Using the Dawes Packets for Native American Genealogy

Fold3.com just announced that they are allowing free access to their Native American records collections from now until the 15th of November. However, these records are difficult to navigate and most of us need some instruction.

For the best, step-by-step instructions on searching within the Dawes Packets for Native American Genealogy, please visit my blog post at Genealogy Gems titled, "How to Use the Dawes Collections for Native American Research."

Haunting Illnesses of the Past

Halloween is coming up and there is always something fun about the holiday. Mildly gory decorations and stories fill the house and it's a ghoulishly good time!

I have recently been searching the cemeteries and death records of the Wilson family of Clark County, Ohio. I was taken aback by how many family members died of tuberculosis and it reminded me of the many horrible diseases of the past.

Lavina Wilson West died of tuberculosis in 1880.

Some of the old diseases are so uncommon these days that you may never have even heard of them!  Looking at death records can open your eyes to a world of diseases you knew nothing about.

Tuberculosis was one of those diseases that plagued the Wilson family. It was also known as galloping consumption or the white plague. Over 100,000 Americans died every year from the bacterial disease in the early 1900's.[1] It is still among one of the most widespread diseases in the world. Symptoms include a cough lasting up to 3 weeks, fever, pain, fatigue, and coughing up blood from deep within the lungs. Sanatoriums were created for the sick and were sometimes referred to as “waiting rooms for death.”[2] 

One of the difficulties with TB was that a person could be infected, but not sick.  In other words, the TB bacteria could be latent and in this state, not contagious, but a ticking time bomb. Once the TB became active it could pass through coughs, sneezing, and close contact.^[3] Family members, because of close proximity, would often catch the disease from an infected loved one. Out of the thirteen children of Lavina and Michael Wilson, at least three children and a son-in-law died of the disease.

Besides tuberculosis, another killer was la gripe, also known as the influenza. It was March of 1918 when the first wave of the Spanish Flu hit America in our military camps.^[4] The soldiers had brought it home from the War. Unfortunately, it did not stay in one place and spread rather quickly. By fall, we had a second wave and a serious problem on our hands. The virus killed nearly 200,000 Americans in October of that year, including my great grandmother.

My great-grandmother, Donia Hensley Cole, was born in 1893. She was 25 years old when she contracted the flu. According to her death record, she was also pregnant and sick for nine days before passing. Donia was the mother of three children, all under the age of seven, and I have often wondered about her last days.

The symptoms of the Spanish Flu included fever, aches and pains, nausea, and diarrhea. Occasionally, the afflicted would get dark spots on their cheeks and their skin would turn a bluish hue from lack of oxygen. In many cases, the sick would develop pneumonia which would cause death.

Though, tuberculosis and the flu are awful, it was diphtheria that gave me the heeby-geebies. Diptheria is a bacterial disease that attacks the nose and throat of the infected person. Though there is a vaccine that protects us today, that wasn't the case in the not-so-distant past.

In 1914, diphtheria entered the home of my great-grandfather, Alonzo Walls. Two of his daughters, one of whom was my Grandma Iness, came down with the disease. The oldest daughter, Lulu was fifteen and Iness was just seven years old. Lulu became sick first and it likely went un-diagnosed until it had progressed too far. Lulu and Iness were put in the same bed so they could be quarantined from the rest of the family and receive their treatment. Treatment for diphtheria at that time may have included an antitoxin derived from horses or the disease was left to run its course.

Iness woke one morning to find her sister lying there dead beside her. Lulu's tongue had swollen so greatly, it would not fit into her mouth. Iness was lucky and recovered.

The only known picture of Lulu Walls, child on the left.

The haunting illnesses of the past can make a scary story this Halloween. It may not be in good taste, but if your children like a good gory story, why not tell them what their ancestors died of…after all, it's great to take any opportunity to talk about family history!

Tip: If you have a death record that lists an unusual cause of death, you might find out more about it by using the list of old illnesses and their names found at: http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~lynda77/illness1.htm. Reviewing that list will be sure to make you grateful you live in 2016!

Happy Halloween, my friends!

Read more fun stories:

Well, That's Weird: Strange Genealogy Records Found Online

"Finished" Family Line Questioned

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[1] Sucre, Richard.  “The Great White Plague: The Culture of Death and the Tuberculosis Sanatorium.”  University of Virginia.  Web.  (www.faculty.virginia.edu/blueridgesanatorium/death.htm:  accessed 14 Mar 2015).

[2] Ibid.

[3] “Understanding Tuberculosis.”  American Lung Association.  Web.  (www.lung.org/lung-disease/tuberculosis/understanding-tuberculosis.html :  accessed 14 Mar 2015).

[4] Billings, Molly.  “The Influenza Pandemic of 1918.”  Stanford University.  June 1997.  Web.  (https://virus.standford.edu/uda :  accessed 16 Mar 2015).

Thoughts on Writing Tragic Events in Family History

[Note: My Kith N Kin is moving! Though this site will remain open, new genealogy techniques, articles, and more will now be posted to The Genealogy Reporter. Come on over and subscribe!]

This has been a truly tragic week already. On Sunday evening, my husband and I rushed to our neighbor's home to find their small child had been accidentally hit by a truck, leading to his death. The hours that passed and the days that have followed will forever be engraved in our memories. It made me think and feel many things, some too personal to share in this public format. However, one particular thought keeps crossing my mind: How do you write about a tragic event in your family history?

