Out of Place

My Campbell relatives have been very instrumental in helping to found this country. I am very proud to say that they are part of my family. But there is always that one person in a family that makes the rest of us look bad.  This week I am going to write about an ancestor that I found in a place in which I never expected. Prison. 

His name was John Richard Campbell (1891-1939). When John was twenty-six years old in 1917 he enlisted in the military and was discharged in 1918 during WWI. According to the census he had various occupations from working in a coal mine to carpentry work. 

In 1922 my great great uncle married Mary Bearden, a widow and lived in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Mary passed away in 1926 and that is when John's life started going downhill. 

By 1929, John was "peddling dope" (morphine) on the streets and tried to sell the drugs to a police officer. Whoops! Needless to say, he served time for this crime. 

I guess John didn't learn his lesson. In 1934, he was again in jail for pick pocketing a man. John stole a bank book containing 55.25 in cash and three blank checks. With one of the checks my great great uncle tried to buy a suit. This time John was sentenced for larceny and taken to a workhouse called Silverdale. He was sentenced for eleven months and twenty nine days. 

This man must have had a cement head because John just didn't learn his lesson from being in prison twice before. I guess three times is a charm. This time John was arrested for attempted burglary in April 1938. Again, John was sent to Silverdale workhouse and sentenced again for eleven months and twenty nine days. 

However, there was no getting out of the workhouse this time. On January 17, 1939 John, 47, was hit in the head with a shovel by Noah Moore, who was only nineteen at the time. The two men had a fight in the county gravel pit in East Chattanooga. John passed away on the 28th from cranial injuries. 

I wish that I knew more of my great great uncles back story. It would be interesting to know why he chose his life of crime after Mary passed away. 

Favorite Photo

If I could choose a favorite photograph of one of my ancestors it would be of my grandfather Daniel Smith with his wife Myrtle. He is wearing pants that are so large that suspenders are needed to keep them on with a hat while holding a pistol which he pointed at my grandmother who is wearing a suit jacket and tie that is a bit small. Maybe they were pretending to be Bonnie and Clyde. I never knew that Grandpa could be funny. 

I think that this picture was taken in the 1930's in Tennessee. 

What Ancestor would I want to meet if I could?

 I have joined a group that wants us to talk about our ancestors every week.  This weeks assignment is to ask ourselves which ancestor would we want to meet. Of all of the people in my family tree, I would have to say that it would be either my grandmother Azzie Lee Bolden or Myrtle Bauldwin.  I am envious of those people who have enjoyed the presence of a grandmother in their lives. 

Myrtle Bauldwin 

Azzie Lee Bolden

                                                                 

Both of them passed away long before I ever got here on this plane. My parents suffered the loss of their mothers before they reached their teenage years. The longing for a mother's love followed my parents throughout their lives, especially for my mother.  

John Campbell and Azzie Lee Bolden Campbell

I've often wondered what kind of women they were.  What kind of personality did they have? Did they laugh? Were they good women? Were they kind? Were they women of faith?  I will never know. 

Myrtle Bauldwin Smith

I have asked relatives what kind of character these women had, but no one can tell me about them. Those relatives who knew my grandmothers are long gone.

If I could talk to either of them I would say: " I love you, even if I didn't ever get to feel your touch or see your smile and hear the sound of your voice. I still love you. I miss your presence that I could have had in my life." 

Old

 I have been working almost frantically trying to catch up on my genealogy research that I have missed since we have been working an enormous amount of overtime.  Last weekend, I spent nearly all day Sunday researching as if I didn't have time to waste. I knew that if I stopped there would be another delay in completing my desired goal for the day. 

What I have been doing is researching a grandfather and grandmother, then research all of their children. Each grandfather and grandmother as a couple has their own book. To date, I have 19 books. Then I decided to include pictures of the people that I am researching. It is nice to see what someone looked like instead of just gathering dates and other facts. Afterall, they were actual people and not just data to input into the computer. 

This evening, I was looking through a bunch of old pictures that I had printed to put into a scrapbook. I have been doing this in conjunction with my family research.  The picture above was in a drawer for a while. It is of my great grandfather Joseph Rufus Smith and his wife Bettie Mae Castle along with their children. Then it dawned on me that my grandfather, Daniel Boone Smith, was the little nine year old boy on the extreme left in the first row. He didn't change much over the years and I could tell it was him right away because of the look on his face and especially the ears. My Dad had those same ears.  

