/JLBARTONNEWS8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi966XiY5wh_WLVKJDl054ZmvxaV5w6lI3AhSgsZyqqX1QMN6dS6zfeKEs-4due-s5s7njmHWzl3rnmNhMdDoSnJTQ_EDWWG3K6YgaX-fxvvdq5cD9nVbCCwufhyphenhyphend7yiouM-VLycQToY982/s320/JLBARTONNEWS8.jpg" width="235" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> At the age of 95, he was recovering from a broken hip at a local nursing home when family members were called.in because his heart was failing. I drove my mother to the home. When we entered his room two other daughters were there. He looked at me and winked and said, “This must be the day I’m to kick the bucket to get so many folks over today.” He joked about his own death until his breath got too short for him to talk. He told a grandson that when my grandmother got dementia he knelt by her bed and asked God to let him live long enough to care for her. He said, “If I’d known I’d live this long I wouldn’t have prayed so hard.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He was buried with his 50 year Masonic pin in front of the church where he had been Sunday School Superintendent and where he had been married 73 years before.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: medium;">------------------------------------------------------</span></div>Dorothy Gasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03033760146971523548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5505333201050158370.post-45298857951569059502012-01-19T03:42:00.001-06:002012-01-19T04:05:31.049-06:00The Home Place by Annice Graham<div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="background-color: #472415;">T</span><span style="background-color: white;">he Home Place by Annice Graham | Early Alabama Stories</span></div><div align="center" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; color: blue;">While doing research for my own writing I found my mother's description of washing clothes in stories she had written for me to type.</span></div><div align="center" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; color: blue;">Enjoy.....your washing machine.</span></div><div align="center" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><a href="http://alabamapioneers.com/index.php/FAQs/contributing-authors.html" style="color: #9c0000;"><span style="background-color: white; color: blue;">Dorothy Gast</span></a></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div align="center" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><b style="background-color: white;">THE HOME PLACE</b></div><div align="center" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><b style="background-color: white;">by</b></div><div align="center" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><b style="background-color: white;">Annice Graham</b></div><div align="center" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white;">I don't know if any of you remember how we happened to have this place. Grandpa was a sawmill owner. The sawmill was a whole village that moved from community to community as he cut. After much of the timber was cut he sold his mill but kept a store or commissary as it was called in those days across the road from his house. Aunt Lora, Grandma's younger sister, worked in the store and was the local telephone operator.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white;">Then came the Depression. Grandpa owed a lot of money and had borrowed on his land to pay his workers and his other debts. The farm was lost.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white;">Although Grandpa farmed and later had odd jobs to help make a living, he was not in good health and being deaf made it hard to get jobs. Grandma boarded the schoolteachers and they went to the curb market for years, but never had enough income to hold onto their home. Some of their children weren't financially able to take on the mortgage; others' plans did not include taking on this obligation. Daddy Buster borrowed money from Mr. Cleveland Partrich and paid off all Grandpa's obligations, and secured their home for the rest of their lives.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white;">We bought an antebellum home at Lock 8 that the government was disposing of, tore it down and had the lumber moved to the place where we built the house where our children grew up. Grandpa Barton was in charge of building the house and it turned out to be a more modest style than the original.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white;">Grandpa and Grandma continued to curb market and Grandma went to work as school lunch supervisor at Romulus school next door. Later she went to work at Jemison School in Tuscaloosa,</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white;">For several years we had sharecroppers. When John was old enough to plow, Daddy bought an older tractor and we farmed until I went to work as lunchroom manager at Romulus. When the elementary school in this area were consolidated to Fosters, I became the lunchroom supervisor at Myrtlewood.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br />
When our children were going to school at Romulus the teachers would let then come home early to pick cotton, gather corn, or other crops on the farm like peas popcorn or peanuts.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br />
Do you remember how I could help Grandma kill and dress 15 or 20 chickens to carry to curb market? We also helped gather and prepare vegetables and even flowers for market.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br />
Water was always a problem on this farm. We had a 65-foot dug well, which proved to be unreliable. When Grandpa's well went dry we pumped water up the hill for them. The well could not provide enough water for two families, so Daddy Buster had a 95-foot well bored.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br />
Before that we had gotten water from the school well. The children carried water for the school a quarter of a mile for me to wash clothes the next day. I times I had to carry clothes to the well in front of the sharecropper's house near the back field almost as far as the school house. It was about 20 feet deep with plenty of water.<br />
With three small children I would hitch the mule to a ground slide, load the smallest children on the dirty clothes, and soaps to make the trip down the crooked trail to the well.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white;">After getting the children to a safe area I would draw water out of the well to fill the tub and a big black wash pot while Dorothy was keeping the others safe away from the well. Small limbs and leaves were burned under the washpot to keep the water hot, hopefully boiling, in the washpot. Then I used a stick to pull the clothes out to the cold water in the tub to hand scrub, rinse and wring dry enough to hang on tree limbs, bushes and sometimes grass.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br />
I carried a few biscuits with butter and syrup poured into a hole in the biscuit and we ate them for our lunch while the clothes dried. You could put pant stretchers in men's pants so they would need little ironing before wearing. When clothes were dried we had to fold them, put clean clothes back in the tub, set the babies on top, and head back to the house to cook supper and feed up before Daddy got home.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br />
When Dorothy was about 5, John 3, amd Mary was a baby not old enough to walk, we hung the clothes on the pasture fence. John wanted to help so he went to the wash pot and stepped on live coals and blistered the bottoms of his feet. For weeks I had two babies that could not walk. He soon learned to crawl to get his toys or something to eat.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br />
That is why I loved my first washing machine so much. When we moved to Pascagoula, Mississippi, we bought a washing machine and I took in washing from our boarders and all the women who worked in the Engel's shipyard. I would deliver the clean, ironed clothes in Johnny's little red wagon with the kids following behind. I made as much as Daddy.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br />
That is why I always enjoyed having a washer and dryer in my later years. It was a joy to have an easier way to do a necessary job.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white;">Annice Graham<br />
in My Memories<br />
