tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-163526839101498312024-03-13T23:14:15.023-04:00Johnny HiltonJohnny Hiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02154934995931616079noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16352683910149831.post-57764411155035880982022-06-23T16:39:00.033-04:002022-12-27T16:23:15.211-05:00<p> </p><p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
Love Story from the Greatest Generation<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt;">or<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Do Nothing Till You Hear From Me</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt;">Everyone’s
connected to a family. We’re just born into them, or adopted by them, without
much say so regarding the circumstances. “You can pick your friends but not
your relatives.” We’ve all heard that one. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We don’t have much input in the selection of
our family and relatives.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt;">
The way family groups are made up can be as different as the individuals in
them. There are, and always have been, all kinds of configurations of adults
and children living together. The most important thing about families, however,
is not their structure but their purpose. The primary reason families exist is
to provide for the needs and well being of those in the group. Providing love
and nurture, good health and positive growth, giving emotional and spiritual
support for the members of the group, particularly the children, are the reason
humans live in families.<br />
<br />
As we said, families are different, but they all have some things in common.
One thing common to all families, no matter what the structure, is the enormous
influence they have on who we are and how children develop into adults. Who one
becomes as an adult is in large part under the influence of the family members,
adults and siblings he or she grows up with. “The nut doesn’t fall far from the
tree”… “Your daddy won’t be dead until you are”… “You’re the spittin’ image of
your daddy”…these old sayings are used to describe our resemblance in both
appearance and behavior to our parents. <br />
<br />
Our physical characteristics, of course, are a result of the genes we inherit
from our parents. Both the genes we inherit from our parents and the
experiences we have when we are young, however, determine our behavior and
personality characteristics. It’s the old nature vs. nurture controversy. Which
has the biggest influence on our attitudes and behavior, the genes we inherit
or the environment in which we grew up? No matter which side of the aisle you
line up on, the family is right in the middle because in most cases it’s
responsible for both the characteristics you inherit and those you learn. We
are products of the genes we inherit from our parents, and the experiences we
have with our parents and our siblings as we are growing up.<br />
<br />
That is why it is so important for parents to provide experiences for their
children that will broaden their minds. These experiences don’t have to be
expensive vacations but simple and inexpensive activities right here at home.
The first and most important activity is to talk to and with your child at
every opportunity. Take them with you whenever possible and interact with them
constantly, particularly in their first three years of life. Take them to the
park, the library, the grocery store, church, wherever you can, talking constantly
with them about the things they are seeing around them. Play with them using
their toys or whatever is available to encourage interaction. And, of course,
read to them and with them at every opportunity.<br />
<br />
You inherited red hair from your mother, your musical ability from your father.
You learned to love the outdoors because your dad took you hunting as a child,
and you love animals because your mom always had a soft spot in her heart for
strays and took them in as part of the family. These are examples of the
influences of nature and nurture. We can’t control the genes our children
inherit but we can do something about the things they learn, through the
experiences we provide them.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt;">Tonight
I am going to share a little with you about my family, southern working folk. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thank you for indulging me for I wrote this
as much for my family as I did for you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My mother, Daisy Elizabeth Newman Hilton, Lib to her friends, grew up in
Sumter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her parents were Selma Steele
Newman and Van Telberg Newman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Selma grew
up in Olanta and Van in Sumter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately,
I know very little about the upbringing or the family histories of my maternal
grandparents except neither came from families of means or much formal
education.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt;">Lib
attended the public schools in Sumter and was an excellent student, according
to her younger brother, Van Newman Jr.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Van hated having the same teachers Lib had, as the teachers always told
him what a wonderful student his older sister was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lib graduated from Sumter High in 1942.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The family didn’t have the funds to send her
to college.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, she earned a scholarship
to attend Meredith, a women’s college in Raleigh, NC, where an older cousin was
already a student.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt;">My
father, John Bingley Hilton, J.B. as he was called, grew up in rural Berkeley
County.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His parents were Gussie Welch
Hilton and Paul Tillman Hilton, both from Berkeley County.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My paternal grandparents and great-grand
parents operated a small farm in Berkeley County.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They also operated a meat market in
Charleston, selling beef, pork, and poultry from livestock they raised on the
farm, then butchered and took to Charleston to be sold at the market.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a youngster, J.B. worked on the farm and
at the meat market in Charleston.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
attended Cross High School, in Cross, SC, graduating in 1941.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While he was a student in high school he
began working part time with the Atlantic Coastline Railroad, in Holly Hill,
SC, initially as a laborer, loading cotton bales onto flatcars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While still in high school, he learned the Morse
Code and landed a job as a part time clerk and telegraph operator in the
railroad depot in Holly Hill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Upon
graduation from high school he went to work full time with the railroad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So how did this working class small town girl
and a poor farm boy from the sticks get together?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That will be, not the rest, but the next
part of the story.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">J.B. had been working as a clerk in Holly Hill for just a short
while when the railroad transferred him to, of all places, Sumter, SC, to work as
a clerk in the freight depot. And wonder of wonders, within a few days he met a
man that also worked in the depot named Van Newman. Mr. Newman went home and
told his wife Selma about this hardworking, smart, handsome, young man that was
driving a brand new 1941 Ford. Selma thought it would be a good idea to
introduce their daughter, Elizabeth, who was a senior in high school, to this
young fellow. Before you know it, Selma shows up at the depot just about
quitting time, with Lib in the car. She honks the horn, as was her custom. Van
comes out, but Selma sends him back inside to get that young fellow to meet
Lib. I don’t know if it was love at first sight, but something clicked for it
soon became a true love story.<br />
<br />
In those days there were only eleven grades in high school. Lib was 17 when she
and J.B. met. As previously mentioned, after graduation Lib went off to
Meredith in Raleigh. During Lib’s freshman year at college, J.B.’s work with
the railroad sent him for short stints to several other towns including
Florence and Cheraw. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two kids were
smitten very badly, however, and a long distance romance was really not what
they wanted.<br />
<br />
The backdrop for this love story, of course, was World War II. The United
States entered the war as J.B. and Lib were courting. Lib decided that she couldn’t
stand being away from J.B. so she didn’t return to Raleigh after her freshman
year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not the first time a kid came
home from school because they were in love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There was talk of marriage.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Before the wedding bells could chime, however, Uncle Sam called
J.B. into the service of his country. He entered the army in the fall of 1943.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he was being processed into the Army it
was discovered that on his birth certificate he was named with only the
initials J.B.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The good men in the U.S.
Army informed him he would need a name as just initials wouldn’t do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So he came up with John, probably from the Bible,
and Bingley, which was the first name of his maternal grandfather, Bingley
Welch. So he was christened John Bingley by the U.S. Army. After his christening,
he was assigned to the 747 Operating Railway Battalion in the Transportation
Corp as a telegraph operator because of his previous work experience with the
railroad. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was promptly sent to Clovis, New Mexico,
for training.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The two kids were really love sick now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As you may recall from watching old movies
set during WWII, getting married before the guy goes off to war was the thing
to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their plan called for Lib to
come out to New Mexico where they would be married. In early February of 1944,
however, J.B. sent a telegram to Lib saying, “Plans have changed. STOP. Do
nothing till you hear from me. STOP Love, J.B.” Lib thought he was being
shipped out overseas. She was beside herself, upset and worried. Two days
later, there was a knock at the front door, and there stood J.B. They were
married Sunday, February 6th at Selma and Van’s house at 111 East Charlotte
Avenue, in Sumter.<br />
<br />
They went to Orangeburg, S.C., on their honeymoon. Taking a walk on Sunday
evening around “downtown” Orangeburg they came upon a church where a service
was being held. They heard the congregation singing as they came up the street.
