Person:Henry Basford (1)

What it was Like - The Memoirs of Henry Garfield Basford

PREFACE

TO MY READERS:

I do not pretend to be a writer. The following describe my life as I viewed it from my earliest remembrance. I do not contend that everything I have written is historically pure; neither do I guarantee the dates to be completely accurate. However, most of the story is factual. Much has been omitted, either because of my failing memory, or because I deemed it best to leave some things unsaid. Overall, dear readers, the story of my life is told as I saw it, and in words I could best use.

In my opinion, the star of the book is my own dear mother who planned and slaved to keep her poor little widowed children together until they reached maturity.

Henry Garfield Basford - 22 February 1979

CHAPTER 1 - The Early Days

When I first remembered life, my family lived near a community known as Ponder, Missouri, in Ripley County, which is about 15 miles from Doniphan, the county seat. My very early life was not particularly happy, nor sad. I remember attending a funeral of John Tucker ( a step-uncle of mine ) . He must have been a member of some kind of lodge because I remember some sort of ritual where, at a given point, all the people involved in the ceremony, removed twigs of cedar from their lapels and tossed them into the grave on top of the body. After that the coffin box was covered and dirt applied.

I remember a community known as Tucker. Here, the main attraction for me was the general store. Inspired by this store, my zeal for business was born. I had an older sister (Edna) who became my very first customer. I remember placing a board atop two tin cans, calling it my store, and stocking it with bits of glass and rocks which appealed to me. Edna would dress in old rags, and very carefully select each item she wished to purchase. I believe that she sensed that I got great satisfaction out of serving her. No play money was used -- that would come later in my career, as I learned to cut pasteboard coins of various sizes. I was only three or four years old at this time.

I remember a rather amusing incident, which happened along about that era of my life. Mamma and Maude Tucker ( who would later become my aunt ) were on the way to church, strolling along the road. I was with them, wearing my little blue velvet suit, of which I was very proud. Before we got to the church house, my kidneys wanted to act. Momma had failed to make the placket in front large enough, so both Maude and my mother took turns trying to make my placket do the job. Anyway, Maude who was 15 or 16 years old at the time got her tickle box turned over and laughed veraciously. I guess it was funny to her, but to me it was humiliating, and I was very upset. I would not likely remember the incident had she been a bit calmer, and of course, I was as proud as a three year old could be of that little blue velvet suit.

I recall Mamma taking us children in a wagon and heading for the big town of Doniphan (population about 1500) for a shopping spree. Joe Tucker, my stepfather, did not go. I suppose that he stayed home because of his farm work. Anyway, Mamma could herd that pair of mules over that fifteen miles of rocky road just about as well as any man. We put up at the Fulbright Hotel. Just before dusk, I managed to get into trouble. I broke down one of Mrs. Fulbright’s young trees while trying to use it to play horse. I was blessed out soundly by her and also threatened by Mamma. About fifty years later, my wife and I, and my brother and his wife, went to that same hotel on our way to St. Louis. Would you believe that the hotel was still called the “Fulbright “. I told the desk clerk that I had not been there in fifty years. I think she thought I was a bit zany.

About this time of my life, Joe Tucker evidently became disgruntled with the way of life in Missouri. Just about everyone was poor. Their livelihood depended on such farm products as corn, cane, tobacco, wheat, and perhaps a few other items. Also, many men cut crossties for the railroads. Lucky was he who had a flour sack full of ginseng roots. He could always turn them into cash in Doniphan. Anyway, my stepfather had heard rumblings of rich lands in Arkansas where one could grow cotton, corn and wheat. So, along about 1907, we set out in a covered wagon for Arkansas. We made it fine until we hit heavy forest areas after crossing Current River on a ferry boat. It was the end of our second out, and our goal was to reach the settlements beyond the woods. But, before we could make it through the woods, darkness fell. In following log trails, my stepfather must have become confused. We became almost hopelessly lost. I remember listening to the howling of wolves as they circled our wagon from a distance. Mamma was crying, and that scared the daylights out of us children who were sitting on a quilt in the rear of the wagon. We heard mamma crying, we let loose crying too. We traveled along, feeling our way through the forest, and at last we got lucky and came out of the woods at a settlement known as Sinsabaugh. It was about 9 o’clock at night, and the general store was still open, so we headed there to get food. The lights in that store sure looked good to us after following the log trail behind a man carrying a dingy lantern. The man tending the store was sympathetic towards us. He took plates out of stock and placed them on wooden boxes, and we ate “Niggerhead Oysters” and crackers. They sure tasted great. I have no idea if “Niggerhead Oysters” are still on the market today, since the civil rights groups would probably object to the picture on the can, of a thick-lipped black man with very kinky hair, opening his mouth very wide to take in an oyster. Anyway, it was all wonderment to me since I had never seen a negro before, nor had I ever eaten an oyster.