The First Question

Maybe the first question should be: Should you write about a tragic event in your family history? Many of you may remember when I blogged about the death of my grandmother's child and the coal mining accident that took the life of my grandfather. One of the reasons I decided to include these tragic stories in my family history was that my uncle had tried many times throughout his life to write about it, but couldn't. I felt the stories needed to be told and recorded for future generations. I was far enough removed from the events to be able to write the story without significant distress.

Don't Wait Too Long

It is fine and even practical to wait a time before recording your story after the event has happened, but don't wait too long.

The uncle I spoke of, Uncle Willard, arrived after the slate fall...only in time to drag Grandpa's body out of the mine...only able to witness the very end. My other two uncles, Millard and James, were in the mine right beside Grandpa when it happened, but I had never asked them a thing about it. They both died years ago and now I will never have that part of the story. I didn't want Uncle Willard to pass on before I had a chance to hear his story at least.

Remember, though waiting is good, waiting too long may cause the story to be lost forever.

Does Telling the Story Help the Teller?

When I asked Uncle Willard to tell me the story some 50 years after the event, he had difficulty. Not difficultly remembering the details of the accident, but rather dealing with the emotions it still stirred up. Would it have helped him back then to speak of it, or to write the day's events down? Did it help him now knowing the story was being preserved to pass down to other generations?

When I interviewed my aunt and my mother about what they remembered the day their father died, they too struggled to get through the story without losing their composure. They had never talked about it in-depth either. I wondered, did they want it recorded like Uncle Willard did?

These are some great questions to ask yourself and the others involved in your tragic stories. Genealogists love a record made at the time of the actual event by someone with first-hand knowledge. But sometimes, writing about a horrible tragedy when it is fresh in the mind is far too difficult. Even still, talking or writing about the event and one's feelings can in some instances be therapeutic to the survivors. You will need to decide based on each instance and consider whether telling the story helps the teller or not.

Other decisions you might consider is the when to about the event and in what format to record the story (i.e. written, audio only, or video.)

Do tragic stories help our descendants?

I don't know. I think so. When it's quiet, I can still hear the crying of my neighbors when I arrived on the seen. I mentioned to my mother that it was the most heart breaking sound I could have imagined. She said she remembered her mother waking in the night, crying and screaming, "Why! Why did you have to leave?" as she carried Grandpa's clothes around the house. I think that hearing that story made me realize...the heart can recover, at least somewhat.

I reflected on Grandma's lost child and husband and yet, she pressed forward, raised her other children, and lived and loved her many grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Her story gives me hope. Hope for my neighbors, hope for myself, and hope for others in the mist of horrific circumstances that life can go on.

Conclusion

I hope my thoughts on writing about tragic events in your family history have made you consider the idea of writing your stories. If you have a tragic event that is too difficult to write yourself, consider asking a trusted family member or friend to write the story for you. You never know how your story will help and sustain a descendant in the generations to come.

Following the Wrong Family Line: Not a Mistake after All

[Note: My Kith N Kin is moving! Though this site will remain open, new genealogy techniques, articles, and more will now be posted to The Genealogy Reporter. Come on over and subscribe!]

I followed the wrong family line! Gordon Johnson was born about 1827 in Tazewell County, Virginia.[1] He married Cosby Green in about 1849. I thought Gordon was the “right” guy. I had been doing the family history of my cousin’s paternal line when I stumbled across Gordon and Cosby.

Sadly, it was the wrong family line. However, I just couldn’t shake the feeling that Gordon wanted to be “found.” You see, Gordon didn’t appear with his family in the 1870 census. Cosby was listed with five children ages nine to seventeen. I wondered where he was. His last child was born in about 1861. Then, I knew. Gordon must have been a soldier in the Civil War.

I couldn’t help myself. I had to find out what happened to him. His story ended up being fascinating and down-right uncanny.

Following Gordon in Time

I first found Gordon at age 23, listed with his wife, Cosby, and a baby in the 1850 Lee County, Virginia census. The 1860 census found Gordon again in Lee County, Virginia with his wife and six children.  She was obviously quite the busy young mother! By 1870, Cosby was head of the household with five children.[2]

My next step was to see what was available for Civil War records online. FamilySearch.org and Ancestry.com both have several databases available for Civil War research. I did a military search for Gordon on Ancestry.com and found many good matches.

I learned that Gordon was living in Lee County, Virginia and was about thirty-six years old on enlistment day. He served for Virginia and did not survive the war.[3] Well, that answered my first question. He was definitely a soldier and he had never returned home.

I also learned that Gordon was enlisted in the 64^th Virginia Infantry on 13 Aug 1862 and was mustered out on 26 Dec 1863 at Camp Douglas, Chicago, IL.[4] This is the uncanny part! Guess where I was living when I found this record…yep, just outside of Chicago. What were the odds?! It just convinced me even more that Gordon was cheering me on from the “other side.” “Find me,” he called, “Tell my story!”

Another fun find was in the Alabama, Texas and Virginia, Confederate Pensions, 1884-1958 in which his widow filed for pension.[5] Did you realize that Confederate soldier widows could get pensions?