The hymn drew them inside. They both loved music and they both loved being in
church.<br />
<br />
J.B. went back to New Mexico and Lib soon followed. They rented a little room
in a boarding house. The place was full of other couples like themselves, guys
in the army whose wives had come out to spend some time with them before they
were shipped out to the war.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
In late May all the men were restricted to base. The rumor, of course, was that
the invasion was coming soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Around 1
a.m. on the morning of June 6, Lib was awakened by sirens sounding on the base.
She sat straight up in the bed and knew the invasion of France had begun. It
was D-Day. First thing that morning Lib went to the base, where all the men
were preparing to board a troop train, headed for the east coast and then on to
Europe. She found J.B. and they said their goodbyes. She walked back to the
room, crying all the way. <br />
<br />
Once at the room she realized she had to go back to the base before the train
left, as she might never see J.B. again. Finding a girl at the boarding house
who had a car, she caught a ride back to the base. By this time the men were
already on the train. Lib just happened to come up at the end of the train.
Asking for Head Quarter’s Company, she was directed forward. At each car, with
men hanging from the doors of the boxcars, she would yell out, "Where is
Head Quarter’s Company?" Each time she was directed forward. She was worried
that the train might pull off before she found her sweetheart. She broke into a
trot, shouting her inquiry as she moved forward. Did she find him? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As you might expect, Head Quarter’s Company was at the very front
of the train. Just moments before the train moved out…… there he was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few
more kisses, another goodbye and he was gone.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
Gone to Belgium, France, and Germany. Places with names like Koblenz, and
Remagen. Not usually on the front, he did have to pick up his carbine to experience
some combat action in the Battle of the Bulge, however, when the Germans
launched their last counter offensive of the war. While J.B. was overseas, he
and Lib wrote letters to each other often.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We have 84 letters that J.B. wrote to Lib that she saved. These letters
are truly a treasure of our family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Thankfully J.B. came home unharmed, to spend the rest of his
life with his beloved Lib. It was the railroad that brought them together.
Their ride on the rails lasted a lifetime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Now it’s time for the rest of the story.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">After the war J.B. returned home to go back to work with the ACL
Railroad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lib got a job as a bookkeeper
at Carolina Hardware.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They borrowed some
money and bought 12 acres of land on the Wedgefield Road, a couple miles out
past the Second Mill Pond which in those days was “out in the country”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There they built a little four room
house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pretty soon there was also a
chicken house, and a little barn, and a pen with a few pigs, and a fenced in
field with a couple of cows grazing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In 1949 I came along, and in ’51, my sister Tricia joined the
group and the farm family was complete.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
the years moved along, Mom and Dad continued to buy additional parcels of land
increasing the size of the farm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Corn,
soybeans, cattle, and pork were the primary cash crops.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Peanuts, hay, pecans, and blueberries were
also part of the mix.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For twenty-five
years Dad worked both with the railroad and on the farm before deciding to
focus on farming and engaging in other entrepreneurial activities. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In 1966 Mom and Dad bought Blums, a ladies clothing store on Main
Street upon the tragic death of Mrs. Blum in an auto accident.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom had left Carolina Hardware a few years
earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They renamed the store Lib’s
and relocated to Guignard Drive, in a triplex, next to my grandparents’ flower
shop, Newman’s Flowers, and Mary Boyle Interiors, in the same spot as the
Dollar General is now, next door to Guignard Diner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom and Dad had worked hard and had been very
frugal over the years, saving and investing to slowly but significantly grow
what was initially a very small nest egg.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Working hard, saving and investing, they never lost sight,
however, of the things that were really the most important to them: their
family and their faith.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tricia and I
were the center of their universe. We were a tight unit that worked, played,
and worshiped together. We all worked on the farm, helping with the chores,
feeding the animals, milking the cows, driving the tractor, and baling hay,
doing whatever it took.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The stories my
sister and I can tell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a great life
growing up on a working family farm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
two operative words in that last sentence are “working” and “family”. Our
extended family was important as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We were always interacting with grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The Grace Baptist Church was at the center of our family’s
social life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom’s family were members
there when she met dad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He grew up in a
Baptist church in rural Berkley County so it was a good fit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom, a gifted pianist, played for church
services at Grace beginning as a teenager and continued to do so all her life. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Their real love and most significant contribution to life at
Grace was their work with young people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They led a Sunday School class for 5<sup>th</sup> and 6<sup>th</sup>
grades for over fifty years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom played
the piano and Dad led the singing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom
arranged a medley of songs, primarily the choruses, which came to be known as
the “Hash Choruses”, which they taught to all the kids that came through their
class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In addition, the “B-I-B-L-E” song
was a standard as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of Dad’s
goals was for all the kids to memorize the books of the Bible in order. He
adopted a policy of giving each kid $5 when they could stand in front of the
group and recite the books in order.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
spoke with someone just the other day who as a kid had come through their class,
and then their child had also come through, which resulted in both parent and
child memorizing the books of the Bible.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In addition to leading the Sunday School class, they had
countless hayrides, hot dog roasts, bonfires, parties, and celebrations at our
house and farm on the Wedgefield Road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
attendees were the kids, their parents, and the many other good folks from Grace
Church. In 1962, Mom and Dad built a new house on the property just up from the
original little house, complete with a pool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Mom called this new spot “Heaven on a Hill”. Now the church parties also
included swimming during the summer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Music and dance played an important role in the life of our
family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom and Dad both loved music and
loved to dance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As previously mentioned,
Mom was a gifted pianist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both Mom and
Dad were very good singers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a kid,
mom loved Shirley Temple, and adored Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire. When my
sister and I were very young we started performing at church, just singing of
course, you wouldn’t dare dance in a Baptist Church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But there were dance lessons at Betty
Freeds’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were the Fred and Ginger of
the dance studio, singing and dancing at all the recitals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom and Dad loved it!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I decided in the sixth grade that tap
dancing wasn’t cool, it nearly broke Mom’s heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As my sister and I grew to be teen-agers, Mom and Dad really
became involved with our friends in a loving and supportive way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our friends were at our house a lot, at the
pool swimming, in the basement shooting pool or just hanging out. The band I
played music with in high school held all our rehearsals in the basement as
well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of my buddies was kicked out
of his house by his dad and, of course, he moved in with us for a while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In my last Fortnightly paper, entitled “Our Gang”, you may
recall that I wrote about the high school social clubs of Sumter during the
50’s, 60’s, and early 70’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My senior
year in high school the Esquires decided to contract with Maurice Williams and
the Zodiacs for our Christmas dance to raise money to support our “activities”
for that school year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom and Dad
decided to underwrite the event for us, putting up the deposit money for the
band.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a couple of “T-Totalers” they
were very supportive of and involved with a bunch of wild and crazy high school
boys. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My freshman year in college at USC, I joined The Footnotes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, we held rehearsals in the basement
at their house as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the band
really started traveling and we needed a van, Mom and Dad stepped up and bought
us a van which we “leased” from them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m sure they lost money on the deal but they just loved helping us and being
a part of the whole music scene.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">On and on went the list of their involvement and support of my sister
