The Battle Still Rages - 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks

This past week was the anniversary of the Battle of Blair Mountain.  In honor of that battle, and my young father's place in it, I am reposting this entry from three years ago...

Another post for 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks...

I have watched with interest the ongoing battles concerning Blair Mountain in West Virginia.  This mountain and its people just won't give up.

Bless their hearts.

I began to study the history of this mountain, beginning with an article on Wikipedia:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Blair_Mountain
I saw the images of the battle that raged back in August and September of 1921.  What I did not know was that my own father played a part.

He was a boy, not even 10 years old.  Let me quote from his own writings:

As well as I remember we did not stay in Olive Hill very long after Betty died because we moved back to Lawton where we lived till we moved to West Virginia and that was quite an experience because moved to W. Va. In a boxcar along with a man by the name of Milton Cline, each family had one end of the boxcar and since we were moving to the same place everything worked out all right, there was no trucks to move one in those days and very few automobiles, one might see a half dozen autos a week and there was no paved roads, we moved to an area called Rex Camp which was owned by the coal company, I think it was the year of 1920 when we made that move and that would have made me about eight years old at that time, it could have been 1919 when we moved, I do remember that I was very young and I had never heard anyone talk in a foreign language and it sounded so silly to me, it took me a long time to get used to it because we had foreigners living all around us but they had their own schools and the black people had their own so we managed to get along allright with everyone but it still was a lot different than Kentucky, my oldest brother Russel and my father both worked in the coal mines and although we were poor people I cannot remember a time when we went to bed hungry.

Let’s go back for a moment when we were moving to W. Va., I remember that we were in a passenger coach on the train and the boxcar with our household furniture in it was the last car on the train so we did not get there before our belongings did and one thing I remember so well is that my uncle Logan Brown was sharing the same seat on the train and I got awfully sick and I begged him to let me sit next to the window so that I could vomit out the window and he would not do it and when the train stopped I could not hold it any longer so I vomited all over him and he was very mad about it and I told my father what happened and he told Logan that if had let me to the window it would not have happened.

As well as I remember we lived there about one year or more before trouble started, the union was trying to organize the coal fields and the coal companies didn’t want that to happen and there was fighting all around, the union men were coming over Blair Mountain into Logan County and all who would not join the union were called red necks and my uncle Arthur Fitzpatrick, a big Irishman who had just gotten out of the army in 1918 and he was tough but they arrested him because marshal law had been declared and him and me started to walk to Logan about four miles away and a deputy sheriff inquired where we was going and he told him it was none of his business and he arrested him, and he handed me his big 45 army colt and he told me not to let anyone take it from me and I took it back to my aunt Etta Bee and gave it to her and they blackballed him out of Logan County and never would let him come back, it was not easy living under marshal law but we did it for about two years or more.

During the war between the union and non union there were many people killed on Blair mountain, the sheriff of Logan county and some of his deputies was killed and many coal miners went to work and never returned.

The army moved heavy artillery right by our house by mule team and we could hear the heavy artillery being fired from our home, nothing looked good at all for a long time but we finally come out all together.

Wow.  My own father was part of the history of Blair Mountain, and he was only a boy.  He acted in the face of danger - danger than an adult placed him in.

A different type of battle rages there now, and I am unsure what the outcome will be.  I wonder what my dad would be thinking now...

http://www.nostorytoosmall.com/52-ancestors-in-52-weeks/

A Kentucky Funeral

It was just two short weeks ago that we learned of the death of my cousin, Gregory Earl Stevens.

Greg was the only child of my aunt and uncle, and the apple of their eye.  They were married 14 years before he was born.  It would be hard to find a son better loved than Greg.

Have you ever seen a prouder look in a father's eye?

Greg was only 42 years, and his life ended in an ATV accident.  He was not horsing around.  He came up out of a creek bed and got stuck in some weeds.  When he gunned it, it flipped backward on him, crushing him badly.

It has been many years since I attended a Kentucky funeral.  As a young girl, my memories were not always pleasant ones.  I remember wakes that lasted through the night while the body lay in state in the parlor or front bedroom.  Someone would bring up politics or religion, and mom knew it was time to send me upstairs to bed.  "Discussions" would begin in the dining room, move to the living room, the front porch, and eventually right out into the front yard.

Women would begin bringing in the food, trying to find room for it all on the groaning table.  There would be periods of crying, coupled with periods of laughter and memories.

