Title.....Rustus White Gleason Tennessee many long years ago, by Bud Ray
First of all let me say that I am thankful to PJ to be given the opportunity to share with you all a few things that I remember about The Weakley County I knew during my young life.
Stuck way back in the corner of my brain is a picture which comes to life as I sit and search my memory.
I have a picture in my memory of the frontage along the railroad tracks in Gleason during the 1940's, 1950's, and even a part of the 1960's.
Mr. Richee's store was the one on the corner across from the Hotel and "Kitty cornered" from the Depot, which was on the West side of the tracks. There was a line of stores all the way down to the next intersection across from where the bank use to be. Across the tracks to the west was (and still is) Gleason High school.
In the front of Mr Richee's store was a bench ,as I Remember and maybe some chairs also. The elders of Gleason use to sit there and chat with each other and with passers by.
I would be in town with my "Pappy" Henry Brummitt, and, at times my Father John Ray.
I would walk down the side walk and speak to these gentlemen as I passed. Among these aged Gleason Icons was a black man by the name of Eurastus White, or as everyone knew him as "Rastus" White. I would speak to him and he would always have a pleasant smile and a few kind words for me. I do not remember the others who sat with him, but my Grandfather and my Dad knew all of them.
Mr. White lived to be well over 100 years of age, and when the Ray family would come back on summer vacations from Michigan, I would wander down that "Memory Lane", and there was Mr. White, still sitting there. He had lost his eyesight, but every summer when I spoke to him he would answer with "Ain't that John Ray's boy"? The Dresden Enterprise would surely have a record of Mr White's passing.
In the cold of winter this group would be seated inside the back of the same store around a large "Pot Belly" Stove.
The years have come and gone and the Elders of Gleason have all passed away, but my memory still takes me back. I am going to Paris for a reunion the latter part of September. I WILL visit Gleason and as I pass this spot, I will pause and remember, and without a doubt I will hear the words again " Ain't that John Ray's boy"?
A Story from Bob Farmer, another native of Weakley County
I think I have provided these stories before but maybe it is appropriate that they be reiterated as part of the subject matter. These stories are also on my website at http://web.me.com/bobfarmer/Site/Bob_Farmers_Home_Page.html
My grandfather, Oscar Lee Farmer, died unexpectedly in 1925. As a result, my grandmother, Beulah Maggee Richee (Farmer, Smith, Dozier) lost the farm to the bank. She married George Wester Smith in 1926. Mr. Smith owned the property at 235 Moody Street, Martin, Tennessee. Upon his death in 1936, his will provided that grandmother could live in the house throughout her natural life. She married Phillip H. Dozier in 1941. We called Mr. Dozier "Pa Dozier". She continued to live on Moody Street until after Pa Dozier's death in 1966. She died in 1969.
Grandmother had a mischievous grin that discounted her stern demeanor. One of my humorous recollections was in about 1964, Joyce and I told grandmother we would visit her on a given date. At the appointed time of our arrival she had stepped out to go to the grocery store. Anticipating our arrival, she wrote a note and left it on the door. It advised us that the house key was under the doormat and we should enter and make ourselves at home. That was typical of a more innocent time.
She was a good cook, although, in her later years she tended to overcook everything. I've come to understand that this is somewhat typical of senior citizens. She seemed to cook constantly. In the early days I remember her cast iron wood stove. I remember the first time she showed me the water reserve on its side. I thought that was very curious, but later reasoned that it was a practical source of hot water and kept the air in the house moist. When I was there, it was my job to keep the water reservoirs filled. I estimate that she replaced the old wood stove with a gas stove in about 1948. I remember the crowder peas, black-eyed peas, okra, mustard greens, corn on the cob, mashed potatoes and gravy, and fried chicken. There was corn bread for supper and biscuits for breakfast. She prepared pies, cakes and biscuits on her porcelain clad oak sideboard. I remember the aroma from her biscuits would wake us in the morning. They were smooth and flaky and would melt i!
n your mouth. My brother and I were disappointed in her later years when she converted to Ballard biscuits. We were shocked the first time she did this but had to accept it as a sign of the times. At other times she would make breakfast toast in the oven. I always thought that was unique but special.
Grandmother had a big black cast iron kettle in the back yard. I'm told that before my time she did the family wash in that kettle, and would also make lye soap.
Grandmother's house on Moody Street was behind the University of Tennessee Martin (UTM). She lived a humble life and took in UTM student borders for a little income. Pa Dozier worked at the University as a maintenance man until he retired.. The house was later bought by the University and torn down to make a parking lot. The parking lot is still there. I vaguely remember that they kept a cow in the shed on the lower back yard. She would sell the milk and butter for a little extra income. One time, she demonstrated her butter churn to us and we were fascinated.
We would stay in the rental rooms vacated by the college students in the summer when they were off. It was a white wooden frame house. A big covered porch spanned the front and had the typical suspended swing that squeaked.
