Joseph Campbell Woolverton and Amanda Saloma Darrow
Husband Joseph Campbell Woolverton [6250]
Born: 13 Feb 1861 - TX Christened: Died: 17 Oct 1940 - Muskogee, Muskogee County, OK Buried: - Greenhill Cemetery, Muskogee, Muskogee County, OK
Father: William H. Woolverton [6240] [41243557] (1817-1879) Mother: Hannah E. Myers [6241] [41243558] (1821-1894)
Marriage: 14 Sep 1882 - Fayetteville, Washington County, AR [MRIN:2043]
Wife Amanda Saloma Darrow [6258]
Born: 30 Sep 1861 - Lincoln, Benton County, MO Christened: Died: 11 Apr 1935 - Muskogee, Muskogee County, OK Buried: - Greenhill Cemetery, Muskogee, Muskogee County, OK
Children
1 M Franklin C. Woolverton [6259]
Born: 3 Dec 1883 - Prairie Grove, Washington County, AR Christened: Died: 13 Oct 1884 Buried:
2 M Joseph Willard Woolverton [6260]
Born: 24 Jul 1885 - Prairie Grove, Washington County, AR Christened: Died: Buried:
3 M William Alvro Woolverton [6261]
AKA: William Alva Woolverton Born: 11 Feb 1887 - Prairie Grove, Washington County, AR Christened: Died: Buried:Spouse: Elsie Jane Denton [6262] (1888- ) Marr: [MRIN:2044]
4 F Grace B. (Gracie) Woolverton [6275]
Born: 24 Feb 1889 - Echo, Cherokee Nation Christened: Died: Buried:
5 M James Emery Woolverton [6276]
Born: 6 Aug 1891 - Echo, Cherokee Nation, IT Christened: Died: 12 Sep 1891 Buried:
6 F Mary Margaret (Maggie) Woolverton [6277]
Born: 9 Feb 1893 - Tecumseh, Pottawatomie County, IT Christened: Died: Buried:
7 F Sallie Corda Woolverton [6278]
AKA: Sally B. Woolverton Born: 30 Jan 1895 - Tecumseh, Pottawatomie County, IT Christened: Died: Buried:
8 M Carl Hoy Woolverton Sr [6279]
Born: 23 Jan 1898 - Tecumseh, Pottawatomie County, OK Christened: Died: 19 Mar 1961 Buried:Spouse: ? ? [65173] ( - ) Marr: [MRIN:22388]Spouse: Lydia Virginia Ferguson [65170] ( - ) Marr: 25 Sep 1935 [MRIN:22385]
9 F Nell(ie) Viola Woolverton [6280]
Born: 9 Feb 1900 - Tecumseh, Pottawatomie County, OK Christened: Died: Buried:
10 F Nina Ethel Woolverton [6281]
Born: 30 Aug 1902 - Muskogee Creek Nation, IT Christened: Died: 26 Nov 1989 - Accokeek, Prince George's County, MD Buried:Spouse: Arthur Lee Childears [6282] ( - ) Marr: [MRIN:2050]
General Notes: Husband - Joseph Campbell Woolverton
FTM BIRT: RIN MH:IF9221
from Onoldah Rone
from Glenn Gohr
from David Macdonald
http://www.agsgenealogy.org/databases/pdffiles/AFH/AFH151Mar1977.pdf
http://www.ancestry.ca/genealogy/records/joseph-c-woolverton_13931345
From Joseph Campbell Woolverton
"A SHORT SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR S LIFE
WITH A SPRINKLE OF LOVE ROMANCE
by J. C. Woolverton, [1936?]
[This treatise was contributed by Onoldah Rone, who is a great-granddaughter of J. C.
Woolverton. Joseph C. Woolverton was born Feb. 13,1861 in Northeast Texas. He
married Amanda S. Darrow on September 14,1882. They were the parents of 10 children,
8 of which lived to adulthood. In addition to a sketch of his life, J. C. Woolverton likes to
philosophize. This is chapter 1 of a much longer thesis which the author calls
"Philosophical Essays." The longer work is a typed manuscript of 123 pages, plus some
introductory pages. The manuscript was compiled in the author's 75th year, so according
to his year of birth, it appears the thesis was typed in 1936. This sketch from chapter 1 will
be presented in 2 parts in the newsletter, to be continued at a later date.—ed.]
I feel a touch of timidity in attempting to write a sketch of my own life, owing possibly to the fact
that I have always been more or less beset with an inferiority complex. Nevertheless, as I have no
desire to extol myself, I will proceed, hoping the effort will meet with favor by those who may
chance to read it. I will breathe a sigh of satisfaction when and if that is accomplished. I am not
writing a story of my life because it has been so very colorful or tragic, but my contention is that
many people live a life almost unnoticed, yet when viewed from the right angle will be found to
contain some of the cardinal principles on which society rests. And in view of these facts I hope to
be able to show that my life has been no exception to the rule. I want to further state that every detail will be absolutely true without the least tinge of fiction or undue coloring.