and me and all our friends; chaperoning<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>house parties at the beach for my sister, taking all our friends to the
lake house, water skiing, countless hunting and fishing adventures in the swamp,
swimming parties, ……..<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As time went by, Tricia and I grew up and started families of
our own as Mom and Dad moved toward retirement age.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They never really retired, however, they just
changed the kind of activities they did each day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the grandchildren came along they became
the center of Mom and Dad’s universe, just as my sister and I had been
earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Incidentally, when the grandchildren
came along there were name changes as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Mom and Dad became Nana and Papa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They started all over again with dance recitals, hunting and fishing in
the swamp, taking kids out on the farm, and trips to the beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The activities with the grandkids were as
numerous or even more so than with my sister and I. Likewise, they got to know
and interacted with the friends of the grandchildren, just as they had come to
know mine and Tricia’s friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(See Addendum)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Eventually, Nana and Papa sold the dress shop and sold all the
hogs and cows, too. They cut back on the farming and started planting pine
trees on land that had previously been “row cropped”, replacing corn and
soybeans with longleaf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They joined a
couple of square dance groups. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dad
became very involved as a leader with the Lions Club.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They became active as leaders of the XYZ club
at Grace Church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The most exciting activity they added to their menu as they grew
older was travel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They began taking
trips here and there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They went on
several bus trips sponsored by various organizations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next thing you know Papa and Nana started
their own travel business, “Hilton Tours.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They would work out an itinerary and
then invite some friends to come along.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was a huge success.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They lead
dozens of tours and cruises. People would stop and tell me all the time what a
great time they had on their trip to such and such a place with Nana and Papa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They traveled with their friends all over the
lower 48, north to Alaska, and then on to St. Petersburg, Russia. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">All families develop traditions and Mom and Dad saw that we had
them, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The most memorable one is our
Christmas Eve celebration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When my
sister and I were “just up off the floor,” Mom and Dad started inviting folks
over to our house on Christmas Eve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Initially it would be our neighbors, of whom there were actually very
few in those days, because we lived in the country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom would serve some fruit cake, a little ham
and other treats, and punch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a
little small talk over the refreshments we would gather ‘round the spinet, with
Mom playing and we would sing Christmas Carols.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As the years flowed by, this event continued seamlessly. The
attendees varied and evolved over the years; family and friends, girlfriends,
boyfriends, wives, husbands, grandchildren, and great grandchildren but the
format remained the same. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We haven’t
missed a Christmas Eve in 65 years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When
Christmas Eve is approaching I’m asked all the time, either by former attendees
or those who know of Nana and Papa’s tradition, “Ya’ll having ‘the sing’ again
this year?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s an example of how we
all yearn for the closeness of family and loved ones and for things that
endure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s that closeness and love that
sustain us over time, through the good and the bad, the joy and the tears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Lib and J.B., Mom and Dad, Nana and Papa, whatever you want to
call them, they were in love with each other their entire lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was truly a love affair that lasted a
lifetime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When South Carolina came out
with custom car license plates, Papa jumped on it, getting one for Nana that
read, “MIBRIDE.”</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">You know, Selma and Van, and Gussie and Paul did a pretty good
job with the nature and the nurture they instilled and passed on to Lib and
J.B.. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt;">Proverbs 22:6 says “Train up a
child in the way he should go, even when he is old he will not depart from it.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lib and J.B. did not depart from the training
given to them by their parents when they were children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They remained true to the values they were
taught, that family and faith go hand-in-hand and are really what matter the
most.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being a parent is a miraculous
blessing and an awesome responsibility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My sister and I, our children, families, our friends, and all who knew
them were truly blessed to have been touched by these two that lived and
inspired “A Love Story From the Greatest Generation”.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 16pt;">Addendum: Remembrances from
Grandchildren</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt;">Tracy Spigner:</span><span lang="EN" style="color: #454545; font-family: "UICTFontTextStyleBody","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #454545; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Going
fishing with Papa in the swamp...eating sardines and coming home to clean the
fish with a spoon in his yard. Eating fried fish and grits for dinner.</span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #454545; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Play
cooking” on my play kitchen at Nana and Papas house...I always cooked butter
beans and rice and they would always pretend to eat it all up. </span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #454545; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Going
camping at Pirate Land at Myrtle Beach in the camper. They always let me bring
a friend. We would ride bikes and they would take us to the flea market. Papa
would cook us pancakes every morning on the skillet outside the camper on the
picnic table. </span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #454545; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Nana
and Papa were my Sunday School teachers in 5th grade. They taught me the books
of the Bible song and the Hash Chorus. </span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #454545; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">They
would take me on Hilton Tours with them too. I went to the Grand Canyon with
Hilton Tours and to Washington DC. </span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #454545; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Growing
up my mom and I lived next door to Nana and Papa in the little house. When I
would get in trouble with my mom I would take off out the back door and run
through the pecan orchard to Nana and Papa’s house </span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #454545; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Papa
would always introduce me as “the apple of my eye with whom I am well
pleased” </span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #454545; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
loved how Papa called everyone Friend...in stores or passing on the street it
was always “Hello Friend”.</span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #454545; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
loved how he called Nana “My Bride”</span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #454545; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My
favorite part of Papa was his hands...they were rough, big and strong...his
fingers were crooked and had scars from being hurt. They were working hands! I
loved to hold his hand. His hands made you feel protected and safe. You knew
with his hands there you would be taken care of and he taught me that many
hands make light work. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #454545; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My
favorite part of Nana was her giving spirit. Nana would do anything to make
others happy! She would cook your favorite meal, watch your favorite movie,
play dolls with you, swim with you, let you have friends over, let you spend
the night....she was always saying yes to others...trying to make others happy!
Growing up I remember Nana was always smiling...unless the cows were out...Nana
loved her family and wanted everyone happy! She would always sing “You are my
Sunshine” to me! Nana was definitely my sunshine</span><span lang="EN" style="color: #454545; font-family: "UICTFontTextStyleBody","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">! <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt;">Margaret Hilton:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #201f1e; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
remember them both singing a lot. I remember singing on Christmas Eve together,
Nana proudly playing the piano and giggling along to papa's jokes. Songs
were also made up on the spot all year long- silly songs, sweet songs, nonsense
songs... Singing was a way of communicating, lightening the load and bringing
people closer.</span><span style="color: #201f1e; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #201f1e; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
remember walking into the house and smelling salmon patties frying in the
kitchen. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #201f1e; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
remember Papa sitting in his chair and when I was tiny, him asking me to come
and sit on his lap. </span><span style="color: #201f1e; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #201f1e; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
remember nana's roses- both their beauty and their sweet smell. </span><span style="color: #201f1e; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #201f1e; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
remember the passion they shared between each other, their romance lasted to
