Paul and Lester

Sounds like a comedy duo doesn't it?

This is another case of my having to tell a story (I will not say Long Story. Some things are simply too obvious to comment on. I do not think I am genetically capable of telling short stories.) Without the background there is no way to explain why I was where I was and doing what I was doing.

There was an elderly woman who lived across the street from my paternal grandmother. It is pretty impressive that I remember her at all, much less any details because my grandmother passed away when I was 3 1/2 years old. We would make the trip pretty much every weekend to Grandmother's place to check in on her. She was (obviously) in failing health and a widow. Visits meant the adults were in the house talking and we youngsters were promptly ushered outside and told to not bother the adults. A lot of time as spent on the porch swing. I could go on and on describing the house, yard, and neighborhood, but that would take too long and isn't entirely necessary. Just know it was an old house in an old neighborhood of an old town. This was NOT the posh place to be.

Well Mrs. Hamilton kinda-sorta adopted us. She, too, was an elderly widow and had lived there many years. Inevitably within minutes of our arrival she would come scampering - if a woman that age could scamper - over to give us a brown paper bag (picture a lunch bag) filled with popcorn. Freshly popped and still hot, mind you.

Now you need to appreciate this popcorn. I doubt you have ever experienced anything like it.

First, it was popped in a pot on the stove. There were no microwave ovens back then. And products like Jiffy-Pop were on the market, but they were hideously expensive to people in our group. That was something only rich people could afford. No one around these parts were that rich! So Mrs. Hamilton took popcorn kernels, put them in a big, wide pot with some oil, slapped on the lid, and stood at the stove shaking that pot while holding the lid on until the popping slowed down (there were always some kernels that would not ever pop so if you waited until the popping stopped entirely you would end up with burned popcorn!). At that point you removed the pot from the stove and wait a few seconds (opening the lid too soon risked having a few kernels go off once the lid was removed and sending popcorn across the room). Then you added the salt. And if you were being really fancy, you added melted butter. The whole thing gets tossed before you start eating.

Mrs. Hamilton was not fancy or rich enough to go with the butter. But the salt? That was applied with a vengeance!

Second, popcorn made this way is dry. Drier than you can fathom without experiencing it. Imagine a crunchy sponge that has been sitting in Death Valley in July for a few days. Damned near freeze-dried. Desiccated. Saltine crackers have more moisture. Add in salt and you have something that could kill almost any life form it comes in contact with.

If we were very, very, VERY lucky we might get a soft drink, too. But those were rare. Most of the time we had to go to the side of the house and get a drink of water from the garden spigot. No hose. Just a spigot. Fortunately we were short and it was a good distance off the ground.

Fast forward several years and Mrs. Hamilton is being forced to relocate. The house she has been renting for literally decades (for a pittance - about $50 a month). By sheer coincidence my parents have purchased and renovated a house two doors down on the same street. So they allow her to move into it and not have to leave the neighborhood that had been her home for so long. Yes, there was a small rent increase. But it did not cover even half the actual mortgage payment for the house. The parental units really just adopted her and subsidized her expenses. And she never knew.

ANYWAY, all that is to explain the piece of furniture I have in my kitchen. It is called a 'Plantation Desk' and was was originally made by one of Mrs. Hamilton's grandfathers. At least that is what she told my parents when she gave it to them.

Before anyone gets excited about a Plantation Desk, I should explain a few things. Contrary to what most people envision, with a few exceptions a Plantation was basically just a farm. Erase images of Tara, Oak Alley, and the like. Those were the rare exception. Most plantations were little more than a basic working farm. The desk is very plain and was used by the owner/farmer as a work and storage space to keep his books. Farmers kept ledgers of everything; crops planted, yields, inventories, expenses, etc. in old style Ledger Books. If you haven't seen these, just picture the books Bob Cratchit was working on for Ebeneezer Scrooge. The desk as a lidded base that could hold several ledgers as well as serve as the desk top to lay the ledgers flat and update them, and an upper cabinet with about 3 shelves that could hold smaller books, pens, and misc. other items. Originally both sections had locks, but those are LONG gone. I use it to store spices and gadgets in my kitchen.

Recently during a discussion with the parents (never ask how these things happen in this family) Mother revealed how Mrs. Hamilton once told her that she had lost four babies but could not remember where they are. We are probably talking about some 60 years after the children died. This led to my building out a family tree for Mrs. Hamilton to see if I could, against all odds, find where the infants were buried.

See? I did eventually bring this long saga back around to a cemetery!

Short version of that effort is that I could not find the infants. No real shock there. But I did find her paternal and maternal family back 2-3 generations and for a woman born in 1896 in the rural South, that ain't hay. 

But as I have both pairs of her grandparents I have the names of both her grandfathers. *ONE* of them is the one who made the plantation desk. Unless Irene lied.

Side note: One of her grandfathers was arrested in 1876 for running illicit liquor! 

