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Located Nashville, Tennessee
Please e-mail me at the address below.
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My Childhood Stories
I was born 1952 in Springfield, Robertson County, Tennessee.
My Chipmunk Story
or
Exciting Wildlife Rescue!When my dog saw the cat he went after her. He did not like cats. Now, normally the cat would have run away with no trouble but she had an invested interest in keeping her newly won prey so she stood her ground. I felt the need to be mediator. So, I grabbed the dog in my right arm and the cat in my left arm to keep them from fighting. While holding both struggling animals I managed to get the chipmunk from the mouth of the cat.
Chipmunks are small brown rodents with light and dark stripes on the back and head. They are about 6 inches long, look similar to tiny squirrel and live in burrows under the ground. This story took place when I was about 10 years old. It was our custom to visit family and friends on Sunday afternoons. This particular Sunday we went to visit Mama Nancy and PawPaw Swallows. They lived in Springfield down off North Main Street on 1st Ave.
On this visit I took along my dog Tippy. Instead of going inside when we got there my dog and I ran around to the backyard to play. In the back yard we discovered my grandmother's cat. The cat had just killed a chipmunk. She had the chipmunk hanging limply from her mouth.
At this time I realized that the Chipmunk was still alive. But was the Chipmunk grateful that I'd rescued him from the jaws of death? No! He didn't know I was his 10 year old protector. How did he reward me? He bit me on the thumb.
As the struggle continues I've still got the dog in my right arm trying to kill the cat which is my left arm and a chipmunk holding on to my thumb with it's teeth. (Let me stop here to remind you that a chipmunks teeth and jaws are strong enough to crack nuts.) The sudden pain in my thumb over rode my desire to be a peace keeper. It no longer was important to keep harmony in the backyard of my grandparents home. I dropped the cat and the dog and would have dropped the chipmunk if he hadn't been handing on by his teeth. I slung my finger a couple of times and sent the chipmunk flying.
With a thumb bleeding and throbbing I ran inside for help. My parents called the doctor. I didn't need stitches but the doctor was concerned about rabies. He said I'd have to have the full course of rabies shots (back then the doctor would give you seven or was it 14 shots into your stomach over a four-week period) if we couldn't find the chipmunk and keep him alive for 30 days. My Dad had been attacked by a rabid dog when he was a child and didn't want me to have to go endure the shots as he had. So, he went to the backyard and found the bruised and confused chipmunk. We took the chipmunk home and Dad made a makeshift cage for it. We learned what chipmunks liked to eat, such as nuts, small seeds, berries and fruit. It was my job to make sure the chipmunk had fresh water everyday and plenty to eat. This was good time for me to learn responsibility. If I failed to take excellent care of the chipmunk I would have to take the shots. You can be sure I took good care of him. Everyday the first thing I did was to check and see if he was still alive.
Alvin, as he came to be called, recovered from his cat attack and lived the full 30 days. At this time my parents gave me the decision of his future. I could keep him or let him go. My ten year old self decided that Alvin's family probably missed him very much and were wondering where he was. So, with great ceremony we took Alvin back to my grandparents back yard and let him return to his family. I made certain there were no cats and no dogs present.
The Hummingbird Story
or
Another Exciting Wildlife Rescue!
window and broken it's neck. I picked up the tiny bird. It was only about 3 inches long and an inch of that was it's bill. I decided to take it home for burial. It seemed a shame for such a beautiful bird to be crushed by passersby.
This story took place when I was about 12 years old. Hummingbirds are small birds only about 3 inches long. Their eggs are the size of large peas. They are so tiny you can fit about 16 eggs in a tablespoon. Each Spring they migrate to America from Mexico and Central America. They spend the Summer here and then fly the 2000 miles back in the Fall.
My Dad had just picked me up from school on one of the first cool days of Fall. We stopped by a small market to buy some milk on our way home. As we were walking up to the door of the market I saw a small Ruby Throated Hummingbird laying dead on the sidewalk. It had flown into the large plate glass
Dad bought the milk and we started home. At that time we lived about 5 miles outside of Springfield, Tennessee in the country. It took about 10-15 minutes to drive the narrow winding road home.
Little did I know that Hummingbirds can go into a state of hibernation during cold temperatures.
While like this they might appear to be dead. The hummingbird can conserve energy this way. As soon as the bird warms up, it will revive and all of its functions will return to normal. If you find a hummingbird do not assume that it is dead as I did.About half way home I started to feel a small movement in my hands. Evidently the hummingbird was NOT dead. It had only been stunned. I was quite startled. My first impulse was to open my hands and fling the bird away. (I was remembering my chipmunk rescue). But reason took over and I realize this would result in harm to hummingbird. He would fly around in the car and into the windows again. He probably wouldn't survive a second crash. My second impulse was to squeeze the bird tightly to keep him from moving around and pecking me. But reason took over once again as I realized that I could easily crush his tiny body. So, I held my hands careful not to move them at all.
The warmth from my hands was reviving the bird. That was a long drive home that day. When we got home Dad opened my door for me and I stepped out of the car careful not to jar the bird. I slowly and cautiously opened my hand. The hummingbird flew away to a nearby cornfield. I like to think he was grateful, but in reality he was probably wondering just what had happened and was thrilled to be on his way south again.
These birds migrate every Fall south to Mexico. Many Ruby-throats travel south through the Florida peninsula, then island hop to Mexico. Others follow the Texas coast. Though it has never been proven, many experts believe a large number of Ruby-throats migrate straight across the Gulf of Mexico. They migrate as far as 2000 miles. One of the most amazing things about hummingbird migration is the fact that, after that such a long journey, so many of them find their way back to the exact same location every spring. So maybe just maybe he was one of the hummingbirds I saw again the next year sipping nectar from the feeder hanging on our back porch.
Memories Of My Mother
Betty Jane O’Neal Swallows
1929-2000I think a lot about my Mom this time of year. It is the anniversary of her passing. She’s been gone 3 years now. I still miss her. I find that as time goes by I don’t remember as vividly the later years when she was so ill, but instead choose to remember those memories that come from earlier years. Years before her health started to diminish.
I find myself wanting to talk with her and tell her how things are going with me, my husband, children and now my grandchildren. I want to show her how her teaching efforts at cooking, cleaning and sewing have paid off. I still want her to be proud of me. It would be so nice if she could come and set in my church and see Thor preach and me play the piano for our congregation.
Mom was one of those old fashioned mothers. She preferred to stay home and raise her children instead of having a career. She could have been anything she wanted to be. She wanted to be there for us when we came home from school. She wanted to cook our breakfast and wake us up each morning. She wanted to volunteer at all our school functions. She wanted to dress up and take us to Sunday School and church. She enjoyed all the small chores that filled up her day. She wanted to be needed. We needed her.
I have such special memories of lying on Mom and Dad’s bed and watching her sit for hours at the sewing machine sewing dresses for ladies in our small town. She enjoyed contributing to the family income like this. Watching her taught me how to sew. I’d bring my dolls and ‘campout’ on her bed. I play and cut out cloth from scraps left over from her work. I’d hand sew dresses and hats that were the latest fashion for my dolls. I now use that talent to make dolls and dresses for my own grand daughters.
I can still see mom standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes. A never ending chore back in the days with no dishwashers. Especially with all the cooking she did.
I can still see her standing in the kitchen over a hot ironing board sprinkling water on clothes to help with the wrinkles. She would then roll the clothes up and store them in the refrigerator for awhile before she ironed them. She said it helped. She ironed all our clothes even our sheets and pillow cases. We didn’t have wrinkle free linens back then.
I can still see her sitting on the porch with a RC Cola in one hand and a Pall Mall cigarette in the other. She would take a break from work occasionally and the porch was the coolest place in the house.
I remember the first time she let me cut her hair. I didn’t want to do it. But she said, ‘Go ahead you can do it. I know you can.’ I did. And it didn’t look too bad. From then on I kept her hair cut short and gave her numerous permanents. She’d stand bent over the kitchen sink while I’d wash her hair for her. She loved for me to wash her hair. She always said it felt so good. Sometimes I’d get water down in her ears but she didn’t seem to mind. We’d just laugh about it. Then we’d go out on the back porch and I’d pin a towel around her. She’d sit so still as I’d cut her hair that she’d fall asleep. Bless her heart, she was tired from all the work she did. Then I’d give her one of those stinky home permanents. We had all the different color plastic rollers with those thin papers that look like cigarette papers. She’d hand me the papers and curlers and I’d roll them up. She always said I did just as good a job as the beauty parlor. But if the permanent did do well she’d say, “ I guess it wasn’t fresh. It must have set too long on the shelf at the store.” Never criticism for my efforts.
We’d always ask Mom what she wanted for Christmas. For years it seems we always got the same answer. Evening in Paris Perfume. I haven't smelled Evening In Paris in many years. It was a floral blend with woodsy overtones that came in a cobalt blue bottle. This was the first perfume I ever remember smelling. The only one I remember her wearing as we were growing up.
Mom always wore lipstick when she went anywhere. Usually bright red. She used very little makeup, maybe a little powder on Sundays, but she never went anywhere special with out her lipstick. I remember little pieces of tissue with red lips printed on them lying around the bathroom.
