Those who never had the opportunity for a romantic affair with the great steam locomotives have missed an emotional experience that is forever lost, for it cannot be produced by anything else, natural or manmade. The great trains were an integral part of the lives of all country people, especially those who lived near a railroad, and the folklore associated with the trains filtered down even to the most remote hamlet.
During 1943 my family lived on Effie Barfield's sharecropper place, about three miles west of Chipley. Our house was situated by the L & N railroad track that ran from Jacksonville westward toward New Orleans, and the front porch faced the railroad. To give an idea of how close we were to the tracks, the fence of our front yard was also the railroad right-of-way fence. This was still in the time of the great steam locomotives, and when one roared by the whole house would shake.
The train whistles in those days sounded every bit as romantic as they are made out to be in books and movies. Many were the times late in the night that I heard the sound of one coming from way off, and would get up and go out and set on the porch until it came by. Every engineer had his own peculiar way of blowing the whistle, and although you never knew the name of a particular engineer, you remembered him the next time he came through by the way that he worked the whistle, sort of like he was talking to his sweetheart.
You would first pick him up over around Caryville, about twenty miles west of Chipley, as he came on with a low, mournful whistle that would build up a little and then fade out gradually. Then he would start again, and build it up a little more quickly and hold it for a moment, then give it a little boost and let it fade out quickly. With two or three of these he had cleared Bonifay and was headed for Chipley, and by that time you could hear the engine itself, Cha cha cha cha, Cha cha cha cha, so fast that only the general rythym would register. Withinn another three minutes he was roaring by the house, and the racing beat of the cars' wheels hitting the joints in the tracks told you that he was moving on. That sound would last for about thirty seconds or so, until the caboose went by, then fade out rapidly. In another minute or so you could tell by his whistle that he had cleared Chipley and was headed for Cottondale and Marianna.
I never missed a daytime train that went by while I was around the house, and always waved at the engineer. Many did not seem to notice, but one day an engineer tossed out a large can of sauerkraut as he whizzed by, and motioned for me to go and get it. After that, about once a month, another can of sauerkraut would be tossed out.
Once, several years later, after we had been round and about and had finally moved back to Chipley, I was walking one day down the railroad track, on past the Effie Barfield place, to the Green Lantern which was about a quarter of a mile on down the track. The Green Lantern was a juke joint, but they had a big swimming pool in the back. You could swim in the pool all day for a quarter, so I would go there whenever I could get hold of a quarter.
On this particular day I had got to a point at about the middle of the trestle over a small branch when all of a sudden I heard a train whistle, and looked up to see the train coming around a curve from the direction of Bonifay. It was barreling down the track at great speed, and I saw immediately that I could not make it to either end of the trestle before the train got there. So I swung off over the side and hung by my hands from a cross tie while it roared by.
If the fireman had picked that moment to dump the coals from the fire box I would have been in big trouble. As it was, I escaped with nothing damaged but my dignity, and was greatly relieved at not having to change my pants.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Monday, February 20, 2012
A Radio and A War Slogan
In the summer of 1941 I was seven years old. Our family still lived in the little house in the edge of the cemetery, a mile or so northwest of downtown Chipley. One Saturday morning my stepfather Holly went downtown and came back with a radio - a battery-powered table model. The battery was almost as big as the radio. We had to have the battery because our house had no electricity.
For good radio reception we needed a long wire antenna, mounted outside as high as possible, and with a lead-in to the radio. A few hundred feet behind our house was a good stand of pine "saplings". Holly selected two of the tallest, trimmed the limbs off, and pulled them up to the yard. He and Mama then spent the better part of the afternoon attaching the antenna and setting the poles in the ground.
That night we listened to the Grand Ole Opry, the first time that I ever heard it. I was fascinated with the radio, and kept trying to figure out how it came with the Grand Ole Opry station already on it.
A few months later, on December 7, 1941, the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. I recall President Roosevelt's radio address to the nation the next day, in which he referred to the "day of infamy" and asked Congress to declare that since the attack "a state of war has existed between the United States and the imperial government of Japan." At the end of the President's speech Holly stood up and said, very solemnly, "This is going to be a long war."
Later on, in the spring of 1943, we moved to a place two or three miles west of Chipley and across the railroad from US Highway 90. By then the country was well into World War II. Mama would occasionally send me over to a little store on the highway, about a half mile back toward town. Along the way I would usually find several little empty candy boxes that had been tossed out on the edge of the road. On the back of these little boxes was a picture of General MacArthur. Under his picture was the slogan, "REMEMBER PEARL HARBOR!"
For good radio reception we needed a long wire antenna, mounted outside as high as possible, and with a lead-in to the radio. A few hundred feet behind our house was a good stand of pine "saplings". Holly selected two of the tallest, trimmed the limbs off, and pulled them up to the yard. He and Mama then spent the better part of the afternoon attaching the antenna and setting the poles in the ground.
That night we listened to the Grand Ole Opry, the first time that I ever heard it. I was fascinated with the radio, and kept trying to figure out how it came with the Grand Ole Opry station already on it.
A few months later, on December 7, 1941, the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. I recall President Roosevelt's radio address to the nation the next day, in which he referred to the "day of infamy" and asked Congress to declare that since the attack "a state of war has existed between the United States and the imperial government of Japan." At the end of the President's speech Holly stood up and said, very solemnly, "This is going to be a long war."
Later on, in the spring of 1943, we moved to a place two or three miles west of Chipley and across the railroad from US Highway 90. By then the country was well into World War II. Mama would occasionally send me over to a little store on the highway, about a half mile back toward town. Along the way I would usually find several little empty candy boxes that had been tossed out on the edge of the road. On the back of these little boxes was a picture of General MacArthur. Under his picture was the slogan, "REMEMBER PEARL HARBOR!"
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Good Times On Saturday Night
Good Times On Saturday Night
In my last post I introduced the T. L. Wells & Bros. Store, with a sample of the goings on in the front, or ‘dry goods’ part of the store.
The back section of the store was where they sold groceries. It was the part of the store that I liked best.