I was born in Northeast Texas on the 13th of February, 1861 at the outbreak of the Civil War (so
called). My father was a miller and had lived in that part of the country for a number of years prior
to my birth. There were eleven children born to my parents. All of them except the two eldest were born in Texas. I was the youngest. My father and mother moved from Indiana to Texas while it was yet a Republic.
Immediately after the Civil War my father became tired of milling, and when I was about six
years of age he sold all of his holdings except the household goods, work stock, the milch cows and a small herd of sheep. The cows and sheep were to be driven along with the covered wagons and vehicles on which the family and the belongings were to be transported to a location somewhere in Northwest Missouri. But as I remember it, no exact point had as yet been decided upon. And right here may I request that all the details of my younger life be kept in mind for the reason that I expect to contrast the early part of my life with the latter part. And on that comparison, I propose to make a statement, the truth of which I presume will be easily established by the facts cited in the experiences as contained in the story.
To resume, I remember to start with one incident that was a striking contrast with that which
would be counted as safe and sound procedure in these modern times. That to which I have
reference was the last crowning act of the negotiation my father had made with the two men for his property. The act I refer to is that of the two men who purchased the property, coming to my father's house, and going into a room where there was a table, sitting down with my father and brother-inlaw, who was a partner with my father in the mill, and counting out the money to satisfy the purchase price. The payment was made in silver and gold, or specie, as it was frequently called in those days; and as young as I was, it struck me very forcibly as being lots of money when I saw those stacks of silver and gold that almost covered the table, but I believe you will agree that the climax of the contrast in handling money then and now was reached when I tell you that they put that money in one of the wagons down among the other family belongings and hauled it right along down the road, up the hills and across the hollows, seemingly as unperturbed about it as they were about the other chattels. I remember that they didn't have any firearms, as a means of defense, worth mentioning. There were two squirrel rifles of the old cap and ball variety that had to be loaded by ramming the ball down the barrel with a wooden stick, called the ramrod, so it is easy to see how well equipped they would be now in the way of self defense if attacked by some of our modern stick-up men, armed with automatic revolvers, sawed-off shotguns, and possibly a good supply of tear gas, accompanied by a nice little machine gun tucked away in a high powered automobile.
As one of the incentives for writing this story is to point out the contrast in the customs of the
early part of my life and those of the latter part, first let the scene of a defenseless family of people traveling overland at the almost incredibly slow speed of ten miles per day, with several thousand dollars of money stacked down in one of the wagons, pass in review before the mind, and then try to imagine, if you can, who would be foolish enough to even think of starting out across the country in these moderrn times under such circumstances as those just cited.
As I was very young, I cannot remember a great deal about the preparations as they were being
made preparatory to the journey, owing possibly to the fact that my mind hadn't as yet been detracted from the daily routine of play and amusement, but after we were once on the road and an opportunity to play was made impossible, with nothing else to do except take in the things that came into sight, all of which of course were entirely new and strikingly different, so much so that my mind was impressed in a way that I have never forgotten many things that took place as we made our pilgrimage across the country in the manner as being described, which was by no means a departure from the customs of that day and time.
My intention as to the style of this story is to make it short and crisp, so I will try to give only the
striking events as I recall them.
In making the journey, we passed out of Texas into Arkansas, and, Red River being the line
between the two states, it necessitated, as a matter of course, our crossing the river, and naturally that had to be done by and with the means that were in use at that time and place, which consisted of an old fashioned flat boat that was pushed across the stream by the use of long poles operated by the ferrymen. Crossing in that manner or swimming it were the only two alternatives, and after a consultation it was decided to ferry everything except the cattle, that were being driven through with the caravan. They swam them across to save ferryage, which worked out all right, and when all were safely landed, we resumed our journey. The vehicles that made up that part of our train on which we rode and hauled our goods consisted of a very large wagon drawn by three yoke of oxen, one ordinary sized wagon drawn by a span of mules, and a one horse buggy.
The journey progressed very slowly on account of the fact that sheep with heavey coats of wool
are easily overheated and are not a long winded animal, so they had to be given plenty of time in
order to keep them from becoming worn out and footsore. Neither do cattle travel fast like horses, especially when loaded heavily. Added to that, the route we were traveling was almost due north, holding very closely to the western line of the state, and that gave us a very rough mountainous road to travel over. The range of Boston Mountains lay directly across our path.
It will be remembered that Arkansas was one of the middle states where the two contending
armies met, and when we moved through immediately after the war the work of the devastating hand of such conflicts could be seen on every side. The country had never been settled up prior to the war as it is now, and most of those who were living there when war was declared had refugeed to other parts of the country. Some left for one reason, some for another. Those who sympathized with the north moved farther north, and those who held with the south moved farther south. The country had been so foraged by the two contending armies that many had to move away from the scene of conflict to a place where food and supplies were more available. All of those things were talked of by the family as we moved slowly across the country and were impressed on my young mind by seeing the old deserted, desolate looking homes, with nothing left as a monument to what was possibly once a happy dwelling place except, in many instances, old stone chimneys that were left standing to mark the burnt ruins of the houses to which they had been attached. Occasionally we passed a remnant of rail fence that had by some hook or crook escaped the ravages of fire which had, in many instances, no doubt been set by incendiary hands.
