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Imagination and
improvisation were early learned by Waterford youngsters in the
thirties. The creek became a mighty river upon which to sail our
self constructed boats. Fallen trees became ambush sites or perhaps
pirate ships. The old mill race at the foot of our property became a
trench form which we waged warfare with imaginary Indians or maybe
Yankees. Across the street from the house was an old stone mill
which had used the same race for power. I’m not sure what was
produced there, but in my youth it was the site of Tom Corbin’s
blacksmith shop. I can recall the smell of soft coal and the
hammering that accompanies that work. Tom earlier had shoed a lot of
horses and repaired farm implements, and at one time operated a
store there. Later as farm activity decreased and the throw away
generation evolved, Tom began making trivets, flower stands, and
various wrought iron items which appealed to the new generation just
then engulfing the town. Tom lived with his brother Earnest and tow
sisters, Lena, and Mrs. Edith Hough. All were in their seventies
when I was young. Earnest had returned to Waterford, leaving his job
and family in the Washington, D.C. area. He was a handy man type,
afflicted with Epilepsy. Lena was the youngest and Edith the one who
seemed to hold things together. She was the final survivor. At her
death in 1946 the property was sold to Ed Beans who separated it
into two parcels. The house was sold to Mrs. William Ashbrooke,
later to become important in my life, and the Blacksmith was
converted to a combination antique shop, residence operated by Mrs.
Fox who previously lived in the Clara Devine house. Stuart reports
that Tom carried on a twice a week, twenty year, romance with a Mrs.
Clara Mock. I don’t remember too much about that but I do remember
that long term romances were the rule in the country. Harmony was
not always the rule at the Corbin’s. On at least one occasion Lena
came rushing to our homes seeking sanctuary where she was taken in
by Aunt Emma. Apparently she thought that Tom was out to do her in
but after several of these forays our father told her she’d have to
find relief elsewhere. Aunt Emma is a shadow character to me but is
remembered affectionately by Stuart. He reports that she was active
in church, teaching Sunday School and singing in the choir. An
excellent cook, seamstress, always willing to help those in need.
She also pushed him to excel in his school work and he has vivid
memories of her reading from the book “Titanic”, which I still have.
Money was not plentiful in Waterford in my youth. It was primarily a
survival society, but as John Devine told Stuart, Connie and I on
October 8, 1987, at his home in Leesburg, “Hell, we were all poverty
stricken, we just didn’t know it”.
Food is always
foremost, and in our largely cashless economy most was self
provided. We had chickens, a cow, and usually two pigs, which made
up most of our protein intake. A large garden and plenty of fruit
trees combined with wild blackberries and an occasional rabbit
satisfied most of our needs.
Fall butchering was a
big time with Uncle Flave and his wife Lucy coming to help. Lucy was
my father’s sister. Uncle Flave would come down from his farm near
Rehobeth Church, shoot, scald, and clean the pigs on one day. Hang
them to drain overnight, and cut them up the next day. The shooting
part was never very pleasant for me who had slopped them since
spring, but I managed to eat the meat during the winter. My father
would buy the pigs from a spring litter, feed them until November,
when they had reached butchering weight of about 200 pounds. The
hams, picnic shoulders, and bellies were preserved by either sugar
or salt curing. they were hung in the smoke house during the
process. the bellies were separated into bacon and salt pork. They
usually hung or were stored on racks until used. The loin, rib and
tenderloins were cooked off, cut up and stored in the cellar to
prevent spoilage. The intestines were turned inside out and scrapped
clean on a special metal tube jig, woman’s work, which I was not
permitted to do because of fear that I would cut the skin. As I
recall Aunts Emma and Lucy wouldn’t permit my mother to do this
either because she was not skillful enough due to her genteel
upbringing. All the scrap meat was ground into sausage, cooked and
packed in similar fashion to the loin meat. After it had been
stuffed into the intestines, that is. Lard was rendered in the old
black pot, and the skin scraps were pressed into cracklings.
Definitely the forerunner of Doritos. Souse and ponhaus were made
from the jowls, and nothing was wasted. So we had 4 hams, 4 picnic
shoulders, about 40 pounds of bacon, and salt pork, about 36 quarts
of assorted cooked meat, and about 10 gallons of lard. And that was
our pork inventory for the winter. Eggs also were a big part of our
diet. No fear of cholesterol in those days. Diet was important to
our father who had become ill with diabetes at about age forty, and
was ultimately hospitalized in George Washington Hospital under the
care of Dr. Mallory. His illness had gone undiagnosed for many years
and finally diet was prescribed to control the diabetes. However it
was not until Dr. John Gibson of Leesburg introduced insulin, then
in the experimental stages, that he resumed a normal life. He was
required to take two insulin shots each day which were administered
by mother. He hated them but she would not let up and forced him to
submit. Although mother tried very hard to keep his blood sugar
level balanced, occasionally it would get off. This was critical as
he could quickly go into shock, with the real possibility of death.
I remember most vividly low sugar caused by excessive insulin, or
lack of food. He would act as if intoxicated, resisting any advice
or suggestions. The solution was to force a high sugar substance
into his mouth and force him to drink. Mother most often used orange
juice fortified with sugar. After about ten minutes he would usually
calm down and go to sleep. This experience was very hard on him and
he was usually bedridden for several day thereafter. Our mother
administered those two shots daily and cared for him from the time
that he contacted the disease in his forties until he died in 1949
at age seventy. Greater love has no man, or more properly in this
case, woman. These events made a great impression on me as a child,
and I have always been in horror of this disease. We always had a
large garden. It seemed immense to me as a child when I was forced
to hoe and weed, but it produced. We would get 20 bushels of
potatoes, which were stored in the cellar of the old house.
Tomatoes, corn, string beans, cherries, berries, pears, apples and
other items were all picked, peeled, shucked, canned and stored for
winter. Wood and coal were ordered, and stored. The fodder from the
garden was tied and racked for the cow, but there was not enough of
this so supplementary purchases had to be made. Our father had many
friends in the town. The wonder bread delivery man was a Mr. Fogel,
whom Father knew from his many years in the corner store. Mr. Fogel
would stop and sell us bread at cost. He would often leave it in our
mail box, and I would be dispatched to fetch it to the house. Rosey,
an old black man, stopped by when the peach and apple harvest was
complete in July, and November. He drove and old model T ford truck,
and always left several bushels of each fruit. It was then peach and
apple pie time. Plowing in spring was an anticipated event. This
usually occurred in April, when the ground had dried sufficiently.