It was about half the size of the front section, but was packed with a full line of groceries and meats, and other various and sundry items. High up in one corner was a little "office" which Lee and Les took turns occupying, alternately napping and presiding over accounts.
The back door opened to an alley. Thus one could sneak in, pick up his groceries, and sneak out, without having to tromp through the front part of the store where all those clothes fittings were in progress.
There was a pass-through door on each side of the wall that divided the grocery section from the dry goods section up front. Along this wall, and the side and back walls, were endless rows of shelves stocked with canned goods and other grocery staples.
Three or four feet out from the south wall was a refrigerated showcase containing the meats and other foods that required cool temperatures. The frozen foods that are common today had not yet been developed.
In between the meat showcase and the back wall was a glass showcase containing candies, patent medicines, Bull O' The Woods chewing tobacco, Prince Albert and George Washington smoking tobacco and OCB cigarette leaves, Railroad, Dental and Navy snuff, sewing machine thread and other assorted products. This was all on one side of the aisle leading to the back door which opened to the alley.
On the other side was a row of straight back chairs, some with wooden slat seats, some with cowhide seats, the lot being in various states of condition, but all serviceable. These were provided for "guests". Between these chairs and the little stair that led up to the "office" was a catch-all stack of odds and ends: Work gloves, mouse traps, display samples of the latest styles in work shoes and boots, Duck Head overalls and jumpers, work caps, straw hats, and so on.
This part of the store had a sawdust floor. A little out in front of the meats showcase stood an old heater made from a large oil drum. Wood for the heater was stacked just outside the back door under a small lean-to shelter.
Back next to the meat showcase, on one side of the stove, was a large barrel containing salt-cured mullet. On the other side of the stove stood a large barrel containing sorghum mollasses.
Directly on either side of the oil drum stove sat two old swivel office chairs, circa 1890, one for Lee and one for Les. No one else sat in these chairs, for it was from these that Lee and Les held court. The guest chairs were across the aisle.
Some of my fondest memories are of the Saturday nights that my stepfather Holly and I spent down at the store, for the goings-on during those occasions turned out to be the earliest lessons in my practical education.
On Saturday nights the store remained open until ten or eleven o'clock, and sometimes until midnight. This was because many of the regular customers were of the laborer class who were paid at the end of the work week which usually ended at noon on Saturday. By the time these people got home and attended to odds and ends, it would be evening, sometimes eight or nine o'clock, before they could get downtown to shop for groceries and other items.
In the winter of 1941-42 Holly would often go down to the store on Saturday nights, and would usually take me with him. We would go down around seven o’ clock, whip down the alley, and enter through the back door. Holly always carried a small grocery order which he gave to Otis Hinson to fill. Otis would gather all the items, mark them to Holly's account, and put them in a little box which was stashed away until we were ready to leave.
Holly would assume his customary Saturday-night position in one of the "guest" chairs, and presently would make, in the manner of a casual observation, some remark calculated to elicit an extended response from Lee Wells, it being Holly's intent to wait until Lee's remarks reached the level of commentary so that he could join in with pronouncements of equal philosophical import.
Presently Lee's response would be forthcoming, punctuated as usual by his greetings to customers, with each return to the subject reflecting a heightened purpose in the matter.
And so it would continue until the situation developed into a full-blown dialogue between Lee and Holly, though occasionally a gracious recognition would be accorded some third party whose interest had been whetted to the point that he could wait no longer to express his own opinion.
Throughout it all, though, Lee was the senior statesman, and the course of the discussion was generally cued by some pivotal remark that he would make now and then, or perhaps even by the inflection of his voice.
In due time all relevant issues would be examined, and errant schools of thought held by those not present modified to reflect the proper perspective on the matter.
All this time I would be seated in some comfortable niche amongst the boxes in the catch-all stack of odds and ends located between the "guest" chairs and the little stair that led up to the "office". I could have occupied one of the guest chairs with as much welcome as anyone else, but I had decided early on that my best chance of hearing everything in the original lay in remaining as inconspicuous as possible.
The discussion of politics among a group of knowledgeable, cigar-smoking adults held a peculiar fascination for me, and the stage set in the Wells Bros. store, with the oil drum stove and sawdust floor, not to mention the personalities themselves, added a flavor that was priceless.
It was not uncommon for a discussion to digress all the way back to the Civil War, and if one gave a little rein to his imagination he might easily experience a brief communion with General Lee.
Eventually, the parade of customers would taper off, the discussion would begin to flicker for lack of additional fuel, and Lee's nod to Otis to begin covering the counters would signal the end of the evening's festivities.
Holly would take our little box of groceries under his arm, I would carefully extricate myself from my hiding place, and we would set out on the three-quarter hour journey home. Along the way I would usually pose several questions to Holly about points of the discussion that I had failed to grasp. He would patiently address every question, then endeavor to steer the conversation in a direction such as to satisfy himself that I had come to a reasonable understanding of matters.
In my last post I introduced the T. L. Wells & Bros. Store, with a sample of the goings on in the front, or ‘dry goods’ part of the store.
The back section of the store was where they sold groceries. It was the part of the store that I liked best.
It was about half the size of the front section, but was packed with a full line of groceries and meats, and other various and sundry items. High up in one corner was a little "office" which Lee and Les took turns occupying, alternately napping and presiding over accounts.
The back door opened to an alley. Thus one could sneak in, pick up his groceries, and sneak out, without having to tromp through the front part of the store where all those clothes fittings were in progress.
There was a pass-through door on each side of the wall that divided the grocery section from the dry goods section up front. Along this wall, and the side and back walls, were endless rows of shelves stocked with canned goods and other grocery staples.
Three or four feet out from the south wall was a refrigerated showcase containing the meats and other foods that required cool temperatures. The frozen foods that are common today had not yet been developed.
In between the meat showcase and the back wall was a glass showcase containing candies, patent medicines, Bull O' The Woods chewing tobacco, Prince Albert and George Washington smoking tobacco and OCB cigarette leaves, Railroad, Dental and Navy snuff, sewing machine thread and other assorted products. This was all on one side of the aisle leading to the back door which opened to the alley.