The application for pension filed by Cosby was only one page, but she stated that she and Gordon had married in Mulberry Gap, Tennessee.[6] A quick Google search showed Mulberry Gap to be in Hancock County. Hancock County courthouse had a fire and marriage records between 1844 and 1930 were lost.[7] Because of this loss, it is likely this pension record is the only record that states the exact location they were married. This was a great find!

I Hit the Mother Lode

I love using Fold3, especially for Civil War and War of 1812 research. I searched for Gordon and hit the mother lode. There were seventeen pages in the “Compiled Service Records of Confederate Soldiers Who Served in Organizations from the State of Virginia” file. It confirmed he was in Company G of the 64^th Virginia Mounted Infantry and enlisted in Lee County, Virginia for three years.

Other new tidbits of information included that he was captured at Cumberland Gap, Tennessee on 9 Sept 1863. He was then sent to Camp Douglas [Illinois] on 24 Sept 1863 via Louisville, Kentucky. He died on 26 Dec 1863 at Camp Douglas, Illinois of phthisis pulmonalis, another name for tuberculosis. At that time, he was buried at Chicago City Cemetery in grave #918. Wow! What a story!

Gordon’s wife Cosby filed a claim on 12 July 1864 suggesting that she was given word of his death at least within six months.[8] I hope she found out sooner, rather than later.

Some Enriching Details

A Google search for “64^th Virginia Mounted Infantry” gave me some insight into Gordon’s time in the military and his imprisonment.

The 64^th Virginia Mounted Infantry was recruited from the Virginia counties of Lee, Scott, Wise, and Buchanan. They were allowed to stay in their home area as long as they promised to protect the Confederacy. The regiment did not see much “action” or bloodshed, but their mortality rate was high due to their dying of disease as prisoners of war.[9]

Two thirds of the 64^th regiment were captured on 9 Sept 1863 at Cumberland Gap, Tennessee.[10] Gordon and a couple of his brothers were among those captured.

The winter of 1863 and 1864 were some of the harshest on record. Cold temperatures, insufficient food, lack of adequate clothing, and disease ravaged the camp. By the end of the war, Camp Douglas had housed over 26,000 Confederate prisoners and had over 3,000 fatalities due in large part to the horrible conditions.[11]

Fort Douglas, Chicago, IL. Image from Wikimedia Commons.

Soldiers who had died at the camp were first buried in the Chicago City Cemetery, but due to flooding, in 1866, the soldiers were exhumed and removed to Oak Woods Cemetery in a large mass grave.[12] A monument stands there and reads “ERECTED TO THE MEMORY OF SIX THOUSAND SOLDIERS HERE BURIED WHO DIED IN CAMP DOUGLAS PRISON 1862-5”. There are large bronze tablets that list some of the dead that are buried there. I checked to see if his name appeared on the tablets…it does.

Conclusion

Even though I had followed the wrong family line and found the “wrong guy,” it was a pleasure to get to know Gordon Johnson. I was kind of disappointed when I learned he wasn’t in my cousin’s family line. But guess what…after more research, I found that it was me who was related to Gordon…through his wife Cosby! I love it when a family history story comes together, don’t you?

Do you wonder how to best write about tragic events in your family history? If you are struggling with that question, I think you will enjoy reading:
Thoughts on Writing Tragic Events in Family History

ARTICLE REFERENCES

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[1] 1850 US Federal Census, District 31, Lee, Virginia, population schedule, page 351 (stamped), dwelling 657, family 679, Gordon Johnston [sic], digital image, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 27 Mar 2015); citing NARA microfilm publication M432, roll 955.

[2] 1870 US Federal Census, Jonesville, Lee, Virginia, population schedule, page 14 (penned), dwelling 88, family 89, Cosby Johnson, digital image, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 6 Apr 2015); citing NARA microfilm publication M593, roll 1658.

[3] “U.S., Civil War Soldier Records and Profiles, 1861-1865,” index, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 5 Apr 2015), entry for Gordon Johnson, born 1826, resident of Lee County, Virginia.

[4] Ibid.

[5] “Alabama, Texas and Virginia, Confederate Pensions, 1884-1958,” digital image, Ancestry (www.ancestry.com : accessed 5 Apr 2015), entry for Mrs. Causby [sic] Johnson, widow, Lee County, Virginia.

[6] Ibid. Note the location of marriage is indexed as Troutburg, TN, however after viewing the image, it was determined to be transcribed incorrectly and the location of marriage is Mulberry Gap, TN.

[7] “Hancock County, Tennessee Genealogy”, FamilySearch, (http://familysearch.org/learn/wiki/en/Hancock_County,_Tennessee_Genealogy : accessed 4 Apr 2015).

[8] “Compiled Service Records of Confederate Soldiers Who Served in Organizations from the State of Virginia,” digital image, Fold3, (www.fold3.com : accessed 7 April 2015), entry for Gordon Johnson, 64^th Mounted Infantry; citing NARA microfilm publication M324, roll 1044.

[9] Jeff Weaver, “64^th Virginia Infantry,” USGenWeb Archives, (http://files.usgwarchives.net/va/military/civilwar/rosters/va64th.txt : accessed 6 Apr 2015).

[10] Ibid.

[11] The Chicago Story that must be Told, Dec 2013, pg. 3; digital image, Camp Douglas Restoration Foundation (http://www.campdouglas.org/wp-content/uploads/2010/07/Camp%20Douglas%20Presentation.pdf : accessed 2 Apr 2015). This number has been disputed over the years.  Most have declared the official number to be about 3,108, however the monument placed at Oak Woods Cemetery in Chicago gives the number as 6,000.