There was an occasional occurrence that was at the time more or less annoying, but when viewed in the retrospect is strikingly humorous.
The three yoke of oxen were arranged as follows: the largest yoke came first and were called the
wheel cattle, or wheelers. The second in size came next, and the smallest came last. The last yoke was made up with a steer or ox and a little black male or bull that would sometimes, when he became tired and hot, proceed to sull on the driver, and, as all who are familiar with the handling of such animals know, when one sulls there is hardly any persuasion that can be brought to bear that will induce him to come out of it.
I remember one time when he threw a good one. It was in the afternoon when he went down on
us, so there we were, all sewed up, and couldn't move a peg further until the spirit moved him. My
mother was an old pioneer woman and knew the nature of such cases as well as anyone on the job. She knew how futile it would be to try to resort to brutal beating, and being of a merciful disposition, it wouldn't have been tolerated at all by her if it had been started, so there was only one of two things to do. That was to either just sit patiently by until he took a notion all of his own to get up, or devise some means other than cruelty to get the trick performed. So the old adage "Where there is a will there is a way" was brought into play by a brother-in-law who was quite resourceful.
Up to that time the only matches that had been invented were the long extinct sulphur matches.
He went to one of the wagons, procured a handfull of those old sulphur matches, went back, knelt down by the sullied animal's head, put his hat over the bull's nose, and struck a bunch of those sulphur matches and stuck them under the hat. When that little black surly got a whiff of that sulphur smoke, boy, howdy, he came up from there like the world was afire under him, all set and ready to go.
So we slowly trudged along on our journey day after day, stopping sometimes for a day by one of
those clear mountain streams that ripple down over the rocks into the narrow valley below to let the women wash and iron. My mother smoked a clay pipe, as was the custom of the older ladies of that time, and was a devout Methodist, but a good woman in spite of both. She usually prevailed on the rest of the crew to observe Sundays. All this, of course, made the progress of the journey slower, but everybody seemed to understand the situation and conformed themselves accordingly.
As we got deeper and deeper into the mountain fastnesses, there was evidence of the prevalence of wild animals, especially wolves. We were sometimes forced to camp in forests where the howling of wolves and the general outlook of the wild surroundings necessitated providing a means of protection for our little flock of sheep, out of the wool of which the winter clothes for the family were to be made. Of course, any means provided could only be temporary, as we only camped overnight in one place. In such cases they would take the two wagons and the buggy and arrange them in a manner so as to form a hollow square, or V, then stretch quilts and sheets around on the inner side, tying them at the bottom and top to form a corral, thereby providing a refuge that saved a risk to those almost defenseless animals.
So the journey proceeded day by day until at last we found ourselves safely across the mountains in the beautiful fertile valley that lies directly north. In a few days we struck camp about three miles southwest of Fayetteville, the county seat of Washington County, Arkansas. Before we were to resume our journey it set in raining, which proved to be one of those long protracted autumn wet spells. Because of the continued raining we remained in camp for a number of days, and I remember hearing the older members of the family talk about our moving trip. We had then been on the road a distance of about three hundred miles, around six weeks. With the prevailing war prices that were still on everything in the way of forage for the livestock and the food stuff for the family, my mother, who was more of an economic manager than my father, began to see that if we continued our journey another three hundred miles at the rate of speed we had made the first three hundred, our money would be dwindled to a near pittance. Consequently, she prevailed on my father to change his plans from going on to Northwest Missouri to buying a farm in that part of the country while they had the money. That they did and settled down for life.
I grew on up to manhood on the farm they bought there, and many things I recall that were
customs of such common occurrence that they didn't event attract attention, but are of such striking contrast with the customs of today that, when viewed in the retrospect, cannot fail to have a humorous aspect, even to those of us who lived at that time. There was one that links into the story of my life that I feel as if I would be cheating the reader if I didn't give it, but in order to give it the proper setting, I will give a few preliminaries.
My mother, like all the housewives up to that day and time, clothed her family by the old single
hand tool process. That is, she carded, spun and wove the cloth that clothed the family. But by the time I was large enough to go places alone on horseback the carding machine was coming into use. It so occurred that my father was summoned to serve on the jury at the county seat about eight or nine miles away. It was arranged for me to take him to town horseback, (or rather muleback). In order to economize and expedite time, my mother decided I should take the wool to the carding machine. Accordingly, the wool was tied up into two big sheets or bed ticks, and bright and early Monday morning the two large bundles of wool were tied together and, when I was mounted on the old family mule on which I was to make my journey to the county seat to fill the twofold mission, that of taking my father to town and mother's wool to the carding machine, they were placed across the mule, "Old Pete," on which I was to ride, and father and I hied away to the county seat.
