Don Davidson writes in a conversational manner that makes you feel you are having a fireside chat with him. He’s got an interesting story to tell of growing up in the depression without electricity, and cooking and heating with wood stoves, to fighting in World War II, to raising a family, to living through the changes of America in the great middle class. You will laugh and you will cry, but you will be glad you had this fireside chat.

John Brieden, former National Commander

AMERICAN LEGION

ACKNOWLEGEMENT

I wish to acknowledge with heartfelt affection my son, Rev. Gregory S. Davidson, and his wife, Donna, for their loving time, effort and technical expertise without which this would not be possible. I also wish to acknowledge Gilbert Sauceda, a friend, for his dedicated production expertise and cover work, and Ken French for his expert editing. Also, Matthew Idler, editorial adviser, for his patience and guidance to bring this to fruition.

DEDICATED TO

My Dear Wife

Patricia Sue

PROLOGUE

Two years before my dear wife died I asked her what I should do with all the stories, family history, letters, diaries, genealogy, etc., I had collected over the many years. True to her tradition she had a simple answer, “Silly boy, write a book.” As I often was wont to do, I paid little heed to her suggestion.

When she suddenly died I was so distraught the next several months I was not fully functional. Sixty-five years of wonderful marriage and those delightful childhood years together were not easily given up. A year later and I began to gather my wits and try to resume a somewhat normal life.

For the first time I read the diary she kept all through our childhood years until I went into the navy. I then began to think about her suggestion. Why not? So I undertook this task to share our ancestry, life stories and many experiences that shaped our destinies as members of the Greatest Generation.

There is more truth than fiction in these accounts of our lives. It’s my best recollection of events as they occurred and as some were told to me. I purposefully made some changes to keep an element of anonymity. Names of people and places are somewhat changed. My dearly departed father once said, “A story ain‘t worth telling if it ain’t worth embellishing.” I’ve tried to keep embellishment to a minimum though some has covertly crept in.

THIS IS OUR STORY.

- Don Davidson

2019

Chapter 1

Pug and Tug--they were the best of friends . . . and at times, the worst of friends. They were first cousins. Their fathers were brothers. They shared the same last name, Cahill. I was their best friend. They were born the same cold December day, early in the morning before daylight. Both mothers had difficult at home births and were in poor health. Old Doc Tribble didn’t show up at either household until several days later after being summoned by Tug’s father.

After two days, Tug’s mother noticed little Tug wasn’t urinating. She used a needle to pierce whatever of his foreskin was blocking the flow. Meantime, Tug’s father had gone to fetch Old Doc Tribble. When he arrived in his Model-T Ford coupe, he took a close look at little Tug. He took a pocketknife out of his pocket and lighted a match to sterilize the blade. He said the baby didn’t need all that and proceeded to circumcise little Tug. Pug wasn’t. Over the years this became one of the several matters of contention between the two boys.

Both mothers were so weak and sickly they were unable to produce enough milk to sustain their newborn babies. After examining both mothers, Old Doc Tribble drove up the road a mile and a half to where a middle-aged Negro couple, Jud and Vase, lived. Vase was a large stout woman with a large bosom. She already had grown children when she unexpectedly gave birth to a ‘late-in-life’ child. She had been nursing him when at three months he suddenly died for no apparent reason.

Old Doc Tribble knew that happened only five days ago. So, he brought Vase to baby Tug’s household where she nursed him. Old Doc was back that afternoon with baby Pug. Vase nursed and cared for both boys the next two years or so. She and her husband, Jud, were considered part of the family.

Pug and Tug constantly argued about which was the oldest. They were almost opposites in stature. Tug was tallish and slim. Pug was short and stocky. Tug had long dark hair and combed it swept back on the sides. Pug was a towhead and looked like he seldom combed his hair. Tug had brown eyes. Pug had blue eyes.

Their families were close and lived on a farm across the river from each other. Their ancestor who first landed in The Colonies was an enforced emigrant sent from Ireland to America in 1769 at age sixteen. He landed at Philadelphia as an indentured servant.