I remember trying to get my Mom to wear more makeup, fix her hair different, take better care of her hands by using lotions. She would just look at me and smile. I didn’t understand then as I do now. You just can’t have glamorous hands when you put them in dishwater 5 times a day, use various cleaners in the bathroom, and hang out wet clothes on the clothesline in cold weather.
Once while in college and having earned a little money on my own I thought to buy her a dress deserving of her beauty. I searched and searched. I finally found one at Sears. It was blue and looked magnificent on her. It was expensive but she was worth it. I now realize Mom could have bought stylish expensive dresses anytime she wanted them. Instead she chose to buy things for me, for my brother or my father. She was as selfless a person as I’ve ever seen.
She always seemed to be moving, even if she wasn’t working. She’d sit in a rocking chair and rock or she’d sit in a swing and swing. If she didn’t have one of those she would sit and swing one leg crossed over the other. Many a Sunday service I’d see her sitting there just as proper as could be with that leg just a going.
Mama loved Daddy. It was as simple as that. She loved him. There was never any doubt in anyone’s mind. Just ask anyone that knew them. She was devoted to him. She saw to as many comforts for him as possible. She was respectful and loving. Mama didn’t mind showing affection. She showed Daddy and she showed her children. She was generous with her hugs and kisses, but she never ran out.
One thing she didn’t like was conflict. She’d go out of her way to avoid an argument. She’d get real uncomfortable if Dad and I got into a political or intellectual debate. Dad and I would just get to going good when she just couldn’t stand it anymore and would ask us to stop.
Mama was quite ingenious. She could take just about anything and make something of it. She used old woolen cloth and tore it into long strips, then braided it into rugs for our home. She’d take the zippers out of our old clothes and reuse them. She’d cut the buttons off our old clothes and reuse those. She’d take hand me down clothes that didn’t fit and remake them to where they did.
Mom had a sense of humor. I remember a joke she played on a group of kids from church. It was one that she remembered her grandmother, Dora Ensor, playing. It was called “Making the Scissors Walk”. You needed a pair of scissors, enough black wash size cloths for everyone present and darkness. She would give everyone a black cloth and then tell them she was going to make the scissors walk. She would stick the scissors point down into a old table. Everyone gathered around with only a candle for light. Mom would call on the scissors to walk. Walk scissors walk. Walk scissors walk. When they didn’t walk she would suggest that everyone need to concentrate, and keep their eyes on the scissors. Next she would tell everyone to rub their faces real hard with the black clothes. Mom was such a sweet innocent no one ever suspected the cloths had been rubbed up our chimney and covered in soot. When the light came back on everyone looked around at others faces and started laughing, not realizing yet that they looked the same.
When Dad and his father built our house Mom was right there doing everything she could to help. She’d pack sandwiches and cold drinks to take to them. She’d pick up after them as they left scraps of lumber. She nailed the flooring down right along with my Dad. She helped them raise the walls up after they had been framed out. She was Dad’s helpmeet in every way.
She enjoyed fishing as few women would. She loved to go with Dad and fish. And she didn’t mind cleaning her catch and cooking it. Several times a year she would plan a big fish fry where she cooked platters of fresh fish, mounds of hush puppies and French fries.
She enjoyed the outdoors. She liked walking along the creek banks, picking flowers. Almost every Springtime, around that last of March, when I was small we would walk along Sulfur Fork Creek up stream from the old water treatment plant and pick armfuls of Virginia bluebells.
She had a rose garden that had many varieties. There were yellows and pinks, white and red. And the smell, Oh, they smelled so fragrant. She had a red climber that smelled the way roses are supposed to smell. For Mother’s Day we usually had one we could cut and wear to church. Red if your mother was living. White if she had passed away. She also raised iris and Gladiolas that were beautiful. She and Dad lined the back walk with huge yellow and rust chrysanthemums. In the spring she would take cuttings of yellow forsythia and arrange attractive bouquets on the table. She also raised African violets inside. African violets are more dependent on regular care than most other houseplants. It is one that will take up minimum space, and bloom several times. She always tried to keep them in the northern window light. She said it was better for African violets. She must have been right for they seemed to thrive under her care. She also said never pour water over their leaves. It would make them rot and if the sun shone of the water it would burn a hole in the leaves. Around Christmas time she usually had a Christmas cactus in full bloom.
When I was very young we lived in a house with no running water. In order to wash my hair Mother would first heat the water on a wood burning stove. She would have me lay on my back on top of the kitchen table with my head hanging off but over one of the chairs on which she had placed an empty pan. She would pour the warm water over my hair and into the empty pan. We didn’t have shampoos like we do now. We used bar soap to wash our hair. As you know this would leave a dulling soap scum on our hair. Mom would mix a glass of water with half apple cider vinegar. She would pour this through our hair to rinse out the soap scum then she would rinse out the vinegar smell with clear water. The vinegar brought out the red highlights in our hair.
When I was small we didn’t have washers and dryers like we have today. Mom had an old washing machine that had an electric ringer on it. We would fill the washer up with water, add soap and then turn on the machine. It would agitate the clothes. Then Mom would use a long stick, or what looked like a stick, and pull the clothes out one piece at a time and run them through the ringer into the big tub of cold water. It would squeeze the water out. The clothing would go through these 2 rolling pins and come out the other side minus the water and flat as a pancake. It wasn't real good for the buttons. She'd stir them around in the rinse water until the bubbles were gone, run them back through the ringer and put them into the big clothes basket on the floor. When the basket was full we would each grab an end and carry it out to the clothesline. I'd hand her the clothes and pins, and she would put them on the line to blow in the summer breeze until dry.
Mom had an order to the way she hung out clothes. She would hang all the wash clothes next to each other, all the towels next to each other, all the pants next to each other and so on. Our line looked very neat and orderly. We had a metal clothes line that would sag from the weight of the wet clothes so you had to have a wood pole in the middle to raise up and support the line. This wasn’t a bad job in the spring or fall. It was kind of fun to have a job that got you out side. But in the summer it was hot. But they did dry quick. Unlike in the winter when you would leave them out all day and they still wouldn’t be completely dry when you brought them in. Sometimes they would freeze stiff and be hard as boards when you took them
down. Mom would add starch to the some of the clothes. For my brother’s blue jeans she had metal stretchers that were inserted into the legs of the pants. As the pants dried they dried with fewer wrinkles. Mom took pride in her laundry ability. I remember once she hired a black lady, Lydia, to help us do some extra work around the house getting ready for my brothers’ wedding. Lydia made the comment that she had never seen clothes as white as ours that were washed in the old time washers like we had. She said usually they had a grey tint because most ladies didn’t change the rinse water often enough. Mom just beamed from the compliment. She kept our house clean. Every year we Spring and Fall cleaned. That meant moving the furniture and dusting and cleaning behind it. Taking the bed apart and washing the individual bed springs. We didn’t have box springs. We had the old metal bed springs. We took pictures off the wall and cleaned them. All the curtains were taken down, washed, starched, ironed and rehung. Floors were cleaned and waxed until they shone. Windows were cleaned inside and out. Blankets where hung on the clothesline to ‘air’.
After a day of hard work, after she cooked supper, then she would sit down and relax. If it was summer time we would sit in the back yard and talk, sing or tell stories. If we weren’t too tired we’d play a game of horse shoes. We had real ones. One set of horse shoes and one set of mule shoes. If it was winter time our family watched TV. Some shows I remember were Route 66, My 3 Sons, Sugar Foot, Wanted Dead or Alive, Broken Arrow, Cheyenne, Rifleman, Death Valley Days or Paladin. If it was Saturday night we watched Lawrence Welk. Sometimes Mom and Dad would get up and dance to the music of Lawrence Welk. It was fun to see that. I’ll always remember them that way. Dancing in our small living room. She smelling of Evening in Paris perfume. Him smiling and holding her close.
Muddie and Umpa - My great grandparents1880-1963 Dora Angeline Isbelle Ensor
1880-1957Rev. Simon Monroe EnsorMuddie and Umpa were the names I called my great grandparents. They were Mama Chris’s mother and father.
Two years before I was born they celebrated their 50 wedding anniversary. Their entire family was with them for the celebration.
I was 6 years old when Umpa passed away and 10 when Muddie passed on.
Even being so young I still have sweet memories of them. Probably kept alive by the fond recollections of my mother. She thought of them more as parents since she had gone to live with them after her parent’s divorce.
Old Photos show Muddie was beautiful. My Mama, Betty, always described her as very prim and proper. She sat very straight with out her back touching the chair and both feet on the floor. It was considered improper for a lady to cross her legs. She could cross her feet but not her legs. She didn’t use the word legs in mixed company either. She said limbs.
My Mama, Betty, remembered Umpa as being a strict disciplinarian. Once he stopped the car and scolded her because she said the word gosh.
Umpa was born with 2 clubfeet. I was told he straighten one foot himself. He got a wooden box that cheese had come in and wore it on his foot until it straightened. The other foot never did straighten. His left foot was turned completely inward toward the right foot. He walked with a cane. He would crawl along the ground to work in his beloved garden.