On the other side was a row of straight back chairs, some with wooden slat seats, some with cowhide seats, the lot being in various states of condition, but all serviceable. These were provided for "guests". Between these chairs and the little stair that led up to the "office" was a catch-all stack of odds and ends: Work gloves, mouse traps, display samples of the latest styles in work shoes and boots, Duck Head overalls and jumpers, work caps, straw hats, and so on.
This part of the store had a sawdust floor. A little out in front of the meats showcase stood an old heater made from a large oil drum. Wood for the heater was stacked just outside the back door under a small lean-to shelter.
Back next to the meat showcase, on one side of the stove, was a large barrel containing salt-cured mullet. On the other side of the stove stood a large barrel containing sorghum mollasses.
Directly on either side of the oil drum stove sat two old swivel office chairs, circa 1890, one for Lee and one for Les. No one else sat in these chairs, for it was from these that Lee and Les held court. The guest chairs were across the aisle.
Some of my fondest memories are of the Saturday nights that my stepfather Holly and I spent down at the store, for the goings-on during those occasions turned out to be the earliest lessons in my practical education.
On Saturday nights the store remained open until ten or eleven o'clock, and sometimes until midnight. This was because many of the regular customers were of the laborer class who were paid at the end of the work week which usually ended at noon on Saturday. By the time these people got home and attended to odds and ends, it would be evening, sometimes eight or nine o'clock, before they could get downtown to shop for groceries and other items.
In the winter of 1941-42 Holly would often go down to the store on Saturday nights, and would usually take me with him. We would go down around seven o’ clock, whip down the alley, and enter through the back door. Holly always carried a small grocery order which he gave to Otis Hinson to fill. Otis would gather all the items, mark them to Holly's account, and put them in a little box which was stashed away until we were ready to leave.
Holly would assume his customary Saturday-night position in one of the "guest" chairs, and presently would make, in the manner of a casual observation, some remark calculated to elicit an extended response from Lee Wells, it being Holly's intent to wait until Lee's remarks reached the level of commentary so that he could join in with pronouncements of equal philosophical import.
Presently Lee's response would be forthcoming, punctuated as usual by his greetings to customers, with each return to the subject reflecting a heightened purpose in the matter.
And so it would continue until the situation developed into a full-blown dialogue between Lee and Holly, though occasionally a gracious recognition would be accorded some third party whose interest had been whetted to the point that he could wait no longer to express his own opinion.
Throughout it all, though, Lee was the senior statesman, and the course of the discussion was generally cued by some pivotal remark that he would make now and then, or perhaps even by the inflection of his voice.
In due time all relevant issues would be examined, and errant schools of thought held by those not present modified to reflect the proper perspective on the matter.
All this time I would be seated in some comfortable niche amongst the boxes in the catch-all stack of odds and ends located between the "guest" chairs and the little stair that led up to the "office". I could have occupied one of the guest chairs with as much welcome as anyone else, but I had decided early on that my best chance of hearing everything in the original lay in remaining as inconspicuous as possible.
The discussion of politics among a group of knowledgeable, cigar-smoking adults held a peculiar fascination for me, and the stage set in the Wells Bros. store, with the oil drum stove and sawdust floor, not to mention the personalities themselves, added a flavor that was priceless.
It was not uncommon for a discussion to digress all the way back to the Civil War, and if one gave a little rein to his imagination he might easily experience a brief communion with General Lee.
Eventually, the parade of customers would taper off, the discussion would begin to flicker for lack of additional fuel, and Lee's nod to Otis to begin covering the counters would signal the end of the evening's festivities.
Holly would take our little box of groceries under his arm, I would carefully extricate myself from my hiding place, and we would set out on the three-quarter hour journey home. Along the way I would usually pose several questions to Holly about points of the discussion that I had failed to grasp. He would patiently address every question, then endeavor to steer the conversation in a direction such as to satisfy himself that I had come to a reasonable understanding of matters.
* * *
Monday, July 4, 2011
T L Wells & Bro.
Another of the recollections of my hometown of Chipley, Florida.
In the latter part of 1940 we moved from the house on Fifth Street up to a small house in the edge of the cemetery, a little ways northwest of the town. My stepfather Holley had obtained the job of city caretaker, and the house went with the job. As caretaker, he would be responsible for the maintenance of all lawns and landscaped areas on city-owned property, which included all streets, the cemetery, and the city park. We were living there when World War II began.
While we lived there, during 1941 and early 1942, Holly would often go downtown to the Wells Brothers' store on Saturday night, and would usually take me with him. The official name of this store was "T. L. WELLS & BRO.". It was owned by the brothers Lee and Les Wells. Lee was slightly larger than Les. He served several terms as the mayor of Chipley, the office being temporarily held by another only when Lee declined that particular term.
In the front part of the store were sold "dry goods", as clothing merchandise was called in those days. The Wells Brothers didn't care anything about fashion; they sold clothes for working people at prices working people could afford. They did, however, carry a good line of suits for the older, well-to-do gentlemen.
When a customer turned in at the door of their store the Wells Brothers didn't wait for him to come on in. They met him at the door and escorted him in. They knew everyone in town, including all the colored folk, and their children, and who had married whom and whether they were expecting yet.
Lee was the more outgoing, and generally handled the escorting. Les usually stayed in the background to begin with, making conversation with some customer while keeping a general eye out.
Lee would commence polite conversation with the customer as he escorted him back through the store, but would shortly say something like,
"Jason, what can we fix you up with today?"
Jason would mumble something to the effect that he was thinking about a new suit, on account of the one he had was about worn out, and Lee would say "Well, let's see, Jason, you take about a 40 Regular, if I remember," and proceed to remove the pants from a suit that he knew would not fit.
Shaking them so that the legs would drop, he would hold them up to the light, then drop them down for comparison against the pants Jason was wearing, presently observing, "Huh uh, no, these are a little short. I think we better try these." Then he would select another suit and go through the same routine. "Yep, I think this is about what we're looking for - step in there and slip these on, Jason, and let's see how they look." When Jason returned, Lee would stand back and inspect, pull the pants up a little, and tighten the waste with his thumbs and forefinger - "Stand up straight, Jason, we want to be sure these fit right - Les, come over here and see what you think; we want Jason to look good."