A year later he disappeared. Months later he showed up in North Carolina a free man. At the outbreak of hostilities with the British he became a volunteer Revolutionist. He had no love for the British. He was injured at the Battle of Cowan’s Ford on the Catawba River in North Carolina.

It was February 1781. It had been raining. The river was running deeper than normal. It usually was less than knee-deep at the ford. But, this day it was waist-deep and more in places. It would be a difficult crossing for Cornwallis as he and his troops swept through the Carolinas as a show of force against the so-called “traitors.”

The American Revolutionists decided to make a stand against Cornwallis and his four thousand troops as he attempted to cross the river. The Revolutionists deployed along the north bank behind trees, large stones, or whatever cover they could devise. They were only four hundred strong.

Cornwallis detested the unprofessional backwoods volunteers. He regarded them as cowards because they never made a show of force to battle the British in an open field. The Revolutionists weren’t stupid. They could count. They concealed themselves behind trees, rocks and whatever else was handy. They took pot shots at whatever British soldier crossed their sights. They especially relished the opportunity to take pot shots at the British officers all of whom wore highly distinguishing uniforms.

Cornwallis set up a double line of marksmen along the south bank. They did rapid fire across the river as a line of British solders waded into the river. Pug and Tug’s ancestor was near the edge of the water. He was hit in the left side with a musket ball that passed all the way through. He knew he had to get away as quickly as possible. He purposefully fell into the rushing water of the river and floated downstream about a mile. He managed to make his way into the eddy of a small tributary that flowed into the river. It was hung over with a heavy growth of willow trees and brush offering cover from the marauding British.

He lay low in the water the rest of the day so not to draw the attention of the British. That evening he made his way onto a small sandbar under the willows. The next morning he became concerned he would get gangrene in his wound. He removed the boot knife he always carried and fashioned a small willow stick. He removed a silk kerchief he always wore and tied it to the willow stick. He continuously passed the stick with the kerchief through the wound to cleanse it. He did this almost endlessly to minimize infection.

He didn’t dare reveal himself because the countryside was swarming with British troops trying to round up as many of the enemy “traitors” as they could.

The third day he knew he was weak from lack of food and loss of blood. He knew he had to get help. He knew of a family about half a mile away sympathetic to the Revolutionary cause. Everyone did not favor the cause.

After dark he made his way to their house. About midnight he knocked on the door. It was cautiously opened. They took him in and tended his wound. They hid him under the floorboards of the house several days until they felt secure the British had moved on. He remained with them several weeks. They took take care of his wound and helped him regain his strength until his wound healed. He left and rejoined the fight for the cause.

He lived to age eighty, had two wives and ten children. One of his sons moved to Tennessee and became a tobacco and cotton farmer and a slaveholder. This son’s youngest son, William, served the Confederacy during the Civil War. William was Pug and Tug’s great grandfather.

William enlisted May 1861 at age seventeen as a private in the 5th Regiment, Tennessee Infantry. He was promoted to First Lieutenant December 1861. He served as aide-de-camp to General Patton Anderson, Brigadier-General, Army of the Mississippi, at the Battle of Pittsburg Landing, also known as Shiloh, in Tennessee. As aide-de-camp, William was constantly at the general’s side, except when absent by his orders.

William

William often dashed on horseback to carry orders from the general to his field commanders during the heat of battle. While engaged in this and passing from one position of the field to another William made several narrow escapes under heavy fire to reach his point of destination.

One such occasion General Anderson dispatched William to the rear to order up an artillery battery. The general subsequently withdrew the infantry a short distance to a better shelter. There the artillery gained a favorable position before William had time to deliver the order. The Rebel artillery immediately opened fire on the enemy.

Meanwhile, William had to take a circuitous route to avoid Union troops. However, he was detected by a small detachment of Union cavalry, which took up a hot pursuit. A frequent tactic was to intercept dispatch riders to confiscate the written orders, thus gain knowledge of the enemy’s action.

William spurred his horse and rode frantically over hills and through the woods. He rode to the barn of a house whose occupants were known to be sympathetic to the Confederacy. He dismounted, slapped his horse on the backside and sent him running into the woods. He made a mad dash to the back door of the house. The rather large matronly lady of the house let him in.