the end and beyond that too.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.2pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">John Hilton:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face=""Segoe UI","sans-serif"" lang="EN" style="color: #201f1e; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When
I think of nana and papa I am overwhelmed with feelings of comfort, acceptance
and love. Below are a few specific memories and lessons learned from each of
them.</span><span style="color: #201f1e;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face=""Segoe UI","sans-serif"" lang="EN" style="color: #201f1e; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When
I think of papa I have so many wonderful memories. Hunting, fishing, working,
playing softball right before dark on summer nights, swimming in the pool, and
Jesus.</span><span style="color: #201f1e;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face=""Segoe UI","sans-serif"" lang="EN" style="color: #201f1e; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Papa
taught me how to look for business opportunity, which is the essence and spirit
of my career. We cut and sold firewood together; cut, tagged and sold
mistletoe; I watched and learned how he made a living drilling wells, cutting
hay, selling blueberries and pecans, buying land, and trying to never say no to
a chance to use the knowledge and equipment he had to make a dollar.</span><span style="color: #201f1e;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face=""Segoe UI","sans-serif"" lang="EN" style="color: #201f1e; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He
taught me how to love and appreciate Mother Nature and the great outdoors as he
called it, which has grown into the essence and spirit of my earthly soul. We
hunted quail, doves, ducks, deer, turkey, squirrels, and any other critter that
might cause harm to one of those beloved game species. He would pick me up from
school to take me fishing in the swamp, packing a cooler of snacks and drinks
extra full just for me. He taught me of the special respect man should have of
the land we tread on. </span><span style="color: #201f1e;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face=""Segoe UI","sans-serif"" lang="EN" style="color: #201f1e; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Papa
was the first person I ever experienced talking to about Jesus as if he was
standing right there with us. I bet he had a similar experience as Oswald Chambers
predicted for himself, that when he died it would take him a while to realize
because he walked so closely with the Lord he wouldn’t even notice he had moved
to the other side.</span><span style="color: #201f1e;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face=""Segoe UI","sans-serif"" lang="EN" style="color: #201f1e; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Papa
was a law abiding, honest, Christian man and he pretty well did what he
pleased. I learned that life is full of restrictions and reservations but man
was put here to rule the world, and a man should do as he pleases while he’s
here. He was very good at figuring out how to negotiate through rules and
regulations in pursuit of his goal.</span><span style="color: #201f1e;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face=""Segoe UI","sans-serif"" lang="EN" style="color: #201f1e; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He
never met a stranger, never said no to some poor soul in need of help and he
made me feel that he loved me unconditionally. By the time he died, he was my
best friend.</span><span style="color: #201f1e;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face=""Segoe UI","sans-serif"" lang="EN" style="color: #201f1e; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When
I think of Nana my first memory is how much she loved papa. They had a true
fire romance. I can still vividly see her sitting in his lap holding hands and
kissing. They were very affectionate and I’m glad I got to see them do this and
love each other in this way. She was devoted to him and served him. That is not
to say that she didn’t stand up to him and put her foot down when she strongly
disagreed, because she did. I learned how two people could fight and make up
and still love with passion. That is a special lesson.</span><span style="color: #201f1e;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Segoe UI","sans-serif"" lang="EN" style="color: #201f1e; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Nana
was an excellent cook. Most of my other memories of Nana involve delicious
food. Cube steak with gravy; pancakes and bacon with the best blueberry syrup
still to this day I’ve ever tasted; salmon patties and grits; and real sweet
tea. She would fry extra bacon, wrap it in tinfoil and give to me for a mid
morning snack while out working with pop.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face=""Segoe UI","sans-serif"" lang="EN" style="color: #201f1e; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">If
I wasn’t feeling well at school, or I wasn’t feeling well about school, a trip
to the nurse’s office and a call to Nana would have me on her couch watching TV
with toast loaded down with melted butter. In my mind I can see her walking
across the room bringing it to me like it was yesterday.</span><span style="color: #201f1e;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face=""Segoe UI","sans-serif"" lang="EN" style="color: #201f1e; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She
was a leader in her home, with her family, with her church, with the community
and also with Jesus.</span><span style="color: #201f1e;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Segoe UI","sans-serif"" lang="EN" style="color: #201f1e; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
miss them both so much. I am lucky to have had them for as long as I did.
</span><o:p style="font-size: 11.5pt;"></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Johnny Hiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02154934995931616079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16352683910149831.post-507084225484857632021-08-17T15:31:00.004-04:002022-06-17T12:05:54.035-04:00Our Gang<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Our Gang</b> </div><div>Human beings are social animals. Throughout our evolutionary journey we have organized ourselves into groups. Families, clans, tribes, and nations are examples. This propensity to live and organize into groups may have come from the safety found in numbers, or to more efficiently provide food and shelter. Perhaps this need to belong to groups comes from deep psychological instincts that are hardwired in the human psyche</div><div>. </div><div><u>Take good care of yourself, you belong to me</u> </div><div> In 1943 psychologist Abraham Maslow published a paper “Theory of Human Motivation” in which he proposed a hierarchy of human needs. This hierarchy remains a popular framework in sociology and the study of human growth and development. The hierarchy is in the shape of a triangle or pyramid with the most fundamental needs at the bottom. </div><div> At the base of the hierarchy we find physiological needs. Air, water, food, clothing, and shelter are examples of these needs. Next we find safety and security needs. These might include personal security, financial security, health and well being, and safety against the adverse impact of accidents and illness. The third level, after physiological and safety, are interpersonal needs involving the feelings of belonging. Maslow believed that humans need to be a part of, and feel a sense of, acceptance and belonging within social groups, be these groups large or small. Large groups would include clubs, co-workers, religious groups, professional organizations, and sports teams. Small social connections include family, intimate partners, mentors, colleagues and confidants.</div><div> Humans need to love and be loved by others. People often experience loneliness, social anxiety, and clinical depression in the absence of this love or belonging element. When combined with strong peer pressure, this need for belonging can overcome the physiological and security needs.</div><div> Let us dig a little deeper into this need to belong. Sebastian Junger, American journalist, author and filmmaker has produced several works that examine the dynamics of the need to belong as it relates to soldiers having served in Afghanistan. These works include “Retrospo,” “War,” “Which Way is the Front Line From Here,” “Korengal,” “The Last Patrol,” and “Tribe.” A theory that Junger shares in these films and publications is the idea that the bonds of community and belonging found in army platoons engaged in combat are exceptionally strong. The brotherhood experienced by those in combat platoons promotes the building of powerful relationships that fulfill the need to belong to a trusted group. In many cases this brotherhood and belonging found in the platoon far exceeds any feelings of connectedness previously experienced. The after effects of this strong bonding when the time of deployment and combat have ended often precipitate responses from service persons that are unfortunate and sometimes confusing. </div><div> Many soldiers return home to experience serious problems as they attempt to reconnect with civilian society. Junger argues that many are unable to assimilate back into the larger society because of their feelings of being untethered and disconnected. They often experience alienation and anxiety, missing the brotherhood shared with those in their combat platoon. Many had not experienced these strong bonds of trust and belonging before their time in service. Upon returning home they experience alienation and anxiety because they are no longer a part of a trusted group. As we know, the rates of mental illness, homelessness, and suicide are very high among veterans of recent wars in the Middle East. </div><div> Another interesting question considered in Junger’s work: why do servicemen and women sign on for multiple tours of combat duty? Patriotism, perhaps, but Junger shares another theory. He maintains that many service persons sign on for multiple tours of duty in order to continue to experience the sense of belonging and brotherhood found within their combat platoons. Reflecting back on Maslow’s hierarchy, many return to combat even though they are placing themselves in harm’s way, as the need for belonging outweighs the need for safety. They return to combat not because they like war, but because their need to belong to a tightly bonded group is so powerful and met through the relationships in the combat platoon.</div><div> As you have already surmised, part of our discussion this evening centers on the human need and propensity to belong to groups. We shall take a look at some specific groups that young men and women have formed perhaps to meet this basic human need to belong. The focus of these groups was initially scholarly and later social in nature.</div><div><u> Let’s start a club</u></div><div> The American fraternity and sorority system began with students who wanted to conduct discussions and debates secretly as the topics may have been thought inappropriate by the faculty of their schools. Today fraternities and sororities are used as social, professional, and honorary groups that promote social activity, community service, leadership, and academic achievement. </div><div> The Phi Beta Kappa Society was founded on December 5, 1776, at the College of William and Mary in Williamsburg, Virginia. It was the first fraternal organization in the United States and established the custom of naming college societies using Greek-letter initials of a secret Greek motto. The motto chosen was Philosophia Biou Kubernētēs or