I don’t recall anything else that night. I must have gone to sleep because the next thing that I remember was that we had entered Arkansas and were on the Girlie Owen farm. The modest little house was painted white with a blue boarder. The barn was unpainted. We felt like we were in “hog heaven”! We had never lived in a painted house before. Our hired hand, who had come through with us from Missouri, must have been very helpful to my stepfather. They seemed to have good crops, including the cash crop of cotton, which we couldn’t raise back in the Ozark Hills due to weather. Also, there were no cotton gin to sell it to as there was in the Arkansas towns.

Even though life seemed uneventful while we lived on the Owen’s farm, I do recall one event, touching on history. I remember a traveling picture show which came through the country, showing “movin” pictures as we called them. They set up at the Taylor school house, and Joe got up money enough for us all to go. That was the first movie I ever saw.

Delmar Hudson, our hired hand, gave us a lesson about living off the land. In true pioneer fashion, he gathered quail eggs, mushrooms and other goodies of the pioneer days. I suppose Delmar finished growing up and married some backwoods girl and raised a family.

Our nearest village was called Palatka. It may not survive today. Other towns in the western part of Clay County were known as Datto, Reyno and Success. My father, Henry Basford Sr., in earlier days, had named the latter Bonton, which, after his death, was changed to Success. It never seemed to live up to its name. Corning was the chief town in the western part of the county, so it was established as the “western county seat”. You may wonder why the county had two county seats. You see, people had to go to the county seat to pay their taxes in those days. There was a river which divided the county, and it was difficult for some folks to get across to pay their taxes. Therefore, the county established two seats.

At that time in the early settlement of Arkansas, as was usually true in other southern states, sawmill barons moved in and aided a lot in clearing up the wilderness so that the farmers could move in . It was sinful the prices the mills paid for the timber they sawed, but it was open on the same terms to all, so I suppose it was fair. The sawmill operators left the country crisscrossed with abandoned narrow gauge rail lines which they had used in getting the logs to the mill. Corduroy roads followed, and talking about a rough ride, that it was, in a wagon on one of those roads. Any farmer who would fight mosquitoes for two or three years had my sympathy and was deserving of his tract of land.

If you read in your history, you will know that in 1898 there was a land rush in Oklahoma. A day designated and all participants lined up on the Oklahoma line with their teams and wagons. At a given hour, a cannon was fired and all participants rushed across the line and picked out a parcel of land which was free to them if they would settle on and develop the acreage. Among those who went over the line were John and Wille Tucker, brothers of Joe Tucker and uncles, of course, to the Joe Tucker children. They were step-uncles to myself and my older sister, Edna.

Another interesting relative was Richard Tucker, cousin of Joe Tucker. He was an itinerant worker on farms and was about the same age as Joe Tucker, unmarried as far back as I can remember. Richard was distinctive on one score. He had buck teeth and a 3 cent silver piece. He could lay the 3 cent piece (which was very thin) on a dinner plate and pick it up with his buck teeth. This always gained the attention of all present which pleased Richard as he didn’t have much going for him to make him distinctive.

CHAPTER 2 - Farm Life

In my writings, I am attempting to portray what life meant to the early settlers. I must consider myself as one of the pioneers. I recall the presidents from Teddy Roosevelt on until the present.

Leaving the Owen’s farm in 1910, we moved to a farm just north of Corning. At eight years old, I was beginning to feel my oats a bit. We children walked to Corning to attend school. I did not get much out of school in Corning. The town children looked down on the farm children, or a least I thought so. I had an inferiority complex, perhaps enhanced by my very common clothing which was the best I had. Anyway, we lived on the Brown farm in 1910 and 1911. We had a farm hand named Otis Bagwell. Allow me to digress a bit to mention that these young farm hands received from $8 to $15 per month. Of course, they had room and board too. Any of them who received $15 per month had to really be good.