c 1989</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white;">The Home Place by Annice Graham | Early Alabama Stories Alabama Pioneers.com</span></div>Dorothy Gasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03033760146971523548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5505333201050158370.post-3193452715177341452012-01-04T20:54:00.000-06:002012-01-04T20:54:02.080-06:00New Year's Eve<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Saturday, December 31, 2011</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Spring in December </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Quince bushes have tentative red blooms on bare twigs, daffodils show buds reaching out of the warming earth, and periwinkle is putting out new greenery and topping it with blue flowers. What’s going on? Days of soaking rain followed by 60 degree days have Mother Nature confused. The week after Christmas feels like spring despite forecasts of freezing nights next week.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">It has been said the Winter in Alabama lasts 3 weeks, Spring and Fall last 2 months, and summer is forever. It was a great day to work outside in the flower beds and plant sprigs to grow into English dogwood or redbuds. The sun made it warmer in the yard than the house and the dogs stretched and dozed in the warm sun.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">The last Christmas decorations are down and packed for next year. The clichés about time speeding up as we age are reinforced by seasonal obligations and we go through the motions yearly. Many hours of addressing Christmas cards with personalized messages are wasted as deadlines pass and we revert to e-greetings leaving cards in their original boxes. Some of us just ain’t organized enough to get them out in time.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">At twilight my nephew hosted a cookout, bonfire, and later fireworks. Leaning back in the chair by the fire I looked at red sparks flying upward against the darkness. A bright sliver of moon and sprinkling of stars make me remember the time before farm nights were cluttered by a hundred kinds of man-made light.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">New Year’s Eve. The old 2011 is passing away in two hours. Some say dire happenings are in store in 2012. I don’t remember any one forecasting Japan’s double calamity or the Arab Spring. No one said a flurry of tonados would cause death, damage, and permanent destruction over the southern states. God still reigns and knows where we are. Faith allows us to sleep knowing He is in control.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Happy 365 days of New Year. May there be comfort for sorrow, brotherhood instead of divisions, hope to replace fear, and joy to combat despair. May you be granted the PEACE that has nothing broken, nothing missing, and provision for our needs, physical, spiritual, and emotional. Remind us that as bad as things may be, Our country is the most blessed land for its people, and it is up to us to keep it that way.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">God Bless us all. Dorothy Gast</div>Dorothy Gasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03033760146971523548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5505333201050158370.post-78761139163867248192011-12-19T16:23:00.001-06:002012-01-19T04:05:31.052-06:00<font color='black' size='2' face='arial'><table class="contentpaneopen" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><tbody><tr><td valign="top"> <div align="center" style="margin-bottom: 0in; "><b><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"><img alt="dorothy_graham_clements_gast" src="http://alabamapioneers.com/images/stories/dorothy_graham_clements_gast.jpg" width="300" height="452" style="float: left; ">SHELL HOMES</b></div> <div align="center" style="margin-bottom: 0in; "><b>by</b></div> <div align="center" style="margin-bottom: 0in; "><b><a title="http://alabamapioneers.com/index.php/FAQs/contributing-authors.html" target="_blank" href="http://alabamapioneers.com/index.php/FAQs/contributing-authors.html" style="color: blue; cursor: pointer; "><font color="#9c0000">Dorothy Graham Gast</font></a></b></div> <div style="margin-bottom: 0in; "><font color="#9c0000"></font></div> <div style="margin-bottom: 0in; "> During the years after World War II many rural families in the South were still living in substandard housing. Some homes were no more than two room shacks with leanto areas that had served as tenant houses without running water or electricity. Many people had no hope of better conditions at the existing cost of building.</div> <div style="margin-bottom: 0in; "> In the 1950's brochures began arriving in country mailboxes showing one, two, and three bedroom homes completely finished on the outside, partially finished on the inside giving the buyer a choice of completing the work themselves. The best known of these was Jim Walter Homes. The company would sell most of the inside building material, including sheetrock, insulation, doors and carpet. Anyone who had a deed to an acre of land could sign a contract, make payments for twenty years and be debt free.</div> <div style="margin-bottom: 0in; "> A starter house with two bedrooms sold for $2400 and could be financed, finished, and added on to, and still be paid in full before the first child finished high school.</div> <div style="margin-bottom: 0in; "> A lumber truck would drive up to the site, unload framing, doors, and windows, sheetrock, nails flooring, paint, and linoleum. Workers covered supplies with tarps and left. The next day or so a framing crew laid concrete blocks for foundations, built subflooring, and framed walls, while the new owners watched in amazement as the structure they had chosen developed before their eyes. The frame of an 800 square house could be ready for ceiling joists by the end of the first day. The oak floors were the last things finished by the company.</div> <div style="margin-bottom: 0in; ">A drilling truck could drill a well and place a water pump into place and connect it to the house plumbing as the plumbing crew joined the pipes and as electricians wired the lights, base plugs, and laundry connections to the fuse box .Sometimes three different crews worked on varying tasks.</div> <div style="margin-bottom: 0in; ">Our three bedroom house was built by a Walter competitor. It was 34 by 22 feet with a living room-kitchen at one end and tiny bedrooms around the even smaller bath. The girls' bedroom was papered with state maps obtained free from service stations. They could lie in their bunk beds and trace trips on their travel wish lists.</div> <div style="margin-bottom: 0in; ">The shell home division of Jim Walter Homes was closed in 2009. All over the South these homes still shelter families though most have been improved and changed enough to be unrecognizable. For some families it was the first inkling that they could own their own home and aspire to a more comfortable life. Propane hot water heaters, stove and heating released the owner from the time consuming wood cutting and fireplaces. Sixty years ago an acre of land, a Jim Walter home and an affordable mortgage allowed even manual laborers the security of their own home with electricity and running water.</div> </td></tr></tbody></table></font>Dorothy Gasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03033760146971523548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5505333201050158370.post-81544890566498296832011-11-14T12:25:00.000-06:002011-11-14T23:26:09.638-06:00CHRISTMAS APRONS 1955<font color='black' size='2' face='arial'> <div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right; MARGIN: 0in 0in 10pt" class=MsoNormal align=right><FONT size=3><FONT face=Calibri>By Dorothy Graham Gast<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></FONT></FONT></div> <div style="TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; MARGIN: 0in 0in 10pt" class=MsoNormal><SPAN style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%; FONT-SIZE: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt"><FONT face=Calibri>As the holiday season approached in 1955 my less than a year old daughter and I lived with my parents and siblings in their two bedroom frame house on the family farm where I was raised. My husband and his girlfriend had left the state and us without any support.<o:p></o:p>My pregnancy and baby prevented my getting a job to help with our support. </FONT></SPAN><SPAN style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%; FONT-SIZE: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt"><FONT face=Calibri>Mama got a job working in the nearby school lunchroom and I took over the laundry, care of the house and cooking for the seven of us. My family was concerned that my grief over a failed marriage and deep emotional distress might harm the child I was carrying. <o:p></o:p></FONT></SPAN></div> <div style="TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; MARGIN: 0in 0in 10pt" class=MsoNormal><SPAN style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%; FONT-SIZE: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt"><FONT face=Calibri>Other family members tried to help out. An aunt gave me a ride to my obstetrician's office as she <FONT size=2 face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">went</FONT> to do errands and I had a couple of hours free to walk around town looking at holiday displays. Another aunt who was working in a department store said, "I've been saving for a Christmas offering at church and I feel that the LORD wants me to give it to you instead." She handed me a $10 bill and gave me an encouraging hug. This was the first cash I'd had in my hands in three months.