Umpa served as pastor in Cross Plains, at two separate times, at Livingston Station, Elkton, Blanche, Southside, Springfield, Bethpage, Pleasant View and at Barren Plains. During his early ministry he held three services a day in as many different churches. As a revivalist he has been in nearly every Methodist church within the Robertson County area to conduct meetings which many times lasted for two weeks.
I remember their house. It was located 3 miles North of Springfield, Robertson Co. Tennessee on the Barren Plains Road. It was a lovely home with living room, dining room, kitchen, 2 bedrooms, bath and enclosed back porch downstairs and two bedrooms upstairs. It had a front porch that spanned the entire front of the house. Beautiful trees and shrubbery with nearly 7 acres of gardens and orchards surrounded their home.
Not only was he a pastor and evangelist, but also an agriculture pioneer. His experiments with corn brought him national fame. His corn variety became known as Ensor's Paymaster. He also developed a blight resistant tomato, called the Pan-American variety. Umpa also raised bees and had plenty of honey. He had a total of 17 hives when I was a little girl. I remember them lining his driveway. He had an orchard of 75 trees, an excellent year-round garden, a cow and a fattening hog. A large grape arbor furnished an ample supply of fruit for his family and friends. I loved his grapes and apples.
One year we helped him make apple cider. After all the apples had been gathered my Dad was turning the press. Dad stopped and Umpa told him to go on and press some more. My Dad said, “If I press any more the press will break.” Umpa said, “You won’t break my press.” He had no idea how strong my Daddy was. The press cracked, but that cider was so good cold.
One of the things I remember most about Muddie were her peppermint sticks. They were King Leo brand and came in a classic blue tin. I remember her giving me one to eat on my way home from her house almost every visit. She was pretty smart to wait and give it to me as I was leaving. My fingers would get very sticky.
While the grown ups were visiting I would sit on the floor and play with an ashtray that I’m sure was never used as such. But it was one of those giveaways for advertising purposes. It was a rubber tire with a glass insert. I loved to roll it across the floor or spin it around. It always sat on the shelf under the library table. Muddie also had a green pillow I thought was so unique. It was a bolster pillow and sat at one end of the couch.
Another special memory I have was spending the day with Muddie. She laid down every day for an afternoon nap. So came naptime I laid down with her. I remember being curled up on the bed with her.
I remember after Umpa died they were getting the house ready to auction. Muddie told me I could pick out anything I wanted to keep for my own. I choose a beautiful plaster of Paris lady dressed in a long pink dress and bonnet. I kept her for years. She finally broke. But I have other things that
belonged to Muddie. I inherited a set of green depression ware and some of her every day silver. The large serving spoons show much wear and the fact that she was right-handed. She stirred with them until they wore away at an angle. Umpa died at age 77, in Jesse Holman Jones Hospital, Springfield, on March 15, 1957, as the result of a stroke he had suffered two weeks before. I have some of his possessions. One I treasure was his Methodist Pastor’s book from 1941. In it he recorded information about his congregation. A page corner was turned down to a well-worn section containing the Matrimony ritual.
After Umpa died Muddie sold her home and for the next 2 years resided with a sister, Mrs. Jewell Lee of Nashville. They lived 2 or 3 houses from Shelby Park on Shelby Ave. We went to visit her there several times. I may have even seen a cute blonde curly headed boy riding his bicycle past her door on his way to the park. Who knows anything is possible. (Thor, my future husband lived a few streets over and although we didn’t meet until 1972 I like to imagine I may have seen him ride his bicycle pass her house on the way to the park)
Muddie died in St. Thomas Hospital at Nashville following a brief illness. My mother, Betty, and my Grandmother, Mama Chris, were all with her when she died. I remember when Mom came home. She said, “As Muddie lie dying she quoted the 23rd Psalm.” How wonderful to meet your Saviour in such a way!
Mama Chris - My grandmother
Myrtle Christine Ensor O’Neal
1906-1991My first memory of Mama Chris is medicine bottles and a white uniform. She was a nurse. She would bring me small glass medicine bottles to play with.
She was raised the daughter of a Methodist Circuit Riding Preacher. She was the 3rd of eight children. They moved about a great deal, from one pastorate to another. She was born in Ensor Valley located in Putnam County, Tennessee west of Cookeville. She was living with her family in Blanche, Lincoln County, Tennessee, when she met Curtis O’Neal (Papa O’Neal). She was 18 when they married. He was 19. They had been married 7 years when they divorced. I never knew the reason. I asked many times but never found out.
She was to go on to study music after high school. She had a music scholarship. Instead she married Papa O’Neal. After her divorce she raised her daughters Judy and Betty. Life was not easy for her. It must have been very difficult for her to raise two children alone during the Great Depression. For a time she lived with her parents. They must have been a great help, but I’m sure she felt the shame of a divorce since her father was a Methodist Preacher. She played the piano for his services. She also sang with her Dad and brothers on WSIX Radio when it first started in Springfield. That was before it moved to Nashville. Mr. Louis Draughon started WSIX above 638 Tire Company across from the post office in the upstairs.
After her daughters married she became a nurse to the Hoover (of Hoover Vacuum Cleaner fame) family children and traveled with them. After the Hoover’s divorce she got a job in Gallatin where her daughter Judy lived.
I have fond memories of my grandmother. She lived in Gallatin and we lived in Springfield, a little less than 50 miles. For many years she came to visit us every other weekend. She worked for a Dr. Loveless and later at the Sumner County Hospital. As a nurse she had to work every other weekend. On the weekends she came to our house she would have her teal suitcase packed and waiting in her car so when work was over she could leave immediately. She continued being a nurse in the Sumner Co. TN hospital until a heart attack in 1965 caused her to retire.
She drove a 1948 black Ford Coupe. It had belonged to her father and she kept it in mint condition. She let me drive it one time.
On Fridays, as I walked home from school, if it was her weekend to come, I’d suddenly remember and start smiling. I so looked forward to her visits. I would save up things to show and tell her.
She was fun. She enjoyed going fishing. So lots of Saturdays our family might go fishing. She’d play rummy or other games with me. She listened to me.
She’d play the piano. Her mother had taught piano so of course she had learned. She could play beautifully. But as she got older she got arthritis in her hands. They became gnarled and she was unable to play anymore.
Mama Chris was one of my few sources of earning money. She loved to have me brush her hair. I would brush and brush and brush. It seemed like I’d brush an hour, but it was probably only 10 min. She’d pay me a quarter. I dreamed of becoming a beautician.
A lot of times we shared a bed. She said it was nice to have a bedfellow that kept her back warm.
I can still remember her sitting on my parent’s back porch smoking a corncob pipe and drinking iced tea.
She knitted and crocheted. I remember all the house slippers she’d make us. They kept our feet toasty warm. But I liked them for another reason. We had hard wood floors and they were great for skating. You could get a good running start and slide all the way across the floor.
When I was in junior high school she made me a secret proposal. She promised to buy me a desk if would make good grades. I tried hard and did. One Saturday, we went shopping and she bought me a brand new desk. I was thrilled. I worked even harder in school after I got that desk.
After her heart attack in 1965 she alternated living between her daughters, Betty and Judy. In 1973, after Judy and her husband Jewel had both passed away, she stayed with their 3 children and cared for them. She never remarried. She felt is would be a sin if she remarried.
In 1977 I was expecting my third child. My own mother’s ill health prevented her from coming to help us and Thor’s mother was working full time. Mama Christine came weeks before my due date so Andrew and Theresa would feel comfortable staying with her. At age 77, she came and took care of 2 small children, both under the age of 2 ½ years, while I was in the hospital. She cooked, cleaned and took care of all of us after I came home from the hospital. I was so grateful. We named Christine in honor of her.
My last memory of Mama Chris was her lying quietly on a respirator at the hosptial, white uniforms of her nurses and a kiss goodbye on her cheek as I left the room. She was 85 years old.
North Springfield Baptist Church
I grew up going to church. One church, North Springfield Baptist Church. I can’t ever remember not going. Maybe that was because my mother taught Vacation Bible School in 1952 while being 9 months pregnant with me. Going to church was the main event of my week before I started school.
Our typical little white wooden church with bell tower was located on 1st Ave. in north Springfield within the shadow of Springfield Woolen Mills where my Daddy worked. We also lived in the shadow of that mill. It’s whistle blew for work to start every morning, it blew at lunch time, and it blew for quitting time when it’s tired employees walked up the hill passed our house on their way home.
But our little church had a different way to call its flock to service. It had a bell. Mr. Boissiau faithfully pulled the bell rope that rang the bell every Sunday morning. When we heard that beckoning call we stepped out the door and walked the half block to church. I dressed in my frilly dresses, patent leather shoes, carrying my little Bible. My brother in his white shirt, tie and suit and of course my parents in grown up versions of what my brother and I were wearing.
I have thousands of memories of that church and it’s congregation. I remember sitting on dark wooden pews on hot humid Sundays in my little short ruffled dresses with the backs of legs sticking to the pew. I remember pew backs filled with songbooks and wooden handled fans that pictured Christ kneeling in the garden and advertised Associated Funeral Home. I remember the long narrow windows opened wide as possible to let in any breeze that might blow by. I remember singing and music, holding hands in a circle of prayer, old ladies with blue grey hair and Bibles, old men with hands jingling change in their pockets, and offers of chewing gum after service was over.