Otis Bagwell was a good worker, but mamma thought he ate too much. She complained to my stepfather so strongly one day that he suggested that she put out some cantaloupes just before supper to calm his appetite. She did just that, and he ate his fill of them. When Otis came to the table, all we children were secretly watching him. Of course, you could guess it, Otis ate just as much supper as ever! I suppose Mamma thought, “Oh well, you can’t win ‘em all!”

Cotton prices were a bit better those two years, and Joe Tucker celebrated each Christmas by ordering some Jim Hogg Whiskey out of Popular Bluff, Missouri and throwing a drunk. Poor soul, I suppose he earned it.

I might say here that Arkansas was a dry state. If you got any alcoholic drinks, they had to come from the nearest wet state which was Missouri. So much whiskey came into the state by a local passenger train that it was nicknamed, “The Peddler.” People could set their clocks by it. “Ready Rolled“ cigarettes were also taboo in Arkansas. Years later I had been to Popular Bluff and returned with a pack of “Clown” cigarettes, Needless to say, I advertised my “Clowns” among the other teenagers and almost started a scandal on myself. You see, “Ready- Rolls” were looked down on much as narcotics are today. Anyway, that pack of “Clowns” did not hook me.

After two years of better than usual success, Joe Tucker was beginning to emerge as a good worker. J.W. Wynn, a large land owner living in Corning, evidently heard of him. Joe moved the family six miles west of Corning to the Wynn farm. During 1912-1914, we struggled there. The mosquitoes nearly ate us up. We had no screens, and insecticides had not yet appeared on the market. The only relief we had at night was to burn old feed sacks and rags.

The new land was fertile and crops were good; however, the price of cotton plunged to a new low. That meant hard times in the cotton country. In the meantime, Mamma had wheedled Joe into buying a new two-seater buggy, complete with storm curtains and a whip holder. Oh boy, was she proud, even if the buggy was bought on long-term credit. She could show off in front of Bertha Ermet, a daughter of Henry Basford Sr., by his first wife ( she was my half-sister). Mamma and Bertha were now on equal social terms.

We children started school in the little red school house known as Richwood School. I did better there than I did in Corning. Our teacher had a system of promotion unheard of today. A student could be in the third grade, for example, in arithmetic, fifth grade in spelling, etc. If the teacher called up fifth grade reading class, all of us belonging in that class would rise and go to the class set up front. All the students were housed in one room. The school house in our district was painted red, even though many other rural schools were painted white. Overall, the schools seemed to drill into our heads of the students the basic knowledge considered adequate in that period.

All of us carried our lunches. At lunch hour I recall making it a point to sit some distance from the bulk of the diners because I was ashamed of what I had to eat. I could see many of the diners purposely spreading their jelly and butter biscuits and other goodies out where all could see. It seemed to me that they did it on purpose to remind me how poor I was. I suppose this was just a supposition on my part. Anyway, my hunk of cornbread with a piece of meat and an onion almost caused my inferiority complex to return. In fairness, I suppose many of the other students had just as poor a fare as I.

After eating lunch we usually spent the balance of our lunch hour playing games or walking through the nearby cemetery ( the cemetery Joe Tucker would be buried in. He has a stone headstone complete with birth and burial dates in case some of his descendants care view it. I visited it once.)

We had a big flare-up while I was attending this school. The school had a pump in the yard from which we all drank water. One day a teenaged girl claimed to have caught a bit of human flesh between her teeth while drinking water from the pump. She immediately took her find to the teacher and her schoolmates. The grizzly news at once spread all over the community. Some believed that the girl had really caught some flesh, and that it came from a corpse in the nearby cemetery. Others believed the girl was craving a little publicity. In truth, what she claimed would have been impossible, but the best I recall, the pump was moved to another location, and everybody was happy.

In the later part of 1912, a horrible terror gripped the community! It was whispered or talked about openly that the world was coming to an end in 1913. I, for one, was very disturbed over this rumor. I did not want to die, but still, most everyone knew the number 13 was unlucky. Perhaps this rumor was started by some ambitious fortune teller, which most of us believed in, and of course, we also believed in ghost. People had little entertainment. During the long winter nights “haunt tales” were told and retold. Some of them were so real that they sometimes prevented me from going to sleep. When we had company, as we sometimes did, there was invariably someone present who could spin a “diller”, declaring by all that was holy that the story was true. It took me several years to outgrow my fear of ghost. Such was rural life in 1912.