William asked if there was someplace where he could hide. They looked out a window and saw a detachment of Union troops riding up the front driveway. There was precious little time to hide William. The lady beckoned him to her side next to the front door. She grabbed him by the head of the hair, jerked him down, pushed him under her full hoop skirt, and commanded, “Don’t move!”

She stood next to the door and let the Union officer and some of his troops in. They searched the house. Others searched the barn and grounds while all this time she stood next to the door. Satisfied the Confederate soldier was not there the Unionists left. The lady of the house booted William from under her skirt and told him to scat. William scoured the woods and found his horse. He mounted and continued to his destination, though slightly delayed.

William served in several other battles. He surrendered April 1865 at Smithfield, North Carolina. Thus, he began the long trudge back home to Tennessee despondent but feeling lucky to have survived the war. Home though was not like it was when he left.

Reconstruction was meant to punish those who served the Confederacy. The aftermath of the Civil War and Reconstruction wreaked havoc on and totally devastated many Southern families. William’s family was no exception. Two of his older brothers also served in the Confederate Army. One died at the Camp Sumter military prison at Andersonville, Georgia. The other one was seriously wounded and lost his right arm.

William’s father had been a tobacco and cotton farmer. The home place was totally destroyed by fire set by the Unionists. The home had been a pleasant and comfortable two-story house with fireplaces in each end and an all brick colonial walk-in cooking fireplace with a warmer cove in the kitchen.

The barns and sheds were burned to the ground. The Unionists confiscated the horses and mules. The cattle were slaughtered to feed the Union soldiers. The family was living in makeshift squatter hovels. Most of the few slaves were gone. Two slave families with children stayed on because they had no other place to go. They were all living together. Jud was the descendant of one of those slave families.

The 14th Amendment was written and passed (without the Southern white vote) to specifically punish persons who served in the Confederate military or served the Confederate government in any capacity. Instead of Lincoln’s concept of “with malice toward none, with charity for all,” these men were disenfranchised from voting or holding any public office until such time as the Federal government officially paroled them. That was a long tedious process often taking five to ten years in many instances.

During this time, William killed a man in a public altercation. It concerned the manner by which penalties were handled under harsh Reconstruction regulations imposed on former members of the Confederacy. The man was a Unionist sympathizer and cooperated with the Union during the war. The Federals appointed him as a regulator (enforcer) for compliance with Reconstruction rules and regulations. He was overly impressed with himself and his newfound authority.

William and a fellow Confederate ex-soldier worked all week to fell several large white oak trees. They cut, sawed, and shaped the wood into stakes to earn a little money. They were unloading the stakes onto a railroad flat car for shipment to a barrel manufacturer to make staves for barrels to store and age bourbon whiskey.

The enforcer guy arrived and told them they had to stop off-loading until they paid a transport fee. William and friend had no money. A fierce argument ensued. Suddenly, the guy attacked William wielding a large knife. William had a stake in hand. He had little time to defend himself. He struck the man in the side of the head with the stake (a little bigger than a baseball bat) killing him. William was tried and exonerated by reason of self-defense. The enforcer’s family refused to accept the verdict and vowed revenge.

William’s family decided to flee the aftermath of the war and move west to put the past behind them and start life anew. They also wanted to avoid any further consequences from the altercation and trial.

They sold their land at a reduced price. They used what little resource they realized to purchase a wagon, team of mules, and supplies. Thus, began their trek west. One of the remaining slave families moved with them. Jud was the grandson of that slave family.

Chapter 2

Pug and Tug’s fathers were sharecroppers well known in the community as hard workers. Talk among others in the community was they were “Keepers of the Ten Commandments . . . and anything else they could lay their hands on.” They mutually tilled the soil on a parcel of land consisting of one thousand and eighty-three acres owned by Oscar Metcalf. It was mostly tree covered rocky hills except for the Big Bottom and the Little Bottom alongside the river.

The offspring all helped till the soil and harvest the crops. The work ethic was deeply engrained. They worked hard. They played hard.

