And be warned. There are several times I seem to go off on a tangent. But rest assured that these are all part of the larger story that explains why I ended up going down this particular Rabbit Hole and why I pursued it so far.
In ol' Br'er's kitchen stands a Plantation Desk. It is not an ornate, fancy, built for the likes of men depicted in films and in great paintings. No. It is a simple thing. Simply made. It is functional, not decorative.
Now, when I use the word 'Plantation,' it doubtless evokes visions of Tara or Twelve Oaks. Of Oak Alley, or many other magnificent houses and estates. To be sure, there were such places. But they were no more indicative of average plantations than the lavish mansions of the Gilded Age were indicative of average houses in New York City. The vast majority of plantations were simple farms. The house and buildings were not luxurious. They were functional.
Money - Hard money, actual cash - was incredibly scarce and hard to get. Wealth of any kind was held in something more tangible. Land. Crops. Livestock. And, yes, slaves. Though even those were not as commonplace as some would claim.
Only once a year would money be had. After harvest, after the crop had sold. Of course, that was also when all accounts were settled. When all debts were paid.
So it was crucial that plantation owners track their accounts. For this task, they kept ledger books. Large ledger books. And several of them. They kept accounts not just of debts owed or monies loaned. They kept detailed accounts of seeds planted and how much crop was reaped. Of how well each parcel of land produced and what was planted there each season.
This made it necessary to have a place to keep, update, and study these ledgers. This plantation desk was built, by hand, for just this purpose. That it is used today to store spices and recipes is of no matter.
Ok. Remember all that while we move to another story. I will give only first and/or middle names in all this, but no surnames. So you should have enough to follow the story but not enough to identify anyone specific. At least not without a lot of work.
When Br'er was just a little kit, visits to Grandma Br'er were mandatory. Sadly, she was not around long after Br'er was born, but that is neither here nor there. What is important is that an old widow was living across the street. Mrs. Irene. Mrs. Irene was in her mid-70s at that time. Positively ancient to Baby Br'er! Not so old these days.
Anyhoo, Mrs. Irene had lived there for several years - since Pappa Br'er was a child. He had known her and her family almost all his life. Pappa Br'er had many escapades with her, her husband, Mr. Willie, and her son, Lawrence Duke, over the years. Indeed, when Mr. Willie passed away, Pappa Br'er paid her about triple its value for Mr. Willie's old shotgun (it was not anything special nor in pristine condition) just because it was Mr. Willie's. He wanted to help Mrs. Irene as best he could (she had decided to sell Mr. Willie's things off on her own). Pappa Br'er still has that shotgun.
And whenever Br'er and Br'er Brother would visit Grandma Br'er (she, too, was widowed by this point, so no Grandpa Br'er), Mrs. Irene would bring over a brown paper bag of fresh-popped popcorn.
Now, this popcorn needs more than a passing remark. Almost six decades later, anything still vivid in someone's mind bears a few comments.
First, we should note that this popcorn required effort on Mrs. Irene's part to make. These were the days before 'hot air' popping machines and LONG before anyone had a microwave. Making popcorn meant putting oil and popcorn kernels in a large pot, slapping on a lid, and shaking the whole thing back and forth on the stove until the corn pops. Oh, and hoping that you did not make a mistake and end up burning the batch.
Trust me; there is nothing worse than burning old-school popcorn. The smell is horrible. Cleanup is worse. I've seen people just throw the pot away after burning popcorn simply because getting it clean was nigh on impossible.
If you were wise and lucky enough to afford it, you melted butter to immediately toss with the just-popped corn right as it finished. THEN you sprinkled the batch with a bit of salt. I will not speak to Mrs. Irene being smart or not. But rich? No. She was far from rich. Hell, she wasn't even within sight of 'comfortable.' So there was no butter on the popcorn she made us.
But there was salt. Oh, lord! Was there salt! One bag had enough salt for five or more bags. Saying this was Salt with some added Popcorn would not be much of a stretch. That did not hamper the delight we took in that stuff!