As a kid, I thought that he was old. He only lived to be 60. Now I am that age and wonder if my nieces and nephews think that I am old too?  I'm sure that they do. Inside I feel the same as I always have. The soul doesn't age, just the body. A few of my finger joints in my hands are now starting to enlarge where arthritis has settled and I often accomplish things at a slower pace than before. L'Oreal keeps the gray hair at bay until I am ready to let it all go. 

I love looking at old pictures and try to visualize in my head what those people were like. Sometimes, I wish to be able to go back in time and visit those people who helped me to my place here on earth. Don't you?

The Importance of Knowing your Birthdate or any date

 

My great-great grandmother was Sarah Jane Bailey. She lived in Hamblen County, Tennessee in the mid 1800's. She met and married my great-great grandfather Pleasant Thomas Smith. My Ancestors lived in rural Tennessee and the need for such information was basically nonexistent. When Sarah was applying for her widow's pension after Tom passed away, it was required that she give her date of birth. She didn't know it.  Sarah contacted her brother David for a transcription of the page in the family bible that listed all of the births for the Bailey family. Then she gave the information to the government. 

Back then how important was it to know your birthday or any any date?  You didn't need to know it, that is, until you really, really needed something, like a pension for time served in the war. I am not sure that people had identification cards like we do today. A person could actually change their name and go about their business as usual without having to do anything legal. I came across this several times while doing genealogical research. 

I can understand if a child was adopted and not having access to their birth certificate and not knowing their date of birth. But, there are countries who don't celebrate birthdays and the average person doesn't know when they were born.  I just watched a video (2019) about Yemen. When the interviewer asked random people (men) on the street how old they were all but one said that they didn't know. The reasoning behind this is that a birthdate was never celebrated and was viewed as unimportant. Where I live there are a lot of Burmese and working in a hospital I see a lot of January 1st birthdates.  Not knowing a date of birth is still an issue for various places in the world today. 

The celebration of one's birthday began in Roman culture. A cake was baked to bring good wishes. Then the celebration spread to the west, which was embraced as a tradition. I don't know about you, but I rather like the idea of knowing when I was born. 

Pre-Death Dreams and other Phenomena.

Image Credit: Louis Jamot

As I get closer to the declining years of my life the subject of death creeps into my mind. It is more than the death experience itself, but what happens prior to prepare us for our forever is where my interest mostly lies.  Just recently, I read Christopher Kerr's book Death is but a Dream: Finding Hope and Meaning at Life's end and was amazed about the universal phenomenon of those who are dying will have dreams of their deceased loved ones. Dreams that are so vivid that it is hard to tell the difference between dream and reality. This subject has puzzled doctors for centuries. Science cannot explain wonder. The book was beautifully written with sensitivity to the patient's past and present. 

Many cultures view these pre-death dreams and visions as a way the ancestors make us ready to move towards our exit from this plane. It is a very sacred belief to them and should be respected. However, in our culture we generally think that the dreams of the dying are delusional and most likely are not shared with family members. 

It is debated whether the dying are cognizant of their dreams. Was it a dream or a hallucination? A hallucination is often disturbing and causes distress to the patient. Delirious patients generally cannot engage with others or give a coherent, organized narrative. The hallucinations they are able to describe may be traumatizing, not comforting. A dream or vision is the opposite.  The patient is able to vocalize their dreams and are soothing. Loves ones come to say that we are loved and they are there for us when we are ready to go.  

My mother was on her death bed and when my brother Randall walked into her room. She asked where the other Randall was.  I told her that there was only one Randall, but she insisted there was another one. I asked my brother to go out and come back in to the room so that she could see there was only one Randall. Afterwards, mom said the same thing. There is another Randall. 

When we were in the hearse driving to the graveyard my brother was sitting in the front seat with Randy, the funeral director.  It was then that I knew she was talking about the man driving. Even though this is not a dream story, I found it to be interesting. How would she know about the funeral director?  The last time that we had an contact with him was in 1984 when my father passed away. Anything could have happened to him and not be there when she passed. Besides, who would be thinking about a funeral director on their deathbed? 

One of my nieces was in a very bad car accident over a year ago. I asked her about the experience she had in the hospital. During the time she was intubated my niece experienced a lot of people in the room with her. It felt very crowded and she wondered who they all were. Whenever a nurse would walk in the people disappeared. I asked if she knew any of them. The only being she recognized was her dog that was deceased. I realize that this could have been drug induced, but her story was still very interesting. 