CHAPTER 3 - Emergence

Came the holidays and we children were to hang up our long stockings for Santa Claus to fill. We had never gotten much on Christmas, but we always got a little something. However, this Christmas morning was to be a heartbreaker. In my stocking, I found a homemade shirt which I remembered seeing Mamma working on several days preceding Christmas. The other children likewise received homemade gifts. When the full impact of it dawned on us, we turned up and began crying. We had found out there really was no Santa Claus, and then Mamma tuned up and began crying too. She had let us down.

I remember quite vividly her standing in the kitchen window, looking out at the bleak day. My step-father, who loved Mamma tenderly, came up behind her and put his arm around her. They talked quietly a few minutes. I knew they were trying to come up with an answer to our dilemma. Then Mamma said, “Joe, I have been saving eggs to sell in Corning for a certain purpose. However, I am willing to forget my need for the time being. So, why don’t you hitch up the team and take these eggs to Datto and trade them for some candy.” The snow was blowing against the buggy’s storm curtains and the horses were prancing as we started out for Datto. Eggs were high around Christmas, and my stepfather was able to get two boxes of candy of two pounds each for the eggs. I don’t believe he allowed us to eat any of the shiny peppermint sticks until we got home. After all, it turned out to be a very merry Christmas for us all.

In our neighborhood lived a family by the name of Thayer. Mr. Thayer owned a small sawmill. As I recall, this family was from Illinois. Many families from northern states settled in Arkansas. One tragic aspect of this family was that they had a teenage daughter who was mentally retarded. Her mother must not have kept very close tabs on her because, at about 15, she came up pregnant. She made a lasting impression on me because she walked around with her tongue hanging out. Another pitiful case involved a boy about the same age who was retarded even worse. He had never learned to walk. His mother dressed him in a dirty red flannel gown. It was dirty because he always crawled to the door when we kids passed on our way to school. Don’t get the idea that everyone was or had a mentally retarded member in the family. I later learned that our neighborhood produced children who made their mark in the world. Not too far from our house lived a man by the name of Griffith. They were the parents of Mr. J.W. Wynn’s wife. He kept a small store near his two-story home. They owned a nice parcel of land with a nice orchard. “Old Man Griff”, as he was known, was a Confederate States Army veteran . I never heard him discuss the war. He was a very friendly person as was his wife. In contrast, on the other side of our house was a Northern veteran by the name of Gilbert. He was very dignified and aloof towards us common sharecroppers. He lived in a very pretentious two-story white house, had servants and rode in an expensive surrey, with tassels hanging all around the top. I believe Mr. Gilbert was a retired army officer, judging from his attire. Anyway, he and Mr. Griffith did not speak. They must have still been fighting the Civil War. Rumor had it that the Gilberts ate high on the hog, having honey, butter and biscuits anytime they desired. Such stories made my mouth water. His servants were responsible for the rumors, and they should have known. Talking of servants, these servants were all white girls, as Clay County had no colored.

While living on the Wynn farm, I saw my first automobile - a two-door Ford Roadster, driven by a man from Kansas City. He was peddling color prints of beautiful pictures for your home. Mamma never had much money, but she jarred loose and bought two of them. My brother, Raymon, and I had seen the car coming down the old sandy country road. We were about one-quarter mile up in the field and were really afraid to quit our work, but we did. I supposed I would be excused when history was unfolding right before my eyes - the advent of the Automobile Age. We ran all the way to the house to see this “buggy that went by itself “.

Another new invention which was reaching us was the telephone. I imagine it was about 1912. Anyway, Mamma had to have a telephone - $1.50 per month. It was on a party line and our number was two long and one short rings. When the phone rang, all the wives who had time would eavesdrop. Perhaps two women were catching up on neighborhood gossip, but their neighbors were catching up too, by listening in. There were plenty of nasty remarks passed, slurring the eavesdroppers. However, all in all, the telephone livened up the lives of the poor farm families.

Another historical event came about in the early 1900’s - the Rural Free Delivery (RFD). Mr. Downs was our first postman. He drove a one-seater buggy, pulled by one horse. He was working out of Datto. I don’t recall how often the made the run. ( I got a chuckle out of a movie portraying life in 1888 which came on TV recently. The lady on the farm received a letter by her friendly postman [horse, buggy and all]. Of course, I knew the RFD had not been established at that time.) Another thing in our lives to ease the boredom was the Kansas City Star weekly newspaper. I read every line of it, including advertising.