Ordinarily I would not do this, but the newspaper article about the matter is simply too good to not share. I steal this from a transcription shared on Ancestry.

Begin quote:

The Oglethorpe Echo
Crawford and Lexington, Oglethorpe County, Georgia
Friday, February 25, 1876 (Vol II, No 20), Page 3, Columns 4 and 5

 

"‘CROOKED WHISKEY.’ The Revenue Officers Make a Raid on Our County. 22 CITIZENS AND 9 STILLS ARE CAPTURED. Full Account of the Affair.

On Saturday last our usually quiet and law-abiding county was invaded by a batch of infernal revenue officers, backed by a company of blue-bellies, who, without ceremony, commenced to arrest our citizens in a manner that for awhile fears were entertained that one entire community (Sandy Cross) would fall a prey to them. Twenty-two parties were arrested "from the rising of the sun to the going down of the same," besides the capture and destruction of nine stills and several thousand gallons of "prepared corn." The prisoners were brought into Crawford on Sunday last, as also the captured stills, under a guard of fifteen soldiers, commanded by Lieutenant Harkins, and a squad of detectives, from the mountains of North Georgia, headed by the notorious Findley, who is, we believe, considered the best "tracker" in Uncle Sam’s employ. It is said that he can sit down in Gainesville and smell a run being made in the heart of the Okefinokee Swamp.

Below we give the names of the arrested parties, several of them being among our best citizens:

Whites - W.T. Doster, Joseph Moore, Thos. C. Jennings, Wm. Pass, Taylor Eades, Rainy Eades, Wiley Hopper, John Escoe, J.F. Cunningham (U.S. Commissioner), and James Cunningham (once Republican Representative from Oglethorpe).

Colored - Stephen Faver, Dab Arnold, Henry Thornton, Lee Hubbard, Scott Parks, Nathan McElvoy, Manson Fleming, Step Hubbard, Jesse Davenport, John Goolsby, Jacob Davenport.

On Sunday night they were taken to Atlanta, where, we learn, all, with a few exceptions, gave bond for their appearance before Judge Erskine on the first Monday in March next. But little difficulty was experienced in securing bondsmen, as several gentlemen from this county accompanied the prisoners as witnesses, who readily went on the same.

Besides the arrest, no indignities, we believe, were shown the prisoners. While in Crawford, their friends were allowed to visit them, and we noticed several of them walking about the village. On being carried aboard the train, the negroes were tied with ropes, but not so the whites.

The captured stills had been mashed and rendered worthless by Findley. They will be sold as old copper, at 2½¢ per pound. One of them had been in use so long that it could be torn like paper-- a trooper expressing the opinion that it was some of the copper-plating from Noah’s Ark.

We interviewed Mr. Findley, and found him very communicative, readily answering all inquiries. We learned from him that some months since he equipped several wagons at Gainesville, under charge of detectives, which started out ostensibly for the purpose of selling apples and "blockade whiskey," but, in reality, to spy out illicit distilleries. Two of these wagons wended their way through Jackson county, where they first began to "strike ile," and at last, as if directed by fate, entered our county, which had always borne a reputation as spotless as the falling snow, and drew reins at Sandy Cross. Here they struck such a bold well that they concluded to go no further. So "spotting" eleven "crooked whiskey" manufactories in almost a stone’s throw of that point, which their pretended business rendered an easy matter, they retraced their steps, leaving the victims unconscious that their sacred precincts had been invaded by wolves in sheep’s clothing–that they had nurtured hissing reptiles in their bosoms.

Reaching Gainesville, they reported their success to Findley. He having other business on hand, allowed the matter to lay over a couple of months, well knowing that the fruit being within his reach, he could pluck it at any time.

Arranging all matters, he telegraphed to Atlanta for fifteen "head" of soldiers, whom he secreted in several wagons hired for the purpose, with the detectives for drivers. Proceeding on, they "gobbled" up the victims as fast as found. Before reaching this county, they traveled all night, so as to take their victims completely by surprise, and commenced the onslaught at Sandy Cross at 7:20, with what success the array of names at the head of this column will show. No resistance was made to the officers, and as fast as captured the prisoners were turned over to the troops for safe keeping, Findley and his detectives doing all the arresting.

The news of the raid, of course, spread like wild-fire, and it was a race between the officers and the distillers as to which would remove all signs of the stills first. When Findley reached the site of one of them, he found the still gone, the logs of the building burned up, and a contra busy with a mule plowing up the very foundation of the shanty. But the branch was knee deep in "mash," which told the tale.

You may burn, you may remove the house if you will,

But, the signs of the whiskey will cling ‘round a still.

The darkey was captured and frightened into disclosing the hiding place of his master, who was also taken. But the missing still could not be found. Rumor even goes so far as to assert that an old lady who ran a still on this same branch, a couple of miles below, succeeded in catching enough of this "mash," as it went "floating down the stream," to make a fair "run" that night. But as to the truth of the report we do not vouch.