Just up the street from the church on Walnut Street was Woods Grocery Store. It was run by Mr. Robert and Mrs. Nelly Woods. Before they both started attending church, while I was still very small, their store would be open on Sunday morning. One Sunday morning I hadn’t been a very good child. My Daddy, at the end of his patience, took me outside to show me the error of my ways. After my tears had been dried and unknown to my mother who was still inside with my brother listening to the sermon, we walked up the street to that little store and got popsicles. This might have turned into a propitious future for me if I had kept my mouth shut. But it seems I bragged about my popsicle on the way home. Dad and I both were in trouble then. And ever after Mom was the one that took me out when I was in trouble. Sorry Dad.
I remember the revivals. Sometimes they last 2 weeks but mostly only one. One particular revival made a lasting memory. I had gotten permission to not sit with my parents because we children were going to play our little black plastic flutes. We were allowed to remain sitting on the front row after our performance by promising to be good and not talk. I was thrilled, because I got to sit by my friend Wanda Wooden. It was one of those hot sticky summer nights that promises a thunderstorm. We had kept our word and been on our best behavior. The preacher was preaching like there was no tomorrow. I was concentrating so hard on being good that I hadn’t noticed a thunderstorm had encompassed us. Suddenly in a flash the lightening struck somewhere close by causing the lights to go out. Wanda screamed as if she had been hit. I held her hand. We froze not knowing what to do. The pastor calmed everyone and even make a few laugh with his remarks of “Don’t worry about the lights staying off, I’m not preaching from notes, and can preach just as well in the dark.” And he did. He kept right on preaching and we girls kept right on holding on tightly to each other. Flinching between the thunder, lightening and his warnings of repentance.
One Sunday morning after sitting through church service waiting anxiously to go to the rest room as soon as we were dismissed my friend Kay Hand and I finally got permission to go. At six years old we always tried to go to the bathroom with a friend. After all we had to go down the narrow stairs, down the long dark hall, into a classroom that held the huge old furnace, behind a curtain that separated the room, and finally through a door into the bathroom. This dark damp basement room had one small window up close to the ceiling. On this day my friend and I managed to get the door closed and locked, because 6-year-old little girls need lots of privacy. But when it was time to leave we couldn’t get it unlocked and opened. We yelled and no one heard us. We panicked. We had thoughts of being left there until next Sunday, of no fried chicken with lunch, of our parents going off with out us. After what seemed liked hours someone missed us and came looking. It wasn’t easy to get us out. A couple of men ended up having to take the door off its hinges and removing it completely before 2 crying little girls were rescued.
It seemed it my family’s special mission was not to miss any meeting. We were there Sunday morning, Sunday night and Wednesday night. That was OK with me. I liked going to church. Our church had a library. I usually managed to get there early and check out a book. By now I had earned the right to sit by myself up toward the front. Most good Baptist fill up the pews from the back forward so there were plenty of vacant pews up front for me to choose from. This way my parents could keep an eye on me and I could show how grown up I was. What they didn’t know, or maybe they did, was that I would hide my book of fiction in my Bible and look as if I was devoutly studying God’s word. They were good Christian books that I was reading and I’m not sure how much of the sermon I would have understood any way. So maybe it wasn’t so bad. I least that is what I told myself.
Christmas was always a wonderful time at our church. There were brown sacks of apples, oranges, nuts and chewing gum, plays and cantatas. But Vacation Bible School was always my favorite time. There was grand marching music each morning as we entered carrying the American Flag, Christian Flag and the Bible. Back then only boys were allowed to bring in one of the flags, but girls were compensated by being the ones honored to carry in the Bible. There was real homemade lemonade, and cookies. There were Bible stories, and crafts. There were parades of cars blowing our horns and carrying banners about VBS with children hanging out the window waving and inviting others to come. And on Friday night all our parents would come see what we had done all week. We would proudly take home white plastic bleach bottles sprayed gold and converted to hold plants, plaster of paris castings of praying hands to be hung on the wall, and of course popsicle stick creations.
All in all they were wonderful years spent in Girls Auxiliary, mission work, revivals, Bible stories, Sword Drills and choir. I wish I could go back and thank all the little old ladies who labored and taught and led. In case there is some way that you have of looking down today – THANKS.
Over on the Hill
Robertson County, Springfield, Tennessee
My earliest memories are of living over on the hill. That’s how we later distinguished living there from other places. Our home is no longer there but in the 1950's was located between Wilson Street and what later became Memorial Blvd. It was a white wooden house, with a front porch that extended the full length. That front porch had a long porch swing. We spent many an hour sitting out there. Mom and I would sit there during the day when Dad was at work and my brother was at school. In the cool of the summer’s evening our family would sit there and watch the traffic on the newly built section of Memorial Blvd. (Hwy. 41 North)
We heated with coal in an open fireplace in the living room. There was a stove of some type in the bedroom. The kitchen had a wood stove that Mother cooked on. When I was about 6 years old Mother got an electric stove for the kitchen. She was so proud. She washed clothes in an old ringer washing machine. And then hung them outside on a clothes line to dry. She would carry me back inside in her empty white enamel red rimmed dishpan. I enjoyed the ride.
There was no bathroom. No inside plumbing. We had a “two seater” outhouse. I remember Mother decorating it at Christmas time because our Georgia relatives were coming. However we did have hydrant on the edge of property. In the winter we took baths in a washtub, that Mother hand filled with water, in the middle of the kitchen floor by the wood stove. She heated the water on the stove first. In the summer Daddy would hook a hose pipe up to the hydrant and run it around to the back of the house, then up into a tree. We would take outside showers under this.
Mama used to call our grocery order in on the telephone. (we had one of those) Mr. Robert Woods would deliver the groceries in the back of his truck to our house.
We raised chickens and beagle hounds. The chickens for fried chicken. The beagle hounds for fried rabbit. Daddy loved to hunt. The beagles were so much fun to watch and play with. Daddy would sometimes take me with him when he went hunting. But I was so little I would tire easily. Once he left me sitting on a stump while he tried to round up some errant dogs. It seemed forever before he came back.
Lady, one of Dad’s beagles had puppies one time and the weather was so cold he had to bring mother dog and new born puppies into the house to stay. During the night Lady decided it was time to move her pups. She brought them into my bedroom. But that was OK. Only a year earlier Dad had found an orphaned baby rabbit and brought it home for Mom to nurse with an eyedropper. That rabbit also ended up in my bedroom. Although it is rare for a wild baby rabbit to live like that, this one managed and Dad returned it to the wild when it was old enough. This must be how I developed my sense of justice. I saw nothing wrong with helping the poor abandoned rabbit, letting him go back into the wild, only later to hunt him down and have him for dinner. That was considered fair game.
The chicken weren’t as much fun. We raised the Bantam kind. They are smaller than normal chickens. There was one rooster that liked to peck. My brother, Odis about age 9, had been watching Davy Crocket on TV. Davy it seems had success, at least in legend, in "grinning down" a bear. This involved confronting the bear, showing your teeth in a big grin and having a starring contest until the bear runs away. Odis wanting to be like Davy decided to handle the pecking roster by "grinning him down". (Children – Don’t try this at home). The rooster won and Odis ran. The showing of teeth, which people interpret as smiling, is often a threat display to an animal. Thus, Davy Crockett truly may once have "grinned down" a bear. I know of no one else who "grinned down" any dangerous animal, but at least Odis tried.
There was one funny incident that happened to my Dad while we lived here. It seems Dad enjoyed the hobby of making his own wine. (Just enough for medicinal sake you understand.) I remember helping Dad do this. He would let me stomp around on the grapes in a washtub to help squeeze the juice out of them. At first he got the grapes from my great grandfather who was a Methodist Minister. Later he raised his own. I remember Dad letting me have my own little crock of juice to ferment that was about 12 inches tall covered with cheesecloth. It held about a gallon. Upon this occasion we now figure Dad probably corked his wine a little too early. The wine was stored in our dirt basement. Well, our Church pastor had come to call only to find the smell of wine very strong since Dad’s wine bottles had just exploded in the basement. I guess he wasn’t in too much trouble with the church since he continued to be a deacon for many years.
Kentucky Lake StormThe Odis Swallows family began camping about 1959 when I was 7 years old. We continued camping every year as a family making our final trip in August of 1972 when I was engaged to marry Thor Carden. We had 13 years of memorable camping experiences. We always camped at Paris Landing State Park on the edge of Kentucky Lake.
From time to time we took family and or friends with us. Our trip highlights usually included fishing, swimming, lots of good cooking, and bird watching. One time we arrived late and set our tent up at night, only to find out the next morning the reason we hadn’t slept was we had set our tent up under a Sweet Gum Ball tree. Ouch! When the Park Ranger told us we were camped in an unauthorized area, we didn’t mind moving at all.