All went well until we were within a mile or so of the end of our journey, when, to our
misfortune, we had a mishap. It all occurred in the twinkling of an eye, and the whole outlook on
life was suddenly changed. While we were riding leisurely and complacently down a slope-single
file, of course, for the bags of wool were of such size it was impossible to us to ride side by side in
those narrow wagon roads—Old Pete struck his toe against something and began to stumble, and in the scramble, managed to run one of his hind hoofs into one of the bags of wool, ripping it almost in half, scattering the wool promiscuously over the road and hillside. I shall never forget the scene, how I felt and how my father looked when he dismounted, walked back to where I was standing with the empty bag in hand, viewing the scattered wool on the ground. I had often heard the old saying "Left with the bag to hold," but that was one time I actually experienced it. My father, while a good man, was somewhat prone to profanity, so, after viewing the scattered wool for a moment and then taking a glance at some hawthorn bushes that stood off to the side of the road, he exclaimed, "Pick that d-----d wool up and stick it back in the sack while I go get some of them thorns, and we'll see if we can pin it up."
The hawthorns worked all right and the trip was finished in good old homespun style.
The style and customs of children's amusements at the time and in such places as that in which I
was reared, furnish equally as striking a contrast with those which are coming up in these modern
times as do the customs and styles of the grown-ups. Modern things to amuse the children in those days, especially in rural districts, were scarcely known.
Therefore we had to resort to our own resources, and rely on our own methods for our fun and
pastime. While it is true we did not have present-day toys and pretty devices to captivate our mind, we were not by any means divorced from all that goes to make a boy's life happy. We had the liberty to roam over large areas. In my growing up there was neither law nor custom to prevent any one from going or hunting anywhere he pleased, so long as he did no harm to property. The practice of posting farms was not known.
Sundays we went to church and Sunday-school. In the autumn we had a three months term of
free school, the attendance of which was none too good by the most of us. Most of the old timers
thought all the education a boy needed was to have a pretty good smatter of spelling, reading, writing and arithmetic. As to grammar, they treated it with only passing respect, regarding it as of only secondary concern, needed for the most part to put a finishing touch on girls who didn't have to hoe corn or take in washing in order to get a new calico dress and a yard of red cotton ribbon with which to tie up their curls when going out in public, especially when making their debut. Our schoolhouse was a frame structure built for both school and church, and had home-made seats. In one end there were two big fire-places, one on either side, with the pulpit between which projected backward, resembling a bay window. It was lined inside with tongued and grooved lumber. The roof was of clapboards riven by hand.
Besides our various plays and games of marbles, ball, and so on, there were occurrences that took place that, when I now in my seventy-fifth year view them in retrospect, I can not refrain from
chuckling over to myself. I of course was just another rustic barefoot boy with all the rest, going
through life with that happy-go-lucky mien that constitutes that characteristic appendix to every
normal boy's life. So all the notes that a boy of that kind and age ever took of events and occurrences were those that appealed to his natural instincts so strongly that they were jotted down indelibly in his mind. I always had a humorous vein in me, so many things of that type were impressed on my mind in a manner that I have remembered them on down through the years.
For the benefit of those who may read this I will try to give a word picture of some of them. The
school system at that time was very poor, compared with that which we have today. Free schools
had not been in vogue throughout the country for very long, and the war between the states had had its demoralizing effect on the schools and the development of a better school system, the same as all things else. Those old-time country schools didn't have grades in them. I never heard of such a thing till I was quite a boy. We used the once famous McGuffey Readers, Webster's old blue-back speller, and Ray's Arithmetic. We had first, second, third, and so on, reading, spelling, and arithmetic classes.
I remember on one occasion an occurrence which at the time did not impress me very noticeably
except from the humorous slant, but in after years I could recall the scene with all its settings and
glean a good lesson in human nature.
In mixed schools like those we had all sizes and ages, and all grades of intellect among that bunch of good-humored rough and tumble farm boys. The lesson I learned from that group of boys was that all our differences of character and personality when grown up, come from our inherent instincts, developed by environment. I remember that back in those old school days of mine I was small of stature and was inherently studious. At the same time there was a boy who was near my age, and who was a great deal larger than I—in fact he was what might be classed as just a great big good-humored lubber with very little instinctiveness to study.
I will give one act that shows how differently his mind ran from some of the others who were
more inclined to think on things worth while. The teacher, as was the custom, announced recess and like all similar occurrences, everybody was on his feet in a jiffy, making for the door like a bunch of wild sheep getting out of a barn, some whistling, some singing, some laughing and talking, with the clatter of about forty pairs of cow-hide shoes on the hard floor making so much noise one couldn't have heard it thunder. In the meantime big Tom, who had just been reciting his lesson in the second reader, came stalking down the aisle, passing by where I was still working on some part of my lesson to be recited after recess, repeating a portion of the lesson in a way that was in line with his concepts of life in general. In the book it read like this: "Mary, Mary, get up and go out to Lucy and listen to the sweet voice of the birds singing praises to God." But his rendering of it ran as follows: "Mary, Mary, get up and go out to Lucy and listen to the sweet voice of the birds singing praises to God durn your lazy soul get up from there." I sometimes think we must have had a gay old time. Our fun as stated, depended largely on our own ingenuity in devising ways and means of getting the job done.