For many years this was done by Uncle Charlie Mallory and his horse
Colonel. When Uncle Charlie became too old other local farmers
performed the task. One of the last was Ray Peacock. We then had to
break up the remaining clods, smooth and plant. This was not a
highlight with me. About one bushel of potatoes were retained from
the prior years harvest to use as seed stock. These were cut,
usually into quarters, and planted about two feet apart. We had a
hand operated plow and with it we made twenty rows the length of the
garden. Our father’s rule was one bushel of seed potatoes and twenty
rows produced twenty bushels of potatoes. A dipper of water was
inserted, the rows were covered and hilled. Seed was purchased for
the other items, excepting tomato and cabbage plants which came from
Bruce Eamich’s greenhouse. This was located next to the colored
school house on Second Street. Mr. Eamich would grow the plants from
seeds in his greenhouse. Our father would go, pick them out and they
would be planted in a similar fashion to potatoes. Mr. Eamich was an
enormous man, around three hundred pounds, with an odor to match. He
had two sons, Walton and Mervin. Walton was six or seven years older
than I but he and I played around together at the conclusion of
World War II. He had the car. Walton was plumber, learning the trade
from Paris Coleman. He was know as “Gump”, a some what indelicate
handle given to him by the girls in grade school. One of my first
real jobs was weeding for Mr. Eamich for the princely sum of ten
cents per hour, later raised to twenty.
Uncle Lloyd Curtis was
a great friend of our father. He was the son of a former slave, and
the town cobbler and caner. His shop was in the front part of his
house located on the big hill across from the Methodist church. His
work bench was under the window looking out on the street, and I
recall my father taking me there to get my shoes half soled, which
seemed to occur frequently to a small boy. I would sit there in my
sock feet, while Uncle Lloyd attached my new soles, and he and my
father talked about the old days. I always liked the smell of the
new leather, but my shoes pinched for a while until I could get them
broken in properly. Not as bad as new shoes though. I hated them,
although as I recall there were never very many pairs.
Cash was always a
problem, but more later that in those early years. Then our father
would work occasionally as a clerk for Piggy Paxson in his store on
Second Street. Piggy was a local character. He had peddled ice, coal
or anything that he thought he could sell from a huckster wagon
prior to entering the store business. He lived with his wife Mary
and children Harold, Dorothy, Virginia, Taylor and Francis, who
later married Leo Merchant. Piggy would go on “Toots” translated as
prolonged drunks, sometimes for weeks at a time. Our father would
cover the store during those times and generate a little money. Also
Uncle Charley was a sometime carpenter and brought in some cash. A
big boost was provided by the new deal work programs, PA and CPC
projects. Road repair and construction was funded by these Federal
programs and Charley obtained work there. For a while things were
better but then this all changed due to three events. 1) Charley
fell off the Methodist Church roof where he was working, injuring
himself severely. 2) Piggy Paxson went on one toot to many and never
returned, ultimately causing the store to close, and 3) our father
developed cataracts on his eyes which required an operation at Johns
Hopkins Hospital. This combined with and actually caused by the
diabetes, was too much for him and he seemed to give up. So the
burden fell totally on mother. She kept body and soul together in
several ways. By now it was the mid thirties. Aunt Lucy had died in
1931 and was buried in Leesburg Cemetery. Uncle Flave took up with
another woman which pretty much removed him as a source of help.
Ultimately his farm, which had come to Flave and Lucy via the
legendary “Bachelor Billy Virts”, went to the other women. Aunt Emma
died in 1935 and was buried in Hamilton Cemetery. So to generate
some cash mother became a Zanol salesperson. Zanol was somewhat like
Avon. She would trudge around the countryside knocking on doors
peddling soap and whatever. She would hopefully collect the money,
return home, order the products and when they received, trudge back
and deliver it. I primarily remember the trudging part. Stuart
reports that he often was on the delivering end as mother would
appropriate his red wagon, load it up and hitch him to it. Mother
was pretty good at hitching rides also, and would often be returned
home courtesy of the person to whom she had sold the goods. More
often than not she would have a bag of tomatoes or something else as
well. She solicited her family. I’m sure that this was painful but
she was good at it. At one point following Charlely’s death, she
took in a boarder, Miss. Clara Devine. Miss Clara had previously
lived in her home near us on High Street. She was the owner of the
famous cow “Babe”, that for a time was driven by Stuart from her
pasture, twice a day, to Miss Clara’s house to be milked. Babe was
pastured where ever Miss Clara could get the best deal, so the drive
might be 100 yards or a mile. Babe would only allow herself to be
milked by Uncle Charlie Mallory, this attested to by both Stuart and
her nephew John Devine. For this fourteen times per week operation
Stuart received $1.25 per month.
And so it was tough,
but as John Devine said, we didn’t even know it. Mother painted,
wrote poems, taught Sunday School Class, belonged to a homemakers
club, and ultimately in 1938 with the help of Mrs. Josephine Carr of
Waterford became a member of the Blue Ridge Chapter of The Daughters
of The Confederacy. Mrs. Carr took us back and forth to get the
documentation together. I had frequent bouts with croupe as a
youngster. Dr. Caldwell was the local Doctor. His usual solution for
me was a bilious appearing green pill which could only be swallowed
with the help of honey or some such substance. There was some castor
oil and gallons of cod lever oil,. Mother was convinced that enough
of that would solve any problems. She also discovered “Ipecak”, a
horrible tasting substance which calmed the hooping, and of course
there was Vicks and mustard plasters liberally applied around the
neck at bed time. Couple this with a hot iron wrapped in an old
blanket at my feet and the germs didn’t have a chance.
A wonderful gift of
nature is that we are permitted to grow up when we are young. Our
accumulated experiences certainly help in avoiding mistakes, but
they also most certainly stifle inquisitiveness. As a youngster
growing up in Waterford in the early 1930’s I had no such
inhibitions. I realized that we didn’t have certain things that
others did, such as an automobile or an indoor toilet. But those
deficiencies surfaced only at specific times. For example on Sunday
afternoons when all the car owners took their families for a ride,
or on a cold December evening when a trip to the privy was required.
There was not tarrying then when a brisk north wind whipped up
through our standard one holer. But spring was better at our privy.
It was shielded from the house and general view by an enormous lilac
bush, at least 10 feet high. The fragrance from that bush is with me
to this day. As a matter of fact any time that I smell lilac
fragrance I think of that old privy. Such are the associations that
we make. Some of my other memories of those days. Our postman was
Louis McGavack. He drove a model A ford, a two seater. Even in those
pre-auto transmission days he was proficient at driving from either
seat and on either side of the road. Everyone gave him a wide berth
when he drove into view as he wasn’t noted for looking before he
turned. Our mail consisted of, letters from Mothers relatives,
hopefully with checks enclosed, packages from a big fan of Monkey
Ward, and bought everything from my cod liver oil to a kerosene oil
cooking range from them. She believed in buying my clothing at least
two sizes too large and everything was rolled up for the first few
wearings. I never heard of Sears, Monkey Ward was it. Only two bills
came through the mail. The electric bill which was about $1.00 per
month, and the Real Estate Tax which I think was about $1.25 per
year. There was no mortgage, the house was owned outright. The mail
box was used by others also. The bread man would leave the bread
there, and often there would be fruits, vegetables, church
bulletins, almost anything. Sometimes there wasn’t room for the
mail, and Mr. McGavack would blow his horn so that someone would
come and unload. He lived on a farm out to the west of town and had
a beautiful daughter named Betty.