<o:p></o:p></FONT></SPAN></div> <div style="TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; MARGIN: 0in 0in 10pt" class=MsoNormal><SPAN style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%; FONT-SIZE: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt"><FONT face=Calibri>Maybe I could take this money and buy fabric to make some new clothes for my fast growing baby. I went to the basement area where cloth was sold looking for something special.<o:p></o:p></FONT></SPAN></div> <div style="TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; MARGIN: 0in 0in 10pt" class=MsoNormal><SPAN style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%; FONT-SIZE: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt"><FONT face=Calibri><SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </SPAN>As I was feeling fabric and checking out <FONT size=2 face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">baby dress</FONT><SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </SPAN>patterns, the store manager came in and said, "I need these tables cleared for the new merchandise that came in this morning. Put a sign $2 for every brown paper bag the customer can fill with cloth. And those tail ends of tweeds and other wools sell for 10 cents each."<o:p></o:p></FONT></SPAN></div> <div style="TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; MARGIN: 0in 0in 10pt" class=MsoNormal><SPAN style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%; FONT-SIZE: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt"><FONT face=Calibri>I hurried across the room and asked for some bags. I packed summer fabrics, ginghams and eyelets, calicoes and solids, tight as possible in the squared off brown grocery like bags she handed me. Three bags held the remnants that were from half a yard to five yards and cleared the tables for new displays. A nearby table had short lengths of winter materials, nubby tweeds, radiant plaids, and luxuriant solids. The saleslady, caught up in my enthusiasm, helped me squeeze the folded pieces into a bag. Another customer held the bad open while we packed. I had spent the full $10 and suddenly realized I Had no money for the sales tax. I began pulling out fabric and discovered that since the deal was by the bag I would have to give up a bag of my precious bounty. The sympathetic customer rummaged in the bottom of her purse for the necessary coins to pay tax. We were both crying with relief. She gave me a big hug and helped me carry the five overstuffed bags to the street corner where my aunt would pick me up. <o:p></o:p></FONT></SPAN></div> <div style="TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; MARGIN: 0in 0in 10pt" class=MsoNormal><SPAN style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%; FONT-SIZE: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt"><FONT face=Calibri>That night my mother, sisters and I spread the contents of the bags on two beds. Out of the bags the piles grew much larger than I remembered from the store. A younger sister wrapped a 12 inch length around her neck. Its 54 inch width made a Christmasy scarf dressy enough for anyone. The inventory became festive as we sorted and matched to see what could be done with our treasure. We matched small pieces of calico and plain cloth for an apron. Past experience with feed sack sewing had taught ways to be resourceful in using every scrap.<o:p></o:p></FONT></SPAN></div> <div style="TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; MARGIN: 0in 0in 10pt" class=MsoNormal><SPAN style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%; FONT-SIZE: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt"><FONT face=Calibri>In the weeks that followed, we made dozens of aprons, style and type determined by the amount of material available. Some woolen lengths had nearly a yard and made three scarves, neatly finished and fringed. Some were made into slippers or foldover purses. During the evenings after supper dishes, were washed up the women of the house matched, designed, and sewed. We made more than 200 gifts for our household, extended family, and friends.<o:p></o:p></FONT></SPAN></div> <div style="TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; MARGIN: 0in 0in 10pt" class=MsoNormal><SPAN style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%; FONT-SIZE: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt"><FONT face=Calibri>Although we probably were the poorest family in both clans we had gifts for everyone. When we were looking for gifts for the men who wouldn't wear scarves, Daddy happened on a University student who was selling boxes of coconut oil shampoo for enough money to go home for Christmas. The elegantly shaped bottles completed our list.<o:p></o:p></FONT></SPAN></div> <div style="TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; MARGIN: 0in 0in 10pt" class=MsoNormal><SPAN style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%; FONT-SIZE: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt"><FONT face=Calibri>My baby girl had her beautiful dresses for the holidays, we had gifts to share, and my parents rejoiced that my depression had disappeared. Forty years later when an aunt died, I found one of those aprons, faded from use, hanging on a hook by her kitchen door.<SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </SPAN>And I remembered.<o:p></o:p></FONT></SPAN></div> </font>Dorothy Gasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03033760146971523548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5505333201050158370.post-33155462264073249222011-06-11T16:45:00.001-05:002011-11-14T23:26:09.633-06:00The Wall<FONT id=role_document color=#000000 size=2 face=Arial> <DIV> <P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><FONT size=3 face="Times New Roman"><STRONG>The<SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </SPAN>early morning sunlight burned through my swollen eyelids as I struggled to hold on to the last remnants of sleep.The funeral had been Saturday, and family members were home and back to their normal pursuits.<SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </SPAN>O. J. was gone. The long months<SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </SPAN>fighting all the different complications of his illness had ended and it would never be<I style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"> us</I> again. Tears began to form. Then in my mind I could hear what O. J. would say, "Quit your bawling and get out and do some of the things you've wanted to do before you became my nurse. Get busy with your own life."</STRONG></FONT></P> <P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><o:p><FONT size=3 face="Times New Roman"><STRONG> </STRONG></FONT></o:p></P> <P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><FONT size=3 face="Times New Roman"><STRONG>A shower and a cup of coffee later, I thought of all the jobs long put off. That dark paneled <SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </SPAN>hallway was so depressing. There was some pale yellow paint left over from a touch up. Just take down all the pictures, put out the nails and paint. By 7:00 am, paint, rollers, a short ladder, and a tube of toothpaste were sitting on the strewn newspapers that covered the hall carpet. I'd read that you could stop up the nail holes with toothpaste if you had no spackling. </STRONG></FONT></P> <P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><o:p><FONT size=3 face="Times New Roman"><STRONG> </STRONG></FONT></o:p></P> <P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><FONT size=3 face="Times New Roman"><STRONG>If I had company for supper I wouldn't have time to start crying. I called my mother, a widower, and two couples <SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </SPAN>that often came for dinner <SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes"> in other years </SPAN>and invited them over for a home cooked meal at 7:00 pm. </STRONG></FONT></P> <P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><o:p><FONT size=3 face="Times New Roman"><STRONG> </STRONG></FONT></o:p></P> <P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><FONT size=3 face="Times New Roman"><STRONG>What could I cook that didn't require watching? There was that frozen turkey bought to cook for Christmas, before we spent December and January in the hospital. There were canned green beans, a uncut pound cake someone <SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </SPAN>had bought, plenty of salad makings from a raw veggie tray left from the wake. I thawed the turkey in the microwave, rubbed it down with seasonings and oil, placed it in the oven at 275. I mixed a Jello salad and placed it in the frig. Supper was on it's way.