All of this was called "sittin' with the corpse".

The funeral service was held at the local church, accompanied by a very loud preacher.  I mean no disrespect by stating this.  But, to a little girl it can be quite overwhelming - even frightening.  The church my family attended in Ohio was quite a bit different.

My sisters and I left early in the morning to drive to Olive Hill, Kentucky.  We've driven Rt. 23 south many times in our life - mostly for funerals or Decoration Day.  We were still in shock, but talking with each other greatly eased some of our grief.  We all have good memories of Greg, and of our Aunt Betty and Uncle Dick.

The funeral chapel was in Globe, and the parking lot was already packed.  When we pulled in, we were greeted by someone who is actually a shirttail relative of ours.  I asked him when the next Cline Reunion was going to be, since we hadn't been to one in 12 years.  He said there hadn't been one since then.

People were looking us over.  First of all, most of the cars and trucks were Chevys and Fords.  We drove up in my sister's Toyota Sienna.  We all had skirts on.  There weren't many others who wore skirts or dresses.  I'm sure they were wondering who in the world we were.

We spotted my uncle first.  I was amazed at how much he had aged in the short time since we've seen him.  He embraced me and told me to take lots of pictures.  I mentioned that some people might not like that practice, but he said he didn't care.  He wanted pictures.  Period.

Among all of the beautiful flowers was a bevy of quilts that people chose to send.  I've seen this in the past, but neither of my sisters had.  What a tender way to cuddle up in comfort long after the flowers are gone.

As the choir came in, each member paused to embrace the family.  I was so touched.  Their hugs and love were genuine.  They began to sing, and I was immediately taken back to my childhood.  In my heart and in my mind, I could remember every word.  The peace and comfort began to flow over me.

A wonderful bagpiper played "Amazing Grace" as we filtered into the cemetery.

After a few words at the cemetery, we all traveled up Rt. 174, past Aunt Betty and Uncle Dick's house, past Greg's house, all the way up to Porter Creek Fellowship Hall.  When I walked in, I was taken aback by the tremendous amount of food that had been brought in.

I have never seen so much food at a funeral.  Actually, I've never seen that much food at any of our church socials.  The table seemed to go on for miles, sometimes three deep across the table.  The dessert was located against the wall.

Some of was catered, most was homemade.  My mind again returned to my childhood as I grazed my way through fried chicken, mashed potatoes, fried corn, green beans picked that morning, cornbread, red tomatoes, yellow tomatoes, cucumbers, stack cake, butterscotch pie, chocolate pudding, etc.  I can't even begin to list it all.  The sweet church ladies kept coming around asking if we got enough, and reminding us about the "to-go" boxes that were available.

I sat and talked with my aunt for a long time, my sisters sat with my uncle, who just couldn't eat.  Greg's only child, Ericka, sat across from us with her little daughter, Skylan.  Ericka couldn't eat, either.

Our hearts were broken as we left them for our trip back home.  But, knowing the people in the eastern hills of Kentucky, my aunt and uncle and Ericka will be well taken care of in their grief, their sorrow, their long days to come.  The church and neighborhood family will step in to be the comfort they need in our absence.

There are no more cousins on this side of the family.  My uncle is my mother's only living brother out of a family of eight children.  Mom was the oldest.  Uncle Dick is next to the youngest.  

This funeral brought sweet memories back to me - memories of being a little girl without a whole lot of understanding to a woman grateful for the experiences of childhood.  

How did they not stink?

I love to soak in a wonderful bubble bath...

But, my ancestors didn't.

I grew up in an older family.  My parents were born in the early 1900's, and their parents were born in the late 1800's.  People are amazed when I mention that I knew people that were born in the 1800's.  But for me, it was the norm.

Because they were of a generation quite a bit older than most of my friends, their ways, habits and traditions were also a bit out of touch.  My parents were the age of most of my peers' grandparents.

One of the things I grew up with was a generational line drawn between bathing every day and bathing every now and then.  My parents followed the tradition of their parents by taking their last bath of the year sometime in the late fall and not bathing again until spring.  In his later years, my father lived with our young family and followed this same tradition.

But, never once did my parents or their parents ever have a bad odor.  How did they not stink?

I really don't know.

They didn't pile on lots of powders or perfumes, and they did use deodorant.  They were not offensive in any way concerning their hygiene.

So, how did they do it?