philosophy is the Helmsman of Life, now translated as Philosophy is the Guide of Life. </div><div>The group was formed by students who were patrons of the Raleigh tavern, a popular off campus meeting place. The founders of Phi Beta Kappa declared that the society was formed for congeniality and to promote good fellowship, with friendship as its basis and benevolence and literature as its pillars. Chapters of Phi Beta Kappa were established at Yale and Harvard and then spread to other colleges and universities. As time went by it became more of an honor society rather than a social organization similar to fraternities of today. </div><div>The Kappa Alpha Society, established at Union College in Schenectady, New York in November of 1825 is considered the first general Greek letter fraternity. Phi Beta Kappa had been at Union since 1817 and Kappa Alpha adopted many of their practices but made fellowship, the development of brotherhood and friendship their main purpose. Soon to follow at Union College were Sigma Phi and Delta Phi resulting in Union becoming known as the birthplace of the fraternity and sorority system. </div><div>The golden age of fraternities occurred after the Civil War, a time of rapid growth and the establishment of many new organizations, particularly in the South. The formation of Alpha Tau Omega at VMI and Kappa Alpha Order at Washington and Lee University in 1865, and then Sigma Nu at VMI, and Kappa Sigma at The University of Virginia in 1869 are examples of this growth. The Chi Omega chapter of Kappa Sigma, of which I am a member, was formed in April of 1890 at the University of South Carolina. The Kappa Sigma motto AEKDB, translates as After Each Kiss Drink Beer. Not really, but it’s a secret. I can’t tell you what it really means!! </div><div> The first secret society for women was the Adelphean Society, later Alpha Delta Pi formed in 1851 at Wesleyan College in Macon, Georgia. The Philomathean Society, later Phi Mu, was founded in 1852 also at Wesleyan. The first women’s society to expand by forming different chapters was I.C. Sorosis, founded in 1867, later known as Phi Beta Phi. The first women’s society founded using Greek letters was Kappa Alpha Theta in 1870. Subsequently numerous other societies were formed in the 1870’s including Kappa Kappa Gamma, Alpha Phi, Delta Gamma, Gamma Phi Beta and Sigma Kappa. The first women’s society to be called a sorority was Gamma Phi Beta in 1882. Delta Delta Delta was formed in 1888, with Chi Omega, now the largest sorority in the nation, being formed in 1890. No doubt many of us know some ladies who are affiliated with these organizations and may have gone out with one or two during our college years.</div><div> <u>Let’s make it local</u> </div><div>It seems this need to belong to a group holds true for all ages. Young people often participate in group activities modeled after those to which adults belong and participate. We have all had some experiences of hanging out with a group of friends from the neighborhood. Sometimes these groups were a loose alliance, and sometimes more formally arranged. The focus for the rest of our time this evening will be on high school boys and girls growing up in Sumter who formed groups, often known as social clubs. These groups were patterned somewhat similarly to college fraternities and sororities.</div><div><u> Ladies First </u></div><div>During the fall of 1939, a group of thirteen young ladies attending Sumter High School formed a new group named Les Coeur Cognes which came to be known as LCC. </div><div> Charter members were Jeanne Harby, Lucy Stubbs, Margaret McLeod, Pretto Brunson, Mary Ellen Cain, Zadeth Beth Green, Susanne Mallard, Polly Moise, Carol Humbert, Sally Nash, Barbara Lee, Iva Belle Seale, and Less Moses. Of these ladies only Margaret McLeod Hunter and Sally Nash Wilson are still with us. The name was French and was meant to be translated as “The Heart Breakers”. Legend has it that Robert Moise was called upon to provide the name but his French was not as good as the ladies thought and the name actually translates as “the heart broken”. The idea of the club came about as Sumter girls met some girls from Columbia at the beach who were members of a group known as “Les Coquetts”. The primary social activities of the LCC in the early days were dances, initially held at the Armory on Artillery Drive. Meetings were held at the homes of the members’ parents to plan and organize for the dances. </div><div>The LCC was in existence for many years. Over the decades countless young ladies that we know were members. They held dances and parties year after year. One of the highlights of the year was that spring event at which time “Mr. Heartbreaker” was named. </div><div> <u>Boys will be boys</u> </div><div>Unlike the LCC which was the only girls club in town, there were many organizations that came and went over the years for young men. The first club I could find any information on was established in the fall of 1949. The club was formed by a group of senior boys at Edmunds High. The plan was to have twenty-one members. Someone suggested they use the French word for twenty-one which they believed to be “vontoon”. Much like the LCC they were somewhat mistaken as the French phrase for 21 is “vingt et un.” Somehow this was translated into Vontoon and so it was. In short order the membership grew to well over twenty-one. The club met in the parents’ homes of the various members, mostly “swapping lies” and laughing for a couple of hours. The highlight of the year was a house party trip to Ocean Drive chaperoned by Coach “Hutch” Hutchinson and his wife. It appears this club only lasted one year or perhaps two. </div><div>Next on the scene was an organization known as Club 52. Formed during the school year 1951-52, this group was short lived because of a prank which involved the “plowing up” of a small portion of the front lawn of the school and the painting of disparaging remarks regarding the principal, Joseph Lyles, on the monument to Dr. Edmunds in front of the school. Several club members received serious disciplinary action and as a result the club was disbanded. </div><div>Around 1953 or ’54, a new club, The Counts, was formed that left a legacy for clubs that were to follow. Described as being a “suave” yet “rough and tumble” group of young men, they left their mark on the community by establishing, at some point in time, a private location for “parking”. CPA as it came to be known, an acronym for Counts Parking Area, was located near what is now Henderson St. just beyond Wilson’s pond, parallel to Paisley Park. Back in the day, that entire area was undeveloped woods with only a little dirt lane leading up the hill towards what are now Ingram and Haile Streets. Only The Counts were allowed to park in this area. However, after the Counts disbanded, the area was open to all, but for many years after was still known as CPA. </div><div> Also, around 1953 or ‘54 another club was formed that would prove to become the longest lasting of all the socials clubs for young men, the Les Rois. French for “The Kings”, this group had a run that stretched into the early 70’s. Members of the Counts in the early Fifties felt the Les Rois were more scholarly, but couldn’t dance. We shall hear more about the Les Rois shortly. </div><div> The early 60’s saw the formation of a couple more social clubs for the men. One of these, The Diablos, beginning in 1961 or ’62, was active through 1965. This group had the distinction of actually designing and wearing a pin, similar to the pins worn by college fraternity members. </div><div> Also, in 1961-‘62, a group known as The Esquires was formed which had a little longer life span, essentially running parallel with the Les Rois through the sixties and into the early seventies. I was a member of this group during my junior and senior year at Edmunds, 1965-67. We shall hear more about the Esquires shortly as well.
Over the years all the clubs seemed to have one primary goal in common: all wanted to go on a house party at the beach. These house parties most often occurred during spring break which happened around Easter. As we all know, the beach over Easter break is teeming with young people out to find a good time. In order to accomplish this adventure the clubs needed to raise money to finance the endeavor. The primary source of the fundraising was to sponsor a dance during the Thanksgiving or Christmas holidays. Favorite venues for the dances included the American Legion on Artillery Drive and the VFW off Broad Street. Sometimes dances were held in surrounding towns such as Camden or Florence. Popular bands, usually from out of town, were hired for these events. Also, during the dance a raffle might be held to enhance the take for the evening. The profits would be used to rent a house at the beach for spring break. Sometimes, if the profits from the dance were sizeable, a house might be rented at the beach for Junior Senior Prom weekend as well. </div><div> Another thing all the clubs had in common, at least during the sixties and early seventies, was a clubhouse. The clubhouse was usually a ram-shackled abandoned tenant farmhouse somewhere out of town. Some club member or perhaps someone’s father would make arrangements for the club to take possession of an old house for use as a meeting place and party venue on weekends. The houses would be “fixed-up” and redecorated by club members complete with some kind of record player as music was a critical ingredient for making merry. The good folks that let us use those structures must have been slightly out of their minds but we surely appreciated their generosity and made good use of the facilities. The use of a particular house would usually only last a year or two and then the club would have to move to a new location. The liability factors that we face today, of course, would make such an arrangement completely out of the question. The Esquire house my senior year was located out highway 521 S. on Britton Rd, just beyond “Britton’s Siding”. The Les Rois house was out highway15 N., on W. Foxworth Mill Rd., a little way behind Mozingo’s Store.</div><div> <u>Let’s Jump Through Some Hoops</u> </div><div> Leaving one group and entering another is what a cultural anthropologist would define as a rite of passage. Most often accomplished through some kind of ceremony, this passage may involve a change in one’s status in society. The term was coined by Dutch-German-French ethnographer Arnold Van Gennep in his work “Les Rites de Passage” (The Rites of Passage) in 1909. Van Genepp proposed the idea that the larger society is made up of many separate groups, with these separate groups divided into yet smaller subgroups or mini-societies. As members of society we all belong to multiple groups, some more important to us than others. “A house divided into rooms” is the metaphor used by Van Gennep, with a passage occurring when we leave one room, or group, to enter another.</div><div> The ceremonies associated with rites of passage, often in the form of an initiation, have several effects on the dynamics the group, and on the individuals making the passage. Severe initiations produce what psychologist call a “cognitive dissonance,” which can be experienced when we voluntarily participate in an unpleasant activity in order to achieve a goal. Using “effort justification,” we reduce the unpleasantness of the activity by inflating the desirability of the goal. Hence joining the group is more important than avoiding the initiation.