Each family had four boys and one girl. Pug and Tug each were third born with two older brothers. Their younger sisters were Joy Mae and Estelle, respectively. Each had younger brothers, Sam and Jake, respectively. Patsye Sue was a distant cousin. She lived with Tug’s family. She was a scrawny, freckle-faced, knock-kneed wisp of a kid. She was orphaned at a very early age. Her grandmother was a sister to Pug and Tug’s grandfather.

Tug’s great grandmother on his mother’s side lived with them. Her name was Lugaine. She was elderly but feisty. One day when I was at Tug’s house to play she was standing on the back porch where a water bucket and dipper were kept. Tug sassed her. She dipped up a dipper full of water and threw it in his face, then demanded he apologize. He did.

Lugaine lived to age eighty-nine. I remember her funeral at Salem Church with Brother Sewell officiating. Her casket was on the back of a flatbed truck draped with a beautifully handcrafted quilt. It drove slowly to that little remote rural cemetery on the hill. We all walked behind the truck bearing the quilt-draped casket. She was quietly laid to rest. May God bless her with His Grace.

Lugaine was mostly Cherokee. Her mother was a full blooded Cherokee. Her father was half Cherokee and half Scot. Her mother was born on the Trail of Tears, a ten-year forced relocation by the United States Government to displace the Cherokees from their homeland in several southeastern states to an Indian Reservation a thousand miles away in what is now Oklahoma. Her father was a Methodist circuit rider. He was sent to north central Texas to bring The Word to the Indians and others alike. It was here Lugaine met Corneilous, the love of her life who was to become her husband.

Corneilous was born in Tennessee. His family left north central Tennessee and migrated to north central Texas when he was sixteen. The State of Texas was issuing land grants for hundreds of acres to those who would homestead and live on the land.

Corneilous and his older brother drove twenty head of cattle from Tennessee to Texas. They swam them across the Mississippi River and did not lose a single cow. They had never seen a river so big, but they saw it as just another obstacle to cross, only this one was much bigger.

Corneilous and his family were barely settled on their Texas land grant when the Civil War broke out. Many Texans joined the Confederate army bringing the flow of cattle north to a complete halt. Cattle left alone turned wild and mated at will.

When Corneilous was nineteen he rode his personal horse two hundred and sixty miles to rendezvous at a camp near what is now Hempstead, Texas. There he was mustered into the Texas 12th Cavalry as a private. His horse was named Maco Mano, a derivate of the Spanish words mucho mano, meaning good hand.

Corneilous participated in several battles. He sometimes served as a scout. He went ahead to seek out enemy positions and see how many were there. Twice he got too close and was almost captured, but managed to trick them and make his escape. In his unit he came to be known as The Tricker. Later it was shortened to Trick, a name that stayed with him the rest of his life.

Trick never officially surrendered to the Federals at the end of the war. The Federals were confiscating guns and horses from those that surrendered. No self-respecting Texan would ever give up his gun and horse. Trick and thirteen others made their way to Mexico rather than surrender. Parole was granted after a period of negotiation with the Federal authorities. It was agreed they could return to Texas and keep their guns and horses.

There was a huge beef shortage after the Civil War. It was vital to create a trail to drive the cattle from deep Texas to Missouri and eastern Kansas to meet the railroads. It was easier to drive cattle north than to get the railways to meet them in Texas. This way they got the beef to Chicago to be processed and sent east.

Trick and his friends were now on the north bank of the Rio Grand River in Texas. They were far from home with little wherewithal. By war’s end the longhorn cattle population grew so large they were virtually worthless in Texas, but worth $40 a head at the northern railheads. They decided to round up a herd of wild longhorns and drive them north to market. They pooled their few resources and purchased a wagon and team of mules.

Cattle drives weren’t exactly a novel proposition. In the early to mid-1800’s smaller herds of Texas cattle were driven up the difficult Shawnee Trail. The cattle passed near what is now Austin, Waco, and Fort Worth before they crossed Red River. From there branches of the Shawnee Trail led to Missouri and eastern Kansas. They headed north on the eastern part of Indian Territory that later became Oklahoma.