[12] Confederate Mound at Oak Woods Cemetery in Chicago, Illinois, para. 2-3, digital image, National Park Service

http://www.nps.gov/nr/travel/national_cemeteries/Illinois/Confederate_Mound_Oak_Woods_Cemetery.html : accessed 7 Apr 2015).

Story 7: Farther Along

This may be the last story of the Big Grandma Series.  I have more stories of her, but these were my most favorite and I still haven't told you about Baby Grandma (my paternal grandmother).

I have entitled this story "Farther Along".  "Farther Along" is the title of an old gospel song that Big Grandma would have me and my cousin Doug sing for her over and over again.

Farther along we'll know all about it.
Farther along we'll understand why.
Cheer up, my brother, live in the sunshine,
We'll understand it all by and by.

Often when death has taken our loved ones,
Leaving our home so lone and so drear,
Then we do wonder why others prosper,
Living so wicked year after year.

Sometimes, Big Grandma would cry when we sang it.  I asked her why and she said it was one of the songs they sang at Grandpa's funeral.  I never spoke to her about the day he died or what it was like in the long years after...I was too afraid of the hurt we might both feel talking about it.

Finally, back in 1993, I interviewed my mother about the day and what she remembered as an 11 year old girl.  I knew the real people I needed to talk to were Uncle Millard, Uncle James, and Uncle Willard.  They were there with him the day Grandpa was killed in the coal mine.  But I waited too long.  Uncle Millard passed away in 1996, then Uncle James in 2006.

In 2010, I decided to call Uncle Willard.  He was not in the mines with Grandpa that day, but was there to carry his body out and watch him take his last breath.  There are parts of his story that I have chosen not to share in this venue, they are too personal.  I will share his entire story only in the book I am writing for the family.  But here is most of the story Uncle Willard told me about the day Grandpa died in his own words.

"I was to drive Millard, James, and Dad up to the mines like I always done since the bridge was out.  Robert Montgomery was hauling coal in a big truck and broke the bridge over near the mine.  So we'd drive my car up to the bridge, walk across, get in Dad's truck and drive the rest of the way up to the mine.  Then, do the opposite when we'd come back home of the evening.  That day, before I took Dad and the other boys to the mine, Dad pulled out $2.00 and gave me for gas to go to church.  Mom was mad and said I didn't need to have that money 'cause I was just going up there to see girls and it was wasteful.  So I grabbed it fast as I could and ran to the car.  But I heard him say to Mom, "Give him the money, send him to church and let's pray for the best."  It was the last thing I ever remember hearing my daddy say.

"It was Thursday, November 13, 1958, a chilly day, kinda drizzly like and we left about 2:30 in the afternoon for the mines.  We all worked second shift, so we didn't start till the afternoon.  I dropped them off and had plenty of time to get cleaned up and get over to the church, but that wasn't to be. On the way to church, I had a [tire] blow out.  I opened the trunk to get the spare tire, but it was flat too. I still had time to run to Ben's [house] where his '51 Chevy was.  Well anyone who knows about the '51 Chevy knows that it gets stuck in gear a lot.  Ben's Chevy was stuck in gear and we couldn't get it out. I ran over to Burley Blondell's house to borrow a car, but it was up on jacks in the front yard and had no motor.  Then, I went to Oscar Ely's house and his wife, Rosie, said he'd done gone to church, but what did I want.  I said, "I wanted to go to church, but it's too late and I got to pick up Dad and the boys."  See, by then I had run all over the holler looking for a ride and it was late.  I saw another car in the yard and said, "Who's is that car?"  She said it was Billy's, her son.  He had just drove in and was sleeping in the house.  She said she'd go wake him and Billy came out all groggy and said, "Well, I can't let you have it [the car], but I can drive you.  I'll need gas money."  So I gave him the $2.00 Dad had give me.  Billy drove me back to the house to get Mom and the 3 of us drove over to the mine.  We got to that broken out bridge and there was some men working there and Robert Montgomery.  Mom and I walked on across and got in Dad's truck and went up to the tipple of the mine and as soon as I opened the truck door I could hear Millard screaming, "Daddy's dead. Daddy's in there.  Daddy's been killed."

"I was just a crying and praying.  I don't remember exactly, but I must have grabbed that railroad jack out of the back of the truck and us 3 boys ran back in the mine where Daddy was.  It was about a quarter of a mile back.  The boys said he was covered up.  That slab was 18 inches thick, 12 feet long and 12 feet wide.  People said later it had weighed 3 tons.  We jacked up the rock, but the rock started to slip and I kid you not, those 2 boys, Millard and James, held up that rock when the jack fell and I pulled Daddy's body out from under [it].  Me and James got on either side of him and carried him out of the mine.  With every breath he took, blood would bubble from his eyes and nose, his mouth and ever'thing.  He was alive, but just barely.  His [insides] were pushed out into his clothes.  Mom saw us coming and was just screaming and crying. We put him in the cab of the truck 'cause now it was late in the evening and turned cold and was raining harder.  [I was holding him on one side,] Mom was holding him on the other side, and the boys were in the back.  Dad died in my arms right there. We got down to the bridge there and Robert Montgomery opened the door and said, "Willard, get on out now and let me take your Daddy."  He felt his neck and said he was gone.  I'll never forget, he pulled him out on the gravel of [sic] the side of the road and it was raining and put and old, dirty tarp over him. Robert wanted us to go on home and he'd wait for the undertaker to come get the body, but we said no.  We'd stay there 'till Clyde come.  [Clyde was the local undertaker.]  So, we got in my car across the way and waited. [Though he did not say, it is likely that Willard's car had broke down not far from where they were on the opposite side of the bridge and was still there.] When we was about to leave then, Robert said, "Willard, before you go home, you need to stop at Wright Kirk's (he was one of the owners of the mine) and tell him what happened."  So, we did and when I told Wright about Daddy, he had a heart attack right there.  They said when they told Wright's brother George, he'd had a heart attack too. 'Course they was afraid, there being an accident in their mine and the insurance and all that.