Les would come over, make a critical inspection from the front, then step around to the side - "Uh huh" - yank them up a little, then reach down and jerk the legs down a little, and step back, nodding approvingly. "Lee, I think these are going to be just fine - Jason lends himself to a good suit, you know. Yessir, looks mighty good."
Then Lee, "All right, we'll put these down," and he would write something on the little order pad. Then they would repeat the act with the coat, and Lee would write that down.
"Jason, you'll be needing a shirt or two with that - you always wear white shirts, don't you, with the button-down collar?"
"Yes sir. Mr. Wells, I don't know how you remember all that."
"We always remember our preferred customers, Jason. Now, let's see -- ", bending down now to look at Jason's shoes, "Eight and a half double E, I think - you wear black don't you Jason?
"And about three pair of dress socks - I'm going to throw them in free - you being one of our preferred customers - now, let's see .... that comes to about twenty-five dollars and-- well, let's knock off the cents.
"How did you want to handle that, Jason? You don't have to take care of it all at one time you know. No sir, you've been doing business with us a long time. Your credit is always good here.
"Want to put down five dollars? O.K. - you sure you can spare that right now? All right, fine. Les, how about wrapping all this up for Jason - use that good wrapping paper we got in last week.
"Jason, it's good to see you again. You know we always appreciate your business."
"Otis (that would be Otis Hinson, clerk and Man Friday), let that go for a minute, and take Jason around to his house. It's close on to dinnertime - no need for him to have to walk home."
Which is why Jason's business always went to "T. L. WELLS & BRO."
In the latter part of 1940 we moved from the house on Fifth Street up to a small house in the edge of the cemetery, a little ways northwest of the town. My stepfather Holley had obtained the job of city caretaker, and the house went with the job. As caretaker, he would be responsible for the maintenance of all lawns and landscaped areas on city-owned property, which included all streets, the cemetery, and the city park. We were living there when World War II began.
While we lived there, during 1941 and early 1942, Holly would often go downtown to the Wells Brothers' store on Saturday night, and would usually take me with him. The official name of this store was "T. L. WELLS & BRO.". It was owned by the brothers Lee and Les Wells. Lee was slightly larger than Les. He served several terms as the mayor of Chipley, the office being temporarily held by another only when Lee declined that particular term.
In the front part of the store were sold "dry goods", as clothing merchandise was called in those days. The Wells Brothers didn't care anything about fashion; they sold clothes for working people at prices working people could afford. They did, however, carry a good line of suits for the older, well-to-do gentlemen.
When a customer turned in at the door of their store the Wells Brothers didn't wait for him to come on in. They met him at the door and escorted him in. They knew everyone in town, including all the colored folk, and their children, and who had married whom and whether they were expecting yet.
Lee was the more outgoing, and generally handled the escorting. Les usually stayed in the background to begin with, making conversation with some customer while keeping a general eye out.
Lee would commence polite conversation with the customer as he escorted him back through the store, but would shortly say something like,
"Jason, what can we fix you up with today?"
Jason would mumble something to the effect that he was thinking about a new suit, on account of the one he had was about worn out, and Lee would say "Well, let's see, Jason, you take about a 40 Regular, if I remember," and proceed to remove the pants from a suit that he knew would not fit.
Shaking them so that the legs would drop, he would hold them up to the light, then drop them down for comparison against the pants Jason was wearing, presently observing, "Huh uh, no, these are a little short. I think we better try these." Then he would select another suit and go through the same routine. "Yep, I think this is about what we're looking for - step in there and slip these on, Jason, and let's see how they look." When Jason returned, Lee would stand back and inspect, pull the pants up a little, and tighten the waste with his thumbs and forefinger - "Stand up straight, Jason, we want to be sure these fit right - Les, come over here and see what you think; we want Jason to look good."
Les would come over, make a critical inspection from the front, then step around to the side - "Uh huh" - yank them up a little, then reach down and jerk the legs down a little, and step back, nodding approvingly. "Lee, I think these are going to be just fine - Jason lends himself to a good suit, you know. Yessir, looks mighty good."
Then Lee, "All right, we'll put these down," and he would write something on the little order pad. Then they would repeat the act with the coat, and Lee would write that down.
"Jason, you'll be needing a shirt or two with that - you always wear white shirts, don't you, with the button-down collar?"
"Yes sir. Mr. Wells, I don't know how you remember all that."
"We always remember our preferred customers, Jason. Now, let's see -- ", bending down now to look at Jason's shoes, "Eight and a half double E, I think - you wear black don't you Jason?
"And about three pair of dress socks - I'm going to throw them in free - you being one of our preferred customers - now, let's see .... that comes to about twenty-five dollars and-- well, let's knock off the cents.
"How did you want to handle that, Jason? You don't have to take care of it all at one time you know. No sir, you've been doing business with us a long time. Your credit is always good here.
"Want to put down five dollars? O.K. - you sure you can spare that right now? All right, fine. Les, how about wrapping all this up for Jason - use that good wrapping paper we got in last week.
"Jason, it's good to see you again. You know we always appreciate your business."
"Otis (that would be Otis Hinson, clerk and Man Friday), let that go for a minute, and take Jason around to his house. It's close on to dinnertime - no need for him to have to walk home."
Which is why Jason's business always went to "T. L. WELLS & BRO."
Friday, June 3, 2011
A Gunsmoke Episode
June 3, 2011
The announcement today of the death of James Arness (Gunsmoke’s Marshall Dillon) reminded me of an incident that occurred one Saturday night in March of 1956, during one of my visits home from the Air Force.
A couple of friends and I had decided to go over to the skating rink between Bonifay and Caryville, some twelve or fifteen miles to the west of Chipley, on US Highway 90. It was cold that night, and had started drizzling before we left Chipley. By the time we cleared Bonifay and headed for the skating rink it was raining pretty heavily.
About half way between Bonifay and the skating rink we passed a young fellow who appeared to be about ten or twelve years old walking along the side of the road with his head bent forward against the rain, and really stepping it off in the direction that we were going. Thinking that he was going to the skating rink, we stopped and told him to hop in..