Well, I'm sure this was one way, but this would have occurred mostly in the summer months.  Dad told me he learned how to swim because his brothers threw him in the Upper Tygart Creek in Kentucky.  One either learned how to swim or drown.  That was their choice.

I watched my mother and her mother make batches of lye soap - something I cannot stand to this day.  She would render lard in a cast iron skillet, also saving the ashes.

It was used for scrubbing just about anything.  When I used it on my skin, it would be quite abrasive and seemed as though it burned my skin!

And then I ran across the web site for Colonial Williamsburg, where it described in detail how one would deal with those who did have an offensive odor.  They simply sprayed a lace handkerchief and slipped it up their sleeve.  Then, it would be quite handy to remove the hankie and place it near the nose and sniff the perfume.  Maybe that's why my female ancestors kept hankies close by them, sometimes tucked in their ample bosoms.
http://www.history.org/foundation/journal/autumn00/bathe.cfm

Mom and Dad also believed that bathing too often in the winter months would provide more opportunity for disease and the ague to set in.  For females, a monthly flow meant no bathing, and certainly no washing of hair.  I argued and argued with Mom over this one, but she finally relented to letting me take a short bath, but don't even ask about washing my hair.

Sigh.

Perhaps part of the reasoning comes from just how hard it was to get a bath ready.  In the hills of eastern Kentucky, running water was a rarity.  It meant heating up the water on the stove, perhaps after hauling it in from the creek.  Dad would take a bath first, followed by my three sisters.  Since he worked in the coal mines, the water would readily turn black, so by the time the youngest of my three sisters had her turn, Mom had to really hang onto her so she wouldn't lose her.  Hence, "don't throw the baby out with the bath water!"

I love the cleanliness standards of today.  I grew up feeling greasy and smelly (those teenage years encouraged the oil in my hair and skin), so I love to soak in a wonderful tub and read a book with a candle glowing softly nearby.  My towels are soft, unlike whatever feed sack Mom could find to use as a towel.

But, how did they not stink?

I must thank fellow blogger, Caroline M. Pointer, for her post of today, and for her challenge to write a blog on this subject.  Caroline, I did it.  But, how did they?

Appalachian Feuds - My Take on the History Channel's "Hatfields and McCoys" Miniseries

Wow!  That's my first impression of having watched the "Hatfields and McCoys" on the History Channel this past week.

Let me first point out that I am not from either West Virginia or Kentucky, but my parents and my three older sisters are.  They were born and raised in the area where this infamous feud took place.

Feuds are nothing new.  They have been going on since the days of Cain and Abel, Jacob and Esau, Isaac and Ishmael, and Romeo and Juliet.  There just doesn't ever seem to be a good outcome.

The Appalachian area was filled in by both Germans and the Scots-Irish.  The Scots-Irish, in particular, has been plagued by feuds for centuries and is not uncommon today.  These feuds existed over land, religions, romance, etc. - and the element of these feuds came right over to America with them.  We've all heard of the 'Fightin' Irish'.

When the area of the Shenandoah Valley was settled, the Germans came southward from the southeastern areas of Pennsylvania and created beautiful farmland.  They were renown for keeping their homes and farms neat, clean, and highly functional.  They were basically peaceful, but still protective.  The Kentucky Rifle was actually fashioned by the Germans.

The Scots-Irish, known for their tempers and their warfare in the old country, were pushed a bit further to settle the frontier.  This helped in the protection of homes against the Native Americans that were being edged further to the west.  They didn't have a lot of fear in the blood.

Come forward a few years to the Hatfield and McCoy feud.  The same pride, stubbornness and sense of justice are coming right along with them.

I won't go back and repeat the story, for it is being re-broadcast again tonight, and you can find the story simply by doing a google search on the subject.  It is the most famous of the feuds.

The main story consists of hog-stealing, forbidden love between the families, and killings.

The leaders of the two rival families.

The two who fell in love.  She ended up pregnant.  They never married, the baby died, and it is said she died of a broken heart.

The History Channel's Miniseries was certainly believable, and they were mostly correct.  But, in talking with my sisters, it was easy to tell this was not filmed on site.  It was filmed in Romania.

First of all - the terrain was much too nice.  In West Virginia and Kentucky, the hills are very, very steep and thickly forested.  There are few flat areas for running the horses.   In the late 1800's, when the story actually was in its heyday, the forestation was so thick that one would be hard-pressed to get through it at all.  It's the same today!  The hills are at such an incline that it would have been hard to get equipment to stay on them at all.