I don't know whether either of my parents had dreams or visions before they passed.  When such dreams are shared family members often think that the dying are not fully present mentally and discount the dreams of their loved ones. If I would have known then what I know now about the dying process a lot more questions would have been asked and I would have listened to their dreams with love and respect. 

2020: Murder, Mayhem and Chaos

 The year 2020 started off normally like any other. At least, that's how it was for me. Within two months of the beginning of the year our world turned upside down.  

My nephew, who was only fifteen years old, was murdered.  Something so unthinkable for a child,  the pain and anguish his mother felt was hard to watch.  Oh, don't get me wrong. I felt it too and keenly. We were not given the chance to mourn our loss and it was a great loss for our family. A child who had his whole future ahead of him was cut short over something that didn't amount to the value of a life.  It was complete non sense. (I meant to separate the word for emphasis)

Then within a matter of weeks the Coronavirus came in like a whirlwind. We were driven to seclude ourselves in our homes like a cave, the unbearable seclusion we were forced to endure for months on end.  "Don't go near anyone, wash your hands, wear your masks and stay home" was constantly being broadcast on the news like a scene from a Dystopian movie. The streets were bare, shops closed up, we could no longer eat out, visit the library or go to theaters and it felt like the world shut down. People stripped the store shelves bare of nearly everything leaving unwanted items as if they were crumbs for the birds. I don't know about you, but I felt like I was living in a bad horror movie. But you know what it was like, because you lived it too, and still we have no relief from this hell. 

The political freak show didn't help matters either that we experienced in the later part of the year.  Accusations of voter fraud, inciting a riot, a second impeachment and political division compounded an already stressful situation. 

I would not have wished this year to ever be repeated, nor the incidents contained therein. I want to go some place where the Coronavirus word is not spoken ever again. Socializing is normal and accepted. One can stand close to another and even touch without fear. I can face the world bare faced and not be shamed if I do so. A vaccine is not the cure for everything that blows in the wind. Next year, it will bring something different that we must contend with. Fear is not a banner to be displayed over our heads and we should think about things on our own whether we are being told truth or not.  Just think about it. 

Benjamin Borden...my 8th great grandfather

One has to be ready to receive a new relative to their family tree just like a newborn child. All of the excitement is there because they are new to you.  I try to research as much as I can on the previous generation in order to move on to the next or basically back in time. 

I feel as if I have won the genealogy lottery.  As an amateur genealogist, I collect a lot of names and data hoping to be able to research them when I have time. I knew Benjamin Borden's name but didn't know about him until just recently.  For the longest time he was just a name that I have connected to one of my relatives who married into my Campbell family.  

Benjamin was one of two men who helped to populate the Virginia colony.  The other man was William Beverly.  Borden had land (92,100 acres) that was granted to him from the King. Hence, it is known as the Borden's Great Spring Tract. It was exciting to find out that one of forebears was instrumental in the founding of this country.  

Here is where it starts for me:  

Jacob Peck came to America from Ebingen, Wurttemberg, Germany and eventually settled in Augusta County, Virginia. Wurttemberg is located about 50 miles north of Switzerland and about 50 miles east of France. It nestles down between the mountains of the northern encampment of the Alps in a narrow valley through which flows the River Schmie. It is in the uplands of Germany. The Schmie River is a tributary at the western extremity of the Danube.

Jacob's name was really Johann Jakob Von Beck, I have seen it also without Von included in his name. When he arrived to the Colonial colonies, Jacob changed his name to fit in with the Scotch/Irish that were numerous to the area of his new home.  He had been living in Frederick County, Maryland for at least seven years by the time he signed his Oath of Allegiance in 1747.  

Eventually, Jacob moved to Virginia and bought acreage in the Beverly land grant area of Augusta County. It was there that he met Lydia Borden, the daughter of  Benjamin Borden.  From Benjamin's will it was estimated that he owned 120,000 acres of land, including several tracts on the lower forks of the James River. When Benjamin passed away there were legal disputes over surveys and Borden lands which were not resolved until 1897. This was due to Lydia's brother selling off land without going through the proper channels. Lydia was promised a portion of land and didn't live to see the fruition of her claim to it. 

I have still not filled you in on how my family is connected to the Peck's.  One of Jacob and Lydia's Children was Adam Peck. He was a member of the House, 1st & 2nd General Assemblies 1796-1799. As a member of the 1st assembly of the state, he helped draft the Constitution of the State of Tennessee. He was one of the founding fathers of Knoxville, Tennessee. Peck came to Tennessee before 1792, and was the first settler of Mossy Creek, now Jefferson City. Jefferson City was originally named for a creek...Mossy Creek. Adam had a daughter named Jane, who married Archibald James Campbell my fifth great-grandfather.  