After he had got settled down we asked him why he had started out walking on a night like that. He replied that he was going to his uncle's house, for his uncle had a television set and he was trying to get there in time to watch GUNSMOKE. We asked where his uncle lived, and he said in Caryville. I think we all decided at the same time that the skating rink could wait a little while, that the important thing just then was to get that boy to his uncle's house, which we did.
The announcement today of the death of James Arness (Gunsmoke’s Marshall Dillon) reminded me of an incident that occurred one Saturday night in March of 1956, during one of my visits home from the Air Force.
A couple of friends and I had decided to go over to the skating rink between Bonifay and Caryville, some twelve or fifteen miles to the west of Chipley, on US Highway 90. It was cold that night, and had started drizzling before we left Chipley. By the time we cleared Bonifay and headed for the skating rink it was raining pretty heavily.
About half way between Bonifay and the skating rink we passed a young fellow who appeared to be about ten or twelve years old walking along the side of the road with his head bent forward against the rain, and really stepping it off in the direction that we were going. Thinking that he was going to the skating rink, we stopped and told him to hop in..
After he had got settled down we asked him why he had started out walking on a night like that. He replied that he was going to his uncle's house, for his uncle had a television set and he was trying to get there in time to watch GUNSMOKE. We asked where his uncle lived, and he said in Caryville. I think we all decided at the same time that the skating rink could wait a little while, that the important thing just then was to get that boy to his uncle's house, which we did.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Early Recollections of My Hometown (Chipley, Florida)
Chipley is located in northwest Florida at the intersection of US Highway 90 and Florida Route 77 which runs northward from Panama City toward Dothan, Alabama. US Highway 90 is the Old Spanish Trail. As the years go by I often return, in memories, to the town as it was when I first knew it, in the early Forties.
It was a beautiful little town. Large old trees lined most of the streets, and modest middle class homes reflected the quaint architectural styles of the period. Here and there, screened by a stand of stately old oaks, stood an old rambling, two-story home of mansion proportions, complete with Georgian columns in front and one or two out-buildings in the rear. In many of those old homes the kitchen was separated from the main house, and connected to it by an airway which in some cases served as the breakfast dining area.
These homes represented old money; most had been built before or near the turn of the century by the pioneer families of the town. There were the Wells, Daniels, MacRae, Coleman, Richardson, Alford and Benson homes that I recognized, and several others that I never did identify. By the early Fifties, many of the old homes had passed to descendents of the original families, but most were still beautifully maintained.
The town was about evenly divided by the L & N (Louisville & Nashville) Railroad which ran east and west through the town, and by Sixth Street (State Road 77) which ran north and south. Generally speaking, Sixth Street, and all the streets to the west of it, comprised the "white" section of town. All of the streets to the east of Sixth Street comprised what was known as the "quarters" or colored section of town.
The "quarters" population included two or three moderately well-to-do black families who, through personal enterprise, had achieved a financial status equal to that of the white middle class. They had become leaders in the black community, and were well respected by the white community. The most notable of these was Lester Rhynes who for many years operated a grocery store and wood yard.
The city park was located then, as it is now, near the south end of Fifth Street. It occupied a one-block by two-block area, and included tennis courts, a covered bandstand, and large grassed areas dotted with huge oaks and tall pine trees. Colored people were not allowed in this park. I do not recall whether they had a park of their own.
The city cemetery was located on a hill to the northwest of town, some distance from the outer residential areas. It was a large cemetery, containing many beautiful tombstones and monuments, and heavily populated with cedar trees. The lower west slope contained the "potter's field", where were buried the poor and those persons not claimed by relatives. As far as I know, only white people were buried in this cemetery. The cemetery, park and streets were kept immaculately groomed by the city caretaker, hired apart from other city employees expressly for that purpose.
The Woman's Club of Chipley was housed in a lovely little building located on a spacious lot on the east side of North Fifth Street. That was the same street that went by our house, but just north of the Woman’s Club it jogged as it crossed the street that ran westward out of town toward the cemetery.
The post office occupied a corner of a large building on the northwest corner of the intersection of Sixth Street and the east-west street on the north side of the railroad. The post office part of the building had been remodeled in front, with a Georgian corner column and marble facing added, resulting in an appearance appropriate to an ediface sponsored by the federal government.
The fashionable churches were the First Baptist, located on the northeast corner of Fifth Street and US Highway 90, the Methodist, located a short distance to the west, atop the large hill and on the south side of US Highway 90, and the Presbyterian, located on Fifth Street three or four blocks north of the railroad. These churches dated from the early 1900's, with membership comprised mostly of the founding families of Chipley.
The depot, as the railroad station was called, was a single-story wooden structure with a wide roof overhang to shelter passengers and freight from the sun and rain. It was designed to an architectural style prevalent in the South at that time for such facilities, its double-faced corners and stout roof support columns reflecting a most substantial appearance.
The station master served also as the telegraph operator. Most of the time he sat on a bench outside, on the station platform but back against the window of the telegraph office so that he could decipher the endless stream of messages running through the telegraph instrument. If my memory serves me correctly, each of the operators along the line heard all of the messages, and picked out those that were intended for him.
An interesting fact about telegraph operators is that each had a
unique "signature" touch - the characteristic pattern in which he
tapped the code. Thus, a practiced listener could tell, without
benefit of further identification, who was sending the message.
At the east end of the depot was a large raised platform, constructed of 4 x 6 timbers, on which were stored various items of heavy freight, but mainly huge barrels of pine resin, waiting to be shipped as soon as scheduled boxcars and flatbeds arrived.
In those days Chipley was served with two passenger trains daily, one going east and another west. Along with parcels and packages, the passenger trains also carried the mail, under contract with what then was the United States Post Office Department. The trains would stop in Chipley if there were passengers or parcels to be picked up or discharged; otherwise, they would merely slow to a speed such that a mail car attendant could toss the incoming mail pouch onto a baggage wagon while the conductor, using a pole and hook designed for the purpose, retrieved the outgoing mail pouch from a hangar attached to a post beside the track.
