Friendship & Cap Smith, Part 3

I received a lovely card from a man called ‘Detroit’. I think many of you know him. I have never met this person, but I consider him a friend and a man of my own heart…a writer of the old days who appreciates the past, while living in the present. He is one of a kind like my friend, Arthur Johnson, who wrote for Tri-City before I did. JoAnne Calton wrote for the newspaper years ago. She was the mother of Jewel Calton Shepherd (Alfred Shepherd’s wife). Alfred is a collector of old stories as well, and he and I could spend hours talking about the ‘old days’. He can name all the old stores that were in Cumberland back in the fifties and sixties…forties too, for that matter. I am more familiar with Ball Brothers and the A & P. Mama did most of her ‘trading’ at the A & P. I’m wondering if people still use the word ‘trading’. I love the idea of ‘trading’ and it sets a whole lot better on my mind than ‘shopping’.

I don’t know if I have ever mentioned Fanny Wilder when I write, but she lived in Hiram and was quite a character, right along with Aunt Katy and Aunt Cassie. They were dear, dear ladies who had seen so much pain, heartbreak, and hard work in their time. I imagine that in her young days Fannie was a beautiful lady. She loved jewelry and big purses and you seldom saw her without her gold bracelets and big purse. She lived in a little house near the railroad. I think it had brick siding and had about two rooms; but like my Aunt Nancy, she didn’t stay inside much. You would see her outside working in the yard or visiting with her neighbors.

When I was young, people visited each other a lot and there was never any need for an invitation. If you were eating a meal, you always asked the person to come in and have a bite. It might only be fried tators, pinto beans and cornbread, but you always invited a visitor to eat. I remember that an older Jewish man would come into our area with a huge suitcase. He would walk up the hollers and all around, trying to sell his goods that he had brought in from New York. I don’t know, but he probably came on the train. That big suitcase would be full of things…silk bedspreads and chenille ones too; gold silk and chenille with lovely peacocks on them. The beautiful handmade quilts our mama’s made would have been a far better choice, but the women of the house loved the bedspreads from the city. The man that I remember was a small man and he seemed old to me although that is rather uncertain, but that suitcase was beyond huge! He always managed to get to our house around meal time and Mama and Daddy never failed to ask him to ‘wash up and come eat!’ Everyone always washed their hands before eating. I think every household was that way. In the summertime, quite often the bucket, dipper, wash pan, lye soap and towel would be outside. Everyone used the same towel, but if it was dirty, Mama would quickly change it to a clean one. I remember that Granny Ison’s towels were big old sacks, rough and large that grain had come in. The soap was usually Lye soap, but sometimes Mama would buy Ivory soap, but it was considered a luxury to most people, and especially to us. Besides Mama didn’t think anything cleaned like her lye soap. There were so many people who ate at our table and in the same sense I ate at many tables as well. I remember that Louisia Fields would fix me cornbread and canned peaches when we went to her house. She was considered a tough lady, but she never failed to fix me some cornbread and peaches.

Here are a few more lines to old Cap Smith’s story:

“I guess I’ll never forgit th day my Mam had thet last baby. She hadn’t fared well atall with this babe an sometimes I would ketch her lookin a far piece away like they war something on her mind, like. She still worked hard right up ta th day little Millie war borned. I guess I never knowed enyone who worked like my mam an my granny. Well, sir, I guess I should take thet back. Most all th womernfolk I knowed war hard workers. They worked from daylight ta dawn. Well, truth be tolt we all worked hard. Hit war awful hard jest trying ta survive back in them days. The womern folk took keer o their men in th same way they took keer o their younguns, truth be knowed they took better keer o them, fer they war th bread winner an if something happened ta th man, th whole family might starve. I tolt ye how my Mam washed th coal dust offen my pa every day. She warmed his clothes afore he got ready ta go ta th mine an she put his shoes on fer him. Hit pains me now ta thank o thet mam o mine, so big with child thet she could barely git up from th floor whilst she was putting Pap’s shoes on fer him. She cooked his meals an poured his coffee. She got up in th mornins an built a fare in th stove. She wouldn’t make us younuns do hit. ‘Hit’s too hard on them younuns ta git up an go outside in thet cold ta git farewood.’ She would say.“