</STRONG></FONT></P> <P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><o:p><FONT size=3 face="Times New Roman"><STRONG> </STRONG></FONT></o:p></P> <P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><FONT size=3 face="Times New Roman"><STRONG>A no longer valid credit card smoothed the toothpaste into the nail holes and left an even finish for painting. The 12 foot hallway was covered in under an hour, but the light color showed dents and shadows of the patched nailholes. The water based paint was drying fast. </STRONG></FONT></P> <P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><FONT size=3 face="Times New Roman"><STRONG> Camouflage! That's what I could do. I could make flowers the way a late night decorating show illustrated. Random flowers. There was a can of blue paint just the color of delphiniums that had hardly been used in the shed. With a one inch paint brush<SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </SPAN>I painted<SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </SPAN>blossoms 12 inches apart at my eye level all the way down the hall. Not bad.<SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </SPAN>18 inches below that row I repeated with blossoms alternating halfway between those in the first row. </STRONG></FONT><FONT size=3 face="Times New Roman"><STRONG>The design was repeated down the hall on both sides.from floor to ceiling.</STRONG></FONT></P> <P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><FONT size=3><FONT face="Times New Roman"><STRONG><SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </SPAN>As I ate leftovers for lunch I surveyed my project.<SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </SPAN>There were still rough spots under the yellow paint. Green stems and leaves.<SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </SPAN>I could make green Y<SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </SPAN>shapes for stems and a leaf for each blossom. Just a dash of green<SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </SPAN>connected to each flower. Still needs a highlight. Butterflies!<SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </SPAN>Semiabstract. Two brush flips of orange<SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </SPAN>randomly placed. They harmonized nicely.</STRONG></FONT></FONT></P> <P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><FONT size=3><FONT face="Times New Roman"><STRONG><SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </SPAN>The school bus roared down the road. It's 3:30, and I've got company at 7:00. Paint dripped newspapers were tucked away in the trash. Paint cans disposed off. Brushes washed for another project. Yellow, green, blue, and orange drops, spots, and smudges were on my hands, my face, my glasses, and my clothes. After I bundled the clothes in the trash, I ran a hot bubble bath and scraped<SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </SPAN>paint off me until I was presentable.</STRONG></FONT></FONT></P> <P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><FONT size=3 face="Times New Roman"><STRONG>The good dishes that had not been used for years went on the Damask tablecloth with matching cloth napkins and silver while I listened to the 5:00 o'clock news. <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Turkey</st1:place></st1:country-region> smells filled the house. I stirred up a pan of cornbread dressing and poured it in around the turkey. </STRONG></FONT></P> <P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><FONT size=3><FONT face="Times New Roman"><STRONG><SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </SPAN>A touch test proved all the paint dry except the butterflies. By the time guests arrived there would be no problem.<SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </SPAN>A flicker of guilt about writing thank you cards for funeral flowers was dismissed with "I'll think of that tomorrow". A spray of air freshener before a quick run with the vacuum cleaner lightened the mood of the house.</STRONG></FONT></FONT></P> <P style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class=MsoNormal><FONT size=3><FONT face="Times New Roman"><STRONG><SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </SPAN>Just 15 minutes with my feet propped up can get me going again. Why not a dressy dress for a party feel? A little makeup and hairspray and I was ready when the doorbell rang at 5 minutes until 7:00. Guests helped me take up the turkey, dressing, and green beans. One tossed the salad and brought out the Jello. Another put ice in glasses and poured the tea. As we bowed for the blessing I could almost hear O. J. say, "That's more like it. It's time for you to build a new life." </STRONG></FONT></FONT></P></DIV></FONT>Dorothy Gasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03033760146971523548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5505333201050158370.post-24564181110286189722011-04-16T22:58:00.001-05:002012-03-24T20:43:06.801-05:00Fwd: Never go to Walmart go see if you are having a heart attack<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span id="role_document" style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> </span><br />
<div><span id="role_document" style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: red;">True story of my recent medical adventure. Dorothy Gast</span></span></div><blockquote style="border-left: blue 2px solid; margin-left: 5px; padding-left: 5px;"><span id="role_document" style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> </span></span></span><br />
<div><span id="role_document" style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br />
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<span id="role_document" style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Subj: Never go to Walmart go see if you are having a heart attack<br />
</span></span></span></div><blockquote style="border-left: blue 2px solid; margin-left: 5px; padding-left: 5px;"><div></div><span id="role_document" style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> </span></span></span></span></span><br />
<div><span id="role_document" style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Early morning on April 6 after a delightful evening with friends, I felt activity in my chest. No real pain, but the feeling that a couple of large mice might be fighting under my breastbone. My pulse rang in my ears; not the normal regular 4/4 rhythm, but a wild and crazy erratic beat.I woke my sister and asked her to take my blood pressure. Both her machines were as undependable as the noise in my head. We decidedto get dressed and go to Walmart to check the bp on their equipment. I stiill had no pain.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div></div><div><span id="role_document" style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">When we tried the Walmart machine something was wrong with it, too. 256/136; then 85/50. No pulse reading. Ridiculous!!!! I could hear the sound in my head . ... ... .. ... . . ... .</span></span></span></span></span></div><div></div><div></div><div><span id="role_document" style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">So after some deliberation we went to DCH Northport ER.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span id="role_document" style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">When they heard the word heart, i was rushed intoan exam room,</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span id="role_document" style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Instant service- ,BP(not gasolene), IV, EKG,</span></span></span></span></span></div><div></div><div><span id="role_document" style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">"Give her a shot in the IV.......Shoot her again......Another one!!!"</span></span></span></span></span></div><div></div><div><span id="role_document" style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Now I was getting nervous. Their faces did not reassure me. No real pain, just the stupid non rhythm roaring in my head.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div></div><div><span id="role_document" style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">"OK, that's better." Everyone breathed, even me.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div></div><div><span id="role_document" style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">When they spoke of electric shock to get the heart back in rhythm I wasn't happy. They put the shock pads in place in the center of my chest and under my left arm. A mask came down over my face.------</span></span></span></span></span></div><div></div><br />
<div><span id="role_document" style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black;">Hours later I woke up with a brand new pacemaker. Two days in the ICU and I was released to the care of my sister with instructions for my confinement and restrictions on my behavior. My visitors from Scotland helped enforce the recovery guidelines. A week later I'm home after promising to behave and call someone to drive me if I need to travel.</span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></span></span></span></div></blockquote><br />
<blockquote style="border-left: blue 2px solid; margin-left: 5px; padding-left: 5px;"><span id="role_document" style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"></span></span></span><br />