A series of Federal military forts across Indian Territory formed a line of demarcation reflecting the boundary between the nomadic tribes (Comanche and Cheyenne) to the west and the Five Civilized Tribes (Cherokee, Choctaw, Chickasaw, Seminole and Creek) to the east. This was known as the Shawnee Trail. After disastrous efforts to revive the pre-war Shawnee Trail from Texas to Missouri, cattlemen were given a new alternative . . . drive the cattle to a new railhead at Abilene in western Kansas.

The trail veered west from the old Shawnee Trail to become the Shawnee-Arbuckle Trail. It later became known as the Chisholm Trail. The trail passed near Fort Arbuckle, a better candidate for the migration of so many cattle. It was a pivotal point for the cattle drives. They passed by the fort and continued to a fork in the trail. One side veered west. The other side veered east.

When cattlemen drove longhorn cattle north their path was fraught with danger. They had to contend with hostile settlers, hostile Indian tribes, and a landscape not always conducive to the passage of large herds of cattle. The weather was sweltering hot or miserably cold. Swarms of horseflies and biting insects preyed on the cows and cowboys alike. The combined odors of hot animal flesh, sweat, and dung masked the more welcome aromas of fresh air and leather.

Longhorn herds spread across several miles, occupying the land like a slow advancing army. They couldn’t be rushed. They ate as they went, never encouraged to move quickly unless the next water source was far away. With luck they’d be fatter and heavier by the time they reached their destination.

Trick and his companions with their small herd were not without hazards. It took six to eight weeks to drive a herd from Texas across Indian Territory and on to Abilene. They were in unfamiliar territory. They were constantly alert for hostiles, Indians, and others. Trick often used his experience from the war to scout ahead to check out the trail and be on the lookout for hostiles.

They came to Red River. This was not a new experience for Trick, or so he thought. He and his brother previously swam a small herd of cows across the Mississippi. But Red River was not the smooth flowing gentle giant the Mississippi was with its solid banks.

Early morning they urged the cattle into the river to wade across from Texas into Indian Territory. It became ‘controlled’ chaos. The river was riotously fraught with muddy water, whirlpools, deep holes, with quicksand quietly lurking just at the surface. Trick urged Maco Mano into the river. He suddenly became mired in a thick muddy muck much like quicksand. Trick had only moments to act. He quickly stripped the horse and himself of all gear, but the bridle. He managed to get back to the south bank leading Maco Mano to safety. Now he was without his gear and still on the Texas side. He mounted Maco Mano bareback and searched along the riverbank.

A short distance he discovered his gear had floated downstream. It was caught in the branches of a large tree. It had caved off the bank and was lying partially submerged in the river. Trick cautiously entered the water several times holding onto the branches to retrieve his gear a few items at a time, including his saddle.

Trick made it back to the river crossing and crossed without further delay. He rejoined his companions. Most of the cows were across but scattered. A few were still on the Texas side. They decided it was too hazardous to try to round up the few strays and usher them across the river. The first crossing had been tough enough. They spent the rest of the afternoon rounding up strays on the north side and quieting them down for the night.

The next two days were uneventful as they regrouped. The third day they came to a meadow with grass and water a few miles south of Fort Arbuckle. Trick and one of the guys rode into the fort to seek information and maybe get a few needed supplies. While at the fort they met a Texas rancher.

His much larger herd was settled a few miles north of the fort. He was shorthanded. He had the misfortune to lose some of his crew to hostile Indians and desertions. After some conversation he made a proposition to Trick and his companion. They could merge their smaller herd with his and he would give them half of what he got for them providing they signed on as drovers. He was especially anxious to sign them on because they were ex-military. This would strengthen his ability to withstand future unwanted incursions by hostiles.

The next two years Trick made several longhorn cattle drives as a drover and guard. They encountered hostile Indians several times, especially crossing Indian Territory. Once on a return trip to south Texas a band of hostile Indians intent on stealing their horses set upon Trick and his companions.