Mom usually had half the campers drooling over her cooking. She didn’t let camping and roughing it slow down her cooking at all. She had huge elaborate breakfasts of coffee, country ham, scrambled eggs, toast, pancakes loaded with syrup and butter. For supper we might have tons of fried fish we had caught that day, hush puppies, French fries and beans. Neighboring campers always managed to come by and tell us how good the meals smelled from over in our camping area. Mom just beamed with these compliments.
Dad kept us eager for fishing. He knew where to find all the great fishing spots. He had a network of fishing buddies that some how managed to let each other know where the fish were biting. For weeks before as we planned our Spring or Summer trip, he would set around at night making his own hand tied fishing lures. We were probably the only house in the town of Springfield that had their own worm farm. We raised night crawlers and red worms. Dad enjoyed fishing so much he always kept a fishing pole of some sort in the trunk of his car. If he saw a likely looking place we pulled over and fished.
We usually stayed about 2 weeks when camping at Paris Landing State Park. Although there were some years we only stayed one. When it came time to pack up the car to leave it was not unusual for fellow campers to come and watch. Some would make bets that we couldn’t get all our gear back into the car with out leaving one of the children behind. We always managed. Although one time I did ride the 90 miles back sitting on top of a box with my knees under my chin.
The year I remember most was the year of the big storm. We had gone to bed that night when Mom and Dad woke us and moved us to the ladies bathroom. It was the closest shelter and made of concrete blocks. We weren’t the only ones taking shelter there that night. Lots of fellow campers huddled on the floor. My Dad and brother leaned against the door in an effort to hold it closed. The wind was furious. I watched as the door would push my Dad and brother forward and they would push back just as hard and finally regain their positions. Waves were so large coming in off the Kentucky Lake that they were crashing over the tops of the floating boat dock store. Just about the time we thought it was over it seemed to turn around and come back at us. It was a long night. The next day was spent trying to get the sand out of our gear and salvage what was left of our camping equipment. We left early that year. Camping under the trees in a tent with metal poles is not where you want to be in a storm. And it wasn’t much better in the ladies bathroom.
Carr's Creek Critter StoryThe Carr's Creek Critter scare happened in Robertson County sometime between 1965 and 1970? It seems it was thought that there was some sort of creature that roamed the Carr's Creek area south of Springfield. There were some odd things that no one could account for and were laid at the feet of the Carr's Creek Critter. The local newspaper published several articles about farmers that had animals slaughtered and left in their field and strange cries in the night. This continued for one whole summer. It got so much publicity that Nashville TV or radio stations sent a helicopter up to search for the Critter. I lived close to the Carr's creek back then. Local farmers got a little tired of groups of people coming up on the weekend from other areas looking for the Critter.
That summer my cousin Margaret came up to stay with us a couple of weeks. She and I had been out playing basketball one evening when we heard a strange noise coming from the woods across from our house. We ran inside. It was hot and muggy. My parents suggested we all go for a ride in my Dad's old 1953 truck. Margaret and I hopped in the back. We drove down lots of old country roads that evening. We were heading back home when we passed through a particularly secluded area. The woods lined both sides of the road and formed a canopy overhead. It was dark. Dad was driving slow. The Carr's Creek Critter was on everyone mind that evening. I looked at Margaret and said, "Watch this!" I quietly reached around the side of the truck and stuck my hand through my Mother's open window. A made a growling sound as quickly grabbed her arm. Mom jumped and hit the ceiling of the truck and scream bloody murder. Margaret, Dad and I all laughed. But I don't think Mom found it so funny.
To read the Robertson County Times Newspaper Articles Click Here
Farm GirlWhen I was in the 7th grade my Dad, along with his father and brother, built our house out in the country. The house was located 5 miles outside of Springfield, TN on the corner of New Chapel and Cage Ellis Roads. Up until this time I had lived my entire 13 years in the small town of Springfield.
Living in the country was a wonderful experience. I loved it. It was quiet. At night it was very dark. We could see thousands of stars, including the Milky Way. Wild life was plentiful. I enjoyed watching for deer, ground hogs, rabbits and listening to the quail call to each other in the evening dusk.
What I liked most was helping my Dad with the cows and pigs. Somehow it was better than washing dishes, sweeping floors and changing beds. I guess it was because I could do this chore outside.
Dad and Mom and had gone into a partnership with our neighbor Mrs. O’Brien as half owners of a small herd of beef cows. Mrs. O’Brien provided the land for the cows to graze on; we provided the daily work of maintaining the electric fences and feeding the cows. I took great pleasure in feeding the cows. I gave names to the tamer ones.
No matter what the weather the cows had to be taken care of. It wasn’t as much work as milk cows but we still needed to be there every day, at least in the winter time when the pastures where scarce, to feed hay to the cows. I remember sloshing my way to the barn through mud so deep that every time I took a step the mud would say “wait----a----minute” and with a sucking sound pull my rubber boots from my feet. I’d stop, balanced on one foot, and reach back for my lost boot, put it on, step forward only to lose the next boot.
I would climb up to the top of the barn using the rectangular bails of hay as steps. At the top I would throw the hay down for my Dad to feed the cows or sometimes I would just go and sit up there and enjoy the solitude.
I had many places around Mrs. O’Brien’s farm that I considered my own special spots where I would go to be alone and think about growing up. The barn was one, a log that lay in the edge of the pond was another, but my favorite was a lone popular tree that stood on a hill. I’d sit there for hours reading or thinking or just looking around storing up the sights, sounds and smells. There wasn’t much I didn’t like about the country. Those were wonderful years.
I remember the first time I ever got to stay at home by myself. Mom and Dad had gone to the neighboring farm for a visit. I was so excited to be responsible enough to stay by myself. It was a Saturday afternoon and I had settled myself down to watch a scary movie on TV. I was well into my movie when a heard a crashing sound outside. Just as I jumped up the power went off. The movie in combination with the crashing sound and the power outage was enough to unnerve me. I called my parents and they rushed home to find that 2 huge hogs had gotten away from another neighboring farmer and were rooting around in our yard. In the process they had knocked over our concrete birdbath. It was just a coincidence that the power happened to have gone off at the exact same time.
We spent a lot of time outside. We played horseshoes, croquet or basketball. On summer evenings we would sit outside in the back yard. Many times we swung in the swing and sang songs. After dark we would look at the stars and tell stories. But most of the outside time was spent working in the garden or tending the fruit trees, grapevines or flowers. Mom had the most beautiful rose garden. Dad loved his fruit trees and grapevines. In our garden we raised green beans, okra, lettuce, radishes, potatoes, squash, corn, green peppers, watermelons, cantaloupe, onions, turnip greens, and lots of tomatoes. A couple of years we raised strawberries and asparagus. Dad’s fruit trees were mostly apple, a few cherry, plum and peach. Later he even planted blackberry bushes.
Every day after school and after my Dad got home from work I helped him feed the pigs. We saved food scraps and cut fresh grass for them. We would dip buckets in the pond for fresh water for them. Occasionally Dad would give them coal to crunch on. They seemed to find this a treat. Dad said they needed the minerals in it. Once while I was in college I brought home a group of city girls home for the weekend. They thought feeding the pigs was fun.
Papa O’Neal - My grandfather
Curtis Ramsey O'Neal
1905-1967I remember my grandfather as a rather large man, short ‘crew cut’ hair with a joking boisterous air. I thought he was a lot of fun. But I remember my mother blushing at some of the words he used.
Papa O’Neal married Mama Chris, Christmas day 1924. They lived in Lincoln County, Tennessee. He worked first for the Electric Power Company of Tennessee while living in Petersburg where my mother (Betty) was born. Papa O’Neal was an electrician and a manager over 2 men. Petersburg had a generator for the town. One of the men was knocked from a pole and killed in an electrical accident.
Papa O’Neal, Christine, Judy and Mama moved to Lexington, Henderson Co., Tennessee in 1933. Later that year he and Christine separated. She went to Cross Plains to live with her parents. He went to work for Alabama Power Company in Haleyville, Alabama. There he met and married Eloise Roberson after their divorce was finalized in 1934.
But because of their divorce I knew very little about he or his family. I have a faint memory of Papa O’Neal’s father, William Andrew O’Neal, whom we called Daddy Bill. He was small and old and I think he was jovial. But it was so long ago. I do remember his funeral in 1961 and traveling by car to the graveyard. His funeral was in Mt. Hope but his burial was in Blanche Cemetery, Lincoln Co., TN. It was over 70 miles and probably took a couple of hours. I was nine years old.
James Willis O'Neal was Papa O’Neal’s grandfather. He was a director in the Bank of Coldwater, Lincoln Co., Tennessee, which closed in 1929. He outlived 3 wives. I never met him. He died in 1942. His son, and father of Papa O’Neal, William Andrew O'Neal, (Daddy Bill) also outlived 3 wives. He was a farmer.
Years later after I was a grown woman and doing genealogy research I did hear a childhood story about Papa O’Neal. It involved both him and his older brother, Carter. It seems Papa O’Neal and his brother nailed the feet of a duck to a board and set it in the creek to watched it float down the river.