Mrs. Irene lived in a rented Mill House. If that term does not immediately bring images to mind, then pause reading and go research what Mill Houses were. You might find them under Company Houses. Understanding what a mill house was and having that mental image is important as this story continues.
Are you done? Do you grasp what the living conditions were? Good. To continue.
When Br'er was only about 4 years old, Grandma Br'er passed away, so the visits and popcorn ceased. Though Pappa Br'er kept tabs on the folks in the area over the following years and decades. About 10 years later, he noted that a house on the street had been vacant for a long time and had been more or less abandoned.
A little investigation and some neighborhood snooping revealed that the widow who had lived there had passed away not long after Grandma Br'er and her family simply locked the doors and walked away. They had paid the taxes on the property, but that was pretty much it. There were no utilities to pay since they had those turned off. If it could be purchased for the right price, Pappa Br'er had the tools and experience to renovate it and make a tidy profit, either selling it outright or renting it to college students (this is a major college town, and ANY house is highly sought after by students). An offer is made, the deal is agreed to, and the sale completed.
This house was literally the second house down the street from where Mrs. Irene lived. Hell, it was even on the same side of the street!
Mrs. Irene rented that mill house for about $50 a month and had been for at least twenty years at this point. But, wouldn't you know it? The property was being sold, and the rent would have to go up. She could not possibly afford what the new rent would be. This created quite a quandary. You see, Mrs. Irene's only child, Lawrence Duke, has died by this time. And her grandchildren did not live nearby, nor were they in much of a position to help her anyway.
Now, I must digress for a moment to tell the tale of Lawrence Duke's demise. It alone is a tale for the ages and sounds like utter fiction. But it isn't.
A little more background. Lawrence Duke had one child, a son, William Julius (WJ to all who knew him), a couple of years older than Pappa Br'er. Those two had grown up together, living across the street from each other. So you can understand that when something happened to his father, Pappa Br'er was one of the first people he called.
This call started out about as blunt and bad as any call could. "Daddy's dead," WJ told him. It took several minutes and many questions to get the whole story.
William Lawrence had been working helping out a carpenter or someone in construction when he injured his finger. It was nothing too bad but clearly needed to be checked by a doctor and possibly have a stitch or two. The hospital was nearby, so off he went to get seen to.
They had him on a gurney at the hospital, waiting to be seen. At some point in the proceedings, he ended up falling off the gurney (whether this was due to his actions or the staff remains a point of contention) and breaking his shoulder. The break was severe enough that he was transported to a better-equipped hospital a few hours away, where he could receive better treatment than at the facility where the break happened.
After arriving at the second hospital and in transit by stretcher to the treatment area, the orderlies dropped him. Unfortunately, this fatally fractured his neck.
Yes. He injured a finger and wound up with a broken neck. You cannot make stories like this up.
So we reach the point where Mrs. Hamilton is about to be homeless in her late 70s, and Pappa Br'er has a renovated house two doors down, the mortgage payment alone being about $300. Of course, he could not let this woman he had known almost his entire life, whose son and grandson had been his friends just as long, be put out in the street.
This was when Mrs. Hamilton became a sort of adopted grandmother. He moved her into the renovated house (at, I think, a whopping $75 monthly rent), allowing her to stay in the neighborhood with her friends. And it was there she lived for the remainder of her life.
During these years, specifically in the later years (her 90s - she passed not long after turning 96), two things occurred that bear directly on this story.
First, she gifted the Plantation Desk to Mamma Br'er, explaining that her grandfather had made it by hand in the 1800s. Later, Pappa Br'er would restore the desk, and he and Mamma Br'er would gift it to their baby bunny. So that is how it came to sit in Br'er's kitchen.
Second, she shared - woman to woman - that Lawrence Duke was not her only child. She had lost four babies as a young woman. Mamma Br'er inquired where the babies were buried. The heartbreaking reply was, "I can't remember."
I can think of few things that would haunt a parent - especially a mother - more than not remembering where their child is buried.
Ok. That is enough background for the moment. Back to the main story!