"The undertaker brought the body back the next morning and laid him out in Lewey's room in the back there.  He [the undertaker] told us that they couldn't bury Dad without his teeth and someone was going to have to go back in there [the mine] and get Dad's teeth.  That was law [tradition] see, you couldn't bury anyone without [sic] you could find all their body parts.  So he looked to Ben and Harold who were there and they wouldn't do it.  Mom said to me, "Willard, you'll have to go".  The coroner drove me over to the mine and he wouldn't go in with me and I went in all by myself and picked up Dad's teeth like they were corn kernels and put 'em in a little, brown bag I had.  Back at the house, the neighbors and family was all there for the 'wakening' and they stayed up all night with the body."  End quote

An interview with my mother filled in the last parts of the story.  She said that she and her twin brother Ray had been over at their sister Monette's house.  It was late when the boys and Big Grandma showed up.  They first told everyone that Grandpa had been in an accident and that he was in the hospital.  I guess there was some worry that Monette would loose the baby she was carrying if she got too distraught.  However, Millard didn't agree with lying and said, "No, that's not true. Daddy's dead", or something to that affect.  Mom said she just couldn't believe her Dad was dead. She remembers thinking that only happened to other people, not her family.  It wasn't until she saw the body laid out in the house and looked at his hands, did she finally believe it.  His face was terribly swollen and she didn't even think he looked like her Dad, but his hands did, and that is how she knew.

I was interested in how Big Grandma handled this horrible tragedy in her life.  How could she cope with yet another great loss?  Mom remembers that sometimes at night, Big Grandma would be pacing the floor holding the bloody clothes Grandpa died in and saying things like, "Why did you leave me? I could've handled anyone else dying, but you".  Mom and her brother sometimes thought that Big Grandma would have rather they had died than to have lost her husband.

Mom and Ray didn't go back to school that year and by the next year they were moving to Ohio to "get the boys out of the mines".  Uncle James had nearly lost his life that same dreadful November day.  When Grandpa heard the ceiling of the mine starting to fall, he yelled for the boys to run and pushed James out of the way of the slate just in time.  James had a large scratch down his back where the rock that fell on Grandpa got him on the way down.  Big Grandma would not loose any of her other loved ones in the mines she said.

To my knowledge, Big Grandma never slept in a bed after the death of Grandpa, but preferred to sleep on a couch.

Moving to Ohio changed the course of my mother's life and ultimately mine.  That one event of Grandpa dying in such a way was one of life's turning points.  A turning point that put the family on another path entirely.  I am sure that neither Big Grandma or Grandpa could have envisioned the grand houses their descendants would live in, the high school diplomas and college degrees that many would someday have, and the peace and plenty in which most of us live.  I am sure they are very proud...I know I would be.

Note: Though Grandpa always said he was born on November 11th, 1911. However, when his birth record was found in Harlan County, Kentucky, the date of birth was given as 28 November, 1911. 

Story 6: Her Look and Other Quirks!

I thought I would make this story a little more lighthearted.

Big Grandma had wiry gray hair and she loved perms, but that wasn't always the case. Back in the 1940's when permanents were just becoming all the rage, Aunt Margaret convinced Big Grandma to go and get a perm. Apparently, she had to be convinced, but since Margaret was considered very "up-to-date" with fashion, she finally relented.

Big Grandma's normal hair style was just straight and wrapped up in a handkerchief like Aunt Jemima! She is remembered to have always been wearing a "kerchif and apron." Upon coming home after the perm, Grandpa did not approve and Big Grandma felt she looked like a "whore."  Not until many, many years later did she begin perming it again.

I thought Big Grandma had the bluest eyes I had ever seen. I once said so to my mother who kindly said, "Her eyes were brown, Amie." I was confused. I reminded her that they were indeed blue as blue could be! Mom told me that actually, she had had dark brown eyes until she developed cataracts and started going blind. When that happened, the color left her eyes and turned them the most brilliant of blues. Yes, she was going blind for as long as I could remember. Her eyesight was all but completely dark by the time she died.

My sister Mandie and I laugh until we cry when we remember how she looked as she was trying desperately to spy on the neighbors or to check the sky for inclement weather! If she felt her 'bones a achin' she would go to the front door and look out to the sky. I remember she would say, "Laawww children, there's a big storm comin."  (Translation: Lord children, there's a big storm coming.) She was terribly afraid of 'tornada's.'