In addition, this cognitive dissonance results in increased loyalty to the group, more conformity among new members, and heightened feelings of affiliation. The ceremony/initiation may result in the forming of a “sacred bond” among the members of the group. </div><div> In our society these rites of passage and their accompanying ceremonies take on many forms. Graduations, debutant balls, first prom, first kiss, boot camp, commissioning of an officer, weddings, a swearing-in, bar mitzvah, baptism, and retirement are but a few examples. This passage may result in one leaving behind the past and becoming a different person as a result of the rituals and symbolic actions of the ceremony. Once the rite of passage is complete one may be viewed as having a different status in society. A married man is a different person than the single man he was before the ceremony. </div><div> Of course, different societies and cultures have different ceremonies related to their rites of passage. The Vanatu of Penetecost Island in the South Pacific have a particularly unique rite of passage for their young men moving from adolescence into manhood. Land diving, as it is known, requires the participant to jump off a wooden tower, 60 – 100 feet high, with no safety equipment, save the two vines wrapped around their ankles. The boys making their rite of passage jump at lower levels than the men who continue jumping throughout adulthood as part of a ritual to insure a bountiful harvest. </div><div><u> It was a week to be remembered</u></div><div> But let us turn now to the rites of passage for the social clubs of Sumter. At some point in its history, LCC initiation began on what came to be known as “pick up day.” The girls that had been selected for membership were clandestinely “kidnapped” from their homes on the appointed day through a previously arranged secret agreement between the initiate’s mother and her “big sister” in LCC. The inductees were taken to someone’s backyard, usually the home of the president’s parents. This was when the process of “cognitive dissonance” began. Boys were invited to come and watch the proceedings which included the application of various natural and organic treatments to insure healthy and vibrant hair and skin. The initiation then continued throughout the following week, with strict regulations regarding appropriate dress to be worn to school and personal hygiene related to the initiate’s hair. In addition, inductee’s were required to learn and perform songs on demand which might include:
“I’m a little prairie flower, growing wilder by the hour
I’m as wild as I can be, I’m a baby LCC
Les Couer, (clap, clap) Cogne, (clap, clap).”
At the end of the week, the new members were, of course, welcomed with open arms into the sisterhood of the LCC.</div><div><u> It was the best of times, it was the worst of times</u></div><div> The rite of passage for the boys’ clubs was usually just a one night affair. These “ceremonies” also brought on a significant “cognitive dissonance” in the psyche of the initiates. Most often conducted at the club house during the summer before the inductee’s junior year, these events were only held at night. The attire for the initiates was designed to provide evidence to contradict that pillar of American democracy that “all men are created equal.” The cuisine for the evening could only be described as unforgettable dining. In order to improve the physical conditioning and health of the initiates, a vigorous regimen of calisthenics and cross country running was incorporated into the ceremony. In an effort to prevent any muscle soreness from the physical activity, certain liquids were generously and thoroughly applied to the initiates to sooth any sprained or inflamed areas. In addition, initiates were provided, free of charge, a complete and totally new hair style, very carefully and professionally done. In some cases at the end of the evening, a task was required which was specifically designed to help improve the resourcefulness and problem solving skills of the initiates. All in all, it was a very memorable evening that certainly provided a source of bonding for those who enjoyed the privilege of participating.</div><div> <u>It’s kind of hazy in here</u> </div><div> Public perception and attitudes toward the rite of passage activities described above have changed significantly in recent years. Because of injuries and deaths that have occurred during initiations, hazing has been criticized by educators, law enforcement, and the general public and rightfully so. Definitions of hazing are varied. The Fraternal Information and Programming Group (FIPG) defines hazing as any action taken or situation intentionally created to produce mental or physical discomfort, embarrassment, or ridicule. Hazing is illegal is 44 states including South Carolina. As with many rituals, customs, and traditions, attitudes and behaviors regarding rites of passage are sometimes slow to change, however. No question that activities that could result in injury to initiates should not be a part of any organizations rite of passage. Some good advice related to this could be taken from the ancient adage inscribed in the temple of Apollo at Delphi in Greece, meden agan, “nothing in excess.” </div><div><u> Where are they now?</u> </div><div> So what became of the Esquires, Les Rois, and Les Coeur Cognes? As is usually the case, the men expired first. Both the Les Rois and the Esquires closed up shop at the end of the 1972 school year. One explanation provided was many of the young men of that time were more interested in becoming “hippies” than frat boys. Changes in attitudes, hair styles, music, clothing, and diversions were all part of the cultural movement to emphasize one’s individuality, trading in some of the old values of the past for some new values of the future. The times they were a changing.
The LCC had a much longer romance, breaking the last hearts in the 2007 school year. In its later years the LCC had girls who joined from both Wilson Hall and Sumter High.</div><div> <u>Our Gang </u></div><div> The title of this paper, of course, comes from the comedy short film series known as ‘Our Gang” and later as “The Little Rascals”. The films were produced from 1922-1944. As you recall, the “gang” was a group of poor neighborhood kids engaged in one adventure after another. Over the years, the kids in the films changed. As some grew too old they were replaced by younger children. Some of the most memorable characters were Farina, Wheezer, Chubby, Jackie (Cooper), Stymie, Porky, Froggy, Buckwheat, Alfalfa, Darla, Spanky, and Petey the dog. In addition to being hilariously funny, the films were significant in two other ways. They were ground breaking in that the characters were shown displaying the raw, unaffected nuances of regular children as opposed to imitating the acting styles of adults. More significantly as a cultural statement, the white and black boys and girls were portrayed as interacting as equals. </div><div> One of my favorite episodes, which is relevant to our discussion this evening is the story of Spanky and the guys forming a club, none other than the notorious “He Man Woman Haters Club”. Like the social clubs of Sumter, they had a clubhouse and held meetings there. </div><div> So here we are this evening with “our gang,” gathered together as we do each fortnight. Formed over one hundred years ago we are still going strong. As with most exemplary groups, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. As alluded to earlier, each of us are part of many groups in the larger society and this is but one of them, albeit an important one. Participation in “our fortnightly gang” helps us meet our need to belong, and I for one am extremely glad that I belong with you. </div><div> Dr. John B. Hilton Jr. - Fortnightly - January 10, 2018 </div><div><br /></div><div>Primary Sources:
Steve Barwick, John Boney, Hillary Bordeaux, Joe Boyle, J.J. Britton, Steve Creech, Carl Croft, Jimmy Cromer, Stan Dubose, Billy Edwards, Frank Edwards, Jessica Ellis Fralick, Polly Harritt Harrell, Micki Harritt, Susan Hunter Hilton, Margaret McLeod Hunter, Bill Kimbrell, Curtis Kimbrell, Tom Lewis, Tricia Hilton Limoges, Lauren Bostic Locklear, Walter Lee McCracken, Kirk McLeod, George Morris, Richard Murrell, Tommy Reed, Windy Rodgers, Rufus Wactor, Bob Wilson, Sally Nash Wilson.</div>Johnny Hiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02154934995931616079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16352683910149831.post-4653010564381576962016-03-08T10:37:00.002-05:002016-03-08T10:42:39.905-05:00Mni Wak’áŋ ChanteMni Wak’áŋ Chante<br />
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We live in a marvelous country, these United States of America, a place of remarkable diversity, both in its people and topography. Our neck of the woods, the south, is second to none in beauty and hospitality. When we travel, we learn so much about the people and places we visit. Often we learn about ourselves and the pluses and minuses of home. Tonight I will share some experiences and impressions of a place my son and I have come to love and appreciate for its land and people, the name and location of which I shall disclose presently. First, however, a little background.<br />
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When I was in junior high school I was exposed and fell victim to a terrible affliction, the sport of crazy people, duck hunting. For many years I suffered with this terrible addiction, held captive by the riff raff I thought were friends, but rather were other poor addicted souls, my hunting buddies. <br />
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As time went by, however, things got better. I found that I could withstand the temptation to set an alarm for 3 a.m. to go stumbling through the darkness into wet, cold, dank swamps, marshes, and other haunts of the mentally impaired. I kicked the habit. I settled down, got a steady job, and started a family. Everything seemed to be going so well.<br />