During the Great Lockdown of 2020-2021, Ol' Br'er decided to see if he could find out who Mrs. Irene's grandfathers were and who made the desk. Spoiler: I still don't know!
That effort ended up tracing her family back several generations. One set of grandparents' graves is in a small cemetery located in state. The other set mysteriously moved to Texas late in life. I say late because they were in their 60s or 70s and died fewer than ten years after the move.
Upon reflection, 'mysterious' might not be the most accurate description. You see, this particular grandfather of Mrs. Irene ran afoul of what the local paper (this in 1876 in the South) called "Blue-Bellies" and "a batch of infernal revenue agents." Nothing like unbiased journalism, is there?
To give a basic recap of the matter: This was the height of Reconstruction. As was common practice not just at the time but dating back to Colonial times, people distilled spirits for fun and profit. Taxing these liquors was not seen as legitimate or proper in many areas by all strata of society, from the most humble to the most exalted. If you picture Eliot Ness going against the bootleggers, you have an excellent grasp of this story.
Those arrested were taken to the nearest judge to be charged, followed by a mass of the most prominent gentlemen of the surrounding counties who posted bond and ensured that none spent so much as a minute behind bars.
I could not locate any later reports on what happened to those arrested. But, it was about this time Mrs. Irene's grandfather left for Texas. Draw your own conclusions.
After documenting much of Mrs. Irene's family tree, I set it aside, having no intention of picking it back up.
Well, Ol' Br'er was feeling less than frisky recently and needed something to occupy his brain (which was not exactly up to snuff, either). He remembered Mrs. Irene's tree and how he had not looked into Mr. Willie's side at all. Perfect! Researching him would be some mental exercise, and, as this tree is not particularly crucial to any of his personal research. If he happened to make a mistake with it, no harm done.
Br'er was not prepared for what he uncovered. Indeed, the research became so intriguing - so compelling - that he ended up spending many days on it.
This proved a bit of a challenge right from the start. Mr. Willie was born in 1880, but after the census was enumerated. We will not talk about the 1890 census (it was lost in a fire, if you haven't heard) and does not appear until the 1900 census. He is listed there along with three siblings in the home of his widowed mother, Sarah H. Of course, that record gives his birth year as 1880 and his age as 13. In 1900. (Sigh) It is going to be one of those efforts.
So! It is going to be necessary to identify Mr. Willie's father by working back from his mother (not having her maiden name, mind you) and these few siblings. A more complicated approach but not impossible.
Triangulating in using what data is available finds a family on the 1880 census that seems both right and wrong simultaneously. Sarah H and the other children are there in the right place at the correct ages. But the head of the household, Duke, is a good bit older than expected. Could this be the grandfather, and the census incorrectly records him as Sarah H's husband?
The more Ol' Br'er dug into this tree, the more he thought, "This can't be right." That only made him dig more. And more. And more. And the tree kept expanding in all directions.
It took time, but eventually, thanks to Duke leaving a will listing all his children.
All nineteen of them! Yes. 19 children. By, as it turned out, two wives. Sarah H was his second wife whom Duke married in 1865 and by whom he fathered ten children, with Mr. Willie being the last. His first wife, whom he married in 1843, was Nancy. With Nancy, he fathered nine children, the first coming in 1845.
Sadly, Mr. Willie was a mere child of seven when his father passed away. How it sparks the imagination to wonder what stories his siblings may have shared with him after their father was gone. Then again, there may have been little communication between him and the older siblings. After all, the eldest sibling was 35 years old and married with her own children (The eldest child of this sister was 14 when Mr. Willie came along. How would you like to be 14 years senior to your uncle?!) by the time Mr. Willie was born!
As remarkable as this sounds, some long gaps between the births of some of the children could indicate children who did not survive. In truth, as extraordinary as fathering 19 children is in and of itself, losing no children at all among such a number in the 19th century - especially in a rural area - beggars the imagination. Recording births in the area at that time was only done in a family bible, if at all. Birth Certificates were unheard of, and there was no formal governmental birth registry. So, all that remains is a suspicion based on gaps between siblings' births, hinting at the possibility of other children.