In the melee that followed Trick was hotly pursued by an Indian twirling a lariat to snare and pull him from Maco Mano. Just as the Indian dropped the loop Trick leaned low in his saddle so the lariat slid over his backside and slipped away.

The Indian was not deterred. He spurred his horse to get closer and try to knock Trick off his horse with a small club. As the Indian struck out with the club, Trick drew his cavalry saber and struck the Indian squarely in the face. Trick first thought he knocked the Indian from his horse, but then saw him clinging to the underside as they disappeared into a small ravine. Thus ended the pursuit.

Afterwards, Trick returned home to the ranch homestead on the land grant. He was unscathed and still had his trusted Maco Mano. It was here he met the charming Lugaine, the beautiful part Cherokee young lady who would become his wife and mother of their eight children.

Lugaine’s father was a Methodist circuit rider. He served several isolated small communities including a small community near the land grant ranch. He made it his home base. He also helped organize and build a school. He thought education was the best way to assimilate the kids into the culture. Lugaine was one of the two teachers in the community school of forty students, more or less, depending on whatever happened from day to day. It was at a church function that the lovely Lugaine smote Trick. They were married a few months later.

Lugaine’s Cherokee heritage entitled her to a “head right” for free land in Indian Territory. Trick had seen the open prairies of tall grass there. He knew it was good range for cattle. After a few years, Trick and Lugaine with their two small children crossed Red River one more time and moved to Indian Territory. They raised cattle and from time to time drove them to market in Kansas until the railroads arrived.

Trick died at age seventy-eight. Their eight children became adults and sought a life elsewhere. Lugaine, Tug’s great grandmother, came to live with Tug’s family a few months after Trick died.

Chapter 3

My family was next closest to Pug and Tug’s families. We lived downstream the better part of a mile on a gravel road. Our house was on a hill about three hundred yards from the bridge that crossed the river. I had only one sibling, my sister LuAnne. I was the older brother Pug and Tug wished they had.

Meta was our grandmother on my mother’s side. She was born in Rhode Island. Her ancestors were seafaring people. One of her distant ancestors was a crewman on the Mayflower. Her later ancestors mostly plied the seas along the Eastern Seaboard from Rhode Island and New York to and from ports-of-call in the Caribbean.

Meta

Meta’s ancestor was captain of a three-mast barque sailing ship with square-sails fore and aft on the aftermost mast and jointly owned with several investors. Today, his ship’s log is in the family with others in Rhode Island. Various members of the family served in the crew from time to time.

They also sailed their ship in the slave trade running the triangle from Rhode Island to Africa to Port Au Prince and other slave markets, then back to Rhode Island. There they took on trade goods, which they took to West Africa to trade for slaves. They delivered the slaves to the slave markets in the Caribbean where they were sold. There they took on sugar and molasses, which they carried to Rhode Island and sold to buy trade goods.

Rhode Island was the principal main American point of the triangle. Ships out of Bristol and Newport were generally much smaller and far less specialized than the big ships employed by British slave traders. The smaller ships could negotiate shallow waters, giving them access to locations the British slavers could not reach. They were also easily converted from carrying slaves to carrying nonhuman cargoes. This versatility minimized down time in port and maximized the chances for profits from the classic triangular trade pattern.

While the triangular slave trade was never the prime feature of Rhode Island’s commercial activity, it was important. The New England distilleries dominated the enormous rum trade into Africa.

A slave voyage was always a risky financial venture for the owners and investors alike. Though they planned for all eventualities, everything could be thrown into turmoil by bad weather, poor navigation, slave uprisings, and other physical dangers. Also, the nature of trade along the African coast was ever changing. Exposure to tropical diseases invariably reduced the crewmen numbers on the coast and at sea. For the investors the most serious of all was the loss of captains, surgeons, experienced sailors, and the human cargo.

Enslaved males were often forced to work as seafarers. Some worked on slave ships. The itineraries of seafaring vessels sometimes offered run-away slaves a means to leave colonial bondage. Meta’s ancestor early in the trade took on a large Negro man for his commanding size and willingness to work. He came to be a trusted loyal member of the crew. He was known as Big Jim. During the Middle Passage his presence had a quieting effect on the human cargo.