Her blindness was the source of many funny experiences. Like when we would be at Woolworth, her favorite store in the world, and she would ask the cashier to count her money for her because she "cain't see and [was] nearly blind, honey."  (Translation: can't see and nearly blind, honey.)  You might be imagining this scenario. I bet you are imagining a half blind woman with a giant purse. Perhaps you're picturing the purse, heavy laden with lots of things, and the old woman is digging for her wallet and pulling it from the purse. But you would be wrong. Oh heavens no, she didn't keep the "billfold" in her "pocketbook" young uns'...why no! She kept that in her bosom! That's right! I thought Big Grandma was a large chested woman, but it wasn't actually breasts that filled the great chest, but rather her precious things! She wrapped a man's billfold into a white handkerchief and pinned it within the large expanses of her empty bra. She kept all sorts of things in there. Tissues, both used and clean, a Tylenol bottle for spitting her snuff in, and of course, anything she didn't want stolen, including the billfold.

I mentioned before that she could feel a storm comin' on.  She knew just what to do for aching bones. When we girls would complain of our legs hurting (probably growing pains) she would go to the white metal cabinets for the horse lineament. Yep, actual horse lineament! She would rub our little, bruised, and bony legs with the lineament and we would swear it made us feel all better. I guess it did.

My sisters and I spent a lot of time at Big Grandma's house. We always asked for candy. She seemed to always have a stash of Christmas candy in an old tin can. It all stuck together, but she would bust it apart with a hammer and give us some. I am cracking up...she used a HAMMER! Never did she say, "Oh, that candy is too old! You don't want to eat that!" Waste not, want not, must have been her motto!

We would often ask her if she had any "play purties."  We said it just like that. I was a teenager when I realized that "play purties" were actually "play PRETTIES."  I just knew that was how Big Grandma said it.  A "play purty" is anything that Grandma didn't want that we could play with and take home. My mother once had the audacity to call it junk...seriously...I couldn't believe she could be so RUDE! Our favorite things to get were old perfume bottles. We would generously apply the fermented scent all over our bodies. Oh...we thought we smelled sooo good! Mom would make us bathe as soon as we got home. I hated that.

Big Grandma loved to plant things in her little backyard garden. She had "tamaters, cukes, and beans."  She canned veggies, jellies, and jams. When she still lived in Virginia, she would sell whatever she had canned that was extra.  I
personally loved when she would let me "break the beans" with her. She would sit by the kitchen 'winder' (that's a window) and have a big pile of green beans laying on her lap. We would break off the ends and throw that part away. Then, you would break the bean into about 1 inch long pieces and put them in the bowl. I can still smell the kitchen, the beans, and the warm August air.

Isn't it funny how memories often have a smell attached to them?
It's been fun remembering today. Read the last story in the Big Grandma series here.

Story 5: When Her Baby Died

Big Grandma had lots of babies. She had them all at home with the help of her sister-in-law, Margaret, as midwife. Family remember hearing that Big Grandma would "have those babies of the morning and by evening she would be in the field." Perhaps that is an exaggeration, but I am certain she didn't rest for long! That was against her very nature!

Big Grandma had 9 children that lived and an adopted nephew she raised since he was 6 months old. Her first three daughters were Monetta, LaSula, and Betty Jo. Then came the first set of twins. She named them Millard and Willard.  Next came Wanda Faye and then, little Mary Ella. Lastly, she had another set of twins, one girl and one boy. Lillard Gay is my mother and her twin brother is Dillard Ray. Yes, you read that right...4 twins named Millard, Willard, Dillard, and Lillard. (Shaking my head)

Big Grandma told me that sometime early in her child bearing years, she had had yet another set of twins, a set of girls. They died at birth or were stillborn. She had wanted to name them Wanda Faye and Lonnie Ray...or something like that. I know one was to be Wanda Faye and later, she had a daughter that she did indeed name Wanda.

It is the story of Wanda Faye that I want to tell you. Big Grandma had 3 great tragedies in her life. Her first was the sudden death of her father at about age 9. He took sick in the afternoon with a headache and fever and was dead the next day from meningitis. The second tragedy was in November of 1949 when 5 year old Wanda Faye died. Here is the story as told to me by my Aunt Sue.

One day, the little kids were playing a game called 'Riddle Marie'. The idea of the game is to hide something and say, "Riddle me, riddle me, riddle Marie...I see something you can't see!" Then, the other children would guess what and where it was. Wanda had a little handful of buttons and a brass ball. That brass ball had been found by her brother James a day or so before. Big Grandma told James to throw that ball over the side of the hill, so one of the little kids didn't get it.

Wanda Faye had hid the little items in her mouth. Of course, as little girls do, they were giggling and Wanda choked on the items. Big Grandma smacked her on the back, but only the buttons came back up.

Many weeks later, Wanda started having seizures. This was very scary to the family. Aunt Sue remembers Wanda sitting in the floor playing with a kitten when she had a terrible seizure. Grandpa gathered her in his arms and went to the door to pray over her. He promised the Lord that if he would save Wanda, he would never "backslide" again. I don't think Grandpa had anything real pressing to repent of, but I am sure that in someway he must have felt he was being punished by the Lord. So sad.