Another event which happened about 1913-14 was the marriage of my oldest sister, Edna. She was my only whole sister, being the daughter of Henry Basford, Sr. The boy she married was Jack Carter, and I think he was only 17. His father ran a small country store.

About 1915-16, a series of bank robberies began to occur in Oklahoma, and possibly neighboring states. As a teenager, I recall reading about them from time to time in the Kansas City Star. One day in Corning, a neighbor came to our house and showed Mamma a clipping about one of the robbers being killed by the law. His name was Russell Tucker. Russell was the son of John Tucker. It was whispered that a negro had fired the shot that killed Russell. His father was very upset and vowed to get that negro. All this “bank episode” is unconfirmed by me. I was just a kid listening to what I heard the grownups say. In the course of time, the Tucker brothers struck it rich when oil was discovered in Oklahoma. They were purported to have become very wealthy. John Tucker Came through Corning after he became wealthy. I suppose that he wanted all the poor kinfolks to know he was wealthy. Anyway, the car he was driving was not a T-model. It looked very expensive for that era.

CHAPTER 4 - World War I Begins

About the same that Edna was getting married for the first time, the preliminaries of war were unfolding. A year or two later World War I began. Also, the Russian Revolution came about in 1917. If you remember studying about it in school, you know the Czar and Czarina, their children, and any close kin were assassinated. I read about it in the Kansas City Star. The revolution brought about a new way of life in Russia. I leave it up to historians to pass on whether it was a better way of life. I have noticed since World War II that our country and the Soviet Union have become “friendly enemies.” Why, I never fully understood. Our country’s propagandists did a good job selling the American public on the evils of the Soviets, especially their atheistic attitudes. In the last few years, there has been a softening of attitudes between our country and theirs’. I think that it is good, especially in view of the fact that both countries possess the potential to destroy the other. The saner view of our diplomats is that we should resume trade with Russia, as they produce things we can use, and we likewise produce things they need. Even Castro in Cuba is wooing the American tourist dollar. Our latest reports on Russia’s church situation is that many churches are free for worship. On the economic front, they seem to be adopting some of our capitalistic practices, and we are borrowing a bit from their system. Perhaps this is all good for the world, but again I say, I will leave it up to historians to pass judgment on this situation.

The other countries involved in World War I were Italy, Germany, Russia, Sweden, Finland, France, the United Kingdom, and our country--the United States of America. I was too young to enter the army during World War I, and was too old when World War II came along. The draft board of my area told me I was more valuable at home helping keep things running than I would be in the service at my age. I can recall vividly that both wars helped deplete our natural resources, not to mention our young men who were killed and maimed. But, such is war--cruel and unfair, as well as unpreventable, it seems. I have always been a pacifist. The diplomats who bend over backwards to avoid war are my heroes.

CHAPTER 5 – Leaving the Farm

About 1914, in the fall, seems to have been the date Joe Tucker died. He suffered from Yellow Jaundice brought on by exposure to mosquitoes. He was 44 years old. Dr. Newkirk was the attending physician. These dates and his age are subject to correction as I was only about 12 years old at that time. His death left his survivors in turmoil. Not being adept in management and money matters, he had left many debts and mortgages for the family. He had no insurance – it had lapsed.

Mother was a good manager and jumped into it with a will trying to work things out. We decided to remain on the farm. After all, she had a sizable work force. Some were too small to do farm work. Possibly Vivian and Reva fell into that slot. Edna was married, but soon her husband would be drafted into the Army. Of course we had not yet entered into World War I, but it was shaping up. Pancho villa was crossing the boarder out of Mexico raiding our farms and towns in southern Texas. The setting was perfect to train troops which (unknown to them) would be used in the war in Europe. The war started 28July1914 and ended 11November1918. We suffered heavy losses of men and a terrific drain on our resources.

We were still on the farm at the beginning of 1915. My brother, Raymon, and I were the mainstays of the work force. Raymon had only one eye, having lost one as he and I were clearing some new ground. About this era, farmers had begun to pull away from the one crop system. Mamma put part of our acreage into wheat, so cotton and corn were not the only crop we depended on. We had chickens, hogs, sorghum cane and other things to lean on. We later planned to obtain a good milk cow. The crop that year was coming along nicely up into, I believe, June, when a violent tornado came up, together with hail and heavy rain. The hail cut our cotton and corn to bits, and some of the wheat which had already been cut and shucked was blown over onto an adjoining farm. Our garden was ruined – baby chicks were drifted up by the dozens. In short, we were wiped out. The waterlogged wheat was useless. We were lucky, however, because the wind had not taken our house. I remember Mamma and we seven children standing in the kitchen, all lined up trying to keep the north wall from caving in. Mamma was praying and we were crying.