When anchored in an African bay the captain forbid any of the crew to go ashore for their own safety, except when he had to go ashore to negotiate with the native traders. Then two crewmen manned a skiff to land him. He was always accompanied by Big Jim. The negotiations were always a mixture of various European and local languages and sign language. Big Jim often served as interpreter. The captain’s negotiating skills were enhanced by the presence of Big Jim and his loyalty.

The purchased slaves were counted as they were taken by large canoes manned by local natives to the ship at anchor in the bay. One time the count was one short. The captain protested. The trader, a chief, grabbed one of his numerous wives and said to take her. She wasn’t exactly what the captain wanted, but took her as a peaceful compromise.

The economic dislocations occasioned by the American Revolution disrupted participation in the Atlantic slave trade. By 1800 the African slave trade was in decline. Americans mostly procured slaves through local markets or by private treaty. In an 1807 statute, Great Britain outlawed the slave trade. The United States followed suit in 1808. Outlawing the slave trade is not to be confused with slavery itself. It simply outlawed transactions to buy and sell slaves. That law was often skirted by various devious means. It was during the Civil War that slavery itself was outlawed.

The captain retired. His sons became fishermen. One of the first things the captain did was to secure the necessary documents by manumission to make Big Jim a free man. He took the family name. He then worked alongside the sons and shared in the fish take. He saved most of his earnings. Two years later he bought a female slave. With the captain’s help he promptly secured the proper documents to make her free. Big Jim then married her.

One of the captain’s sons was Meta’s great grandfather. He was married and had three sons. One son was Meta’s grandfather. Meta’s father decided he no longer wanted to be a fisherman. When Meta was three years old he packed up and moved his family to upstate New York. There they lived on a farm that raised hogs. He learned the butcher trade.

After a few years he decided there was more opportunity further west. He again packed up the family and went west on the Erie Canal in a boat pulled by a mule walking on the canal dike. They crossed into Canada and took a train across the short southernmost part of the Canadian border to Detroit. From there they took a train to central Illinois. There he raised hogs and butchered them. He developed a successful wholesale and retail butcher shop in a small central Illinois town. Meta and her sisters attended school and learned to read and write.

For whatever reason, when Meta was nineteen her father decided once again to relocate the family, this time by covered wagon. They joined with a friend and his family. They made their way from Illinois to our little neck of the woods, a journey that took three weeks. Meta kept a daily journal of the relocation journey. Once here Meta’s father bought a farm over Harper Ridge on Otter Creek. He began to raise hogs. After two years he had a foundation herd sufficient to raise and slaughter about fifty shoat hogs that were packed in wooden barrels of brine to be shipped east to a processor.

The federal government had recently enacted strenuous inspection criteria for pork shipped via interstate railroad. The federal inspectors were not prompt in their duties. The barrels of pork were detained twelve days much to the despair of Meta’s father. When finally inspected they did not pass. It was a financial disaster.

He got out of the hog business. He later operated a goat diary. He and family hand milked over a hundred goats twice a day. He sold the milk to a cheese factory. He helped our fathers build the “hog-kill” at Tug’s family place. His knowledge and expertise were instrumental in the design and construction.

Chapter 4

Pug’s family lived on the north side of the river. Tug’s family lived on the south side. Pug and Tug were constant companions . . . most of the time. You seldom saw one you didn’t see the other. They grew up more like brothers, much alike, yet very unlike. They would fight over the most trivial of things, yet get over it, make up and be the best of friends. I was their best friend though I was more than a year older. I felt I was more like a big brother than just a friend. I often was the calm and sane one to keep peace between the two.

I didn’t know if they had real names. They were always Pug and Tug. That was their real names for all I knew.

Their families were poor but rich with heritage and pride. Through their other great grandfather they had a vague Revolutionary War connection with Henry ‘Light-Horse Harry’ Lee. The family’s genealogical heritage is abundant with the name Lee. They also had other family pathways to ancestors that served during the Revolutionary War. These were family heritage traits they treasured and carried with great pride.