It was shortly after that last seizure that her fever got real high. Wanda started talking "out of her mind." She didn't recognize anyone. She talked to people on the walls and Grandma said she was talking to the angels. She acted scared when Big Grandma came in and Grandma asked her if she knew who she was. When Wanda didn't answer, Big Grandma took the kerchief off her head and said, "It's Mommy, Wanda." Wanda came around a little and asked that her sister Mary be sent in to clean her shoes. Wanda said she was "a-goin' to town" and wanted to have her shoes cleaned and two red ribbons put in her hair. It was at this late date that Big Grandma finally convinced Grandpa that something was terribly wrong and Wanda should be taken to the hospital. She died there on the 6th of November 1949.

Big Grandma found two red ribbons and tied them in Wanda Faye's hair. After the body was ready, Wanda was laid out in the back room for the 'wakening'. A 'wakening' is where the family and neighbors stay up all night with the body. Neighbors bring in food and sometimes there was singing. Then, little Wanda was carried up the mountain there on Stone Creek to Stapleton Cemetery. To my knowledge, she was the first of the family to be buried there.

Aunt Sue remembers that Grandpa would sometimes be found holding Wanda's picture and crying. I wonder if he felt guilty for not taking her to the doctor sooner. Sue said she "never heard tell" that Big Grandma ever accused him or made him feel guilty. I suppose she knew how heart broken he was too.

Wanda died of what was assumed to be gangrene and an abscess. When doctors asked if they wanted an autopsy, she said no because she knew it must have been the little brass ball that had a jagged edge on one side. The doctor agreed that it could have gotten lodged somewhere and caused an infection.

Big Grandma still had several young children to care for at home, including the 2-year-old twins. I suppose she didn't have much time to grieve or perhaps she immersed herself in her work to keep from feeling the loss.

I often think fondly of the day Big Grandma died. I can imagine sweet little Wanda standing by her daddy and waiting patiently to embrace her dear mommy again.

Tomorrow, I will write about Big Grandma's last tragedy, the death of her husband. On the other hand, we might need a few more happy stories before we tell that one.

Read the next story here.

Story 4: Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman Scorned

We've all heard the saying "hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," but that is actually an adaptation of the original line. Playwright William Congreve actually wrote: "Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned."

I have already told you Big Grandma didn't get mad, she got even. So this shouldn't come as too much of a surprise to you!

Apparently, Big Grandma found out that Grandpa had been helping 'that ole widder woman' (translation: that old widow woman) and she wasn't going to have it. Grandpa had been hauling wood for the woman with his mule. They used the mule and horses for just about everything, even well into the 1950's. [Side note: When my mother moved to Ohio in about 1959, her social studies teacher told them that "back in the old days, people used horses and plows to till the fields." Mom raised her hand and said, "My dad used a horse and plow just last year." The teacher accused her of lying!]

Anyway, Big Grandma told Grandpa that he had better stop helping that woman if he "knowed" what was good for him. He didn't. She caught him doing it again. I am sure she was jealous of the woman, but more importantly (as my mom speculates) she was upset that he was willing to help the woman but not willing to help her with all the work she had to do. I agree too. Sometimes, husbands are more apt to help another in need before helping us at home!

Back to the story: That evening, the mule was making awful noises. Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw! Big Grandma went to the door and hollered out to the yard, "You can hee-haw all you want to 'cause tomorrow you hain't agonna be here!"

The next morning, Grandpa went out to the pen. The mule was dead as a door nail. He came back in the house. "Mammy, you know what happened to the mule? He's died." Grandpa called her "Mammy." Big Grandma denied having anything to do with it, but PAH-LEASE...he HAD to have known she did something!

Arsenic. That's what happened to the mule, my friends. Big Grandma loved that story so much that it even influenced one of her grandchildren years later. This person will remain unnamed as they are still living, but said person didn't like something her husband did. So said person-who-shall-not-be-named waited until the husband was out of town and while doing his laundry had a fantastic idea of revenge come over her. No doubt inspired by the ghost of Big Grandma, person-who-shall-not-be-named took some underwear out to the patch of poison sumac. Some days later, when the husband arrived home and just a day after that, he found himself quite uncomfortable and in the ER!!

Now, Big Grandma wasn't all bad. I will tell you some wonderful stories of her kindness, love, and work ethic that may soften your feelings toward her. My favorite memory of Big Grandma's love is when we were sick. She would baby us something crazy, make us our favorite salty, runny eggs, pet our heads when we had a fever, or hold us on her lap. She smelled like old tobacco...she dipped snuff. Did I already mention that? Ha, ha...yep, she loved her snuff.

One time when I was a kid, I had what she called "trench mouth." It was probably hand, foot, and mouth disease, but whatever it was, I had blisters all over the inside of my mouth. They were so painful that I couldn't eat. The doctor had given us medicine, but nothing was working. I was at her house spending the night and she hollered at me to come in the kitchen. "Let Grandma fix something for you to get rid of those blisters," she said.  She reached into her white metal cabinets and pulled out a brown paper bag.  Out of the bag, she pulled out a dirty old tree root...at least that is what it looked like to me. "Goldenroot," she said. She cut off a part of the root, washed it, and then wrapped it in a towel. Then, she took a hammer and pounded it into a fine powder. Putting a little warm water into a bowl, she mixed the powder in to make a wash of sorts. She used a clean white cloth and swabbed it all over the inside of my mouth and told me to spit out the excess and not to swallow it. I was thinking, "Does my mom know you are doing this?" But I was too afraid to say that I would not do it or that I didn't trust her! The wash was so bitter and it made me feel like I had cotton mouth. The next morning every blister was completely gone!