<div><span id="role_document" style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Praise the LORD for his Goodness and thanks to all of you who prayed for me. I felt the prayers and have had little pain or difficulty. I will be resting and following doctor's orders. No driving for 2 weeks may be the hardest part.</span></span></span></span></span></div></blockquote></blockquote><div><span id="role_document" style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Now is a good time to get serious about losing weight, walking a mile a day, and slowing down.<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></span></div><blockquote style="border-left: blue 2px solid; margin-left: 5px; padding-left: 5px;"><blockquote style="border-left: blue 2px solid; margin-left: 5px; padding-left: 5px;"><span id="role_document" style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> </span></span></span></span></span><br />
<div><span id="role_document" style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">I'm lucky! If something is happenng in your chest, have a doctor check it out. No pain does not mean no danger.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div></div><div><span id="role_document" style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Don't go to Walmart,,,, </span></span></span></span></span></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div></blockquote></blockquote></div>Dorothy Gasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03033760146971523548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5505333201050158370.post-11857602247815864442010-07-26T22:02:00.003-05:002011-11-14T23:26:09.624-06:00Pink TulipsPINK TULIPS <br />BY Dorothy Gast<br /> <br />In 1999 I planted several packs of tulips bought off a late season sale table. In April 2000 there was some weak tulip plants peeping from the shiny green leaves of periwinkle, but no sign of flowers . The bed was left undisturbed with spikely tulips hiding among the dominant plants. <br />The early months of 2001 the world was falling apart in our family. My mother found she had inoperable ovarian cancer on Valentine’s Day and died before March 14.<br /> <br />My 17 year old granddaughter attended Mama’s funeral so swollen with the symptoms of preclamsia that she had to be helped up and down. When she was admitted to the hospital she had a long and difficult labor. A caesarean was done late night. Merry’s mother-in-law and I were the only family waiting with the young father.<br /> <br />About midnight while the father was at the nursery looking for his baby daughter, the obstetrician warned mother in law and me, great grandmother of the child, that there was something wrong with the baby. He said the little one had Downs’ Syndrome and would not live very long. She would be limited mentally and physically and might very well experience multiple health problems and the family needed to be prepared.<br /> <br />Despite the late hour we called family member telling them te baby, Stormy, had been born and the prognosis was not good. I emailed friends around the world for prayer. There were hundreds of people raying for her from dozens of prayer groups and churches. Stormy was kept in infant intensive care. For three days, other family members went to admire the beautiful baby, but I continued to cry out to Heaven. One the fourth day, I took a turn scrubbing up and donning protective clothing to see the baby.<br /> <br />There was nothing to suggest that this baby had any defect. Her wide spaced eyes were big and blue and followed movement around her. She was rosy and chubby, but no longer swollen as she and her mother had been at her birth.. I opened the tiny hands and found the lines of a normal baby. I knew that she was going to be fine. Tests were sent off to she if she was Downs’ Syndrome.and three weeks later confirmed my belief that she would be normal. I promised that I would do all I could to help this young couple provide whatever care was needed.<br /> <br /><br />The day we brought her home to my house for me to care for mother and child. We turned into my driveway to see 40 huge pink tulips shining betweeen the glossy periwinkle leaves. The same tulips I had given up on were a beautiful display to welcome Stormy home.<br /><br /> She was walking at a very early age, making sentences by 18 months. It was almost as if so many prayers with her name on them stacked up in the Requests section of HEAVEN that they continue to bring blessings to her. She is confident, friendly, and very affectionate.Dorothy Gasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03033760146971523548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5505333201050158370.post-18415468596869842502010-05-27T23:08:00.002-05:002010-05-27T23:11:52.617-05:00The Sound of a DiplomaPublished in : <a href="http://alabamapioneers.com/index.php/Table/News/">News</a>, <a href="http://alabamapioneers.com/index.php/Table/Early-Alabama-Stories/">Early Alabama Stories</a><br /><br />The Sound of a Diploma<br />by<br />Dorothy Graham Clements Gast<br />This fall my first husband died, and I relived memories of a first romance and failed marriage. The years of depression and humiliation of rejection faded with the busyness of a growing family and career. How funny that the memory of a slap of a diploma on a desk was the spur that kept me going when I felt overwhelmed and led to my greatest achievements.<br /><a title="role_document101" name="role_document101"></a><br /><a title="role_document111" name="role_document111"></a>In the 1950s married students in high school were the center of controversy. So many veterans of the Korean War were back in high school student marriages were becoming quite common. It was believed that they were a negative influence that might spread throughout the system and their effect was hotly debated in faculty lounges, at P. T. A. meetings, and meetings of school boards.<br />I was born in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, but spent most of my childhood on the family farm in Romulus southwest of town surrounded by family, grandparents, aunts and uncles. Three girl cousins were born in 1936. Muriel was the pretty one, Edith was talented, and I was the smart one with glasses. I wished to trade. <br /><a title="role_document121" name="role_document121"></a>My father was a mechanic for Tuscaloosa County Road and Bridge Department and worked on bulldozers, gravel trucks, and police cars. The persistent black oil under his fingernails belied the fact he could quote whole scenes of Hamlet and Julius Caesar and taught his children poems like Thanatopsis at the dinner table. Mama made us set the table with a cloth tablecloth and napkins, correct silver arrangement around cheap mismatched and chipped dishes. <br />They never told us we were poor even though dresses and shirts were made from the feedsacks animal feed came in. In fact people came from all over the neighborhood to use World Book encyclopedias from the apple crate bookshelves in our living room.<br />When I was in high school Daddy was hospitalized for a series of illnesses and off work with no workman's comp for long periods of time. Even 25 cent lunches were a luxury for our family. He did not want Mama or me to work outside the home. <br />In Mrs. Maxwell's tenth grade homeroom one of the most outgoing guys seemed at my elbow constantly. He bought pictures of me from my friends. This was very exciting for a girl who at Romulus the year before was voted Most Likely to be an Old Maid. By Christmas he was carrying my books from class to class and writing notes every night to slip into my books and taking me to the monthly movie in the auditorium after lunch. <br />In eleventh grade we were inseparable. That year his first cousin and best friend, Houston Hagler, was killed in a motorcycle accident. Frank grew more insistent about our getting married as so many of our classmates were. Crossing the Mississippi line to Columbus Mississippi, where marriage laws were less restrictive was a simple matter and anyone with a driver's license age over 21 could give permission for those under age. On June 22, 1953, we took a neighbor to give permission and drove to the Columbus, Mississippi courthouse and to a ministers' home for the ceremony. <br />We each returned to our separate homes with nothing changed except legal permission to sexual activity. Back then good girls DIDN"T. I got a job at Kress 5 & 10 and he worked at the Pro Shop in Tuscaloosa Country Club. I had begun spending the night with Frank's sister and doing things weekly with his family because the distance between our homes made dating difficult. <br />One night Frank's daddy called Frank and me and his mother into Frank's bedroom and tossed two pillows to him and said, you might as well have these. He showed us the marriage license and certificate he'd found locked in Frank's car glove compartment. The next day we drove to Romulus and told my parents. Their faces were so stricken my heart felt the betrayal of the secret marriage.