Second - the cabins were too nice.  Back then, they would have been hewn logs with every chiseled mark clearly visible.  There were have been mud chinks packed in between the logs.  The cabins in the movie were ones I would like to live in today!

Third - the horses.  I'm just not too sure about the horses.  Most horses were used for plowing.  Mules were the preferred mode of getting through the hills.  My mother much preferred to ride on a mule than a horse, for mules were more sure-footed.  These horses look like they were taken from the Kentucky Derby.

Fourth - the accent.  I'm sure it was just the Hollywood version of the Appalachian "twang" - and it's not easily duplicated.  There was at least one local in the movie, and I could spot him a mile away.

Fifth - the saloon scenes and the "get on your horse and let's go" reminded me of western movies.  This would not be unusual, given Kevin Costner's background in "Dances With Wolves" and others.

But, all in all, I thoroughly enjoyed the miniseries, and plan on watching it again.  I was happy to hear that a truce had been called and a declaration that the feud had ended, but I'm not so sure that feuds really end.  There always seems to be an air of mistrust hanging in the background.

My father liked to relate an incident that happened while living in Logan, Logan County, West Virginia.  He and my mother and sisters lived there in the late 1930's and 1940's.  Everyone knew of this famous feud.  Dad even took my family over to see Devil Anse's grave.

In this part of Logan County where they lived, they lived in a house on a road that was very, very steep.  Mom always said if you open your mouth and talk while walking uphill, you would get a bit of dirt in it.  The house was built on stilts.  The house up on the hill above him had a drainage pipe where sewage would spill over into my family's back yard.

The family's name was McCoy.

Dad told the man on several occasions the problem needed to be solved.  Mr. McCoy replied that once it left his yard, it didn't matter to him.  It was no longer his problem.

Getting nowhere by talking, Dad took matter into his own hands.  He mixed up a batch of concrete and plugged up the pipe.  Problem solved.

Mr. McCoy was furious, but eventually the problem was solved.  Just think - there could have been another feud...

Little did dad and mom know that our family lines have now been researched back into the McCoy line!

For more info on feuds:
http://fixit24.tripod.com/feud.html
http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~kyborn/feuds.html


All pictures are from images.google.com

A Fond and Heartfelt Salute!

It is time to again honor the veterans who have served in our family. I am so grateful for their willingness to put their lives on the line to insure our freedoms we so enjoy today.

Chester Lee Clemens, my dad, who served at Pearl Harbor.

Kerry's dad, Orson William Lauritzen, served on the Naval Transporter Pacific Okinawa Campaign 1945.

Daughter Harmony Rebekah Lauritzen, who served in the Signal Corps.

Son Jordan Christopher Lauritzen, who served in the Army Band.

Son Erik Lauritzen, who served in the Dietary Department.

Kerry's brother, Bill Lauritzen, who was killed in a jeep accident in Germany in 1965.

Kerry's brother, Steve Lauritzen, who served in Viet Nam.

Kerry's brothers, Christopher and Kelly, who are still serving.

Kerry's sister, Charm Lauritzen, who served in the National Guard.

Kerry's Uncle Wilson and his wife, Idona.

Kerry's Uncle Vaughn and his wife, Lona Mae.

My mom's brother, Richard Stevens, who served in the Korean War.

Sister Fern's husband, James Bierce, who served in the Navy.

Sister Betty's husband, Perry Demming, who served in the Air Force.

Ancestor John Littleton, who died when the D A January exploded near Cairo, IL.

Mom's great-grandfather Robert H. Stevens, who was a POW in the Civil War.

Oh, I could go on and on and on....

And, there are many, many, many more...As a matter of fact, I have begun a spreadsheet where I list all of my military finds, the war they served in, their rank, etc. I am now up to 86 ancestors that have served in everything from the French and Indian War to the present.

I honor them. I thank them. I salute them.

My Dad, Had He Lived to be One Hundred

Today is the100th  anniversary of my father birth.

Chester Lee and Ida Stevens Clemens, 50th Wedding Anniversary, 1984

He was born into a large family, the fifth child into what would become eleven.  The house he was born in no longer exists in Lawton, Carter, Kentucky, but he often showed me where it was located.  It wasn't really close to anything.

Chester as a baby in a dress.

Chester as a young farm boy, right around the time he married in 1932.

Chester, after working in the coal mines in West Virginia, early 1940's.

Chester in the U.S. Navy.  He served in Pearl Harbor.