After his divorce from Mama Chris, Papa O’Neal continued to work for Electric Power Companies. He put the electric lines through to Tennessee Ernie Ford's home. Tennessee Ernie Ford was from Bristol, Tennessee. He was famous for the song “16 Tons”. Papa O’Neal worked for many years traveling around the USA installing huge power lines.
My first distinct memory of Papa O’Neal was on Halloween. As I walked in the door from School he and mother jumped up from behind the kitchen table and scared me. I was in the 2nd grade. Papa O’Neal had been visiting with my Mom that afternoon. He brought presents to myself and my brother, Odis Jr. He gave us small black masks that covered the top part of our faces and tin horns. The tin horns or noisemakers were orange and decorated with black owls and witches.
My next memory of Papa O’Neal was meeting him in Nashville at a Hotel where he was staying. He took our family out to eat at a restaurant, The B&W Cafeteria. We rarely ate out at a restaurant. There just weren’t any in Springfield. This was a real treat. I thought he must be rich. We got our trays and walked down the line viewing all the food. I wanted everything I saw. Mama scolded me. Papa O’Neal said, “Let her have what ever she wants.” I looked at him in awe. Then a lady in a waitress uniform came and carried my tray to the table.
Those are the only two memories I have of him separate from his home in Alabama. It was an all day trip to drive down to Mt. Hope, Alabama to see him. We didn’t go very often. There were no interstates back then. We drove only ‘back roads’, which meant you had to slow down as you passed through every small town between Springfield, TN and Mt. Hope, Alabama. It was a 200 mile trip.
Once on the way down we had to stop and take a bathroom break. I don’t remember who had to go, Mom, Dad, Odis Jr. or myself. We were about 20 miles from Papa O’Neal’s house, but we couldn’t wait. We stopped at a little store just off the Highway. The proprietor said, “No they didn’t have a bathroom, but so and so had just gotten one about so many miles down the road out in the boonies, and he was sure that they would be pleased to let us use it.” He was serious as could be. Bathrooms were not all that plentiful in rural Alabama back in the 1950’s. Usually we just pulled off the road and the guys went over in the bushes or we kept a jar or bucket in the car for we gals.
I loved the visits to Papa O’Neal’s house. I always felt a little spoiled and loved after we left. Papa O’Neal lived miles from the nearest small town and 40 miles from the nearest large town. He lived on a farm at the base of the Black Warrior Mountains in Lawrence County, Alabama. It was not uncommon for him to see deer or an occasional black bear.
Because he lived so far away from town he kept as many supplies as he could at his home. The back porch had a huge commercial freezer that was stocked full. There were case after case of Cokes stacked on the porch. There was a huge gasoline tank up on a tower that stored gasoline and had a pump similar to a gas station. He always had Dad fill our car before we left for the trip home.
He took us on tours of his farm when we visited. He had hogs that he raised. I remember being impressed because his hog barn had air-conditioning to keep the pigs cool in the hot Alabama summers. We didn’t even have that back home in our house. He took us out to the pasture to show us his cattle. He was interested in trying to raise a better breed. He pointed out a short-legged, stocky little cow and mentioned the thousands of dollars he had paid for her.
Most times he would pile us children in the back of his pick up truck and take off down the gravel road. Sometimes we would go up into the mountains near his home. I liked visiting there because I got to do things I normally wasn’t allowed to do. Oh, Mama objected, but Papa O’Neal usually just vetoed her objections. I think he thought I was over protected. Anyway I felt special.
He had a screened in front porch and I can remember a big four poster bed out there in the springtime. He enjoyed sleeping out there.
Some years we went down around Thanksgiving time and Daddy would go hunting with him. Earlier in the year Papa O’Neal would buy pairs of quail and pheasants to turn loose on his land to multiply so there would be plenty for hunting. He had well trained bird dogs. He gave Dad one who was named ‘Old Smokey’.
Sometimes when Papa O’Neal found out we were coming he would have a local BBQ place BBQ a whole side of pork. We would feast on that while we were there.
Some years we would go down right after Christmas. Other times we’d go down when the peaches were ripe. His wife Eloise made the best pickled peaches and I loved them. She always sent some home with me. She also made a cheese cracker that I liked very much.
Eloise had a beautiful china cabinet in the dining room. I loved to stand at the glass doors and admire the beautiful dishes. She had a particular set of bubble emerald green stemware that I loved.
Papa O’Neal and Eloise had 2 children, Aunt Peggy and Uncle Mike. Peggy was married when I was seven. Uncle Mike was the same age as my brother. He had a large collection of comic books that I spent hours poring over.
My last memory of Papa O’Neal alive, was him standing and waving to us as pulled out of his drive after a great visit.
When we got word that Papa O’Neal had passed away from a heart attack Mama came and got me out of school early so we could leave for the trip. I didn’t weep when I first found out. I remember later sitting down on the side of my parent’s bed and weeping. Mom came over to comfort me. I told her I was worried that Papa O’Neal might not have been saved. I was thinking about the words he used and while we visited I never saw him go to church. Plus I knew Mama, although she loved him, didn’t quite approve of all of his actions. She reassured me that he was saved.
We went down for the funeral and stayed overnight. There were so many relatives staying there wasn’t room for them all. Mom and Dad stayed down the road at a neighbor’s house, who may had been some kin of Eloise. I stayed at Papa O’Neal’s house and slept in the same bed with Eloise. I was 15 years old. There was an old black man who came to the house to pay his respects. I remember him standing in the yard and reminiscing. He said, ‘C.R. (that’s what the locals called Papa O’Neal) would give you the shirt off his back.” I remember thinking what an odd thing to say. They weren’t the same size at all. Mama explained later that the term meant he was very generous.
On the afternoon of the funeral a man who sounded and looked just like Papa O’Neal walked into the house. I almost passed out I was so startled. But no one else seemed to be upset. He was introduced and I found out he was Papa O’Neal’s brother, Carter O'Neal. He is the only one of Papa O’Neal’s siblings I ever remember meeting. At the time of his death he was chairman of the Soil Conservation District. He was also on the State Soil Conservation Committee and was the immediate past president of the Alabama chapter of that committee. He was past county president of the Alabama Farm Bureau and a member of the Lawrence County Cattlemen’s association. He was a member of the Rock Springs Mitchell Memorial Presbyterian Church. He was fairly close to Governor George Wallace, who was scheduled to attend the funeral, but at the last minute was unable.
Paw Paw and Mama Nancy - My grandparents1905-1980 Joseph Clinton Swallows
1908 - still living Nancy Ellen Cockriel SwallowsI am told that I would have nothing to do with Paw Paw when I was a little girl. He appeared large and loud man to my little self. Any way I was afraid of him. I think he won me over with a brown paper sack of nails.
Paw Paw and Mama Nancy were the names I called my paternal grandparents. Mama Nancy remembers as a teenager, sitting on her front porch and Paw Paw riding up on his horse. He had come calling. At the age of 17 Mama Nancy married my 20-year-old grandfather to be. They eloped from Logan County, KY. The year was 1925. They were married in Springfield, Robertson County, TN. At first, they lived with some of Paw Paw’s family.
They had their first child, my father, Odis Unley Swallows in 1926. Ruby Martine was born in 1928, followed by Juanita Beatrice in 1931. Joseph Darrel didn’t come along until nine years later in 1940
Paw Paw was a carpenter by occupation. He had a contractor's license. In 1939, he helped to build the Springfield High School that was located on 5th Ave. He also worked at one time for E.I.du Pont de Nemours & Co. Old Hickory, Tennessee. In 1939, he helped work on the Rubber Company in Clarksville, TN. He also worked on the construction of Clinton Laboratory renamed Oak Ridge National Laboratory (ORNL) about 1943.
Paw Paw built his own home for he and Nancy about 1948 located on 1st Ave North with a mailing address of 72 North Main Street.
I do remember he had a temper and one time he got very angry. Of course, my Uncle Joe had just kicked a football through a large upstairs window of their house.
I have fond memories of visiting Paw Paw in his workshop which was located in front of his home. I remember the good smell of fresh cut lumber, but I hated the loud noise of the band saw. I would sit with my ears covered just to be there and watch the work going on. As I got older there were also a few times I got to explore and look at all the tools and things he had brought home from various jobs. I remember the shop always being cluttered, with stacks of lumber that were "get around to it one day projects", which sometimes he did.
There was one project I remember keeping a close eye on. Our Swallows family liked to travel to Paris Landing State Park and camp. Paw Paw decided to make himself a camping trailer. We would go weekly, it seemed, to check his progress. He did a good job. There were windows you could open, a door, sleeping bunks and table. There was only one problem. It was very heavy. It weighed so much it was hard for a car to pull it. Ours overheated trying. Nevertheless, we must have managed because I do remember one trip with it.
Paw Paw seemed to have an endless supply of nails, which he generously gave to we grandchildren. I remember sitting on our back porch and practicing my hammering. I wonder how many nails my brother and I put into that porch?
To this day I still have a love of wood and tools. I still enjoy making birdhouses, bird feeders, bookshelves and other projects.