They were God-fearing and regularly attended Salem Church three miles downstream. Though it was the toughest of times, their fathers would rather eat dirt than accept welfare from the government . . . or anyone else. Both thought when you accepted government welfare you were selling your soul to the devil and it became your owner.

The brothers shared labor and land use deals in the Big Bottom. It was two hundred acres of flat land that lay on the west bank of the river as it flowed south. At a steep bluff, known simply as The Bluff, the river made a sharp turn and flowed east. The Little Bottom was forty acres that lay alongside the north bank of the river below The Bluff. It was mostly meadow and hay, the primary crop to feed the cows, horses, and mules.

Pug’s family lived on the north side of the river near the edge of the Little Bottom. They had a barn with corrals for the horses and mules. There was a shed with a cowlot for the several milk cows. There was a small chicken house, and pens for the hogs when needed. There was an abundant garden and two peach trees west of the house.

The Second Bottom was ninety acres that lay on the south bank of the river below the sharp bend in the river downstream from The Bluff. It was only partly a true bottom. Thirty acres next to the river were tilled for corn to feed the animals. Sixty acres gradually sloped up from there to the back of the barn, sheds, and corrals. It was pasture for the livestock.

Cotton was the cash crop. It was planted, tilled, and harvested in the Big Bottom. Like most sharecroppers they tilled the soil for the privilege of living on the land and sharing a larger portion of the harvest with the landowner. Both men were forever in hock up to their eyebrows to the local banker. It was only with great humility each would go to the banker and ask for seed money to plant a crop. They signed discounted notes weighted heavily with interest. At the behest of the banker their debt load grew better than their crops. Pug’s father was often heard to say that if he could just get out from under the banker he could get ahead.

Tug’s father occasionally worked for a man known only as Peg-Leg. If he had another name no one knew . . . else they kept it to themselves. Farmers usually purchased reapers, mowers, cultivators, bailers, etc. by mail order and unassembled. They arrived in wooden crates at the train depot at the county seat where they were picked up, assembled, and delivered to the buyer.

Peg-Leg had a flat bed truck. He charged a fee to pick up, assemble, and deliver farm equipment for farmers in our county. He sometimes did it for others in surrounding counties. He would get word to Tug’s father about the arrival dates. He would go with Peg-Leg to pick up the equipment, help uncrate, assemble, and deliver it. He learned most of the mechanical intricacies of various pieces of farm equipment. Later, they also picked up, assembled, and delivered Model-T Ford pickups.

Henry Ford was not the first to build and market a flat bed truck. They were purchased from a local dealer already assembled. However, Ford was the first to sell small utility trucks by mail order. He had already invented the assembly line for manufacture of cars and trucks.

One of the popular Ford cars was the Runabout coupe. Ford detected a large mail order market, especially with farmers and small businesses, for small runabout utility trucks. Thus, Ford manufactured the unassembled parts for the Model-T coupe without the rumble seat in the back. He advertised and sold them by mail order. The price was $269 plus freight. He shipped them in wooden crates with instructions on how to assemble, and how to use the wood from the crates to make the truck beds.

Buyers or entrepreneurs went to the local train depot to pick up their unassembled Model-T Ford utility trucks. As this Model-T Ford vehicle became more popular it was common for people to say, “I’ve got to go to the depot and pick up my truck.” Thus, they began to just call them “my pickup.” The term later came to be applied to any small utility truck of any manufacturer.

Pug’s father sometimes worked for the man that owned the cotton gin and feed store. Pug’s father helped at the gin. During the harvesting season farmers brought picked cotton to the gin to have the lint separated from the seeds and husks. The ginned cotton lint was compressed into large bales weighing several hundred pounds. The bales were loaded onto a flatbed truck and hauled to the railroad at the county seat for shipment east.

Pug’s father also helped at the feed store. The feed store had a separate building at the back with a hammer-mill. Farmers brought grains (mostly corn and oats) and forage to be ground into a bran mixture used to feed cows, hogs, chickens, etc. The bran was sacked in burlap bags and loaded onto the farmers’ mule-drawn wagons, or occasionally a truck. Very few local farmers had trucks.