Transcribed by Melody Carter
July 15, 1948
* CAL’S COLUMN *
This week’s “Colyum” will
deal largely with reminiscences or the recalling of events of the years gone
by. In 1910, we took the examination
for teachers at Carthage and passed with “flying colors,” making the highest
grade of certificate. This was in the
days of the old School Director system and before we ever heard of a County
Board of Education. So, after having
been given our certificate, we borrowed one of our dad’s horses and proceeded
to look for a school. We felt that it
would not be wise to open our career as a teacher in our home community of
Mace’s Hill, feeling that we had too many kinfolks there and we would be just
“plain Cal” to the boys and girls with whom we had gone to school. So we left our native community and
traversed the hills and valleys to Defeated Creek, where we met one Pendy
Copas, then a School Director for the Fifth District of Smith County, which
district had three or four schools. We
made application for Dean Hill school, a school located at the extreme upper
end of Salt Lick Creek of Cumberland River, and situated in a deep valley
surrounded by green hills. We had never
seen the place when we applied for the school.
After giving us the once over and finding our appearance at least fairly
satisfactory and also having been shown our certificate with the notation,
“Best, certificate of this grade,” Mr.
Copas gave us the school, writing out the contract which called for four months
of school at $40.00 per month. This
looked like a fortune to a hillbilly boy who had never before made that much in
a month. It was all of $2.00 a
day. So we “rid” back home with the
good news to the family, our parents and brothers and sisters. Then followed a few weeks of as hard work almost as we ever did on
the farm, to try to get ready to start school on the eighth of August. We put in almost every hour we could as our
father was a hardworking man with a large family and the loss of our labor
would be keenly felt. About the
first of August, 1910, in company with our father’s sister, Aunt Martha Wright,
we set out for the scene of our coming labors.
We had imagined that we knew just how we would find everything. But hardly anything was even remotely like
we had imagined we would find it.
We drove from the vicinity
of Mace’s Hill in a buggy drawn by the old family mare, old Nell, and
eventually arrived in the neighborhood of Dean Hill. From the top of the hill, we viewed the little white school
house, set against a background of cedars and at the edge of a large bluegrass
pasture. We did not descend
from the hilltop to the school, but proceeded around the top of the high hill
to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Tom Donoho’s sister, Aunt Bide Russell, the
blind lady known to hundreds of our readers.
There we found a welcome and as fine a dinner as we ever sat down
to. Somehow we had gained the
impression that we would find food scanty and we were joyfully surprised to
find a long table loaded down with good things. Our Aunt Martha had been in the Donoho home on other occasions
and was always a welcome visitor, which was our reason for going there first of
all.
After eating of a hearty
dinner or midday meal, we took up our work of visiting the homes of the girls
and boys who were to be our students.
We visited practically every home and became acquainted with our pupils
before the opening day of school.
School began on the morning of August 8, 1910, and we worried quite a lot
about opening school, wondering if it would not be better to begin school with
a brief prayer. This we did, although
we were only 19 years of age and a convert of a year; and we never failed to
have a short prayer daily during the entire 15 years we taught school.
One of the things dreaded
back there by all young teachers was the coming of the County Superintendent to
visit the school. The Superintendent of
Smith County schools then was Joe C. Nichols, who is still living and residing
on a farm near Gallatin. When we saw
him drive up in his buggy, we had a wild notion of going out the window and
were able to restrain that impulse only with difficulty. However, his visit was a very pleasant one
and he did not criticize the work of the young teacher with his first
school. He offered a number of helpful
suggestions which we tried to put into effect.
School opened with about 40 students or pupils, and we
were able to maintain an average of 32 per day for the entire term of four
months. Some months ago we had an
appointment at the same place, but only two of the 40 students of 38 years ago
were present. Quite a number of those
boys and girls have passed on into the great beyond, and almost all of them
have gone to other places to make their homes.
It was rather sad to look over the scenes of nearly two score years ago
and find only two of the students of that distant day. Both these students were growing gray and
the onward march of time was hurrying them from the scenes of this life. But memory ran riot as it were, back!!
through the years, and we saw ourself a youth of 19, with a face just beginning
to grow a few scattering whiskers, walking into the building with buoyant
steps, with bright hopes for the future and with hardly a thought of the
trials, toils and labors of the coming years.
But another picture was
unfolded before us as memory continued to unfold its record. We saw our first case of corporal punishment
roll around, we gave the boy a “trial,” and found him guilty and then we had to
lay the lash on. It was our first
experience in such matters and it left a lasting impression. But the worst part of it all came to pass
the next morning. We were nearly ready
to call “books,” and we had some company that morning, Uncle Billy Canter, his
son, Jim Canter; and a man named Williams.