Paw Paw and Mama Nancy's home was where the entire Swallows clan met on Christmas Eve to celebrate. I can remember being so excited I could hardly wait to go. There was always plenty of good food in their kitchen on Christmas Eve as we all gathered around to pray. Later we would open gifts, then play "rock school" on their steps with my cousins. It was so much fun. The steps each represented a grade of school. The schoolmaster held out both of his hands to the child sitting on the step. If you guess correctly which hand was hiding the rock you got to progress to the next higher step and school grade. If you graduated first you won.
I remember sitting in Mama Nancy's living room and her telling me stories. She was a good storyteller. I think this must be where my Dad gets his talent. She told me the tales of "The Three Billy Goats Gruff", and "Where's My Big Toe." It was in this same living room that my genealogy quest began in 1968 while sitting on their couch filling in the blank pages of my Family Bible Genealogy. I would sit and write while Mama Nancy told me about she and her husband's family.
I remember on a trip to visit Mama Nancy. I was playing out back. Unbeknownst to me she had very carefully transplanted some wild Virginia Bluebells into her back yard. They were blooming for the first time. She was so pleased. I saw the bluebells and picked them all. I went running inside to present them to her. I was thinking to surprise her. She was surprised. I learned my first lesson in leaving other people’s flowers alone.
Mama Nancy also made her own lye soap. On one visit I was upstairs playing. My cousins and I were having a game of hide-n-seek. I crawled across Mama Nancy’s bed and slipped to the floor to hide. Only I found myself standing in the middle of a new batch of lye soap that was spread out to dry. Yuk! She was not pleased.
One thing she didn’t mind us doing was playing dress up in her old nightgowns. My cousins Elaine and Nancy Claire and I had great fun doing this. We were all so cute they even took photos of us. My Dad was dutiful in his attention to his parents. We visited every week sometimes more than once. So I got to see my Mama Nancy and Paw Paw often.
In 1965, my parents, Odis and Betty Swallows, built a home out in the country on the corner of New Chapel Road and Ellis Road. My dad hired his father and brother to help him. Paw Paw and his two sons built a beautiful well crafted home. What a feeling it must have been for them to work together and produce such a fine house. Odis Jr., my Mom and I all helped when we could. I remember doing my homework while Dad and Mom laid the hardwood floors. It truly was a family affair.
In March of 1975 Mama Nancy and Paw Paw celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary. Thor and I along with our son Andrew attended the party.
Paw Paw died in a hospital in Nashville, Davidson Co. TN of stomach cancer on March 09, 1980. He was buried in Elmwood Cemetery, Springfield, Robertson Co. TN.
Mama Nancy is still living. She is now 95 years old. Up until the last few months she was of sound mind. But lately she’s had a little trouble being coherent. Thor and I visited her last week and I fed her supper. She asked me where Paw Paw was. I explained that he was in heaven with Jesus. A little later she asked again.
SnowWintertime was a happy time when I was a little girl growing up in Springfield, Tennessee. Especially when it would snow and we could go outside and play in it.
When I was about 6 years old we lived in a house next door to the Woolen Mill where my Daddy worked. One morning after an overnight snow Dad was leaving for work. I stepped out onto the porch barefoot and dressed in my pajamas. Dad playfully picked me up and was pretending to toss me out into a snowbank when one of the ladies who worked for Dad walked by on her way to work. She thought Dad was really going to toss me. She scolded Dad. I liked her coming to my rescue even if it was unnecessary.
My brother, Odis Jr., and I would go outside and build a fort or even an igloo in the yard. We used to bombard each other with snowballs. We would make snow men and snow women.
When the snow would stick to the roads and make the roads icy we would ride Odis’s sleds up and down the street. If there was too much traffic we would walk a couple of blocks to Cheatham Park, our local elementary school, and slide down the hill with lots of other children.
Once we went sledding and were gone quite some time. I started getting very cold and wet. I left early and trudged home through the snow. When I got home Mom was concerned that I was so cold. She ran a big tub of hot bath water and put me in it to warm me up and gave me a cup of hot chocolate. She made the best hot chocolate. We couldn’t afford mixes, if there were any back then. She made her hot chocolate on top of the stove in a pan. She would mix Hersey's Cocoa powder, sugar and a dash of salt. Add this to milk and heat. Then right before she served it she would add a couple of drops of vanilla. Mmm Good!
Store bought ice cream was a luxury and very little of it was ever in our icebox. But we loved to eat snow cream. We would get a big silver spoon and a big white tin dishpan with a red rim, from the kitchen and began to spoon snow into it. However, we were very selective in our scooping. Only "clean" snow was chosen. This left out snow that the dogs may have yellowed. However, we scooped off the top of the snow to be sure.
When enough snow had been gathered to fill the tin pan, which was now frosted with coldness, we were ready.
Snow Cream Recipe
1 cup milk
1/2 cup sugar
scant 1/2 teaspoon vanilla
large bowl of snow (about 3 quarts)Blend milk, sugar and vanilla. Stir in enough snow to make snow cream to an ice cream consistency.
The end product was something that resembled a slushy. Still excited about our new frozen treat, we ate bowls of it until our teeth chattered. I can still remember the taste -- sweet, cold, vanilla-ed. Today when I have a dip of the best ice cream money can buy my mind wanders back to those days when we could hardly wait for Mom to make us snow cream!
After Dad became a postman he didn’t enjoy snow as much as when he was younger. I can sure understand why. But I had no sympathy in those days for a hard working postman-dad. I prayed for snow.
When it did snow, the world outside our white wooden house took on a new appearance, one of elegance and solemnity, as if God was sleeping and everything was quiet so as not to wake him. I love the way the snow blankets the world and turns every thing white and clean. I believe that it’s God’s way of showing us that this world can change for the better. That all the dirt of sin can be made clean and white. How wonderful everything is washed in glorious snow-reflected sunlight.
One year we were attending church the Wednesday night before Christmas. I was there to receive my fruit bag. The deacons would hand out brown paper bags filled with fruit, nuts, candy, and gum to all the children. It was a special time that I always looked forward to. When we came out we were greeted by swirls of heavily falling snow; during the hours we had spent inside, the streets and buildings had become coated in gorgeous white. We drove home the long way around, because our house was up hill from the church. We made it but what an adventure.
After we moved to the country snow made travel more difficult. Dad was working for the Post Office by then. Once after he had walked his 15-mile mail route in town he wasn’t able to drive home. So he walked the 5 miles home. The next morning he got up early and walked in. Over on the main highway he got a ride from someone who stopped. It was so cold that his glasses had frozen to his face.
I remember once it snowed when I was in high school. They let school out early and Mom came to get me. We lived 5 miles outside of town on the corner of New Chapel Road and Cage Ellis Road. On the drive home after we had crossed the bridge on Hwy. 49 the car slid and fishtailed along the road, pulled by the snowy riptide. Then it turned completely around 360? and kept going.
Another time the snow was so deep Dad was concerned that if we stayed in the country he wouldn’t be able to get to the Post Office the next day. We had already gotten as far and Mrs. Ruby Smith’s Store on the corner of Hwy 49 and Flewellyn Road. Dad wanted us to travel back to Springfield and stay with my brother Odis and his wife Marilyn. But I wanted to go home first and get my dog, Tippy. I didn’t want to leave him there with no food and water. As we drove along the road toward our home in the country, it was apparent that the winds had become fiercer; snow was being hurled in all directions. There were huge drifts starting to form in the open wind blown areas. We opened the car door to a hurricane of white -- a maelstrom of snow and ice that whipped at our faces as we ran for the door. I got about half way through our front yard toward the door when I fell. I remember the snow was so deep I fell below the snow level. We got Tippy and made it back to town where we stayed until the snow melted.
There were other times when it snowed and we all had no where we needed to be. Once it snowed one of those snows where it sticks to everything. The woods across from our house were transformed into a winter fairyland. The trees along the edge--coated with snow, against a snow field backdrop were breath taking. We decided to go for a walk. The fields were a glistening white carpet. The first thing I noticed was the silence. Snow really is a blanket, absorbing all the usual noises we take for granted. The trees were so beautiful with their fresh new winter coat of snow! Amongst the shelter of the trees, and there in comparative silence I could hear the gentle puff of snow high overhead as it fell to the ground from the limbs. As we walked through the woods you could look up and see the branches crisscrossing. They looked like sugar coated umbrellas. As we walked my footprints left wounds that only a new snow can heal.
Thunderstorms
Or
Angels Playing Ball
My Mom grew up afraid of thunderstorms, probably because her Mom was afraid of thunderstorms. My grandmother, the one we all called Mama Chris, had been though a killer tornado and never forgot her experiences. Some of her fears carried over to my Mom. It is difficult to break the chain, but my Mom did.
Sometime or the other my Mother must have made the decision to break the cycle of fear. Or maybe it was just the love for her children and the want to comfort them. The natural response is to be afraid of thunder and lightening. It is good to have a natural respect of violent weather. Both my Mom and my Dad had this.
Dad had barely escaped being struck by lightening as a young man. He and some friends had been swimming down on the creek when a storm came up. A couple of the boys including my Dad had just left to head back to football practice. The lightening hit the tree where the remaining boys had taken shelter. One boy died and another was severely injured.