The evening passenger train came through at six o'clock. I can still recall the sound, on a late Saturday evening, of the two short blasts of the whistle announcing the imminent departure of a train that had stopped. For some reason the Saturday evening whistle projected a romanticism that did not come through on other days.
Several freight trains came through every day. Most of these, and some of the passenger trains as well, stopped to take on water, for we were still in the era of the steam locomotive.
Across the tracks from the station was a huge elevated water tank, made of wood, and mounted on sturdy wooden piles. Its position along the track was chosen so that water could be taken on while the passengers boarded or disembarked, and parcels and freight were loaded or unloaded
Whenever a train was to take on water it would slow to almost a crawl, and the fireman would hop up on top of the engine and give hand signals to the engineer so that he could stop the engine at exactly the right spot. He would then throw back the lid of the water compartment inlet, reach up and grab a large halter line attached to the huge spout of the water tank, and pull the spout down and place its curved nozzle in the water compartment inlet. Then, standing on top of the spout, he would reach up and pull on a rope attached to the tank, and thus open a valve which let the water run into the engine's water compartment. My recollection is that it sometimes required twenty or thirty minutes to take on the necessary water.
Hotel accommodations were provided by the Shivers Hotel, located on U.S. 90 atop the big hill just west of Fifth Street. It was owned by Olin Shivers who was for many years the State senator for the district in which Chipley is located. This hotel was somewhat of a landmark among travelers, and flourished on through the Fifties.
The bus station was located at the restaurant adjacent to the west side of the hotel. A partitioned section of the restaurant served as the white waiting room, and whites purchased their tickets at one end of the restaurant counter. The colored waiting area was a small lean-to shelter outside the restaurant. They purchased their tickets through a window in the restaurant wall. Bus service was provided by the Greyhound and Trailways bus lines. Greyhound served the passengers going east and west. Trailways served those going north and south.
We were still in that era in which the ultimate in home entertainment was the floor console model radio, with programs and music punctuated on the hour by the three-note tone signal that was the radio signature of the National Broadcasting Company.
World news was reported nightly by Lowell Thomas.
Arturo Toscanni conducted the NBC symphony orchestra in its weekly radio concert, having been engaged especially for that purpose by the president of the Radio Corporation of America, General David Sarnoff.
The evening paper was delivered by a clean-cut youngster on a bicycle who threw the paper upon the front porch with such skill that it landed always in the same spot and skidded to a stop directly in front of the door.
Empty milk bottles were set outside the front door at night, to be replaced before dawn the next morning with fresh bottles of milk capped with two inches of cream on the top.
The top advertisement for an automobile was that it had radio and heater.
At the grocery store the housewife handed her order to the owner who personally collected and bagged or boxed the items. She did not take the order with her; it was brought to her home later by a delivery boy on a bicycle with a small front wheel over which was mounted a large sturdy basket made for the purpose. If she had neglected to mention at the store some item that she customarily ordered, it was sent along with the delivery. Should she not be at home when the delivery boy came, he would simply enter by the kitchen door, set the order on the counter, place in the refrigirator those items that went there, and close the door on his way out.
For the boys and girls in town the social feature of the week was the Friday night or Sunday night movie. Saturday was reserved for westerns out of deference to the country folk. Movie tickets cost ten cents. Inside the theater the white people occupied the ground floor seats, while the colored folk sat in the balcony seats in front of and on each side of the projection room.
Every year, sometime during the week of Christmas, all the under-priviledged children in town, white and colored alike, were invited to the school gymnasium inside of which was the largest Christmas tree in town, with the most and the brightest decorations, and hundreds of presents under it, each with the name of a particular child on it. At the end of a little party which lasted an hour or so, Santa would take his seat near the tree and some of the ladies would begin to pass the presents forward. Upon receiving each present he would call out the name of the child for whom it was intended, and, holding it up for all to see, would offer some conjecture as to what it might be while the youngster came forth to receive it.
I recall being taken to one of those parties, and receiving a present, though I can't remember whether it was in 1940 or 1941.
In those days great emphasis was placed on teaching children to show proper respect to older persons, be they white or colored, and any youngster, including teenagers, out and about town was automatically deemed to be in the custody of such older person as happened to be near, and such person was expected to watch out for the youngster, and to discipline him or her if need be, in the same manner that the parents would.
The one or two doctors and lawyers in town performed many services for which no payment was ever received or expected.
School teachers were their pupils' second parents, and a youngster who happened to be so unlucky would mope around for days in total remorse of having committed some act at which the teacher might be unable to conceal her disappointment.
There was only one town policeman, the Chief. Should he catch some youngster in an act of mischief, he would first ask what the youngster's mother and father would think if they knew what he was up to, adding that the Lord certainly would have misgivings, and that he himself would never have thought it of the youngster. But be that as it may, no one need ever know about it if it would never ever happen again.
A colored man or boy, upon meeting or passing a white person, always removed his hat. White men were addressed as Cap'n. White women were addressed as Miss So-and-so, for example, Miss Mary, or Miss Lillian, or whatever their first name happened to be, whether they were married or not.
It was perfectly safe for anyone to walk alone, anywhere, day or night. Doors to most homes were never locked, except possibly during an extended visit out of town. During the summer a family going out of town for the day would leave the windows open, serenely confident that should it begin to rain a neighbor would dash over and close them.
We could not then know it, but we were living out the last days of that era of blissful innocence. World War II was fast approaching, and when it was over a genteel way of life that generations had taken for granted would be, as in an earlier time, gone with the wind.
Copyright April, 2011 James Vernon Lewis
It was a beautiful little town. Large old trees lined most of the streets, and modest middle class homes reflected the quaint architectural styles of the period. Here and there, screened by a stand of stately old oaks, stood an old rambling, two-story home of mansion proportions, complete with Georgian columns in front and one or two out-buildings in the rear. In many of those old homes the kitchen was separated from the main house, and connected to it by an airway which in some cases served as the breakfast dining area.