<br />The only thing they had to give for a wedding gift was a cow to help with the cost of an extra mouth to feed at the Clements. My in-laws and their extended family were very good to me.<br /><a title="role_document131" name="role_document131"></a>About the only thing Frank's parents and I disagreed on was my returning to high school for my senior year. They felt very strongly that a married woman stayed at home. Despite their objections, I got a job as a part time secretary for the Tuscaloosa County Board of Education and was surrounded by professionals who encouraged me in my school work.<br />There was a countywide move to purge all high schools of married students and I was able because of regular contact with school board members and administrative staff to lobby for policies to allow those students to stay in school. It worked. Frank and I graduated with our class in 1954. <br />The faculty drive to remove married students from Honor Society failed to materialize and I wore a maternity dress back to school for the required counseling before our principal, Col. Peterson, signed the diploma received at graduation the night before. He looked at me without a smile, took the diploma, grimly signed it, and slapped in down on the desk toward me. <br />When my husband deserted me 15 months later, again pregnant with a 10 month old to care for. I remembered the sound of that diploma and felt my same defiance. I will not fail, I'll get a job. I will take care of my children.<br />My parents made a place in their home for me and my two daughters and I was able to enroll at the University of Alabama and find jobs to pay tuition and school expenses. Thirty-five months after enrolling I received a B.S. in Elementary Education.<br /><a title="role_document141" name="role_document141"></a>During those years, I had learned when college, family, and job became too much, I could remember the sound of that diploma hitting the desk and feel steel determination flow through me and give me the push to keep trying.Dorothy Gasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03033760146971523548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5505333201050158370.post-52785482289122622102010-05-25T22:13:00.003-05:002010-05-26T21:37:26.716-05:00Mama Annice's GirlsShelton CC 1998<br />Assignment: The influence of the matriarch on the female descendants.<br /><br />A Study of the Female<br />Descendents of<br />Annice Barton Graham<br /> <br /><br /><br /> <br /> <br />.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Questions<br />1. What are the ways each generation of women is like the preceeding generations?<br />2. What do those of the same generation have in common?<br />3. How do economic and sociological forces impact upon the implied and expressed values that have been passed down?<br />4. Are those values changes or diluted by marriage?<br />5. What compromises are made?<br />6. What are consistent themes running through the 7 generations I have known?<br />7. How much of this is part of “Southern” tradition and how much is family teaching?<br />8. What is the incidence of divorce in each generation?<br />9. What is the effect of newer family structures like families living together without marriage in the family patterns?<br />10. How do the comformists relate to the non comformists?<br />11. How are the cousins alike and how are they different?<br /> </span><br /> <br />Annice Deane Barton was born October 15, 1913, the eighth child in a family of nine children. In the rural community of Ralph, Alabama, her parents were known as good neighbors and neighborhood leaders. Her father served as Democratic Beat Committeeman for 65 years and as local constable almost as long. They lived on the Barton home place so other relatives came back to visit home long after the previous generation had passed away. There were always extended family- cousins, aunts, and other relatives dropping by. Mollie Cork, Annice’s widowed grandmother and her unmarried daughter had come to live on the farm as well and a small house was built for them in the side yard of the Barton house.<br />Annice Deane Barton and Lawrence Graham were married in 1934 during the depths of the Depression. When I was born in 1936 I was part of the first generation to be born in a hospital. My grandmother Barton had often served as midwife, but my parents wanted hospital care.<br />As many families trying to get by during the Depression (my parents thought of it in capital letters) we lived in multiple family groups for several years. We lived with both sets of my parents’ families according to where my father could find work.<br />When a job for my father opened up in Tuscaloosa, we moved to town and family members moved in with us. My father’s two single sisters, a widowed sister and her two children, and my mother’s brother were part of the family group at various times. As some married, others came to stay until they could make it on their own.<br />Many important social skills are learned in the crucible of necessary togetherness. Little privacy means that each member carefully respects the tiny space each other carves out. Too personal questions remain unasked, and advice and judgments are kept to a minimum to reduce conflict. When discord arises a cooling off period is followed by working out manageble coexistence. These skills are taught to succeeding generations.<br />In 1941 my father was hired to work in a government shipyard in the war boomtown of Pascagoula, Mississippi. Men job hungry from the depression poured into a town with little housing available. They “boarded” with local families during the week and saved precious gas for visits home on weekends. We grew up sharing our home with others. In addition to caring for her three young children, my mother cooked and did laundry for the boarders. She bought the first new washing machine in the neighborhood with her earnings and the family enjoyed new found prosperity.<br />In 1945 we moved back to a little frame house built from used lumber on the family farm. My father bought back part of the farm my grandfather lost when his business failed and provided his parents with the house in which they had raised their children. They were there when they died many years later.<br />My father worked in town and my mother handled the details for the farm while caring for her four children. She fed the animals, did the milking, chopped firewood, and did equipment and fence repairs. Her father in law who was in poor health, came down and entertained the younger children when she had to work outside.<br />After my first husband left me pregnant with one child I moved back in with my parents and siblings. The house was too small, but they made room. With their encouragement I went to the University of Alabama and received a B. S. in 35 months. They provided room and board and child care. I rode to Tuscaloosa with my father as he went to work and walked from downtown to the University. They have never complained about the added expense or the crowding. The only cash they paid toward my college education was the $15 for my diploma. My siblings helped, too, often buying clothes or shoes for my daughters.<br /><br />My mother and her mother in law were good friends. When Grandma had a stroke, my parents left their home to live with her. Any family would have cared for her well and all did help to care for her in other ways. She was the first of four sick people my mother would care for during her middle years, after her children were gone. . She taught, ”Family takes care of family.”<br />Her many years of communal living showed her how to cope in many difficult circumstances. She was 62 when my father died but continued to work outside the home until she was almost 70.<br />It is never easy to live in multifamily homes, but there are positive aspects, too. Children have much love and support from all ages. Everyone is needed and no one feels unimportant. This background probably influenced the values and priorities within our family and still impacts the younger generations.<br />As long as I can remember there have been at least 3 generations living on this farm. There are now 5 generations in four households. Three of our children have lived on the farm since getting married. Some were in the house with us, temporarily, during times of difficulty.<br />Perhaps this is why members of our family are in contact at least weekly and with our mother more often. We take turns buying groceries, taking her to the doctor or family events, and helping keep her place up. One year for her birthday, her girls-daughters, granddaughters, and little ones, painted and redecorated her mobile home. New carpet, curtains, and furniture made it like new.<br />My mother has given all her property away to her family. Her home is in my sister’s name and she and my father had us all choose the area of the farm we wanted to inherit. Upon his death she deeded it to us. We honor her by providing any-thing she mentions she likes and she has no fear of being neglected. Her grand-children take her on trips and vacations. Sometimes she babysits, but only if she volunteers.