I previously mentioned
Tom Corbin the blacksmith. Attached to his shop was this old store.
It was fascinating to me. The show cases were still there with
merchandise on the shelves. The place was dust covered with stuff
everywhere. I remember many old guns sitting around, chamber pots,
implements of all sort. It seems that they just closed the doors one
day and never touched the place again. I don’t know why.
I mentioned Dr.
Caldwell, the local GP, but there was no Dentist in town. My father
had false teeth. His originals had been removed years before in
Frederick, Maryland, and he replaced them periodically with the mail
order variety, probably from Monkey Ward. When the time came for
Mother to get teeth she went to a Dr. Detweiler in Herndon,
Virginia. There she had all of her teeth removed, and both uppers
and lowers fitted in one day. Today that process would take six
months if one could get it done at all. I often wondered why she
bypassed Leesburg and selected Herdon as our dental department.
Stuart straightened me out on that. He says that Dr. Detweiler came
via Uncle Flave and Aunt Lucy. Uncle Flave, “who was so tight he
squeaked”, had determined that Detweiler was the cheapest, and he
and Lucy used him. So Mother made her reservation by mail, and off
we went courtesy of the Washington and Old Dominion Railroad. Going
to the dentist was an all day event and not a very pleasant one at
that. The train ran from Rosslyn to Bluemont, Virginia. One trip per
day, down in the morning, back to Bluemont in the afternoon. We had
to get to Peaonian Springs, a distance of about 3 miles, to catch
the morning run at 8:00 a.m. That required hitching a ride. Mother
arranged it. The train was a one or two car affair, powered by
electricity, similar to an urban streetcar. It seemed to stop at
every farm in route to pick up something, but usually milk or cream,
which was contained in 10 gallon galvanized cans. This was unloaded
either in Leesburg or Alexandria, to be processed into butter or
other milk products. The farmer would have contracted his production
previously with the plant and the train crew was responsible to get
it to the proper platforms. The train also handled mail and other
freight, so we usually were stopped longer than we were moving.
Anyway we finally got to Herndon, and walked to the Dentist’s
office. That operation hasn’t changed much over the years, excepting
that either was used for serious events. Filling teeth was not
considered serious. After that it was back to the train station to
reverse the morning trip. As I recall the afternoon train arrived in
Herndon about 3:30 p.m. Flave and Lucy’s cousins Cable and Mable
Stevens lived in Herndon, and we would visit them on occasion,
during the trips.
1932 arrived and I was
off to first grade. First though shots were required, duly
administered by Miss Gully, the county nurse who arrived on schedule
to perform this fearful task. Not a happy day. Waterford then had
eleven grades culminating in a high school degree. It served a
surrounding area of about ten square miles. I don’t recall the
enrollment, but it was probably under two hundred. My teacher for
the first three grades was Miss Harley, who I believe lived in Round
Hill, Virginia. She arrived in style each day in her Model T. This
was a radical departure from custom as teachers usually boarded in
the towns where they taught. As Stuart reminds me, on every possible
occasion, I arrived home on the first day with a bloody nose
courtesy of Charles Mitchell, son of either the Baptist or Methodist
Minister. I announced that was it for school so far as I was
concerned, but Mother arranged an amnesty and life progressed.
People were not as mobile in those days. I began school and
graduated with, Morris Nix, Eleanor Livingston, Dorothy Russell,
Francis Arnold, George Rollison, Mary Frances Hickman, Jimmie
Comphor, Freddie Donaldson, Arthur Peacock, and perhaps others that
I’ve forgotten. Lupton Simpson was the principal. He had lost the
use of his legs from polio and was required to use crutches, but as
Stuart can attest there was nothing wrong with his arms when he
wielded a paddle and dished out retribution. Spare the rod was not
yet part of the curriculum. I was pretty good at school. I learned
to read early, and enjoyed adventure and action stories. I still do.
This is a legacy from my mother. Mary Francis, Eleanor, Morris, and
I sort of became the top the class. We and Dolls, and the Minuet.
Not a highlight with me, but Mother loved the ladies class and one
of the members of that group was Mrs. Nix. The Nixes had arrived in
Waterford, I suppose around 1930, and purchased a farm which lay on
the West flank of the Catoctin mountain range about three miles
northeast of Waterford on the Taylorstown road. The family consisted
of Captain Nix, a retired Army officer, Mrs. Nix, and three
children, and older brother Robert, middle sister Mary, and youngest
child Morris, who was my age. He and I were first buddies. While I
could walk to school Morris needed transportation, and this was
provided by his faithful pony Trixie. No carpools in those days,
which in part was caused I recall by the condition of the drive way
into the Nix farm from the main road. By any standard it was
impassable, and many Waterford vehicle undersides bore testimony to
that fact. Morris and I visited often and I can recall many happy
times at his farm. Their home was an old, high ceiling’s Colonial,
complete with pillars, a entranceway staircase, library and formal
dinning room. I recall vividly Captain Nix in his study, and the
formal meals where various topics of the day were discussed.
Everyone was expected to participate, and I remember being
intimidated, as a six or seven year old, by this extreme contrast to
the situation in my home. I do believe though that these early
experiences helped shape my interest in wide ranging subjects, and
in leisurely discussion filled meals. However at the time my
interests were more focused in two other directions. The Nixes had
indoor plumbing. Huge, high ceiling bathrooms, with exposed pipes,
and a footed bath tub. No matter that the ever present hard water
rings were present. I was issued a towel, and expected to draw and
take a bath. A bath at home consisted of heating water on the range,
or drawing it from the reservoir which was part of each of these
stoves. The pouring the water into our galvanized tub which
consisted of a seat and lower portion where the water was contained.
As a child we sat in the lower portion and as we grew, on Saturday
night, and positioned in the middle of the kitchen. The bath then
was completed in less than complete privacy. Imagine the culture
shock that ensued from finding myself in a large, usually cold room,
with copper knobs that delivered the hot water. Mrs. Nix solved my
initial lack of technical expertise by having Morris and I share the
tub. She claimed this was to save. water. I suspect it was to assist
me in getting up to speed on the procedure. Anyway it added to my
store of experiences and expectations The other area of great
interest to me was the farm itself. It had been the location of
several Civil War engagements and the trenches were still visible.
Captain Nix was not a vigorous farmer and much of the land was
wooded. This suited Morris and I fine and we engaged in many Tarzan,
and other adventures on those hillsides. I had learned the Tarzan
yell from Stuart, and could practice with reckless abandon.
Occasionally we would use Trixie in these activities, but Mrs. Nix
gave Trixie the weekends off, and that generally eliminated her as a
partner. About this time I attended my first movie. It was a school
event and we were carpooled to Leesburg to see Treasure Island. The
real one with Wallace Berry and Jackie Cooper. Although Stuart had
been attending movies for some time, that’s where he learned his
Tarzan yell, and had duly reported their wonders, I was unprepared.