Prior to moving to Ohio, one of the ways Big Grandma made money for the family was to search the mountains for herbs and roots with medicinal properties and sell them. She may not have been the most educated in the way of schooling, but she was one of the smartest women I ever met!

Oh by the way, did you know that half chewed chewing tobacco stuffed into the ear canal will cure an ear ache?

Read story 5 here...it's a sad one.

Story 3: Big Grandma's "Special" Fireworks

I guess you could say that Big Grandma liked to keep up with the Jones'.  She did not like to be out done.  She was afraid of nothing...except the Devil himself.

One fourth of July, while living in Pennington Gap on Stone Creek, the neighbors lit off some fireworks.  They lived back in the 'holler.' My grandparents home was atop one mountain and the neighbors was across the road and up on top of the other mountain.

I can image it was a warm night like many of them are in the South. Lightening bugs flashing and crickets singing, the Napier family was having a good ole' time lighting fireworks off their mountain.

Big Grandma is remembered to have said, "They think they are so big with their fancy fireworks. Well, I will show them fireworks they won't likely forget."  With that, she and her partner-in-crime (son-in-law Lewis Nimety) went out to the shed for some "fireworks."  Only Big Grandma didn't actually have any real fireworks.  She was looking for a stick of dynamite!!

Remember, I told you what Grandpa did in the mines.  He was the one that drilled the holes for the dynamite.  I suppose he just brought some home.  You never know when a family may be in need of dynamite, right!?

She and Lewey found the "good stuff" and took it out near their small field which was as far as you could get from the house without going into the woods.  And then it happened.  They lit that stick of dynamite and in the words of Big Grandma, "We about blowed that mountain clean off!"  Shoot. She's lucky she didn't blow an arm off!  Crazy woman!

I mentioned that she had a partner.  She would often use her boys as her little minions.  Her first partner was son-in-law, Lewey.  He would do just about anything she asked him to do .  Like the time he dressed in a sheet and went up behind the house and past the windows moaning to scare my Aunt Mary.

As her youngest son Ray grew up, he became one of her little proteges.  When she got bored, she would ask Ray to go get the cats and throw them in the pillowcase...you know, to make them hiss and fight.  She would laugh her head off at the hissing and pissing. Oh my word, I don't usually use such language, but that is what she said.

I don't know what it was about her, but she loved a good fight.  Her favorite thing to watch on TV was professional wrestling.  She called it 'rastlin'.  She would holler and yell at the TV and laugh till she cried when they got jumped on.  Her favorite move was when they would jump from the top of the ring!

Big Grandma loved Ric Flair...she said he was a "purty boy" (that means "pretty" to you Yankees.) She also loved Roddy Piper and Hulk Hogan, but who doesn't?!  One of the grandkids bought her the action figures of Ric, Roddy, and the Hulk and she hung them on the wall next to the pictures of the family!  Now THAT is a fan!

I think we will talk about how she handled jealousy tomorrow.  I might entitle it "Big Grandma's Jealous Rage" or "What Happened to the Mule?" Read that story here.

Story 2: Big Grandma's Secret and Early Married Life

In this series of stories, I am writing about my maternal grandmother, Goldie Witt Cole.  My sisters and I called her Big Grandma.

Story 2:

Many years ago as I was sourcing my family tree, I looked for the marriage record of Big Grandma to my grandfather, Robert Cole.  I used FamilySearch.org and put in the parameters for a likely marriage in Lee County, Virginia.  You can image my surprise when I saw this:

I was not expecting to see TWO marriage records for Big Grandma.  There was obviously a story behind this!  I asked my mother.  Mom said that back in the 1980's, her sister-in-law had been doing some family history and ran across the same record.

Quiet speculation arose and one theory was that Big Grandma used Robert Sybert to make Grandpa jealous so that he would marry her. But that doesn't seem to fit.  Her marriage record to Mr. Sybert was dated July 1928, but she didn't even meet Grandpa till 1930, as far as I can tell.

Then, I found Robert Sybert's "second" marriage record.  It was dated DECEMBER 1928. Interesting!!  Maybe it was the opposite and rather than Big Grandma marrying Mr. Sybert to make Grandpa jealous, she actually did it to make Mr. Sybert's girlfriend jealous!!  After all, he married just 5 months later!  Maybe their little plan worked!

Big Grandma married my grandfather, Robert Cole, on 11 November 1933 in Lee County, Virginia. Grandpa was a coal miner and they lived in a coal camp after they were married.  I am not sure which coal mine he was working at when they first married, but it would have been Kemmer Jim or Bonny Blue.

Bonny Blue Coal Company was in Lee County, Virginia.  There are several really nice pictures online of this mine.  Here are a couple of my favorite.

Learning about life in a coal camp kind of reminded me of when I lived on an Army post.  The coal camp housing was all alike and they had their own post office and commissary.  They even had their own 'money' which was called "script".  I have attached a picture of some of the coins my uncle still has in his possession as well as a little better picture I found online.

Big Grandma was married to a coal miner until Grandpa's death in 1958.  Her 3 sons and 3 sons-in-law all worked in the mines.

Grandpa's jobs in the mine were timberer and driller.  A timberer would sure up the ceilings of the mines with timber supports.  A driller would drill holes in the rock and fill with dynamite.  Wait, did I say "dynamite"?  You are going to want to hear that story! Read about the 4th of July no would ever forget here.