“She raised a garden in th summertime an we would hep but most o th work war on her. She canned an dried everything she could. When th beans come in, we would all pick them an she would spread a big quilt on th porch an pour them on hit an she would show us how ta thread a big darning needle with thread an string them beans up on hit an she would hang them behind the cook stove an enywhere she could find a place ta hang them. One little youngun would nub th beans an us bigger ones would string them up. When they dried, she would store them in a fifty pound lard stand. We would sit on the lard stands adder thet fer we didn’t have enough cheers ta go around. I kin tell ye thet our hands would bleed at times. Thet last summer we had ta walk a fur piece ta git ta th garden an mam still raised a big garden. Mam would dry apples too. We didn’t have eny trees so th neighbors would give them ta us and we would walk over with our big bushel baskets an fill it up an tote them home. Mam would go with us an she would hep us carry them.

Th truth be knowed, I thank my Mam war jest plumb wore out. She war thrity three yar old when she hed th last youngun an she never got out o bed adder thet. Th old midwife who delivered little Millie said our mam died o child bed fever, but I knowed better. I guess right then an thar I started blaming my pa. I knowed I war wrong fer he worked hard too, but I blamed him fer not doing more fer Mam. But I guess as I got older I reckoned hit war jest th way thangs war back then: hard work an more hard work. Ye had ta be right strong ta survive.”

“Th neighbor women all come in when they heared Mam war about ta have th baby. Us younguns war sent next door, but we heared Mam screamin in pain an we come back an stood in th yard an cried. We war so scart. We knowed thet women died having babies…or th babies died or both. As time went on th men gathered in th yard an stood around an drunk shine but hit war a somber time. Th women folk would come outside and shake their heads. Hit war taking too long. Something war wrong. Thar warn’t a doctor around an th old midwife had delivered a lot o babies…but she had lost a lot too, babies an their mothers. Thar war a lot o grumbling from th men. ‘The company needs ta git us a doctor fer sich as this…an whut if we have a cave in at the mine er somebody gits mashed!’ Th midwife, Granny Bess did all she knowed. She made tea from bark and roots. She put a knife under th bed ta cut the pain but she didn’t know whut ta do when Mam got worser an worser. Little Millie finally made hit but Mam war ta sick ta really know. She died three days later. Me an Pa had gone back ta work an my sisters war taken keer o her. Wider Jones took Millie an nursed her. Her man had got kilt in a coal mine cave-in a few months earlier an she had had ta move out with four younguns an a new baby. She did warshing fer people an whutever she could ta raise her younuns, but she come right over an tolt Pa she would breast feed little Millie along with her little John who war six months old.”

“They come got us outer th mine at one thirty in th morning. Mam had died. Pa war all broke apart. I felt right awful thet I couldn’t cry. I didn’t cry fer yars but I reckon I never did git over losing my Mam. I could remember so many thangs: Mam milking old Bossie an takin th time ta feed th barn cats afore we moved ta th coal camp; Mam brushing my sisters hair an cutting my hair when hit got too long an I tolt her I looked like a sissy. I remembered her sweet smile when she churned th fresh butter an then spread hit on hot biscuits an passed hit around ta us younguns. I thank fer all th hard work, my Mam war happy. She loved us younguns an she loved Pa. I remembered her tears when I went inta th mine. She war pretty as a picture and I allus felt she war right thar with me when I war growing up. She war like a angel ta me and I missed her all o my live long life.”

Well, that is all of Cap Smith fer this week. I am looking forward to spring time. This cold weather is hard on us old folk! I want to get outside and work in the yard and pull weeds. Do you remember how the old folk swept their yards and they were hard packed, with not a weed around, much less grass. The chickens would ramble around and they would even go in the house and check things out before the woman of the house saw them and shooed them out with the broom. My Mama always told me that if you stepped over a broom, it would bring you bad luck. I still will not step over a broom to this day, although I know that was only told to us to make our lazy selves pick it up!

Those old folks will stay with us all of our lives I think, their memories inside our hearts, reminding us to cherish each day, so for today remember to smile and pray for your enemies. Take care and blessings!