The suspense was unbearable, and for weeks afterward we constructed
ships, fashioned swords, pistols and muskets, and engaged in pirate
and good guy activities. My ship was a large tree which had fallen
on the lower part of our property. I removed some of the limbs, used
others for masts, and mounted discarded sections of iron pipe for
cannon. This pipe was about four inches diameter, three feet long,
with connection flanges on one end. They served the purpose
admirably. My dagger was a silver serving knife which I had
surreptitiously removed from the dinning room server. It was
unceremoniously reclaimed by Mother when she discovered it’s
absence.
We were Presbyterians.
I’ve wondered about that. The original Wurtz were Lutherans. Our
Grandfather Abraham and Great Grandfather William are buried in a
Methodist graveyard. My Mother was Episcopalian, and our parents
were married in that church. Yet here we are Presbyterians. I
suppose she made that election because she couldn’t get to Leesburg
where the closest Episcopal congregation was located. While I do not
recall this, Stuart says that our Father served as deacon and was
active in this local Presbyterian Church. He was also registrar for
the Jefferson voting district and served at the polls each election
day. I recall Arthur Godfrey coming to our house to register and
listing his occupation as farmer. The going fee for this service was
$1.50. This is the famous poll tax later much debated by press and
court. Didn’t seem like a bid deal to me at the time.
Churches were an
integral part of the social fabric in small towns and it was so
here. The annual church picnic was highlight. In early years it was
held in the woods at the top of the hill leading to the Donaldson
farm. The Waterford Cornet Band picture was taken there. Then we
graduated to the Braddock Heights, Maryland amusement park. Here
were many other delights. I would save my money for this event, and
remember swinging out with reckless abandon to retrieve the gold
ring from a bronco on the merry go round. As always we had to hitch
a ride, and I recall one trip in the back of Smoot’s truck. It was
very hot and Mother got sick. This may have been following her teeth
extraction ordeal. One other occasion we went with Doug Myers. Doug
was the Sunday School Superintendent, and in charge of the event. We
stopped in Leesburg to pick up the Dixie cups and pack them in large
insulated bags, with dry ice. We were told not to touch the dry ice
because it would burn. Forty years later, at FFK, the same style
bags are still in use. So much for technology advance. A Deciding
the picnic location was a exercise in democracy. A vote was taken,
and the majority ruled. While I had no vote, I always lobbied for
Glen Echo. I had heard that it was wonderful place, and my first
visit did nothing to dispel that view. A roller coaster and rides of
all sort. We only went there a few times, it apparently didn’t
appeal to the congregation, but it was a magical place to a small
boy from Waterford.
Another church
activity that was fun was the annual Church camp school at
Massanuttan Springs, near Harrisonburg, Virginia in the Shenandoah
Valley. This was a big journey, almost one hundred miles. I believe
that the stay was one week, although it could have been two. We were
housed in barracks type buildings, and were responsible for certain
chores, etc. A counselor chaperon accompanied us, usually Freda
Myers, Doug’s wife. There we were with children form other areas. We
attended bible classes but there was great deal of sports activity
thrown in, and the competition was keen. One of the highlights was
the evening campfire sessions, where we would compete with yells. I
remember one of our winners was,
Chicka Racka, Chicka
Racka, Chow, Chow, Chow,
Booma Racka, Booma Racka, Bow, Wow, Wow,
Sis Boom, Sis Boom, Sis Boom, Rah.
Pawnees, Pawnees, Rah, Rah, Rah.
Obviously I was
Pawnee.
The creek was a big
draw for a small boy. Stuart and Hendrix Hickman were adept
clubhouse builders. They constructed one on the Catoctin tributary
below Doug Myers house. It was magnificent affair on an eddy in the
creek which had dug out a hole deep enough for swimming. That was my
first swimming pool. Unfortunately a heavy summer thunder storm
flooded the creek and carried the clubhouse downstream. The next
step in the swimming process was to the chute. The chute was part of
an elaborate engineering project designed ultimately to deliver
water to the grist and flour mill on the northwest end of town. It
apparently was built in the early days of the town. The meadow
surrounding the mill area is flat, and even though the Catoctin
Creek is near, with adequate water volume, the fall is insufficient
to generate enough speed to turn the wheel. It was necessary to go
up stream about two miles to find adequate elevation. A straight
line mill race was desired to reduce the amount of digging. That
straight line intersected the tributary that was mentioned
previously. So two dam structures were required. One on the main
Catoctin, to provide adequate volume of water and a second on the
tributary, to act as a holding or pass through dam. This second dam
was called the chute. Both of these structures were of local stone.
There was an intake gate above the main dam, the mill race ran for
about a mile down to, and dumped into the tributary, and was held
there by a second structure. The chute had a series of wooden gates
which could be adjusted to regulate flow and bleed off water in time
of flood. There was a wooden spillway over which the water shot,
hence I supposed the name chute. The last miller was Mr. Smote, who
lived in the large house overlooking the mill subsequently owned by
the White’s. The mill operated I my younger days but I don’t
remember much about it. I remember the chute as the swimming hole.
It was deep, accommodated diving, and was the scene of many Saturday
and Sunday outings. At that time the meadow and creek in which the
chute was located was owned by Ed Beans. He permitted the chute to
be used Sunday’s could see many vehicles parked there as the owners
cooled off. The Stabler’s owned an adjacent meadow which was used by
the local baseball team, but more on that later. Graduating to use
of the chute was a big step and a milestone in a small boy’s growing
up.
My fourth and fifth
grade teacher was Miss Orrison. She had replaced the legendary Miss
Minnie Russell, who brought fear to every students heart, but who
also taught a lot of English and Arithmetic. Miss Minnie would walk
through her classroom looking for talkers and dreamers. When she
spotted one she would crack them across the knuckles with a wooden
ruler that she kept at the ready. Stuart, in a sudden fit of genius,
cut and brought her a large stick one day. As is to be expected he
was the first recipient. At least that’s the story that he tells.
Miss Orrison was our teacher and it seemed to me that she had
trained at Miss Minnies knee. She was a heavyset, maiden lady, who
drove into Waterford each day in her ford coupe from her home in
Milltown. She taught me to concentrate and stick to whatever I was
trying to accomplish.
Of course we a had a
gang. Mine was comprised of George Rollsion, whose father was the
local watch maker, Arthur Hawes, who's father operated a store on
Front Street directly across from Uncle Spence and Aunt Nina’s
house, Obbie Hough, whose father was a carpenter, but who also
doubled as a sometime preacher and lay leader of the local Methodist
Church. Occasionally the group would include George’s cousin Phil,
whose father ran the local garage, and Hendrix Hickman, whose family
operated the corner store. George became a contractor and still
lives in Waterford, Obbie became a minister, and Arthur died many
years ago. Other characters on the local scene included John Henry
Furr, the Donaldson brothers, Bobby and Freddie, the Myers girls,
Doris, Janet, and June, daughters of Leslie, Ellen Faith, daughter
of Doug, and the Livingston girls, Eleanor and Phillis. John Henry
had one deformed arm, the result of an improper break set when he
was a child. It did not inhibit his ability to play ball and he was
a star on the local team for many years. I played with him, and he
introduced me to the wonders of Saturday night in Leesburg, which
often included a jug of Muscatel wine. We would often walk home from
Leesburg, a distance of seven miles and think nothing of it. But all
this was much later. The Waterford tradition was to overturn
outhouses, remove gates so livestock could escape, and remove
property so the owner would have trouble locating it. Those who
preceded us left a weighty tradition. Installing a buggy on the roof
of Harvey Parker’s blacksmith shop was probably the greatest
achievement of those who went before, but we struggled to keep up.