<br />My parents totaled 16 brothers and sisters between them. Marriages averaged 48 years including widows and divorces. Several couples had more than 60 years together. In my generation 60% of cousins stay married to first spouse. In my children’s generation fewer remain with their first spouse. We think that is a remarkable record. In my grandchildren’s generation there are more divorces and one unmarried couple living together.<br />When an unmarried granddaughter had a baby the whole family went all out in support of the young mother and child. There were some suggestions, a little advice, but no judgments expressed. Mother and child have a mobile home next to the parents and near me.<br />Mama Annice, our matriarch, grows more frail in her 84th year. She lives alone a few yards from family members on each side of her. She still bakes cakes to give away and makes quilts for new babies. Our family had sixnewborns in 1996. She reads 2 or 3 books a week and can discuss Danielle Steele with granddaughters or Charles Swindoll with sons-in-law.<br />Her church and community call her Mama Annice and she does much of her church work through telephone contacts. She established the precedent of providing food at the church after funerals or buryings. Now it is accepted and the whole church helps out.<br />My sisters and I find our lives colored by the examples of our parents and grandparents. Hospitality, community service, family loyalty, and shared civic responsibility are values seen in every generation.<br />Our children reflect newer sociological values. Some social drinking is allowed now and different family styles are accepted, but not encouraged. Achievement in careers, education, assertiveness, and independence are mingled with traditional values passed down. The echoes of my grandparents' words are heard in my grandchildren’s methods of teaching their children. Sometimes the exact words may be heard. Half the members of the younger generation are as active in church as their parents have been. Others are less committed. here is a great deal of family pride in our young people and an unusual amount of acceptance between generations.<br />Outsiders say we are strong women. We are soft spoken, generally, but are not intimidated by people or circumstances. There is little tolerance for whiners or for those who do not do their share. We accept non relatives into our families and expect openness and respect in return. We are seldom disappointed.<br />I’M PROUD TO BE ONE OF MAMA ANNICE’S GIRLS.Dorothy Gasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03033760146971523548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5505333201050158370.post-31994445334074423292010-05-22T22:29:00.004-05:002010-05-23T17:07:30.690-05:00typical Sunday after lunch at Grandpa and Grandma Graham's house<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga8jnL_TK2rbEpcd8jF_H8343E_gOBTSYpcLRhptUoyAozVWxwJFXNrt1ey-yGcn-nSWrmHVMl_nKBoYPssY_ppprBfCQA9eUBgJ1rzhY8RaKyKCEBri1TkZ8MmDloGZlnjco0wb6IyxX8/s1600/graham+fam+house.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 462px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 367px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474302654316590002" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga8jnL_TK2rbEpcd8jF_H8343E_gOBTSYpcLRhptUoyAozVWxwJFXNrt1ey-yGcn-nSWrmHVMl_nKBoYPssY_ppprBfCQA9eUBgJ1rzhY8RaKyKCEBri1TkZ8MmDloGZlnjco0wb6IyxX8/s400/graham+fam+house.jpg" /></a><br /><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:78%;">Leon Campbell, Charley Graham, Preasha Graham holding Candy Cork,</span></div><div><span style="font-size:78%;">John Graham, Lymon Hulsey, Jimmy Morrow, Sallie Cork</span></div><div><span style="font-size:78%;"><a href="mailto:2@nd">2nd</a> row Buster Graham, Annice Graham Lois Hulsey, ?, Sarah Norwood. Estelle Hamner.</span></div><div><span style="font-size:78%;">3rd row Can't see enought to identify?,?, Cynthia Hixon</span></div><div><span style="font-size:78%;">Back row Tootsy Graham, John and Janice Smelser, Eulaine Zeanah, ?, ?, Steve Hixon</span></div><div><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div></div><div></div>Dorothy Gasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03033760146971523548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5505333201050158370.post-16794670463881198552010-05-20T22:16:00.001-05:002010-05-20T22:19:52.113-05:00Eula --Mama Preasha and Papa JohnMAMA PREASHA AND PAPA JOHN<br /> <br />Preasha became my mother at the age of seventeen when I was only five years old. At the wedding , her brother , Ottis East, and I crawled under the house where I cried my heart out because she would be taking my place as Papa’s cook and housekeeper. Papa had only recently bought some new pots and pans and had told me I could be his cook.<br />I don’t remember when I first began to call Preasha “Mamma” but when Buster and Tootsy came along, I knew in my heart that she was my mamma too. Never once did I sense the idea of being just a step child.<br />As long as I remember, each tiny sawmill house and farm house, including the old home place in Romulus, had all the essential things in it that made a home. There was a mother’s tenderness, kindness, constancy, selfless love, and care coupled with her expertise in providing warm, pleasing, and comfortable surroundings evidenced by cool, crisp curtains at the windows; clean, smooth beds; and tasty , nutritious food on the table.<br />Papa added the outward affections as well as the inward love that both of them gave to the children.<br />Mamma was not content with a sixth grade education. She took advantage o opportunities to learn. Through reading, club work, workshops and study courses she increased her knowledge of home-making, cooking, sewing, community living, and the Bible.<br />Mamma saw to it that her children went to school. I had always wanted to be a teacher. When I finished seventh grade, I acquired a teacher’s certificate by taking the State Teachers Examination. I was too young to teach. I wanted to go to high school. When Tuscaloosa High School announced it could take no more out-of-town students, I was accepted by Snead Seminary in Boaz. Business was not too good then with Papa. One day I over heard him say to Mamma, “I don’t see how we can send Eula t school.” Mamma almost shouted out to him, “Yes we can! She’s going if I have to take in washing to send her.”<br />Papa sent me a $20.00 check each month for my board and Mamma sent me little love gifts when she cold. Once at Commencement time I wrote Mamma that I needed a party dress. I didn’t hear from her .As time drew near, I planned to borrow a dress from my best friend who lived in Boaz. On the morning of the day of the party, the beautiful white silk dress arrived. It was trimmed with Irish lace and had all the pretty under things to go with it.<br />Mamma and Papa where true friends to everyone. Their house was a haven to Papa’s three brothers (Tony, Charley, Jesse) whose father had died and two sisters (Mary and Grace ) whose husband had deserted them or who needed a home. Their home seemed to have room for their own children when they needed a temporary home.<br />Mamma Preasha was an angel of mercy to friends who were ill and needed constant care for a period of illness. I remember how she tied sacks around her feet and waded deep snow to care for Mary Lee Barton who was ill with pneumonia.<br /> <br />It was Papa who added the spice to our family living. He was always acting a clown, playing tricks, or contriving surprises.<br />During my senior year in high school in early December, papa called me to come home. He thought I might need some new clothes. With Christmas holidays less than a month away, I could not imagine why I should take such an unnecessary trip. I worried all the way home. When I arrived, I was greeted by a brand new beautiful baby sister, Sarah! I didn’t even know Mamma was expecting.<br />Papa was so very proud of all his children. I used to slip around, when I could, and read his letters that he often wrote to Aunt Grace in California and his cousin, George Julian, in Missouri. He never failed to mention each of the children, telling what each was doing and how he was prospering. Often he exaggerated, but it made me burst with pride to realize how much he loved us. I thank God every day for allowing me to be a part of my wonderful John Graham Family.<br />Eula Graham VaughnDorothy Gasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03033760146971523548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5505333201050158370.post-2134668855878234202010-05-20T22:09:00.000-05:002010-05-20T22:15:03.620-05:00Grandpa and Grandma byEdith HulseyGrandpa<br />I am one of the most unphotogenic persons in the world! When I brought home my seventh grade school pictures, everyone looked at them without comment-that is except Grandpa. He said” Why, this is not even you; the camera made a mistake’”<br />Grandpa always LOVED TO ENTERTAIN CHILDREN WITH TAP DANCING AND STANDING ON HIS HEAD. The last time I remember his doing that was on June 1, 1957, after my wedding at New Hope Baptist Church. He had not been feeling well for at least a month prior so everyone was either shocked of amazed depending on age to find him standing on his head amidst some of the younger grandchildren. He was eighty years old at the time.