I remember the bathroom had a dim light bulb hanging from the ceiling. The wattage was not marked but I would guess it to be about 25 watts. It gave off an orange glow. It always fascinated me because it was always there from the time I could remember, roughly 1942. In fact, it was there and working when Dad helped close the house sometime in 1967 or 68. Dad gave me that bulb which I proudly keep displayed on our kitchen cabinet. Occasionally I plug it in to verify that it still works. It does! This is the only tangible thing of Grandmother's that I have. I'll never understand why Dad did not keep some other memento to remember her by.
There were always sweet peas growing somewhere in the yard. They provided a special scent. She also liked petunias and gardenias.
I recall, when I was a young boy, Aunt Lela who everyone called "Sister", telling a story about a Richee family adventure that became known as the "Hollow Log Story." As typical of a young boy, I did not pay enough attention to the story to retain the details. I asked my brother if he could recall the story and sure enough he couldn't recall the details either. Fortunately, Opal Dellinger interceded for me and resurrected the story with the help of her brother, Vernon Richee. They reinstated the story as follows:
"The family, at that time consisting of Pa Richee, Ma Richee, Alton, Lela, Mattie, Ina and Beulah who was a baby, was returning from a short visit to Pa's half-brother, Henry Richee. Henry lived near Bradford in West Tennessee (some 25 miles away from home). All the Richee children had always referred to him as Uncle Henry.
They had gone on a Saturday, planning to return home on Sunday by the way of Uncle Joe Richee's and have a visit with that family. A very bad cloud, with torrential rain falling during the night, delayed their return home on Sunday. All roads were dirt and were very muddy after a rain. It was late in the afternoon when they got to Spring Creek, a body of water they had to cross to get home. The mules became frightened at the sight of the water. Pa, thinking this was just a 'slue,' tried to get them to go on, but the team reared-up, breaking loose from the wagon. This left the family stranded for the night -- too far to go back and could not go forward.
Apparently, this big hollow log was their only refuge, so they went for it. Pa crawled into the log first, then urged the family to come on in. Pa arose at daybreak next morning, finding the water had receded and the mules were waiting. So Ma, 'baby' Beulah and the other four children crawled out. Pa hitched-up the mules to the wagon and the family headed for home. They went by the way of Uncle Joe's for a brief hello and good-by, but were most thankful to get home safely".
G. Robert "Bob" Farmer, Sr.
bobfarmer@mac.com
Here is another story from my website.
I never knew my natural grandfather who died in 1925 in Weakley County. Phillip Dozier was the only paternal grandfather I knew. He was a fine man who we knew as “Pa Dozier”. Grandmother was a widow for the second time when she met Phillip Dozier while a member of the Central Baptist Church in Martin, Tennessee. They married on 20 Dec 1942 and were good companions for the next 24 years.
He always had a smile and a kind word. He seemed to understand the aging process by maintaining common sense activity. For instance, when he cut the yard, he would only cut until he felt fatigued and then would quit and rest. He smoked a pipe and Grandmother always made him smoke on the porch. He was active until he passed away at age 93.
Pa Dozier always had a big garden on Moody Street in Martin. This always provided fresh vegetables in the summer. Grandmother would can the rest to hold them through the winter. I always remember having crowder peas when we visited. A typical meal consisted of crowder peas, mustard greens, corn, ham or fried chicken, and corn bread.
The Meek family was the Dozier’s neighbor (two houses removed) on Moody Street in Martin, Tennessee. Anne Meek shared this story about Pa Dozier’s garden and the Moody Street neighborhood:
"The Doziers were great neighbors. The entire neighborhood--Moody and Lee--was a wonderful place to grow up. Have you seen my brother's book ‘The Tarzan Club’? The Dozier house is mentioned in the book, because the famous "tree of jumps" was in their backyard. It was a huge ash tree on the bank of the ditch, outside the fence and behind the little barn, if my memory is correct. Maybe the boys could even get on the roof of the barn from the tree--could they? It was this tree that served as a test jumping station. As for me, I was too chicken and/or too little to start at the top of the tree and jump from limb to limb all the way down to the ground, as the boys did. I wanted to do everything the boys did but couldn't get up my nerve for that much jumping through the tree.
Have I told you the story my family loved about Mr. Dozier planting by the moon and my dad planting by his education in agriculture at the university? During one season or another, Mr. Dozier won the competition, and my mother just loved to gently tease my dad about that! My dad and Mr. Dozier were both avid gardeners, growing everything possible in the backyard gardens... and what great "organic" produce we ate. 'Course, it took a lot of work on the part of everyone... and those lessons remain with me today, as I hate to see food go to waste. Food means work, you don't just throw it in the trash!”
G. Robert "Bob" Farmer, Sr.
bobfarmer@mac.com