The residents of course were familiar with this fun filled activity,
and would remove their gates for safe keeping. Some of them guarded
their property with a shotgun, which called for caution on our part.
We did get our share of gates though, and released the brakes on a
few old cars so that they would drift down the hill. But overturning
an outhouse was one of our major goals, and by the time I was eleven
or twelve years of age we had one in our sights. It was located at
the rear of the Livingston home, now know as the Shawn House, on
Second Street. We scouted it out prior to the big night and were all
set. We arrived on the scene sometime after dark, and put our
shoulders to the task. It didn’t budge. We tried again with the same
result. Fearful of discovery, but still wanting to accomplish the
task and get our names in the record book, we opened the door. They
had filled the outhouse with bricks, and were storing bricks there,
or if they filled it to foil us. Anyway we never got it overturned.
All of this activity, which we would now call vandalism, seemed to
be taken in stride by the residents. They didn’t like to go looking
for their property, or repairing the damage, but they seemed to
accept it as part of the growing up process. No outside authority
was called upon to protect anyone’s rights. No one was sued. It just
blew over.
Rattle banding and
snipe hunting were other examples of this tolerance. Newly weds were
regularly harassed on their wedding night. It was a great game to
locate where they would spend that night, get together a group of
people, and serenade them with wash tubs, drums and anything that
would make a racket. The noise did not cease until they appeared and
provided food for all present. Snipe hunting involved taking an
innocent person out at night to capture an imaginary snipe. The
system was to go to some dark, remote place where snipes were
alleged to reside, give the victim a burlap bag, and instruct them
to hold the bag so that the rest of the party could drive the snipes
in. Then we would spread out in the darkness and make weird noises
for awhile, ultimately leaving the victim alone, to slowly figure
out that they had been duped. Almost everyone was caught by this
gag, I know that I was, but no one seemed to resent it. We didn’t
get mad, we just got even. Perhaps it was cruel, but it seems to me
that it prepared us to take action on our own behalf and to look for
solutions within ourselves, rather than look for big brother to
solve all of our misfortunes. Anyway that’s the way it was in
Waterford in the 1930’s.
The first public
haircut is a big event. Mine was administered by Mr. Fry. He was a
painter, in addition to barbering, and ultimately went into the
preaching business. He conducted his hair cutting operation one
night each week, Saturday I believe, and the room was filled with
customers and observers.
Preaching is always
good business in the country, and Mr. Fry started the local Nazarene
branch. Their demonstrative worship procedure did not set well with
many of the more conservative residents, but he developed a
constituency and the church seemed to flourish. We youngsters used
to peer in the windows hoping the worshippers would roll on the
floor, as holly rollers were supposed to do, or that the women would
bear their bosoms, as we had been told they would do. But alas they
never did and ultimately we tired of the game and left them alone.
I’ve since wondered why there was such local resentment which, I
add, included our Mother. I can only conclude that it was fear. Fear
of something different, which would mean a change. In some ways the
Nazarene procedure resembled Negro worship of that day. Very
demonstrative, and somehow threatening.
Waterford had a
population of about three hundred, fifty in my youth. Half were
Negroes, who were definitely second tier citizens in that community.
They were not treated with disrespect by the whites, merely with
difference. I can’t recall hearing the word nigger until I went to
New Hampshire at age seventeen. The primary word used when I was a
child was colored. Since we have progressed through negro to black.
The issue then, as today was access to economic opportunity and
precedent, with precedent coming first. In our community one was
either in or out of the economic opportunity arena. Entrance into
that select group was usually by birth, but could be forced by an
aggressive few. No blacks made it to my recollection. Few whites,
including us, made it either. Everyone in their place and no boat
rocking. You see it everywhere in the world today, it has always
been so, and will not change. Privilege is not surrendered
gratuitously.
I recall a camping
trip to the Skyline Drive when I was about nine. Mrs. Clendenin and
Miss Eleanor Chamberlin lived on a farm on Route 662 about one mile
south of Waterford. They were sisters of Edward Chamberlin who owned
adjoining Greystone. Stuart had worked for the two ladies who lived
there, and our Mother knew them also. Their grandson came to visit
occasionally during the summer, and I was dispatched by Mother to
provide companionship. Here I was introduced to a new environment,
the landed rich. While the Clendenins apparently were not rich, the
Chamberlins definitely were. Edward was the patriarch of the clan
and his brother Roy lived nearby. They had a stable of fine riding
horses, hunting dogs, the first private swimming pool and tennis
court in the area, and had a triple A financial rating, or so it
seemed to me. The Chamberlins had entered our lives previously. Our
Mother was employed by them as a governess for Eleanor, Edward’s
daughter. She came there upon her return from England when she was
eighteen, and it was from there that she met and married our father.
All of that was of no consequence to me at the time. I had
discovered a new world. We camped at Big Meadows on the Skyline
Drive. The Drive was still under construction at the time by the
Civil Conservation Corp., one of the New Deal make work projects. We
cooked out, hiked up Old Baldy, fished and had a great time. Back at
the farm we explored, rode the farm wagons and horses, swam and
played tennis. I remember that Laura Chamberlin, later to play a
part in Stuart’s life, taught us to ride. I had all ready mastered
swimming at the chute. I later worked during one summer break for
Edward Chamberlin, Jr. He, by then, had married and was running
Greystone. I was in the lawn care business, and acquired the job
from Ira Jones. As I recall, Greystone took two or three days per
week and I had other accounts including Dr. Bran’s in Leesburg. Dr.
Bran now was our Dentist, and I got the job initially to work off a
bill. Dr. Detweiler and Herndon seem to have disappeared. No that I
think of it I believe that the reason for that was that the W O &D
had ceased to function.
A big event in our
lives was our first radio. It arrived from Montgomery Ward sometime
in the early thirties courtesy of I believe Cousin Georgia. At that
time I was performing after school chores which included hauling out
Aunt Nina’s slop bucket and replacing her wood and coal supplies,
and the same activities for Ed Myers, Doug and Leslie’s father.