On one occasion our old routine had gotten a little stale, so someone suggested that we get the
teacher's consent and put in the noon hour down in the creek-bottom near by getting paw-paws. The request was granted, and the race and scramble was on. Down the road across the creek, and into the pawpaw patch we went, around and around, hurry-skurry, like so many wild shoats, looking for the kind that best suited our several tastes.
Our appetites were soon satisfied. Then something had to be done, or else monotony would set
up and that would never do, among a set of live boys like that; so presently someone threw a big soft pawpaw at another boy. That was followed swiftly by three or four others.
By that time some ingenious boy proposed that we choose up, as we called it, gather up a big pile of pawpaws on either side, and have a battle royal with pawpaws. The proposal was unanimously acclaimed and presently all was ready, with a big pile of pawpaws on either side, about eight or ten steps apart; whereupon a chosen one counted "One, two, THREE"--and the pawpaws began to fly through the air like hail. But oh, the aftermath! When the battle was over and the smoke was cleared away, some of those boys' old home-made shirts looked like walking advertisements for a custard factory. We had to actually scrape some of them with a chip before they could go back to the school room. But what did all that matter to a bunch of real live country boys? We had had our fun, and that was enough, so far as we were concerned.
We would sometimes pull off a cob fight for a change. I remember on one occasion we were
engaged in one which took place in the winter just at the breaking up of a severe cold spell. The
ground was thawed out except in the shade and on the north side of the buildings, so the corn-cobs that were scatteredd over the muddy barnyard were fairly accessible, but none too dry or clean. However, that was of no concern; our only object was to have fun and excitement. In the heat of excitement I ran out of cobs just as an opponent came around the barn with a goodly supply of wet soggy cobs and chased me around the barn, letting a mud-soaked cob fly at my back and shoulders rapidly. So I sought refuge in an unoccupied stall. Looking down in the manger, I spied a dead hen lying on her back, swelled up as tight as a toad and froze as hard as a brick, with both legs sticking straight up like two handles. The opportunity to make use of the situation was so inviting that I could not resist. Therefore I seized one of those frozen legs, used the hen for a missile, and threw it and struck the boy who was chasing me in the pit of his stomach. The impact of that frozen hen weighing five or six pounds, came very near turning our fun to grief—at least we thought so when the boy's arms suddenly dropped limp to his side, his lips turned almost milky white, with drops of sweat standing out on his face like dew-drops on an autumn pumpkin. But in a moment or so he regained normalcy and all was well. Why not? We had had a glorious round of fun and excitement reaching its sudden climax by one boy knocking the breath out of another one with a dead hen, thereby leaving us with something to chuckle over for a week.
There were numerouos things to attract our attention and take up our otherwise idle time: for
instance, in the neighborhood there were plenty of orchards laden in the summer season with all
kinds of ripe juicy fruits glistening in the sun, with the woods harboring all kinds of wild berries
including plums, pawpaws, persimmons, black-haws, and wild grapes, with the different varieties of nuts such as the black walnut, hazelnuts, hickory nuts, pecans and so on to round out our autumn fun. Of course we mixed in a sprinkle of'possum and coon hunting of nights, with daylight rambles in the hills and on the mountain side, scaling cliffs and sometimes rolling big rocks over the bluffs and down the steep hillslides below, watching them crash through the underbrush, skinning saplings and trees that happened to come in their way, often going a long distance after having reached the bottom of the precipice. Gee! I can see and hear those big rocks going down those bluffs, helter-skelter, pell-mell, ram-jam, till "plum yet." And oh boy! that old swimming hole! I will have to refrain or I will be repeating, "Backward, turn backward, oh time in your flight, And make me a boy again just for tonight!"
I suppose everybody's life has its ups and downs, so it is only just that I was dealt my share of the
downs. From my youth up I had a desire for an education, but that grim monster we call death
claimed my father when I was only sixteen years of age. As I was the only one left at home with my mother, it seems, even at that age, I grasped the situation and assumed the responsibilites of running the farm and attending to the various details that naturally go with the farm life. Therefore, my opportunities for an education were greatly reduced; but I alway availed myself of what opportunites that came my way to improve myself as best I could, which never quite measured up to my desires.
But time marched steadily on, and in spite of myself I was irresistibly and stealthily approaching
manhood, and naturally enough, I began to cast a sheep's eye at the girls.
I have often wondered if my having to shoulder the responsibility of making a living for mother and myself while I was yet a mere boy didn't give to my mind a better balanced view and a nearer complete prospectus of life than I would have otherwise attained. At least, I know that at an early age I would vision a ripened manhood with a nice ladylike wife, surrounded by a well-bred and well disciplined family of children. But I was conscious of the fact that, to accomplish all that, it would be necessary to select for a wife one who was imbued with the same aspirations. In fact, I felt quite sure that if both parties did not measure up to a standard that was so replete in all the essentials necessary to a well ordered, happy, harmonious family life, disaster and shattered hopes would be the inevitable result, bringing on in its natural trend a phase of melancholy, the reflex of a misspent life. Consequently, I kept a vigilant eye for a possible prospect that might be worth a closer investigation, but year by year I failed to meet anyone with whom I could bring myself to believe there was a first class chance to be happily mated, and the result was that I began to contemplate on the possibility of failing to meet the one that was suited to me and I to her until we had grown old enough to become more or less morose, thereby losing that young emotional elixir, that necessary element in getting married life off to a good start. But seemingly, as the superstitious would have us believe, by some law of hocus-pocus, presto-chango, someone wielded a magic wand that threw a new scene on the screen.