These homes represented old money; most had been built before or near the turn of the century by the pioneer families of the town. There were the Wells, Daniels, MacRae, Coleman, Richardson, Alford and Benson homes that I recognized, and several others that I never did identify. By the early Fifties, many of the old homes had passed to descendents of the original families, but most were still beautifully maintained.
The town was about evenly divided by the L & N (Louisville & Nashville) Railroad which ran east and west through the town, and by Sixth Street (State Road 77) which ran north and south. Generally speaking, Sixth Street, and all the streets to the west of it, comprised the "white" section of town. All of the streets to the east of Sixth Street comprised what was known as the "quarters" or colored section of town.
The "quarters" population included two or three moderately well-to-do black families who, through personal enterprise, had achieved a financial status equal to that of the white middle class. They had become leaders in the black community, and were well respected by the white community. The most notable of these was Lester Rhynes who for many years operated a grocery store and wood yard.
The city park was located then, as it is now, near the south end of Fifth Street. It occupied a one-block by two-block area, and included tennis courts, a covered bandstand, and large grassed areas dotted with huge oaks and tall pine trees. Colored people were not allowed in this park. I do not recall whether they had a park of their own.
The city cemetery was located on a hill to the northwest of town, some distance from the outer residential areas. It was a large cemetery, containing many beautiful tombstones and monuments, and heavily populated with cedar trees. The lower west slope contained the "potter's field", where were buried the poor and those persons not claimed by relatives. As far as I know, only white people were buried in this cemetery. The cemetery, park and streets were kept immaculately groomed by the city caretaker, hired apart from other city employees expressly for that purpose.
The Woman's Club of Chipley was housed in a lovely little building located on a spacious lot on the east side of North Fifth Street. That was the same street that went by our house, but just north of the Woman’s Club it jogged as it crossed the street that ran westward out of town toward the cemetery.
The post office occupied a corner of a large building on the northwest corner of the intersection of Sixth Street and the east-west street on the north side of the railroad. The post office part of the building had been remodeled in front, with a Georgian corner column and marble facing added, resulting in an appearance appropriate to an ediface sponsored by the federal government.
The fashionable churches were the First Baptist, located on the northeast corner of Fifth Street and US Highway 90, the Methodist, located a short distance to the west, atop the large hill and on the south side of US Highway 90, and the Presbyterian, located on Fifth Street three or four blocks north of the railroad. These churches dated from the early 1900's, with membership comprised mostly of the founding families of Chipley.
The depot, as the railroad station was called, was a single-story wooden structure with a wide roof overhang to shelter passengers and freight from the sun and rain. It was designed to an architectural style prevalent in the South at that time for such facilities, its double-faced corners and stout roof support columns reflecting a most substantial appearance.The station master served also as the telegraph operator. Most of the time he sat on a bench outside, on the station platform but back against the window of the telegraph office so that he could decipher the endless stream of messages running through the telegraph instrument. If my memory serves me correctly, each of the operators along the line heard all of the messages, and picked out those that were intended for him.
An interesting fact about telegraph operators is that each had a
unique "signature" touch - the characteristic pattern in which he
tapped the code. Thus, a practiced listener could tell, without
benefit of further identification, who was sending the message.
At the east end of the depot was a large raised platform, constructed of 4 x 6 timbers, on which were stored various items of heavy freight, but mainly huge barrels of pine resin, waiting to be shipped as soon as scheduled boxcars and flatbeds arrived.In those days Chipley was served with two passenger trains daily, one going east and another west. Along with parcels and packages, the passenger trains also carried the mail, under contract with what then was the United States Post Office Department. The trains would stop in Chipley if there were passengers or parcels to be picked up or discharged; otherwise, they would merely slow to a speed such that a mail car attendant could toss the incoming mail pouch onto a baggage wagon while the conductor, using a pole and hook designed for the purpose, retrieved the outgoing mail pouch from a hangar attached to a post beside the track.
The evening passenger train came through at six o'clock. I can still recall the sound, on a late Saturday evening, of the two short blasts of the whistle announcing the imminent departure of a train that had stopped. For some reason the Saturday evening whistle projected a romanticism that did not come through on other days.
Several freight trains came through every day. Most of these, and some of the passenger trains as well, stopped to take on water, for we were still in the era of the steam locomotive.
Across the tracks from the station was a huge elevated water tank, made of wood, and mounted on sturdy wooden piles. Its position along the track was chosen so that water could be taken on while the passengers boarded or disembarked, and parcels and freight were loaded or unloaded
Whenever a train was to take on water it would slow to almost a crawl, and the fireman would hop up on top of the engine and give hand signals to the engineer so that he could stop the engine at exactly the right spot. He would then throw back the lid of the water compartment inlet, reach up and grab a large halter line attached to the huge spout of the water tank, and pull the spout down and place its curved nozzle in the water compartment inlet. Then, standing on top of the spout, he would reach up and pull on a rope attached to the tank, and thus open a valve which let the water run into the engine's water compartment. My recollection is that it sometimes required twenty or thirty minutes to take on the necessary water.
Hotel accommodations were provided by the Shivers Hotel, located on U.S. 90 atop the big hill just west of Fifth Street. It was owned by Olin Shivers who was for many years the State senator for the district in which Chipley is located. This hotel was somewhat of a landmark among travelers, and flourished on through the Fifties.
The bus station was located at the restaurant adjacent to the west side of the hotel. A partitioned section of the restaurant served as the white waiting room, and whites purchased their tickets at one end of the restaurant counter. The colored waiting area was a small lean-to shelter outside the restaurant. They purchased their tickets through a window in the restaurant wall. Bus service was provided by the Greyhound and Trailways bus lines. Greyhound served the passengers going east and west. Trailways served those going north and south.
We were still in that era in which the ultimate in home entertainment was the floor console model radio, with programs and music punctuated on the hour by the three-note tone signal that was the radio signature of the National Broadcasting Company.
World news was reported nightly by Lowell Thomas.
Arturo Toscanni conducted the NBC symphony orchestra in its weekly radio concert, having been engaged especially for that purpose by the president of the Radio Corporation of America, General David Sarnoff.
The evening paper was delivered by a clean-cut youngster on a bicycle who threw the paper upon the front porch with such skill that it landed always in the same spot and skidded to a stop directly in front of the door.
