Next came the Gibbons Family. He was the
Methodist preacher. Myrtle was a little older than I; then Elbert, my close friend and daily companion; and Alva
Ready, who was a baby. They were wonderful people. When they moved to Keltonburg, I visited
them often and Mrs. Gibbions always treated me like one of her
family. Brother Gibbons would pick me up in his buggy, and,
after my visit, I would walk home. This was no problem,
3
for I always traveled light, and the thick dust was easy on my feet. Elbert would generally accompany me part way. What I would give to re-live one of those trips!
Still later, the Gibbons family moved to
Tucker's Cross roads. I just had to visit them. They met me in Watertown. I stayed about one week, during which
I acquired their 'below the hill' drawl, and fell in love with the little town and its people. One little girl
in particular caught my eye. I left her a touching note for Elbert
to deliver, asking her to write me. Years later, I sent her a letter which was forwarded to Knoxville where she
was in school. I received a nice and much appreciated reply.
Pardon my digression--let's return to our neighborhood survey.
The Gibbons house was the last on the north
side of our street. Next was their triangular shaped garden, and then, just across the street from our house, our
beloved bluff and creek, on and in which we spent so many happy hours. I can still see the path which cut across
the face of the bluff which was our stick horse bridle path; and the cave at the bottom where we trapped for ferocious
skunk and possum.
Let's go down the alley to the south. Ours was a large, well tilled, and fertile garden. Talk
about your corn, potatoes, beans, peas, onions, big red tomatoes, watermelons, cantaloupes, cucumbers -- we raised
them all to eat, to can, and to spare. And those strawberries -- carmine and sweet, and big as pullet eggs! What
a shame to convert that hallowed plot to a tobacco patch!
Mr. Fox Simpson lived just south of our garden; then came a large
pasture, and then, on the corner, the home of our great friends, the Cheathams. There were Mr. Frank and Miss
Mattie, their mothers, Mrs Cheatham
and Mrs. Blankenship, and Mary and Mattie Franklin. We visited often. When they would
come to our house on cold winter nights, the girls and you and I would play in the back part of the house, while
the grown folks entertained themselves with much conversation in the front bedroom. Pop and Mr.
Frank would get the Brown Mule going early in the evening, and by nine O'clock would
have the hearth tri-sected by vivid lines clear to the back log.
Let me digress. One day, Pop, Mr. Frank,
Steve and I drove some calves to the Cheatham farm on the river
near Sligo. We took the short way back, following the creek for several miles. I remember one clear deep pool by
a rocky ledge that was working alive with fish. Unfortunately, I never got back to catch them.
Steve was an expert with a spear. Where the creek ran clear and
about eighteen inches deep, he could really hit those long dark suckers as they flashed by. He knew just how much
to lead with his spear, to compensate for the speed of the fish and the refraction of the water. He knew naught
of physics, but, more often than not, he would come up with a fish thrashing against his barb. Three or four of
those beauties were all I could carry.
Sad to say, all that territory is now under many feet of lonesome water.
4
As we continued up stream, the gorge became narrower, and we came upon a cleft in the north
wall which seemed a good way out. About half way up was a room-sized level place, and there, steaming and bubbling
like the caldrons of Hell, was a moonshine still.
Pop said in a low voice, boys, there's a man watching us with a Winchester across his knees
-- just keep going. Without breaking stride, we passed on by, and soon the welcome flatwoods spread before us.
Those fish were a tasty reward after such a trip. We never went back for another look at the
still.
Now, lets return to our neighborhood survey. East of the Cheatham place was the home of Mr. and Mrs.
John Taylor and son, Robert Edward,
better known as "Shout". His cousin, Charles (Pie) Taylor, became a fine football player at Tennessee Tech, I was
told. Pie's daddy, Mr. Ed, drove a freight truck and is the only man I ever saw who could inhale a cigar as though it were a cigarette.
Just across the street from the John Taylors
was a dark red frame cottage, and I believe the Hibdon family
lived there.
There was one other house on this street, down on the other end by the cemetery. This was the
home of Mr. Hamp Hooper and his wife, cousin Sookie, their three boys, Ernest,
Howard (Buh), and John White, and the girls.
A street paralleled East Main on the north, beginning behind the Will
Hayes property. Mr. and Mrs. A. J. Goodson lived in the first house; then some vacant lots on which
houses were later built; then Uncle Thee and Aunt Lou on the corner; and finally, Mr. and Mrs. Will Webb on the opposite corner. I remember
Mabel and Joe.
The names of the younger children escape me.
The next building on the street was Uncle Thee's
grocery store. This was on the northeast corner of the square. Robert (Pig) and possibly Herman were his partners. It was here
that Pop got acquainted with chili. Let Him tell the tale.
" Nannie, I have brought home something
good for supper" he stated proudly. "it's called Chile con Carne, whatever that means. A man at Thee's store was eating some today, and it was the best looking dish I ever
saw. Fix a can for me, and two for you and Munner and the boys. I want onions and pickles on mine."
The feast was soon ready. Pop took a big spoonful eagerly, and downed it slowly and bravely.
He had always been blessed with a hearty appetite and a cast iron stomach.
Munner toyed with a small bite, and a puzzled look came over her
face. "Jim, I can't eat this stuff," she said with
some difficulty. "It's nothing but tallow and cayenne pepper."
5
A wave of rejection swept around the table, and Mom Jumped up to fix something else for supper.
The next day, all except Munner came down
with that strange new malady called Spanish Influenza. We never really knew whether that Chile con Carne caused
the flu, or whether the chili tasted so bad because we were already sick.
There was a big snow on the ground, and that flu siege was bad news for us, as it was for most
others in town. Dr. Potter and Uncle
Trab kept us going until they came down, and then Ernest Dunn pulled us through by milking and drawing water, and keeping wood on the side porch.
Once again, Pig, many, many thanks. We couldn't
have made it without you.
Munner kept a pot of soup on the stove, and managed to stay up
until the rest of us could get out of bed. Then, understandably, she collapsed. George was having it much easier in Europe at the time.
As for the chili, we learned years later in Texas that it tastes much better if heated before
being served.
6
Continue to Chapter 2
Return to the Introduction Page
Return to the Dekalb County Page