Fortunately the Myer’s had indoor plumbing and I was spared the slop
jar routine at their house but I fear that I was lax in that
department. All of this work interfered with my after school sports
activity, but fortunately my buddies had the same problem. All that
is except Arthur Hawes, who never seemed to have to do anything
except watch his father’s store occasionally. That was a big mistake
on the part of his father, as Arthur spent most of his time eating
those little individual fruit pies and drinking R.C. colas. We would
get a free one infrequently as Arthur was afraid that his father
would notice if the inventory became too depleted. When the radio
arrived it was installed on the round oak table. My listening
schedule began at five thirty each afternoon, and concluded at six
forty five when Mother and Father took over to listen to Lowell
Thomas. Hearing his broadcasts from all over the world was a daily
highlight for them. In my wildest dreams I would never have imagined
that a few years later I would be sitting in a ski lodge in New
Hampshire drinking hot buttered rums with that same Lowell Thomas.
But in those days I was more interested in my adventure programs,
which included, Buck Rogers in the Twenty First Century, Jack
Armstrong the All American Boy, Tom Mix, and Flash Gordon. Once a
week Mcgee and Molly, Jack Benny, and Fred Allen. Our father’s
favorite were Curley and Slim, country singers who broadcast over
the Monacacy Broadcast System in Frederick, Maryland. They put on a
show at the High School Auditorium once which was a big event for
Waterford.
Sports were high on
our list of priorities. We all dreamed of being a major leaguer. My
favorite teams were, the Washington Senators, then housed in
Griffith Stadium on Georgia Avenue, the Washington Redskins, and
Notre Dame, not necessarily in that order. Cecil Travis was my
favorite number one Redskins, but the entire 1937 team of Riley
Smith, Cliff Malone, Wayne Milner, Turk Edwards etc., with Ray
Flaherty as the coach, were aces with me. The Redskins had moved to
Washington from Boston at the conclusion of the 1936 season. The
Notre Damers all seemed to have multi syllable Polish names none of
which I can recall at the moment. Waterford fielded a baseball team
while the high school was in place, all though it was never very
successful. Due I suppose to the small enrollment. John Henry Furr
would attend school just enough to be eligible to play, then
disappear. After a while, Mr. Simpson called that off. I never
attended high School in Waterford, so I had no opportunity to add to
that dubious record. The town did have a team, which played each
Sunday, against teams from surrounding towns. This was source of
civic pride but on very shaky grounds economically. There were no
uniforms unless the individual could supply their own. It was tough
enough to acquire balls and bats. James Hamilton provided the
sariatorial highlight for the team. James father Harry was operating
the Burch dairy farm adjacent to our property, having moved there
from Purcellville, Virginia. James was a star player who had
attended the Ben Blue baseball school near Washington, D.C., hoping
to make it professionally. He didn’t make the pros but he kept his
uniform which had Ben Blue displayed across his chest. The other
players had bits and pieces of uniforms, but that in now way
diminished enthusiasm or support. Some of the players were, Herb
Edwards, catcher, Doc Merchant, pitcher, Leo Merchant, first base,
John Henry Furr, center fielder, and James Hamilton, short stop.
Enter Vincet Zoll. Vincent was the fiancée and later husband of
Moselle Virts, second daughter of Nina and Spence. Nina and Spence
spent the summers in Waterford, which led to my previously mentioned
slop jar activity, and Moselle would visit them on weekends. Vincent
got into the local scene. Vincent had to be center stage where ever
he was, and the Waterford baseball team was right up his alley. He
would arrive with a dozen new baseballs, bats and even provided some
uniforms. His car was available for transportation, and he provided
verbal support. All this got him elected manager, which role he
fulfilled for awhile until his interest, and or finances waned. At
that time he was about half way through a twenty year courtship of
Moselle, which apparently didn’t wane, although Moselle’s sister
Marian said on many occasions that she wished it had. I thought that
he was the greatest thing around. I had never seen a dozen baseballs
in one place before.
Waterford in those
days had four grocery stores, Hawes Piggy’s, the Corner Store, run
by the Hickaman’s and James Meat Market, run by Minor James and his
wife Clara. They had one son, Dick who took over the store when
Minor died. Minor and Dick were great hunters and fisherman. Minor
also used to do some slaughtering, primarily calves and hogs, at the
rear of his property. As this was upwind from town all were treated
to the aroma. Minor was a heavy drinker, in addition to being handy
with a gun, and this combination kept the citizens at bay for
awhile, but finally a delegation convinced him to cease this
activity. Not without some anxious moments however. I learned about
mountain oysters from Minor and Dick. They comprised the local Boar
Hog castration team, which was undertaken when the animal got too
cantankerous. I assisted them in one such action and then gave up
that career. One career that we pursued for a time was as a hunter.
There were several old ladies in town who liked frogs legs and
squab. Hendrix Hickman and I went into partnership. We shot frogs
during the day with 22 caliber rifles, but hunting was better at
night. For one thing more frogs were out, and they could be gigged
using flashlights. This was a surer method as we would sometimes
lose them using a rifle. Squab hunting was easy if the odor could be
tolerated. The only problem was to locate a barn, where a lot of
pigeons roosted. Unfortunately the nests were always a the very top
of the barn and guano covered every rafter on the way up. Once there
we would put the baby pigeons in a sack and deliver them to our
customers live. The frog customers only wanted the legs so that’s
all we delivered. As I recall we got twenty cents a pair. We also
hunted squirrel and rabbit but only for our own consumption. There
was no market for them. There was a market for game birds, quail
primarily, but an occasional pheasant also. We ate a lot of rabbit
caught in traps by our father. He would set the traps up in the
garden and the rabbits could not resist the enticing carrots that he
would place inside. Rabbit fever was a big thing and he would
examine the liver for enlargement. I guess it worked because we
never got sick. But then I cannot remember him ever throwing a
rabbit away either. We did some trapping, Stuart more than I. Mink
were scarce, so it was primarily muskrat and skunks. This required a
trapline, either on the creek for the rats or near a grain field for
skunks, which had to be serviced every day. The catch was disposed
of, brought home, skinned and stretched on a board. Our father
usually got the skinning duties. They were not cured, simply left in
the cold for preservation until they could be sold. Stuart reports
that he and Walton Eamich were in this business for a while.
Walton’s father Bruce acted as their sales agent. Max Davis, a junk
and miscellaneous dealer in Leesburg was the buyer, and negotiations
were brisk. No. 1 all black pelts bought $3.00. No. 4 with striping
$1.00. Stuart did most of this and we had some lively odors around
the house for a while. I did more night hunting. We would use
hunting dogs to trail and three the quarry. There was some coon
hunting, but we primarily went for skunks. There were more of them.
We would get to the hunting area, give the dogs the scent from a
sack or pelt, and turn them loose. You could tell by the dog’s bray
what type prey they were on, and when the continuous wail broke up
into yelps we knew that they had treed. It was important to stay
close to the dogs because skunks are not tree climbers, and would be
brought to bay on the ground. The dogs were so excited that they
would get too close to the skunks, attack them, and damage the pelt.