By some determination all of their own, three families moved into that part of the country, rented
farms in separate neighborhoods, and settled down to farm. The three families were related and each had a good looking girl to its credit. As I had not as yet given up hope, I, as all boys do when a new girl comes into the community, began to look the situation over immediately. Also, as a necessity for expediting time, there are always other boys who are looking for a first opportunity to get a stand-in with the new good looking lassies. Consequently, in the face of all these facts, I was not long in making up my mind that there was one who was decidedly attractive. Not much to my surprise, I found another young man, an acquaintance of mine, whom, for the sake of brevity, I will call Mr. B., had evidently become, like myself, more or less enamoured.
I am always willing to give credit to whom credit is due. I will therefore have to frankly admit that I
had a real adversary, for it was commonly conceded by all the young people round about that he was as fast as a little red wagon. In fact, he was reputed as having a record for beating a boy's time every chance he got. But in this particular case Mr. B and I started off just about even. Neither one of us had met the girl, whom we will call Miss M, very often, so up to this date we were running neck and neck. Taking it all in all, there was only one thing for me to do if I expected to have any luck, and that was to watch my step and make hay every time the sun happened to shine, and that was exactly what I did.
Mr. B lived in a community south of where I lived. Miss M lived east, while her brother and his
family lived on an adjoining farm to my mother's. That gave me a chance to get word as to what was going on in Miss M's neighborhood, and, believe me, I kept an ear trained in that direction. Finally, before things had developed very much in anybody's favor, word filtered through that a straggling preacher had come in to Miss M's neighborhood and would preach at their schoolhouse the next Sunday.
Well, to tell the truth, I just became obsessed with the idea that as the appointment had only been made known by passing the word around from one to another that Mr. B couldn't possibly, under any reasonable circumstances, hear about it, so I soliloquized like this: "I will get one good lick in, and boy, howdy, how I will make use of the opportunity."
All the remainder of the week I became more and more elated over the outlook, but kept on at my
routine of work until Saturday noon. I then laid off, went oyer to the little village, got the mail, went to the barber shop, got a nice smooth shave and a hair cut, went home, did the chores, and went to bed in good spirits. I got up next morning early, did the morning work, had breakfast, and curried and saddled my riding pony. I did all this before I dressed so as to avoid getting any dust or dirt on my clothes, which were not so bad for an old country boy. Times had changed somewhat from the homespun jean days of my boyhood. I came out that nice spring morning all dressed out in a nice hand-me-down suit, a John B. Steston hat, a pair of boxtoed shoes, a standing collar, a white shirt, and a black silk tie.
The time had come to make good an opportunity that fate had so generously offered me, and in a jiffy I was mounted and riding away to gain, if possible, a point of vantage over my slick opponent, Mr. B. I had figured my chances were so good and my plan so nearly certain that my elation had almost become an obsession. I felt so jubilant, and so perfectly tuned in on all the rapturous elements of nature that the very leaves on the trees seemed to quiver and vibrate in harmony with my joyous feelings. In a word, I felt that I was in perfect rapport with all that was beautiful and good in nature.
All the while I was nearing the end of my journey. Finally I came to the farm on which Miss M lived,
but on account of the timber at the sides of the road you could not see the house until within about fifty steps of it. Lo and behold, what was to catch my eye but Mr. B's horse hitched to the fence in front of the house!
Gosh! Gosh! Nobody except myself can ever begin to imagine what a terrific and sudden change
came over me when I saw that bird's horse hitched in front of that house. All of that week's elation and inflation of feeling went out of me in a manner that all but took my breath.
There I was, in plain view of the house, with a group of the kinfolks standing out in the front yard.
There was no way to turn back without being seen, no other way to turn, and nothing left to do except suffer defeat, for I knew too well that I didn't have a ghost of a show. There I was, going right toward the house with no settled decision in mind as to what to do when I got there.
All of a sudden I became seized with an intuitional reflex, and so I soliloquized, "Church is never
over until they sing. I will put on a bold front, stop, pay a visit like call, and when they start to church I will go farther up the country to another school house where a protracted meeting is being conducted, or possibly to where I can find a road that will lead off in the direction of home. When I arrive there I will go into my room, shut the door, throw myself across the bed, and think the thing over to my heart's discontent."
But, oh, my Lord! Just to think of that bunch starting off down the road, all smiling and happy, and I going off in an opposite direction alone with my week of fond anticipations all shot to smithereens; then to stand there as an eye witness to that dandy looking little Mr. B who was a regular girl smasher walking off with the most handsome young woman I had ever met on his arm! Horrible! Horrible!