I don’t know if my parents made a conscious decision of encouraging me to not be frightened or not. But the result was I grew to enjoy thunderstorms.
I have memories as a very small child of my Mother rocking me and singing to me during thunderstorms. She would soothe, comfort and tell me stories. The stories were about the Angels in Heaven. Sometimes the Angels were playing baseball. We could hear the loud crack of their bats when they hit a homerun, the cheers from the crowd. Other times the Angels were bowling and we could hear the long rumble of the ball being rolled down the alley way, then the strike as the ball struck the pins and knocked them in all directions. Some times the Angels were so close we could feel the vibrations of that ball as it rolled overhead.
As I grew I learned that thunderstorms meant attention, fun and love from Mom. As I grew I came to realize these stories were not true. In school I learned about warm, moist air mass rising into cold air, water droplets and ice crystals, releases of energy that result in flashes of lightning. I learned that sound travels at 761 miles an hour and takes approximately five seconds to travel a mile. I learned to count each 5 second delay and knew that this equaled about a 1 mile distance from the storm. But I never forgot my Mother holding me, rocking me and most of all the stories of the Angels at play.
I grew up and married Thor, named for the god of thunder. I found he also enjoyed thunderstorms. On one of our dates during a thunderstorm we rode the elevator to the top of the L&C Tower in downtown Nashville. In 1972 it was the tallest building around. We went to the observation deck and watched the lightening as it played all over Nashville. We felt the wind gently sway the tower. I wasn’t afraid. After all the Angels were just having a little sport.
Tomboy
I couldn’t seem to decide whether I wanted to play with dolls or be a tomboy. I enjoyed playing with my Tiny Tears Doll, bathing her, changing her clothes, feeding her her bottle. I would spend hours at a time tending to her. Rocking her, reading to her, pushing her around in her stroller. I had other dolls. There was Margie and then there was my stuffed bear Old Smokey who wasn’t really a doll but he was dressed as one any way. I hope it wasn’t too demeaning for him. After all he had come from Alabama where he had first lived with my Uncle Mike, whom I’m sure never dressed him as a girl. When I wasn’t dressing him as a girl he was being used as a car while I sat on him and scooted across our hard wood floor.
All of this was great for indoor play, but part of me ached to be outside in the woods. We always seemed to live close to a wooded area, sometimes small, sometimes large. I loved being out of doors, running barefoot, climbing trees. These activities didn’t lend themselves to dolls. Oh, I tried but it ended in my favorite stuffed bunny getting rain soaked and ruined. I felt like a murderer. I took my doll playing seriously.
As I had one older brother and no sisters it was easy to fall into the habit of trailing along behind him. Of course he loved to play out side in the yard and in the woods. Usually he and several friends would be playing hide and seek, building forts, swinging on grapevines, trailing Indians, and climbing trees. I didn’t know a little girl 4 years younger shouldn’t be able to do all these activities as well as they. I trailed along when they had the patience to put up with me.
I remember acorn battles where they had a fort up in the trees mine on the ground underneath. It was real hard to defend against their attacks. I remember falling in a pond made by damming up a creek and realizing too late that I still had on my new Snow White watch. Oops. It stopped running about a week later. They don’t make them like that any more. ? But mostly I remember the time the police came. We lived in a nice part of town and never saw the police. They were on TV shows and for really, really bad men. But one day they came for us.
That day started as usual. After breakfast I followed my brother and his gang out to the woods. We were excited. We were going to build a new fort. Normally that meant gathering dead branches to make a lean-to, then covering it with small live branches of green leaves to give us some protection from the rain. But somebody, I don’t remember who had the grand idea to build a real fort with logs. Someone brought a hatchet so we got started. By lunch we were doing great. We brought down a tree about 10 inches across. We had a fine start. But our pioneer spirit came to a crashing halt, (pardon the pun) when the police pulled up at the edge of the woods and waved us over to them. I was petrified. (pardon the pun). The small rag tag group of us took our time as we ambled over to them, hoping if we delayed long enough they would go away. We couldn’t image what we had done to deserve their attention.
The policeman told us that our nearest neighbor, Mrs. Anderson had called and reported us as vandals. Mrs. Anderson as a bitter old woman who owned 30-40 white long haired cats. She hated children and the world in general. Her husband had died in the pulpit of our church while leading the singing. She had never forgiven God. She kept all 40 of her cats in her house. Once a week she would gather up the newspapers they used for a liter box and burned them behind her house. The smell was horrendous.
The policeman took all our names except mine and wrote them in his little book. I was torn between being relieved that he hadn’t asked my name and mad that I wasn’t considered one of the other boys and bad enough to be on his most wanted list.
We went home immediately and told our parents. Mom and Dad were furious. They called the man who owned the property, Mr. Jake O’Brien. We also rented our house from him. He told us that kids need to outside playing, and we could cut down every blankety blank tree in the entire woods as far as he was concerned. He died not long after but we became very good friends with his widow Mrs. O’Brien. She eventually ended up giving my parents an acre of land out on New Chapel Road so that they could build a house next door to her. She was a long time friend.
After that we grew bold in our play and had many adventures in those old woods.
Unidentified Flying ObjectSometime between 1967-1970, when we lived about 5 miles outside of Springfield, Tennessee on the corner of New Chapel Road and Cage Ellis Road, I saw a UFO.
My Mom, Dad and I came home from church one Sunday night. Mom and Dad both had to go to the bathroom. We only had one, so Dad went out to our front porch in the dark. Having no close neighbors there was no problem with privacy.
Dad came back inside and said, “Trish come out here, there is a weird light hovering over the woods across the road.” I went out and the light moved toward us until it was now hovering over our front yard. We had a fairly large front yard full of fruit trees. Dad went back inside to get Mom to come out and have a look.
I walked closer until I was standing right under the flying object.
What a strange unexplained experience. One thing that astounded me was it made no sound at all. It was a very clear, still night. We lived so far outside our town and away from major highways that usually you could hear a car coming 1 to 2 miles away. We were not located over any major airways. It seems to me if this flying object had a motor I would have heard it.
The object was about 200-300 feet above me. I looked up and was amazed. I could see inside it. The object had a round shape. It was dark as looked up except for a smaller lighted round opening that appeared to be recessed. The light was so bright all I could see was light. It wasn’t shining down on me. It was just illuminating the inside of this round object. Kind of like looking up into a huge doughnut of which the inside hole of the doughnut is lighted. Yet when coming toward us and going away from us the outside part was illuminated.
About this time my Dad came back outside and it took off very quickly. It was totally out of sight in about 10 seconds. Looking back on this now I could speculate that the flying object was a hot air balloon. That would account for the ability to hover with no sound. A hot air balloon is round if you look up from directly below. But there is no hot air balloon that I know of that can suddenly fly straight in a southwest direction that quickly with no sound or wind what so ever. Why didn’t I hear the sound of a motor or the whoosh of air filling a balloon?
I will also mention now that over the previous several months there had been several UFO sightings mentioned in our local Robertson County Times. You can imagine what kind of coverage they were given. Anyone who mentioned seeing strange things in the sky were themselves considered strange after coming forward. The Swallows family had even done our share of laughing.
Afterwards we had no idea what the Unidentified Flying Object was. Oh, we speculated. We thought maybe it was some kind of special experimental craft from Fort Campbell, which was about 40 miles away. Maybe, we were being visited by people from outer space. We came to no consensus but one. We were definitely not telling anyone what we saw.
By - Patricia Swallows Carden
Jake Best Flying ObjectIn September 1985 the Thor Carden family took a camping trip to the Great Smokies National Park. This was my second time to view a strange Unidentified Flying Object.
We were staying at a campsite called Jake Best elevation 1140 feet. Jake Best Campground lies in wooded solitude on a high bluff overlooking Citico Creek. It was a secluded area with no buildings, unless you count the Pit toilet. The nearest town was Tellico Plains population around 800 which was about 20 miles of winding dirt roads away. We arrived there September 2, Labor Day and stayed several days after all the other campers had gone home.
During the day we had explored around the area. We found a place that had been logged for lumber a several months before. There were still a few logging trails. We followed one such trail in our old 1968 Plymouth Satellite. One trail led way back off the road and ended atop a high summit. We were able to turn the car around and head back out. Always mindful of teaching opportunities we thought this would be the perfect place to come back later that night and view the stars. It has been an on going goal of ours to learn the constellations.
That evening after supper in our campsite we headed back to the logging trail. We arrived at twilight and spread a blanket out on the ground. The children, Andy, Theresa and Christine, amused themselves by throwing rocks up in the air to fool the bats while we waited for the sky to get totally dark.
After we had viewed the constellations awhile saw a light moving in the sky. At first we thought it was an airplane, but it wasn’t blinking. Then the light started moving downward toward the earth. But instead of flying down behind the mountains it came down between the nearest mountain (1000 yards away) and us. There would have been no problem with this it the flying object had been a helicopter. But helicopters make a distinct whirligig sound. This one made no sound at all.
We looked at each other, decided to leave, got in our car and left.
I have no idea what we saw. What could have descended vertically within a 1000 yards of us and made no sound? What ever it was seemed to defy all the laws of flight that we were aware of.