Empty milk bottles were set outside the front door at night, to be replaced before dawn the next morning with fresh bottles of milk capped with two inches of cream on the top.
The top advertisement for an automobile was that it had radio and heater.
At the grocery store the housewife handed her order to the owner who personally collected and bagged or boxed the items. She did not take the order with her; it was brought to her home later by a delivery boy on a bicycle with a small front wheel over which was mounted a large sturdy basket made for the purpose. If she had neglected to mention at the store some item that she customarily ordered, it was sent along with the delivery. Should she not be at home when the delivery boy came, he would simply enter by the kitchen door, set the order on the counter, place in the refrigirator those items that went there, and close the door on his way out.
For the boys and girls in town the social feature of the week was the Friday night or Sunday night movie. Saturday was reserved for westerns out of deference to the country folk. Movie tickets cost ten cents. Inside the theater the white people occupied the ground floor seats, while the colored folk sat in the balcony seats in front of and on each side of the projection room.
Every year, sometime during the week of Christmas, all the under-priviledged children in town, white and colored alike, were invited to the school gymnasium inside of which was the largest Christmas tree in town, with the most and the brightest decorations, and hundreds of presents under it, each with the name of a particular child on it. At the end of a little party which lasted an hour or so, Santa would take his seat near the tree and some of the ladies would begin to pass the presents forward. Upon receiving each present he would call out the name of the child for whom it was intended, and, holding it up for all to see, would offer some conjecture as to what it might be while the youngster came forth to receive it.
I recall being taken to one of those parties, and receiving a present, though I can't remember whether it was in 1940 or 1941.
In those days great emphasis was placed on teaching children to show proper respect to older persons, be they white or colored, and any youngster, including teenagers, out and about town was automatically deemed to be in the custody of such older person as happened to be near, and such person was expected to watch out for the youngster, and to discipline him or her if need be, in the same manner that the parents would.
The one or two doctors and lawyers in town performed many services for which no payment was ever received or expected.
School teachers were their pupils' second parents, and a youngster who happened to be so unlucky would mope around for days in total remorse of having committed some act at which the teacher might be unable to conceal her disappointment.
There was only one town policeman, the Chief. Should he catch some youngster in an act of mischief, he would first ask what the youngster's mother and father would think if they knew what he was up to, adding that the Lord certainly would have misgivings, and that he himself would never have thought it of the youngster. But be that as it may, no one need ever know about it if it would never ever happen again.
A colored man or boy, upon meeting or passing a white person, always removed his hat. White men were addressed as Cap'n. White women were addressed as Miss So-and-so, for example, Miss Mary, or Miss Lillian, or whatever their first name happened to be, whether they were married or not.
It was perfectly safe for anyone to walk alone, anywhere, day or night. Doors to most homes were never locked, except possibly during an extended visit out of town. During the summer a family going out of town for the day would leave the windows open, serenely confident that should it begin to rain a neighbor would dash over and close them.
We could not then know it, but we were living out the last days of that era of blissful innocence. World War II was fast approaching, and when it was over a genteel way of life that generations had taken for granted would be, as in an earlier time, gone with the wind.
Copyright April, 2011 James Vernon Lewis
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Some Happenings in 1940
In 1939, while we were staying with Grandmother and Granddaddy Jones at the old Lockley place, Mama had married Calvin Holly Matthews. So we moved, Mama, my sister Betty and I, to Holly's home on the north side of Chipley.
That was a sturdy little frame house which Holly rented. It was situated on the northeast corner of Fifth Street and Old Bonifay Road, behind the home of the Misses Lou and Lizzie Richardson (or maybe Richards), two elderly sisters who operated a ladies hat and accessories shop, and was shaded by several large old pecan trees. The house fronted on Fifth Street, which ran north and south and was at that time unpaved.
Holly had a brother named Pleman. The first time that I recall seeing Pleman was in February or March of 1940 when he and his wife and daughter came to visit. His daughter was named Helen. As soon as Helen and I met we went outside to play. During that adventure we decided to get married. I was already nearly six years old.
Pleman and I became friends immediately, and ever afterwards he was Uncle Pleman to me.
When it came time for them to leave, Uncle Pleman said that they were going to take the "high road". That was his expression for "highway", and I never heard him refer to a highway except as the "high road".
I don't know why he said that they were taking the "high road", unless they intended to hitch-hike, for my recollection is that they did not have an automobile.
* * *
Uncle Pleman was a good bass singer. Holly could sing well, also, and was an accomplished violinist as well, having a repertoire that included the classics. Mama had a good voice at that time, and always sang alto.
In those days when country people sang together they usually gravitated toward gospel songs, because everyone knew those songs and they offered the best opportunity for harmony as well as for individual expression. When a group of singers "clicked" together, and really got into the spirit of it, the result was music that warmed the soul.
On this occasion Uncle Pleman wanted to sing ON THE JERICHO ROAD, so they all took it up, each experimenting at first with different voices or "parts" to see who could carry which part the best. After a change or two between person and voice, the right match was signaled by the nodding of heads and they began to get serious with it.
The folks there had a guitar, and were well acomplished in rythym. Holly would bring in the violin just loud enough to balance out the ensemble. And so they went through all the verses, repeating the chorus after each verse.
After they finished with that, Uncle Pleman wanted to sing LIFE'S EVENING SUN, so they gave it the same treatment.
They sang many other songs that night, but those were two that I liked. I can still hear in my mind the rich sustained chords of the music just as it sounded on that summer night seventy years ago.
At about that time the air battle known as the "Battle of Britain" was being fought
over London.
* * *
During that summer of 1940 there came to our kitchen door one morning a "hobo", the genuine article. He asked Mama "did she have anything he could do for something to eat?"
Mama told him that she did not have anything he could do, but to sit down outside. Within a few minutes she took out to him a hot breakfast which he ate while sitting on the steps, the porch serving as a table. When he had finished he knocked on the door, expressed his thanks, and went on his way.
During this time no thought was ever given to locking the kitchen door, though it had been pushed to as a matter of affording the hobo a measure of privacy.
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