<br />Edith Hulsey Livingstone<br /> <br />Grandma<br />“Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies;”<br />Her children rise up and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her. Favor is deceitful, and b beauty is van, but a woman that feareth the LORD, she shall be praised.<br />Proverbs 31<br />The beautiful picture of a godly woman depicted in Proverbs 31 is a poem, and acrostic.. A bit of fiction. How could that person possibly be real?. Of all the Godly women that ever lived probably several have come close to this lovely ideal. I think that Grandma was one of those woman.<br />I remember Sundays and how she always rose, probably before dawn to cook a breakfast with homemade biscuits and all the trimmings and also a large Sunday dinner all on a wood stove. How I loved her biscuits.!<br />She was on her way to church by 9:30 am many times walking the half mile. She taught the adult Sunday School class for many years.<br />Sunday was a special day for her because she loved the LORD and because she always loved her family.. Some of her children and grandchildren always visited on Sunday. I will always remember her sweet smile and the love in her eyes.<br />Edith Hulsey LivingstoneDorothy Gasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03033760146971523548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5505333201050158370.post-52760503435840020642010-05-20T21:10:00.003-05:002010-05-20T21:16:34.423-05:00Tuscaloosa County Courthouse from an early postcard.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilm_9YuYd-BakUN4X_f7M6P9Pds8y4KhjavziKB8dKTmkt2wBpWUGHw8cDc65lknLhBxKCXIm0g306IsW7GJCYA2mYWcBazgB7tv4957XlAq-LvUBczNBUhXq9oxfPjb5vbTbBSnpiPwgg/s1600/courthouse.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 251px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473540088088364274" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilm_9YuYd-BakUN4X_f7M6P9Pds8y4KhjavziKB8dKTmkt2wBpWUGHw8cDc65lknLhBxKCXIm0g306IsW7GJCYA2mYWcBazgB7tv4957XlAq-LvUBczNBUhXq9oxfPjb5vbTbBSnpiPwgg/s400/courthouse.jpg" /></a><br />Tuscaloosa County Courthouse hosted the curb market where farmers came to sell produce.<br />There were tall trees shading the sidewalks and the county jail was behind the courthouse forming the courtyard for the vendors.Dorothy Gasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03033760146971523548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5505333201050158370.post-89999857088843235342010-05-20T21:07:00.001-05:002010-05-20T21:09:51.550-05:00Grandma at the Curb MarketCurb Market<br /> By Dorothy Graham Gast<br /><br /> Saturday was curb market day. Long before daylight cars and trucks loaded with produce would travel down gravel roads to the highways and into Tuscaloosa. Behind the big gray two story courthouse there was an open plaza where tables could be rented and farm goods sold. Chickens fresh killed and packed in ice sat by trays of green onions, yellow squash, field peas, butter beans, and okra. Tomatoes and roasting ears were displayed beside Gladiolas or wild flowers.<br /> Each month had its own ripening time and there was always something tempting. Even in winter there would be canned green beans, homemade muscadine jelly, or jars of honey with the comb intact, homemade Caramel cakes, or fried crescents filled with cooked dried apples.<br /> In the shade of huge oak trees on the Allen and Jemison side of the courthouse along the street bordering the courthouse, itinerant preachers exhorted the crowds that flocked to the market. Their companions often strummed guitars or banjoes to the haunting invitation songs designed to rescue local sinners who wondered by. Customers would pause in their selection of watermelons or canteloupes from nearby beds of pickups to join in the singing.<br /> Prisoners in the county jail that backed up to the market plaza looked down on the crowd below hoping for a familiar face that might be persuaded to buy cigarettes or carry news to family members. Hats hid faces that did not want to be hailed from the second story cells.<br />On hot summer days sellers might cross the street to Fred Robertson’s Service Station and Wrecker service to cool off in the air conditioning. There at the long dining bar they drank tall glasses of sweet tea and sprinkled hot sauce on hamburgers grilled in front of customers.<br /> Revived, weary farmers returned to their market after a busy morning that had started at 3 am.<br /> On an especially good day after the regular customers had made their purchases and were home cooking fresh vegetables for Sunday dinners, a seller might choose a bought lunch as a special treat. Grandma might leave her table under the watchful eye of a neighbor and walk up to Woolworth’s where the unchanging menu featured staples like meat loaf, creamed potatoes, and green beans with fluffy yeast rolls. Perhaps a club sandwich with ham and cheese, lettuce and tomato would be a new choice. A steaming slice of buttermilk chess pie completed the meal.<br /> By 3 pm farmers were packing up for the return home. Even prosperous famers knew that nothing was to be wasted, not even time. When they got home there would be cows to milk, hogs to feed, and chickens to feed and divest of their eggs for that day. All the animals had to be seen to before the family could have hot supper and weekly all over baths to prepare for Sunday School and worship the next morning. <br /><br /> Dorothy Gast<br />March 13, 2010Dorothy Gasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03033760146971523548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5505333201050158370.post-33601143676215179862010-05-20T21:02:00.002-05:002010-05-20T21:05:07.302-05:001. MAMA by Estelle Graham Hamner<br />There was always something to eat in the old sideboard drawer in the dining room. She made jelly rolls and fruit cakes. When Wilburn was in the Navy, I went to Baltimore to be with him before he went to California. I only got to be with him on weekends.<br />It was Christmastime and I was lonesome for home. I had never been away from home before. Mama sent me a chicken already fried and one of her homemade fruit cakes. Boy, were they good. It was a part of home.<br />One time during a revival at our church, the preacher ate dinner at our house. The visiting preacher was Dr. Powhatan James, son-in-law of famed Dr. George Truett, the great evangelist. Mama had a wonderful dinner, but did not have any butter on the table. Papa asked for the butter, and Mama was embarrassed, because she had just taken it out of the churn and had not worked the milk out. It didn’t matter to Papa so she brought it out. Brother James loved it. He was real nice and he and Papa began telling jokes at the table.<br /><br />By the way Mama never did know why she never had much cream on top of her milk. She didn’t find out until years later that I had skimmed the cream off the top of the milk and ate it.<br /><br />When Mama had her stroke in 1963 it affected her walking and her speech. She tried so hard to talk and when we managed to understand what she was trying to say she was pleased. Tears would come into her eyes and she’d say, ”yes, yes.” Mama couldn’t walk by herself we thought , but one time she was seated across the from her bed. Annice had to go out on the porch for something and when she returned, Mama was in bed. She could pull up to do things and stand pretty good so evidently she reached from one thing to another until she reached the bed<br />.<br />Another time I was down there, Viola, her sitter and I were in the kitchen and heard a noise. When we reached the bedroom she was sitting on the floor against the wall. “Mama, how did you get there?’ I said. She laughed and motioned toward the bed and showed us that she had climbed over the side railsof the hospital bed. That tickled her to death. She giggled. She thought she had done something cute<br />. Thank goodness, she wasn’t hurt. Mama had to help “birth” babies a lot of times. Some were white, some were black. She always went and helped when she was called on. She also helped her children when their children were born. Most of her grandchildren were born in a hospital, but Mama always packed her suitcase and was ready to go home with them and help out for a week or so until the new Mama could take over.<br /><br />Uncle Jesse and his family were always very close to us. Maa and Papa raised him after his parents died. When Mama died Uncle Jesse said with tears in his eyes, “She was the only mother I ever knew”/ Mama wasn’t much older than he was because she married so young. Papa had been married before and had two young children when they married. They always seemed to feel that Mama was truly their mother. She loved them as much as her own children. <br /> We were always a big happy family and Mama and Papa were the reasons for that.Dorothy Gasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03033760146971523548noreply@blogger.com0