A more likely occurrence was that they would get sprayed which would
end that dogs skunk hunting career. Dogs will not track skunks once
they have had a taste of that perfume. Our system was to take the
skunks alive. When we caught up to the dogs and located the skunk
the tricky part began. A skunk cannot spray when it’s feet are off
the ground. But all four must be off. If the animal finds purchase
on anything, a branch, pants leg, even a twig it will let lose and
heaven help you if your are in the way. Society won’t accept you for
weeks. The system was to get the dogs on a leash so they could be
controlled. Then one person would hold the dogs and direct a
flashlight at the skunk. The animal would face the dogs and be
blinded by the light. It could twirl in a flash however. The other
person would circle, approach from the rear, and pick the animal up
by the tail which was raised in the attack position. This was no
time for indecision. You had to pick that rascal up right now and
get all four feet off the ground, all complicated by the fact that
the skunk would usually barricade himself in underbrush. Assuming
all this went satisfactorily the next step was to get him into a
sack, and not let his feet catch the sides in so doing. Once
confined in the sack the skunk would not spray. This hunting was
done in September, October, and early November. The idea was to feed
them up in captivity and let their winter coat develop prior to
selling. Seems cruel to me now but at the time I never gave it a
second thought. They were a means of improving economics.
Fall was also cider
item, and I mean real cider not the bland stuff now found in the
stores. Cider was produced by the orchard owners and there were a
lot of them in the Waterford area. They would press the apples and
age the juice in wooden casks usually stored in the basement of the
farmhouse. A relatively stable temperature of around forty degrees
was fermentation. Raisins were widely used. They added flavor, had
the sugar and were relatively cheap. Unfortunately there was no way
to impede the process. Once fermentation started it continued until
vinegar was developed, so most of the cider was consumed by January
or February.
I mentioned Ira Jones
before. Ira and his wife Alice lived in the little cottage adjacent
to the grist mill. It had two rooms down, the living space in front
and kitchen, work space in the rear. Sleeping was in the loft. Ira
was the resident expert in wine making, and liquor distillation. I
could never handle the corn liquor, favored by many local residents,
but he could distill that cider into a fine brandy which he called
Jack. He made wine from almost anything. Grapes of course, but also
blackberries, raspberries, gooseberries, strawberries and
dandelions. All this is Alice’s kitchen at the rear of his cottage.
My mother was great friends with Alice, although I don’t believe
that she was a wine customer of Ira’s. Years later, in 1977, I
visited Waterford during festival time, and there was Ira sitting on
his front step with Alice. My mother had been dead for twelve years
and they didn’t know it. Alice took me into the familiar rear room
and there on the wall was a picture that my mother had painted and
given to her many years before. She prized it highly. The next time
that I visited Waterford they were both gone.
Another career that I
had in those pre-high school years was as ice man. Actually I was an
assistant. Refrigerators were not common. Most people had ice boxes,
as we did, which needed regular replenishment. A. A. Painter
provided the delivery service, or rather his sons did. A. A. had
operated a woodyard, complete with saw on our property in the early
thirties. I recall the howl of the saw as it cut through the wood.
But back to the ice. He had an old model T black truck with an open
wooden bed. On the side of the cab he had lettered A. A. Painter -
The Honest Man. The locals had some doubts about that statement
claiming that his scales were at least five pounds off in his favor
and some had their own scales to check up on him. To me it seemed to
be how business operated. In any event the system was to go to
Leesburg ice plant in the morning and load the truck. The ice was
covered with canvas to retard melting. Then we would run the route
selling off the back of the truck. The ice was in blocks of I
believe fifty pounds, and if the customer wanted less we were
required to split it out. Then it would be weighed on the famous
scales hanging on the rear of the truck, picked up by tongs and
delivered to the ice chest
Other people that I
recall in no particular order. Dr. Burger, husband of Happy Russell,
who sewed up my mouth with eighteen stitches when I fell off the
school house privy one Halloween night. Bob Compher, Jimmie’s and
Ross’s father. Margaret Hickman who married Ross. Callie Comphor,
Bob’s brother who lived on the Taylorstown road. Junior Cooley,
whose father was assistant sheriff for Loudoun County. Brooke
Stabler. Andrew Mcgavack, Doug’s predecessor at the Loudoun Mutual
Fire Insurance Company. The Dulin’s, The Hutchinson’s, The Rust’s,
Jim and Josephine Carr and their children Albert and Emma, Charley
Virts, John Henry’s grandfather. Also “Tots” Edwards and “Scoopum”
Mallory.
I remember that Stuart
got fifty cents to mow Leslie Myer’s lawn, and Janet told us they
now pay fifty dollars. Some of our Relatives are buried in the
Quaker Meeting House graveyard, I’m told. I don’t know who. Mrs.
Maggie Brown often provided taxi services for our mother. I recall
that she always called mother Mrs. Virts and mother always called
her Mrs. Brown. Not the famous “Book Club” which included in it’s
membership the local “Rich and Famous”. The home Ec operation was
kind of a second tier deal. Mrs. Brown was twice widowed, having
married Luther Brown upon the death of her first husband, Wally
Comphor. Wally, Bob, and Callie were sons of Bumble Bee Comphor, who
had acquired several farms in the Waterford area and who’s name
Bumble Bee attested to his skill in stinging his business opponents.
Mrs. Brown’s farm came to her via Wally. They had four children,
Millard, who committed suicide in 1956, Marvin who became a
Presbyterian minister, Johnnine who worked the farm, and Marie.
Actually Fenton Pollard, a black man, ran the place for them.
Johnnie was called “Stinger”, a tribute to his inherited gift from
his grandfather. Their farm was located a the intersection of Rt.
662 and Rt. 9. Apparently an inheritance came to the children at age
twenty one, and the manner in which they spent it became a matter of
much local discussion. My most vivid recollection of Mrs. Brown is
that she weighted about three hundred pounds and made the worst pie
I had ever eaten. She would give me a big hug and I would be
squashed barely able to breath, against those monstrous bosoms. The
pie was solid lard. Their farm was purchased by Author Godfrey upon
her death. The Raymond Peacock farm adjoined Mrs. Brown’s. Raymond
was the father of Arthur, who was in my class. I recall going to the
Peacock’s place with Mother to pick tomatoes for canning. The Roland
Legard’s lived on a farm north of Rt. 9 on the Brunswick road. For
some reason they attended church at Waterford Presbyterian. I
believe that one of the sons, Robert later became sheriff of Loudoun.
During the late
thirties the Chamberlin’s began buying and restoring homes in
Waterford, the beginning of the Waterford Foundation. Apparently
they obtained the idea from The Rockefellers, who were then engaged
in mechanism, available under new deal legislation. They began on
Main Street with, I believe, the Arch House. This was important to
us as it was next door to the house in which Stuart was born. The
plan was to restore the house as nearly as possible to it’s colonial
condition, and either sell or rent it to a suitable person. We had
our own little urban incentives. And as has occurred repeatedly
since, the result is to dislocate the existing residents, who in
this case were local blacks. However Martin Luther Kings was not yet
on the scene, so that issue wasn’t given much concern. The local
response was primarily positive. It provided work. I recall Maurice
Hough working on those homes, repairing mantles, replacing plaster,
etc. The blacks got some work, and all in all it was a good deal.