I was now directly in front of the house. Something had to be done. Procrastination could no longer be indulged in. So half willingly and half reluctantly I dismounted, hitched my horse to the right of the gate opposite Mr. B's horse, walked through the gateway and up to the front door. The door was open and Mr. B was sitting inside the room nicely dressed and looking as gay as a lark. We spoke and he invited me in. I accepted, of course, went in, took a seat, and by the time we had passed a few words Miss M came in, evidently from the other room where she had been dressing. When she spoke to me she also bade Mr. B good morning.
Great Scot! Talk about having flashes running through your nervous system and high blood pressure! I had it all running all over me both ways at once. There we were, the three of us, and no engagement made, as yet, by either Mr. B or myself.
I was fully aware of the fact that my opponent would not give me a dog's chance. All these thoughts flashed through my mind like lightning, but before anything had time to happen, our very much admired girl friend turned to the dresser, and taking out a tatted collar and some jewelry, excused herself, and started back to her dressing room. Just as she was leaving I was seized with a desire for a drink of water. I let my desire be known, and the request was granted. Thereupon Miss M stepped away blithely to get the glass of water and I, in order to not drop any water on the floor, made my way out to the edge of the gallery, and when she brought the water, I remember I took the glass in my left hand, holding it off and slightly up, and started a conversation that ran like this.
"Miss M, are you going down to church?"
"Yes, sir."
"Is your company engaged?"
"No, sir."
"Well if you haven't any objections, I would like to walk down with you."
"Certainly," was the most gratifying reply.
With that reply life suddenly put on a brighter aspect. It was a transfiguration of feelings pure and
simple. My emotions, from the moment I caught sight of that house with Mr. B's horse hitched in front, dropped rapidly to about 160 degrees below zero, but when that little bit of strategy was pulled off, my feelings instantly rose to zero and climbed at the rapid rate of about 160 degrees per second. I felt decidely better. I never realized as much benefit out of one glass of water before, nor since. I cannot remember whether I drank the water or not, but I worked my trick of machination and was in the lead. But no one knew that except the girl and myself, so she went to arrange the collar and jewelry she had just taken from the dresser drawer and I went back into the room where Mr. B was sitting, unconscious of the secret turn I had taken on him to save the day for myself.
A few moments passed and Miss M came in. By the time she was barely seated, Mr. B took his chair, moved over, and sat down beside her. I knew, of course, that he was going to ask permission to take her to church, and honestly I had a feeling of pity for the poor boy, coupled with the thought that the girl would be embarrassed somewhat to turn him down in my presence. So I pretendedly had to cough and incidentally stepped out to expectorate, but for fear of the possibility of being double-crossed, I made it a point to linger around outside near enough to hear the outcome, which consisted of a request to be excused on the ground that her company was engaged.
That proved to be the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. I was now sitting on top of the
world. I had beaten the smartest young man in the country.
But in all seriousness, that was not my objective. I was, as stated elsewhere in this chapter, looking forward to a happy future, and when I contemplate retrospectively, I cannot escape the conviction that the retiring to arrange the collar and jewelry, and the simple act of asking for a drink of water, with the accompanying sequences, were the fine determinants in the shaping of my life's course.
But let that be as it may! I know that I held the fort from that time on. Our continued acquaintance
and growing respect throughout the summer ripened into a perfect love that culminated in our marriage September the 14th of that year. Furthermore, I can truthfully state that neither of us has ever swayed or faltered in the least in our love for and untiring devotion to each other, the attestation of which can be verified by our eight children. We have just celebrated our fifty-first marriage anniversary. We had ten children born, five girls and five boys, but were only permitted to raise eight, having lost two boys in infancy.
I have now given a short story of my life, as promised at the outset, but to quit with the mere telling of the story without calling attention to, and impressing the minds of the readers with the real lesson as contained therein, would be to thwart the whole design or scheme of the writer. While there could easity be reams, no doubt, written on any of the several phrases of this article, and while I will not attempt to say all that might be said on any of them, yet, I do think it will be both entertaining and educational to summarize on some of the fundamental principles involved in the happenings of this story because of the important of their effect as a sequence on society.
First, let us muse on that part of the story that appertains to the love romance, as related above.
Many, in reading that part of this sketch or outline of my life, would pass on it, no doubt, as a right clever little love affair that only involved the interest of two young people, and dispense with it as such and nothing more; but on close examination it will be found to be vastly more far-reaching in its effects than just a mere little love affair in which the affections and passions of two young people are involved.
For instance, I am making the statement, without fear of contradiction that that little incident, as it
might seem at the first glance, is not so small after all when its true place in, and its relation to the affairs of man are thoroughly realized and understood.
To cite the proof, let us recall the culmination of this little love romance, which terminated in a happy marriage, of which a long, stable, harmonious and tranquil family life was the sequel. On this one pillar, possibly as much if not more than all others taken together, rests the security and perpetuity of a well ordered, prosperous society, and without which that very necessary accompanying element, commonly called contentment, could not be attained.