Several citizens were arrested who are known to be innocent of the charges brought against them, at which their friends were justly incensed. In fact, at one time, the passions of the citizens were so inflamed that about fifty men met with the avowed intention of rescuing their friends at all hazards. But, happily, cooler counsel prevailed, and they decided to trust to the law to correct and punish this wonton outrage on a (said to be) free people. We are glad that they allowed their discretion in this case to overcome valor, for had they made the attempt, if even successful, ‘twould have involved them in a serious difficulty with the Federal authorities.

Those distillers against whom conclusive proof was had, while having the sympathy of our people in their difficulty, of course cannot complain. They knew the law and ran the risk. They lost, and so must take the consequences. A majority of them are good citizens, who consider any means by which they can "beat" the United States Government a righteous act. These are our sentiments, but we hope that in future they will discover a more successful method to "get back" some of the funds the Government robbed them of.

Mr. Findley says that according to the revenue laws, all property found within the enclosure that surrounds an illicit distillery is confiscated, whether it be land, stock or personal property. Under this rule the entire farm of one of our citizens will go, for the house was unenclosed, and he was caught in the act of making a run. In North Georgia, where the distillers have been arrested until they begin to rather like it, the first thing a man does when he starts a still is to build a fence around it.

Among instances of unjust arrests, we will mention the cases of two negroes, who were persuaded, under a plea of accommodation, to sell a couple of detectives a dime’s worth of whiskey and tobacco. They were then arrested for a violation of the revenue laws. Any man who would use such means to secure the fee attached to the arrest of a prisoner, would not hesitate to pick your pocket had he an opportunity.

We do not think Sandy Cross will be a very healthy locality for apple peddlers in future. In fact, we doubt if one of that class could even comfortably pass near the place, and so would advise them to give it as wide a berth as possible–even if they had to go 100 miles out of their way.

We learn that some of the distillers accuse Mr. D.C. Smith, formerly of that settlement, with reporting them. We asked Mr. Findley in regard to this suspicion, and he says there is no truth whatever in the report–that the distilleries were found and reported by one of his own detectives, who, under a plea of purchasing liquor, visited every one of the stills in person.

P.S.–We learn, since the above was in type, that Mr. James Cunningham has been released. It was the junior, not the senior, James Cunningham, that was wanted.

Messrs. Mathews and Lumpkin, who accompanied the prisoners to Atlanta as counsel, made able arguments in their behalf.

End quote

I mentioned my findings to my parents. I shared a few photographs of her and her parents and grandparents, and extended family members.

I should have known I was starting a fight that I would get sucked into. My parents have different memories of the whos, whens, and wheres of Irene's family. Naturally I was supposed to arbitrate the dispute. Alas, the documentation conflicts with both their memories.

For example, there is a photo of her - Irene- as a young (10-12ish) girl alongside her parents and another girl of similar age. The second girl is identified by first name. Both my parents recall the girl - Florence - (though obviously as an adult) and both are adamant that she was a cousin of Irene. Problem is that the US Census lists Florence in the same home as Irene but she is a sibling, not cousin. Now we all know that records can be incorrect. But there is no documentation I can find (yet) supporting Florence as anything but a sister to Irene. Not that this matters one whit to my parents.

Now they are hooked and want me to get everything I can on Irene's family. You see, they have contact with Irene's only granddaughter and want me to make a book of sorts with all this information for her. After all, its so easy for me to do!

It isn't like any of us can easily tell our parents to go pound sand.

(sigh)

ALL THAT JUST TO GET TO THIS POINT! Irene's paternal grandfather is in a cemetery very near the Cooper Cemetery I previously posted about. So long as we were in the area and had time it made sense to see if we could find it and many audit the cemetery.

I love GPS! Were it not for GPS I don't think we would have found the place. The cemetery sits about 75 or 80 yards back from the road and is effectively hidden behind a house and a heavily wooded area. Access is via a 'driveway' of sorts running between the home lot and the woods. The cemetery is visible only if you look straight down the access lane. Any angle from either border of the lane cannot see it.

But it is a delightful little family cemetery and is obviously well maintained. Grass cut, weeds trimmed, etc.

As we have the time and there are fewer than 60 graves listed, we go ahead and audit the cemetery (and find at least one memorial to add to Find A Grave). And I end up with more research to do. See, the cemetery is listed in Find A Grave as Paul and Lester Cemetery. And there are many Pauls and Lesters in it to be sure. But Irene's grandparents were buried here long before any Lesters or Pauls (indeed some of his daughters married a Paul and the Lesters came in later). Why then is it not listed as the Burckhalter Cemetery?

Worse, the earliest graves by far bear the names Meriwether. So why not Meriwether Cemetery? 

And yes, dammit, I have gone down the rabbit hole trying to link everyone in the cemetery. And I have failed miserably. 

Anyhoo, I note there is another small - some 7 graves - cemetery a few yards across the road from the Paul and Lester. What the hell. Might as well locate it, too. So we did and that led to another shocker that is a minor tale all its own.