What it meant to me at the time was that there was some activity in
town, but I believe that the seed of my personal philosophy on work
versus public hand out germinated in that environment.
Our family had been
the recipients of public welfare. It is a humiliating, degrading
experience. I had seen the result of public works programs, most
notably the Skyline Drive. While it was public money the result was
magnificent, and the men who built it were proud of their
achievement. The Waterford project enabled the workers to improve
their families standard of living, and build their own self image.
Sure there were incentives for the entrepreneurs, but without them
the capital and talent would not have been injected. Capitalism does
not bestow it’s benefits equally, but it is the only way to generate
progress and raise the general standard of living. The Waterford
project’s overseer was Edward’s brother Leroy. The story was that
the Chamberlin’s money came from Edward’s wife who was a Moses.
Edward was ill so Leroy came in to manage their properties. The
locals didn’t think that Leroy could manage his way out of a paper
bag, but he had the checkbook, and everyone said yes sir. Leroy’s
son Wellman worked for the National Geographic for many years
ultimately becoming Chief Cartographer. Some years later when living
at Scott Street in Arlington, I became friends with Bob Nickolson
who worked for Wellman. Apparently World War II intervened in the
project and the Chamberlins only completed a few projects, but the
future was set and Waterford never would return to it’s previous
isolated status.
Stuart had graduated
from Leesburg High in 1938, and entered Hampton Sydney University in
Farmville, Virginia that fall. This was a Presbyterian endowed
school. He embarked on a pre med course. I was thirteen years of age
and the things that I remember was the getting together of the
tuition, and his clothing. Occasionally we would get a letter form
him, and once I visited him at school, courtesy I believe of Leslie
Myers. I was impressed by his college mates and their football team.
I entered Leesburg as
a freshman in the fall of 1939. It was a big step. We were bussed
from Waterford, a distance of seven miles. Lucketts had lost their
high school at about the same time and we all were consolidated at
Leesburg. This was to become the class of ‘43. Our Waterford group
was joined by Bobby Orr, Enos Saunders, Lois Clennons, Tickle
Atwell, Jimmie McIntosh, Stanley Caulkins, Marvin Greene, and Frank
Howser among others. Our homeroom teacher was Mrs. Diedrick, wife of
John who was to become my coach and later principal of the school.
That first year was sort of a breaking in period for me. Lois
Clemmons, a local, was class president. I was kind of overwhelmed by
the large school and the variety of activities that were offered. As
consequence I concentrated on my studies, and become a frequent user
of the library. The second year, 1940/1941 was different. World War
II was on in Europe but the main effect so far as I could see, was
that the English money from Angela dried up. I was earning my own
money by then though and the problem seem to be centered around
funding Stuart’s school. Morris Nix, a Waterford local, became the
sophomore class president. That spring I went out for and made the
baseball team. It was now 1941. That summer marked the apex of my
lawn cutting career, and the Sunday’s were taken up with baseball.
1941/1942 was a
pivotal year for all Americans, including me. That fall I went out
for and made the starting football team. I was primarily a pass
catching end, and kicker. We were champions and topped the season by
traveling to Manassas and whacking them in the season final. Toby
Atwell was the star ably assisted by Marvin Green, Stanley Caulkins,
Bobby Orr, and McDaniels. I was elected class president, and
December 7, 1941 arrived. Mobilization and rationing began. Stuart
entered the navy in early 1942, as did practically everyone else of
his age. Farming however was a necessary vocation and Waterford was
still a farming community. Farmers were exempt from service so that
food could be produced, and many hours were consumed in debate at
the Corner Store over who should, or should not be eligible.
Families were often split on this issue with some going and some
staying. The Donaldson family was a case in point. Bobby went into
the army and became a pilot, Buck was deferred for medical reasons,
and Freddie stayed to help his father on the farm. Mr. Donaldson was
a World War I veteran who had seen extensive combat in France and
been severely wounded. He had to agonize over this problem.
Rationing of gasoline, tires and manufacture of vehicles severely
reduced mobility. School programs were cut back, and the pace of
living slowed. But the war provided jobs for those capable of
performing them. For many the standard of living improved but not
much changed with us. Leslie Myers had died suddenly of a heart
attack, leaving his wife Carrier and the three girls. Doug, who
lived next door, took over running the family business in addition
to his job at the insurance company. He hired me in the summer of
1943 as a helper at $3.00 per day. His foreman was Ed Beavers, who
even then had three or four children, and had been deferred for that
reason and with Doug’s help. Doug argued and prevailed with the
draft board that roofing was an essential business. The other member
of our crew that summer was Albert Spinks. Ed and Albert made $7.00
per day. Ed actually ran the business, making estimates, and keeping
track of job costs. Doug handled the money. In effect Doug kept two
families afloat during those years. He was really his brother’s
keeper, but my interest was the $18.00 per week that I brought in.
More money than I had ever earned. We installed both tin and
galvanized roofs, gutters, and painted roofs. We would cut and turn
the metal edges on the ground, then haul them up the ladder to the
roof. The metal strips were the vertical length of the roof, often
fifteen or twenty feet. We would haul for or five up at a time. Ed
worked the eaves end, I worked the comb end. The strips were
attached to the roof with metal cleats. Albert operated the seamer
which double turned, and formed the seam where the metal strips
joined. For the first few weeks I had a very sore thumb from
whacking it with a hammer, but by the end of the summer I ways very
proficient at the job. I preferred the painting. Even though it was
very messy, it was less strenuous. I appreciated in later years what
this physical labor had done for me however. Ultimately Doug sold
the business to Ed, and after the war Ed’s brother Merrill joined
him, taking Albert’s job. They had an old 1935 for truck, and the
inside of that cab was pretty dicey after a hard days work. Bath
facilities were primitive at our home and a trip to the creek with
soap bar in hand was the normal after work solution.
I was sixteen the
summer of 1942 and the primordial urges were rising. Everything was
here and know. Transportation was limited and so our activity
centered on school and Waterford. The Livingstons lived on Second
Street directly across from the Hickmans. Floyd Livingston worked
for the Postal Service. The mail was primarily routed by rail in
those days and Floyd sorted mail aboard the train and threw it out
at appropriate stops. He worked out of Washington and was away from
home for extended periods of time. His wife, Shawn, was kind of a
remote, easy going sort of woman. They had two daughters, Eleanor,
my age, and Phyllis, two years younger. Their home became the scene
of much social activity, as did the Paxon’s since Piggy by now had
departed. This was very different from the conservative, early to
bed, early to rise, environment at my home. New vistas were opening
for me, and my Mother didn’t like it. I was blissfully unaware of
her concerns and went merrily on my way. 1942/1943 was kind of an
anticlimactic school year for me. I had been president of the
previous class and that option wasn’t open. Sports activity was
limited, and while I was president of the student union, I suppose
the war was just too close. I do recall being elected valedictorian
of the class and giving the graduation address. It was my first
public speech, and I forgot it completely. Very humiliating but a
good lesson. Never again did I try to memorize a public
presentation, always there after working from summary notes.
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