To further test the case, let us ask the question, "Just what would in all likelihood befall society, and what serious dangers would beset the continuity of the race, if the family were utterly done away with and the practice of promiscuity were left as the only process by which to multiply and replenish the race?"
The answer is obvious. We know too well to destroy the family record, thereby doing away with our lines of genealogy. There would be no way of telling who were blood relations. The damaging and degenerating effects of intermarriage of blood kin has been too well proven to leave any grounds for debate, to say nothing of the obnoxious repulsiveness that accompanies the very thoughts of such acts.
There is another phase of the story that is more or less historical in its nature, and therefore worthy of note. That to which I refer is the data on the old customs and styles of living and the methods of procuring a living that prevailed in the early part of my boyhood. That period proved to be the closing out of a regime of industry that had been in vogue since the dawn of history, and that, coupled with the fact that I find myself now living in what might be properly termed a super machine age, gives to me, through actual living experience, a graphic view of the rapid transition from the single hand tool age into an age so vastly different that it hardly seems possible. It almost makes me feel as though I may have had a nightmare.
Just think of it! Think of being able to look retrospectively on your life and remembering the first
coal oil lamp, the first cook stove, the first double shovel plow, the first stitch of clothing you had ever worn that was not hand made out and out, and many, many other things too numerous to mention. Compare that with the present surroundings that consist of a multitudinous arrray of complex, highly mechanized, automatic machinery. I think the contrast will be so distinct and striking that all will agree that those, like myself, who have lived over a period and era that dates back from this present time seventy or eighty years have been been blessed with the privilege of having lived in the most wonderful era in the history of the race.
COMMENTATION
After all has been done and said about our lives, just what is the answer?
King Solomon said "All is vanity and vexation."
The Honorable Clarence Darrow, according to press reports, said "This is a crazy old world. I will be glad to leave it."
I sometimes wonder if any human being has ever lived to approximate the allotted three score and ten years without asking himself the question, "Has my life, after having been fraught with all the intensity of interest, spurred and stimulated by desire, hope, and expectancy, and surcharged with all the emotional attributes that go to make up the complete abstracts common to any normal person, been worth the effort?"
Then comes the question "What are we to understand by the use of the word 'worth'?"
Possibly some would say, no doubt, that it means the one who had amassed a great fortune had lived a life worth while. Others would have us believe that those who had lived a peaceful, tranquil life, supporting themselves by hard, honest, toil, and paying all just debts, are the ones who have turned the trick. Still others would claim that those who live a life wholly for others, making a complete sacrifice of all their desires and personal pleasures, for the benefit and comfort of those around them, fill the only sphere in life that is commendable or worth while. And so the list could be extended on and on indefinitely.
But out of this mass of human estimates and standards of worth or value, just where have we arrived as to the answer of the question asked at the outset? Just what are we to understand by the use of the word 'worth'?
May we not safely conclude that worth or value is a relative abstract? It is abstract because it can
only be grasped by a mental process. We cannot lay hold of it with the physical senses. It is relative because it is invariably related to human estimates. In order to keep the mind clear and safeguarded against the danger of getting off on a tangent, it will be necessary to deal with it and think of it as such; then if there be in actuality that relative abstract, something we have in mind when we use the word 'worth' or 'value', it naturally follows that there is a common fundamental on which these human estimates rest.
It will be necessary, then, for us, in order to advance a step further in the analysis, to observe what that fundamental is. It is clearly deducible that all our efforts and actions are performed for the sole purpose of deriving whateverr pleasure or happiness there is to be attained by the act of effort. Happiness, then, shows up to be the one and only objective in life. Therefore, worth or value can only be reckoned or measured by the amount of happiness or pleasure involved. It is now plain, no doubt, that any studious reader will clearly understand that any effort to reckon value in tangible mathematical units, such as dollars and cents, will prove to be futile and misleading, because it is out of line with the facts in the case. As pointed out in this analysis, dollars and cents used as money, in its true sense, functioning only as a medium of exchange, does not constitute value. It is only, like all things else tangible, a vehicle to bring to us that relative abstract something we call value, worth, or happiness.
To anyone who may see fit to pass judgment on the foregoing remarks, I will kindly suggest they
watch their bearings, for I am aware of the fact that the idea we have and are trying to express when we use the terms value or worth, notwithstanding its frequent use, is so relative and so purely abstract that it is difficult to keep it under the mental thumb.
J. C. Woolverton"
General Notes: Wife - Amanda Saloma Darrow
FTM BIRT: RIN MH:IF9229
from Glenn Gohr
from David Macdonald
http://www.agsgenealogy.org/databases/pdffiles/AFH/AFH151Mar1977.pdf:
"born Linneus, Linn County, MO"
http://www.ancestry.ca/genealogy/records/amanda-s-darrow_2403229
Notes: Marriage
FTM
MARR: RIN MH:FF2613
from Glenn Gohr: married in Prairie Grove, Washington County, AR
http://www.agsgenealogy.org/databases/pdffiles/AFH/AFH151Mar1977.pdf