Two of these men were about the worst men to laugh we ever saw. When the mother of the youth we had whipped
rode up, these three men got ready to have some fun. We took one of the worst “tongue-lashings” we ever had in life
from the mother of the boy. We stood
before her as she set on her horse, our head down and our face flushed and
hot. We took time to peep out from
under our hat brim, to see the three men ready to “burst with laughter.” I tried to “appease” this mother but my
success was very limited. At last she
rode away, to my great relief. Then I
had to face the laughing men. Two of
them have gone into eternity; but the other, Jim Canter, still lives, although
he is in rather feeble health at his home now on upper Defeated Creek. He still gets a kick out of that episode of
38 years ago.
We boarded with Alvis
Donoho, a son of Uncle Tom and Aunt Polly Ann. His wife, the former Miss Jennie Grandstaff, was one of the good
women of her time, and took a motherly interest in the young teacher. We paid her the sum of $8.00 per month
board, counted by the school month.
This included washing and ironing, our home being 12 miles away and too
far to go home each week end. They
lived near the schoolhouse, and their old home stood until about 15 months ago
when it burned. The writer passed that
place on Sunday, July 11th, and looked about the place with sorrow and regrets. Alvis and his good wife have both gone to
their long home; and all their children are scattered and gone. Only one of them, Mrs. Grace Law, lives in
Tennessee, the others being in Kentucky and Texas.
We still remember what we
did with part of our $40.00 we received for teaching that first month. We paid our board, and then took $14.00 of
the month’s salary and spent it for one of the long-skirted saddles common in
that day and time. The saddle had what
was called a “quilted seat.” About as
sweet music as our ears ever heard as a
young man was the squeaking of that saddle.
It lasted for years and was well worth the price paid for it. But a brand-new automobile costing $2,500,
if given us absolutely free could not now bring us as much joy as did
that $14.00 saddle. We bought it from
Mann Sloan, Pleasant Shade merchant, who has long since gone to be with his
God.
On last Sunday we stopped
over at the old Donoho home, which still stands although its present occupant,
M. H. Davenport, plans to tear the old house down and build a new and modern
home shortly. Memories ran about the
old place, one after the other. Just in
front of the old home was the old windlass and line and wire that reached down
to the cave spring. A long wire was
attached to a tree or post near the spring, then a small house was built on the
top of the hill near the Donoho home, a windlass was put up and a long cord
reaching from the spring to the windlass was used to let the bucket down until
it was under the stream that gushed out of the hillside. Then with the turning of the windlass, the
pail of cold water came slowly up the wire, riding on little pulleys to ease
the friction. It was a rather slow way
of obtaining water, but the spring never failed and the water was of the best. But now a well has been drilled 94 feet into
the earth and the old windlass house has blown down and lies prostrate on its
side. The trees that once formed an
almost solid wall at the break of the ridge and just below the old water house,
now have a break through them and a new power line brings current into the
Davenport home. The break in the timber
enables one to look far down the valley now, a thing that was impossible 38
years ago. In the far distance can be
seen the hills that lie many miles away beyond the Cumberland. We used to see squirrels playing in the
chestnut trees that were then numerous about the old Donoho home. But these trees, like the inhabitants of the
home in that day, are dead. Their gaunt
forms here and there stretch into the sky, reminders of the past when chestnuts
were to be found in abundance on all
the Highland Rim, to the delight of boys and girls, and to dwellers in the
forest. In the valley below the old
water house, one can now see the home of Mr. Deering, where once lived Howard
Donoho and family, all of whom are either dead or moved away.
Uncle Tom Donoho made a
good living on his farm of about 115 acres, although he seldom used but one
horse to plow his ground. We remember
this old horse, old Selim. He was
racing about the old home and happened to the misfortune of knocking the “cap”
off one hip bone as he passed too close to the corner. But he has long since gone the way of all
the earth. However, the present owner
of the farm has a tractor, a truck and a car, and is seeking to conserve the
fertility of his soil, to build up his lands and to improve his
surroundings. He has a large amount of
barn space, some alfalfa, and other crops, and is preparing to put much of the
steeper parts of his farm into grazing lands.
In our next article we hope
to give some of the events that took place in that section in the years gone
by, part of which will show the manner of life there as in many other places,
when the rush, the hurry and the confusion of present-day living did not rob
people of their enjoyment of life.