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Ahh, but then my first born, a most precocious and curious young man, came under the influence of an older gentleman, known to many as Papa. That gray-haired old man took that young boy to school in the most wondrous of universities, securing as his personal tutor the master of all pedagogy, Mother Nature. The little fella didn’t stand a chance; he fell in love with the outdoors, hook, line, and sinker. <br />
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Within a short while of his exposure to the sporting life, there was talk of flirting with madness again. The D H words were being spoken in my presence. The pursuit of quail, deer, and doves was too tame. Yours truly was being pressed into service to broaden the education of the young outdoorsman. Next thing you know, we’re down at the Sumter Wateree Club deep in the swamp driving a little john boat with a 1960’s vintage 5 1/2 horsepower Johnson through the pitch black dark, jumping logs, getting hung on stumps, and standing in waist deep freezing cold water. Pure ecstasy!! Spending time in the Wateree with John and Papa created memories I will treasure forever as I know John will too. I wouldn’t trade those experiences with John and my Dad for anything. <br />
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As time went by and John grew older we began to broaden our places to hunt ducks which included Rimini and Pack’s Landing and much of Lake Marion. Then John heard about Arkansas and how good the duck hunting was out there, so off we go to Arkansas. Soon we are lining up at 2:30 a.m. for the 4:00 blast off to go racing through the Bayou Meto to beat those other guys to the “hole.” We have had some great times in Arkansas. <br />
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We then became interested in even more adventurous treks in search of the green-headed, orange-footed swimmius quakamus or anus platyrhynchos to the zoologists. <br />
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My friend, Eddie Kinney, had been telling me for years about his trips to visit Hutch Hutchins up on the northern prairie. Eddie related stories of the extraordinary hunting up there and encouraged me to make a trip to the Great Plains.<br />
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So in the fall of 2001, as John was beginning his 10th grade year at Sumter High, we began making plans to head out on a great journey to the north. Eddie put us in touch with a guy in Devils Lake, North Dakota, Kyle Blanchfield, who owned and operated a hunting and fishing resort and guide service. We made arrangements to stay at Kyle’s place, Woodland Resort, right on Devils Lake. On October 11, John, Jeffrey Spigner, my nephew, and I flew out of Charlotte to Minneapolis, then to Grand Forks, North Dakota where we rented a truck and made the two hour drive west to Devils Lake. <br />
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One of our stops that first afternoon in Devils Lake was at the Wal-Mart to pick up some supplies. Like every Wal-Mart everywhere, we found a microcosm of the folks living in that community. Right away we noticed a large number of Native Americans shopping there. North Dakota is the home of those Native Americans that whose languages were various dialects of the Siouan (Sioux) Language of which the Lakota and Dakota are two of the primary groups. A sub-group of the Dakota are known interestingly enough as Santee Dakota. The name Dakota is a corruption of a Lakota word meaning friends or allies. <br />
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The name "Devils Lake" is a direct translation of the Sioux phrase mni wak’áŋ (literally: spirit water) The Sioux called the lake mni wak’áŋ chante, which separately translate as mni (water), wak’áŋ (spirit), and chante (bad). Early European-American settlers thought this meant "Bad Spirit Lake", or "Devils Lake." The "bad" referred to the high salinity of the lake, making it unfit to drink, and "spirit" meant the mirages often seen across the water. The Christian concept of the devil was not present in the Sioux religion. <br />
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By the time European-American settlers arrived in what is now North Dakota, the indigenous peoples there were nomadic plains Indians, following the herds of buffalo which they hunted on horseback. Their historic nomadic culture and development of equestrian culture and resistance to domination by the government and military forces of Canada and the United States have made the Plains Indian culture groups an archetype in literature and art for Native Americans everywhere. When we think of an American Indian most often we think of someone on horseback living in a Teepee.<br />
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As more European and American settlers moved into the Great Plains, the conflicts between the two cultures escalated. Names and places associated with the Sioux such as Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse, the Little Big Horn, and Wounded Knee are very familiar to us. We remember, also, the Sioux were ultimately defeated and forced to accept government defined reservations in exchange for the rest of their lands, and domestic cattle and corn in exchange for buffalo. They became dependent upon annual federal payments guaranteed by treaty and were forbidden to hunt buffalo. The commercial buffalo hunters, railroads and the federal government, through systematic slaughter of the buffalo to deprive the Plains Indians of their primary food source, nearly brought the great herds to extinction. Because the Plains Indians regarded the buffalo as a sacred animal and religious symbol, their decimation had a negative spiritual and cultural effect on the Plains Indians, as well as depriving them of food and shelter. We shall return to the buffalo and to Native American’s later in our discussion but for now let us continue the story of our quest for swimmius quakamus.<br />
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We settled into our room at the Woodland Resort and then met with Kyle to discuss how we might find some ducks. We didn’t use Kyle’s guide service, but he was very generous and gave us some very helpful information telling us to head north out of Devils Lake on Highway 20, then turn east or west on the various side roads and ask permission from the local farmers to hunt on their land. We had a plan. By the way, in North Dakota all directions are given using north, south, east or west.<br />
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On that first morning we drove out of town heading north on Highway 20 as suggested. We literally began riding up to farm houses, knocking on the door and asking permission to hunt their land. The people of North Dakota are very gracious and welcoming. We were given permission to hunt more often than we were turned down. That first day we hunted a couple of potholes but the results were not very impressive.<br />
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The area in which we were hunting, eastern central North Dakota, is known as the Prairie Pothole Region and is the core of what was once the largest expanse of grassland in the world, the Great Plains of North America. The name “pothole region” comes from a geological phenomenon that left its mark 10,000 years ago. When the glaciers from the last ice age receded, they left behind millions of shallow depressions that are now wetlands. The smaller of these depressions are known as potholes. There are also larger sloughs or marshes the locals call coulees. The potholes and coulees are rich in plant and aquatic life, and support tremendous populations of waterfowl. <br />
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In North Dakota, ducks are hunted both in fields and over water. Hunting over and around water includes lakes, potholes, and coulees. In South Carolina, all duck hunting is done over water. There is no field hunting here. We had done a little field hunting in Arkansas using pit blinds which is much different, however, than the field hunting techniques of North Dakota. On this first trip to North Dakota we were planning to do all our hunting over water in the pot holes and coolies. We were not equipped to field hunt as we had no lay-out blinds needed to do so, and really didn’t know how to hunt a field. Consequently we were looking for ducks using potholes and coulees.<br />
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On our second morning we decided to change our strategy somewhat. We would scout and locate ducks, then find the owner and ask permission to hunt that area. As we were scouting we came upon a coulee that seemed to have promise. There were a fair number of ducks in the area. There was a dirt road running across to the other side, but it was very narrow and there was a sign there that said “road closed.” We needed to get to the other side to have a better look. The road was built up a little so that the water was about three feet below the surface of the road. After surveying the situation it was decided that we would drive across, no matter the sign, to reach the other side. We began slowly moving across this narrow little bridge of a road. We got about halfway across and then realized that the road grew increasing narrow as it proceeded across the coulee. It was going to be impossible to make it to the other side. Nothing to do but back up. <br />