I cannot tell you how exciting it was to find out that I have ancestors who were not only good people, but without them this country might have been a bit different without their efforts.  

Source: Library of Congress, Carte de la Virginie et du Maryland (1757)

Missisinawa 1812: There is more to see than the Re-enactment.

It has been four years since I last visited La Fontaine, Indiana for the annual Missisinawa War of 1812 Re-enactment weekend. 

It is the largest living museum of the War of 1812, which includes a military encampment, Indian Village, and a wilderness area.  Rivertown offers reproductions of many 1812 reproductions from that era including fine yard goods, silver, tinware, pottery, muskets, and candles. 

 There were rows and rows of vendors selling their wares.

 But one caught my eye.

I came upon a tent with a man outside chipping away at a piece of marble.  I didn't know that you could chip away at this dense stone so easily.  It was the portrait of the first white man to go to the state of Kentucky.  His name escapes me right now. I stood there and watched a while. On the ground, I noticed that there was a headstone for a grave. Then I flooded the artist with questions about his craft. 

He answered my questions in a sweet Southern drawl. My favorite of all the American accents.  David Gillespie, a native and resident of South Carolina has been carving tombstones for over ten years and demonstrating at Eighteenth Century Re-enactments to bring to life the lost art of stone-cutting.  David and his wife Renee demonstrate all across the Eastern U.S. If you would like to read more about the art of tomb and grave stones check out the book above that Mr. Gillespie wrote. I brought a copy home with me. By the way, the new trend of putting a portrait on a grave stone is not new. This was done back in the 1700's. Click on the Link for purchasing options. Now I want to visit Charleston, South Carolina to see the stones that are found in the book.  David Gillespie and his wife have a web site called Pumpkintown Primitives. They do more than just cut stones. 

I couldn't resist the Williamsburg style fabric that would make a great tablecloth for the kitchen and possibly curtains to match. 

History doesn't have to be boring.  There is more to it than names and dates. Researching my family history has caused a love of history to well up within me that never existed before.  Now I try to get out and learn as much as I can about the country in which I live. Going to this kind of thing is not for everyone. But try it as least once. You may change your mind. 

The Hiwassee Meeting House in Reliance, Tennessee

My cousin, his wife, and I spent the day driving around in the Cherokee National Forest. We came upon The Hiwassee Meeting House. As we drove up to the building there was a woman standing on the porch and she was getting ready to open the door.  I grabbed my camera and ran up the steps.  When I came to the door, I asked the woman if we could take a look inside. She said that we could.  It was our lucky day. 

The Hiwassee Meeting House dates back to 1899 and is located along the bank of the Hiwassee River in Polk County, Reliance, TN.  It is listed on the National Register of Historic Places as part of the Reliance Historic District.

 Here is the text of the historic marker provided by the Southeast Tennessee Tourism Association from their Religious Heritage Trail:

Erected about 1899 through the joint effort of the Hiwassee Union Missionary Baptist Church and the local Masonic Lodge, this two-story, frame structure served as a multi-use community building. The upper floor was for Lodge meetings while the first floor served as the church meeting hall. The first floor was also used as a schoolhouse for a brief time. 

Originally the first floor had a full front porch. The porch was enclosed in 1927 when the church added two small meeting rooms, leaving a narrow entry way into the main hall. The church and the lodge moved to new facilities less than one mile to the east on Highway 30. 

It was founded on October 8, 1848 as Hiwassee Union Baptist, and then in 1859 as Sweetwater Baptist Association. In 1861 the Ocoee Baptist Association was formed, so they asked to be released from Sweetwater's Association and joined the Ocoee Baptist Association. Hiwassee Union Baptist went on the join Eastanallee Baptist Association in 1871 and finally it joined the Polk Baptist Association in 1921.

I have never seen a building held up with stacked rocks like this before. The whole thing was fascinating to me.

A lot of questions went through my mind as I wandered outside of this old building. How in the world does it keep from blowing over in a gust of wind?  What keeps those rocks firmly in place?  On and on the questions rolled through my mind. I will never know the answer.

They have weddings and special occasions here and I believe one can rent a house a little bit down the road from the Meeting House.  Tennessee is an amazing place to visit and I would recommend that you visit at least once in your life.  You will enjoy the all of the spectacular views.