But Ol' Br'er did not stop there, no. He pressed on!
Pushing back another generation revealed Duke's parents to be Barton and Mary. History repeated itself when the records clearly showed that Barton was some 35 to 40 years older than Mary, born 1750-1755! Mary was born in 1790. With Duke coming in 1820, that meant his father was 65-70 years old when he was born, just as Duke was 60 when Mr. Willie came along. And, as happened to Mr. Willie, Duke was only about 7 or 8 years old when Barton died.
Like Father, Like Son, I guess.
And, just like Duke would later do, Barton left a will listing all his children (a mere 8 - Duke exceeded his father in this respect), making confirming the siblings all the easier. But, like Duke, I suspect there were at least a few children who did not survive and were not recorded.
But! That was not all that turned up about Barton. He also fought in the American Revolution, achieving the rank of Captain in a distinguished unit. And he was wounded in battle, being shot in the foot or ankle.
This was a jaw-dropping moment for Ol' Br'er. Mr. Willie, who lived to 1958, was the grandson of a Patriot who fought in the American Revolution! Mr. Willie was born at least 125 years after his grandfather. These numbers and spans are, literally, incredible. As in they sound like they are not credible. If Ol' Br'er had not done the research himself and seen the evidence, he would not have believed the tale.
Again, you are left to wonder what stories might have been passed down through the generations. Did Barton ever tell Duke about fighting in the Revolution? Did Duke pass any of these tales on to Mr. Willie? It is a shame that no one knew to even ask when Mr. Willie was still around.
Unfortunately, it was not possible to identify Barton's parents. Not exactly a surprise for someone born in the mid-18th century. Still, there was a lot more Ol' Br'er found that was fascinating.
First, while unmarked, Barton and Mary are reportedly buried in a family cemetery that still exists. In that cemetery, in marked graves, are 5 of Barton and Mary's 8 children (including spouses), including Duke and his two wives, Nancy and Sarah H. There are dozens of Barton and Mary's grandchildren there, too, and several from subsequent generations. The latest interment was in 2020!
Yes, Br'er spent hours checking and rechecking their Find A Grave entries, submitting any updates necessary to correctly link them to their spouses and parents, or correct mistakes or add missing data.
What Ol' Br'er can not fathom is how someone had one of Duke's daughters linked to Barton and Mary as though she was their daughter. In and of itself, this is a mistake anyone could make and totally understandable. But Barton died in 1829 and Mary in 1847. This woman - who was assigned as their daughter - was born in 1857.
Nope. That is a paddlin' offense!
Yes, Br'er included that in the corrections he submitted.
Second, tracing the lines for Duke's siblings (18 siblings - no small task!) and children revealed a couple of things that Pappa Br'er enjoyed.
One of Duke's daughters married Isaac J, and one of their children was Andrew Jackson. Andrew Jackson appears on Lawrence Duke's (Mr. Willie and Mrs. Irene's only son) WWII draft registration card as his employer. Pappa Br'er knew Andrew Jackson and was sure Lawrence Duke had worked for him. That they were first cousins wasn't known to him but was suspected.
Further, Pappa Br'er had another childhood friend (they became friends when they were just starting school and remained close friends until he passed away in 2021) who was the grandson of Andrew Jackson. Oh! To have known this when they were younger!
Third, Mr. Willie and Mrs. Irene lived a mere handful of miles (less than 5 - probably only one or two) around the time she lost those four infants. This family cemetery has many unmarked graves (field stone only, if that). It is highly likely, if not certain, that they were buried there. It is a shame that Br'er did not know about it when Mrs. Irene was still alive. It might have sparked her memory, and she could confirm that is where her babies lie. But, alas, that must remain speculative no matter how 'right' it seems.
There is still a lot to research, but Ol' Br'er will have to put that aside for another day.
Br'er took Pappa Br'er to find the cemetery recently. It is in fair shape. But it has sparked Pappa Br'er's interest. So he and Br'er will return before too long to clear grass and brush and clean some of the stones with D/2.
Perhaps that will lead to before and after photos to share.