He was baptized into the Mormon Church in 1951, later serving as a Bishop.

When he served as Bishop, he baptized me in 1963.

He spent his later years serving as a temple worker in Washington, DC.

Instead of going over a prologue of his life and accomplishments, I chose to go to the website:  www.ourtimelines.com and see what was going on in the world during his lifetime.

1912:             He was born during a worldwide cholera pandemic.

                     William Howard Taft was President.

                     The Titanic sunk the month before he was born.

1914:            WWI began when he was 2 years old until he was 7.  He had relatives who served.

1918-1920:   He survived the Spanish flu pandemic.  Others in his family did not.

1920:            Women received the right to vote when he was 8 years old.

1922:            Insulin was made available to diabetics.  This would have great bearing on his family, as many  were diabetics.

1926:            Movies with sound were beginning to be made.

1927:            Charles Lindberg made the first Transatlantic flight.

1928:            Television was invented. 

                     Penicillin was invented.

1929:            The Stock Market crashed.  The Great Depression begins.

1930:            Pluto was discovered.  Dad always loved astronomy.

1939-1945:  WWII years.  Dad served in the Navy at Pearl Harbor, the only coalminer from the coal camp in West Virginia to be drafted.

1948:            They began to make 33 1/3 records.  Dad LOVED music.  I get my love of all types of music from him.

1955:            The Sale Polio Vaccine becomes available.  One of his children would become mildly afflicted with polio.

1969:            The moon landing!  Dad was fastened to the television, not believing his eyes.

Dad died in 2002.  He was born in the days of horses, mules and wagons, yet lived long enough to see men walk on the moon.

Some of the above events may or may not have directly affected his life.  I have listed the ones that I remember talking to him about.  He was an avid reader, always having a book or a magazine or a newspaper in his hand.  As a matter of fact, ten years after his death we are still receiving some of his magazines in the mail.  He had them paid that far ahead so as to not expire.

Dad was a poor boy that was born in poverty in the eastern hills of Kentucky - but what a rich life he lived.  He saw quite a lot during his 90 years.  

We miss you, Dad...

                           

Mapping Our Ancestors

There is nothing I enjoy more than working with maps.

When my sisters and I are on a genealogy trip through Virginia and Kentucky, it is not unusual to find us all spread out on our beds in the evenings as we peruse maps of the area we are in.  Many of those maps are the type you can pick up at the local Chamber of Commerce or public library for no cost at all.

Those maps can take us into every little nook and cranny and hill and holler of these ancestral places.

Once, while giving a genealogy class on maps, a man raised his hand and mentioned that I needed to get some Hildebrand maps.  Okay.  What's a Hildebrand map?  He told me to just call the public library in Roanoke, Virginia and they would point me in the right direction.

So, I did.  And, they did.

Apparently, J. R. Hildebrand was a cartographer who meticulously drew maps of several Virginia counties.  It was hard for me to find out any more about him, as most google hits took me to a race car driver of the same name.

These maps are wonderful!  One map of Franklin County, Virginia has at least a dozen of my ancestors on it.  It covers the time period 1786 - 1886, includes the owner's name on each parcel of land, and the year he first appears in the county.

I realize this may be a bit difficult to view in this venue, but these maps are quite large (card table size) and easy to read.  My sisters and I would be lost without them, for we use a yellow highlighter each time we make a new discovery.

We ordered the entire set, which came to $96.  Here is a list of the maps available:

• Roanoke Farms
• Fincastle County
• Wythe County
• Town of Salem
• Original Grants, Roanoke
• Beverly Patent, Orange & Augusta
• Borden Grant, west of Blue Ridge
• Pulaski County
• Rockbridge County
• Franklin County
• Augusta County
• Botetourt County
• Bedford County
• Montgomery County

And I ordered them from:
Roanoke Public Library
706 South Jefferson Street
Roanoke, VA   24016
540-853-2473

Ask for J.R. Hildebrand Settlement Maps.  If they don't have them anymore, they can point you in the right direction.

My father taught me how to read maps.  He felt it was important, since neither of his parents or his 10 siblings could read a map.  In turn, when my own family traveled, my husband would outfit each of the kids with their own atlas and quiz them on how far it was to the next exit, the next rest area, the town we would be stopping at.  They were all excellent with maps and geography in high school, and when three of the four would enter the U.S. Army, their orienteering skills were impeccable.

Gotta love maps!