During the next few weeks Mamma tried to formulate a plan that would keep us all together. One day the county tax assessor came along in his little one seat buggy. I can still remember looking this buggy over with its shiny red wheels, and wishing I had one like it to take my girl riding. I was about thirteen and had begun to daydream.

Herman brown, the tax man, must have known Mamma years before, as I remember how kind and helpful he was. I remember his saying, “Dora, you should move to town. The two oldest boys could go to work at the stave factor, and you and the girls could take in washing.” Of course, we kids were all for it, especially when Mr. Brown said the stave factory was paying fifty cents per day. Of course that meant only 10 hours a day. We had been used to working twelve to fourteen hours during the growing season.

Mamma made a trip to town and came back with a clear idea of what she wanted to do. She had rented a four-room house ($5 a month), in the poorer section of Corning, and had the promise of jobs for me and my brother, Raymon. We moved such farm machinery as was paid for and placed them in front of our house, which was painted white. It was quite a distinction for poor people in those days to live in a pained house. Mamma sold the equipment off, item by item, using the money to live on. Anyway, we began to get set in our new way of life, when in the fall of 1916, the flu epidemic hit us. We also all came down with measles. The Red Cross hired a woman to look after us, as we were all in bed. The lady, I understood, got $1.00 per day. I know she earned her money. During the siege of flu and measles, my older sister, Edna, became unconscious. We later learned she had contracted tuberculosis. Here baby, Earl, died. About four to six weeks after becoming unconscious, she awoke and wanted her baby. Someone had to inform her that her baby was in the snow-covered cemetery.

The rest of us recovered. It is a part of history about the thousands who died of German Influenza. One entire family died in Corning. My sister, Edna, failed to recover at once from TB. In the meantime we in the family who worked, had gone back to our jobs. I saw how my sister suffered and vowed to do what I could for her. Our local doctor told us about the TB sanitarium at Boonesville, Arkansas. It would be free to anyone who was unable to pay. You did , however, have to pay train fare. Raymon and I managed to save enough money for the train fare. The sanitarium proved miraculous to Edna. In the clean, pure air of the Ozarks, she recovered within three or four months. The rest, good food, and medical treatment caused her to improve so much that we hardly knew her when she returned home. I will always thank the State of Arkansas for providing this health service for her fallen ones.

Before I go any further, let me go back a way and introduce my Uncle Herman Sandusky. He was a small wiry man, black hair and not too much in his favor. He was the man who married Maude Tucker back in Missouri. They had an only child, Sybil, who grew up to be a beautiful woman. I never saw her after she grew up. Uncle Herman and Aunt Maude failed to make a go of it. (By the way, Aunt Maude was the girl who embarrassed me on the way to church when I was wearing my little blue velvet suit.) Uncle Herman was cruel to animals. I saw him whip our mare unmercifully one day. I told Mamma about it and she chewed him out for it.

I had another uncle named Walter Sandusky who fell underneath a freight train at the age of 17. Mother grieved very much over losing him.

It might be well to mention my great uncles, Charles and Logan Smith. They were Mamma’s uncles on her mother’s side. They came from a family of coal miners back in southern Illinois. When they moved to Missouri, Uncle Charlie seemed to have leaned towards business. He did his hitch at selling real estate. He served a few years at this in Montana. He also, at one time, was a bartender. I always wanted to feel that I inherited some of my business instincts from him. He lived the rest of his long life in Missouri, and was very active in a civic club, driving his car, so I was told, over that part of the state making speeches. He died at 92.

Uncle Logan was a county judge in Randolph County (Arkansas). He owned a farm near Naylor, Missouri (Ripley County, Missouri). It seems that these uncles helped to raise my mother. Mamma used to tell us children about some of the hard times she experienced in coming up. She told us about three cents per yard calico cloth, and how she worked for seventy-five cents per week in a West Plains, Missouri hotel. Of course, she was bound to have gotten room and board, too. I judge that my Smith great uncles were of English heritage. My Sandusky uncles were very likely of Polish or Hungarian heritage. We must keep in mind that our young nation was very much more a melting pot of races than it is now.

There is more to his Memoirs and I will add them as time permits.--Pjdrap 12:37, 8 August 2007 (MDT)