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I asked John to walk at the rear of the truck as I was backing up, facing the truck so that if I was in danger of backing off the road into the water he could call out and stop me. I began backing up very slowly. It seemed all was going well. But then, bam-a-lam, off the road we went. I looked at John and he was wheeling around to see what had happened. He had been walking with his back turned to the truck! You can imagine there was quite an exchange between teenaged son and father regarding who was at fault and responsible for the rental truck laying with two wheels off the road, bottomed out and close to flipping over in the water. What a mess. <br />
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We were literally in the middle of nowhere. Somehow it was decided that I should be the one to walk and find help. Several miles later I came to a farm house. There I found a delightful older man who seemed not the least bit annoyed and actually happy to get on his tractor, drive down to where we were precariously hanging off the road and drag us back to safety. Miraculously, no harm was done to the truck. Not only did the farmer pull us out, he then gave us permission to hunt, as the coulee we had fallen into belonged to him. We’ve been hunting on Mr. Erikstad’s place every year since. <br />
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The majority of roads in the North Dakota country side are gravel. Hunting ducks in North Dakota requires a lot of driving on these gravel roads to scout and find the areas ducks are using. They move from field to field, eating the grain residue left on the ground after harvest. Before and after feeding in the fields the ducks rest and roost in the potholes, coulees, and lakes. Being migratory, they are constantly moving. New groups are coming down from Canada periodically. Their travel plans are generally related to the local weather or conditions to the north. <br />
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Late in the afternoon of our third day as we were returning to Devil’s Lake after a hunt in the same coulee into which we had almost overturned the truck, we experienced an event, perhaps by chance or by divine intervention, that changed the course of that first visit and all our future visits to North Dakota. We were traveling down a gravel road, just before dusk, when we came upon a field that was literally covered in ducks. More ducks than I had ever seen or even imagined there could be in one place at one time anywhere on earth. We stopped and observed as group after group of thousands of ducks, got up out of the field in the waning sunlight leaving to find water upon which to roost for the night. I know you think I am exaggerating but I assure you I am not. It was amazing. We sat there on the side of the road watching in awe at the sheer magnitude of the sight.<br />
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After a few minutes of believing the unbelievable, we noticed there was a pickup truck that had stopped a few hundred yards ahead of us to watch, as we were, that magnificent display of nature’s bounty. We decided to pull up and talk to them to get some information about the owner of that field. There we found a couple guys, one of whom was a wildlife officer from the Lake Alice Wildlife refuge. He, too, was amazed at the number of ducks we were seeing. <br />
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A moment later a funky old Dodge pickup truck came along and pulled over. The lone occupant, a man that looked to be about my age, got out and asked what we thought about all those ducks. As soon as we opened our mouths and uttered the first few syllables of our special dialect of Sumter, South Carolina Southerneze the guy driving the Dodge began asking who we were and where we were from and so on. He was very pleased to hear that we were father and son and nephew. This guy then proceeds to tell us that he and some friends would be hunting in this field in the morning and asks if we would like to join them. Glancing at each other in disbelief at our good fortune, we responded that we would be delighted to do so. That evening and the next morning were the beginning of a continuing adventure and friendship that has lasted fifteen years.<br />
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The guy in the Dodge that invited us to hunt was Bill Wakefield. Someone we didn’t know at all, but who, we would soon learn, was a legend in North Dakota. A man that knows how to get things done, he sprang into action on the side of the road that first evening we met him. “Follow us to the house” he insisted, in his distinct North Dakota accent “We need to get some gear together so we can hunt those ducks in the morning.” So follow him we did, to a farm house just down the road known as “The Blue Goose”. There we learned that we would be hunting with a group of Bill’s friends who had come over from Wisconsin. The next couple of hours were a frenzy of activity, gathering and loading dozens of decoys and other gear for the morning hunt, all accomplished under the direct supervision of our newly found friend. We had never hunted ducks lying flat on the ground in a field before, but we were very excited as we expected many of the ducks we had seen that evening would be returning to that same field the next morning. We were not disappointed.<br />
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The morning was cold and windy. In the dark, we set up a hundred or so field duck decoys and dozens of Canada geese decoys and a few snow geese decoys off to the side. We had a large group of hunters, eight all total, and all like us, had very little experience. There weren’t enough layout blinds to go around so we southern boys lay on the ground and covered ourselves with sage grass and barley stalks and waited in the dark looking up at a billion stars. There’s always that wait when duck hunting; waiting for daylight, that first whistle of the wings in the darkness, legal shooting time, the first call of a hen mallard, the first shot fired way off in the distance, and the first group to come in. We waited. <br />
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Aside from the fact that we couldn’t hit the backside of the barn lying on our backs on the ground, shooting straight up in the sky, the hunt was incredible. The number of ducks that were flying around in the sky over that field was astounding. Layer upon layer, drove upon drove, thousands upon thousands circling, circling, circling with many coming down ready to land on the ground in that barley field. <br />
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The hunt that morning was the first of many we would experience over the years through the friendship and generosity of Bill Wakefield. I would be remiss not to mention a few of the most memorable. There was the hunt when it began snowing hard just after sunrise, so cool looking we were smiling and laughing as if we were children who had never seen such a thing before. Then there was the time the meteorite exploded over the decoy spread in the pre-dawn darkness and the whole sky lit up in a surreal display of nature’s awesome power. <br />
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Let us not fail to mention the week that only 32 ducks were harvested during the entire visit. And then the week the temperature never got above freezing and the ducks were everywhere. One morning that week when it was sleeting and the wind was howling at 45mph, five limits were harvested in nine minutes after legal shooting time. It snowed the last night of that week and all the ducks, thousands, left during the night. Not a single duck to be found the next morning. <br />
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The hunting stories could go on but let us share a little information about this amazing place. A unique and disturbing phenomenon that has occurred in the Devils Lake region is the rising water levels and resultant flooding. We recently experienced a flood here of unprecedented proportions and know first-hand of the devastation too much water can cause. However, the flood waters here have now receded and we are cleaning up and working to return to normalcy. The situation in North Dakota is quite different, however. <br />
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Devils Lake is an endorheic, or closed basin lake, draining an area of 3800 square miles. The salinity of Devils Lake is high, similar to the Great Salt Lake in Utah which is a closed basin lake as well. Until recently there was no outlet from Devils Lake. In 2003, work began on an outlet to divert water into the Sheyenne River, which became operational in 2006. During the past twenty-five years, there has been a slow, steady, and significant rise in the water level of all the lakes and wetlands in the area. Devils Lake and other lakes in the regions have doubled in size, forcing the displacement of over 600 structures including 400 homes and an estimated 250,000 acres of farmland. <br />
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Lake Alice and Dry Lake which are north of Devils Lake and contiguous to several of the farms that we often hunt, have experienced a significant rise in the water level and flooding as well. Our friend, Bill, experienced the loss of farm land and structures because of flooding. Here are some aerial photos of ‘the hanger”, a big metal building, and 10 grain bins. As you can see, over time the water continued to rise and this area was inaccessible.<br />
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The “official” explanation for the flooding is that it stems from two factors: high precipitation for an extended number of years and lack of a natural outlet for that water to exit. Many in the area believe, however, that the ditching of low lying farm land in northern North Dakota and southern Manitoba has resulted in the rise of the waters. Because of high commodity prices during the last quarter century, farmers ditched these low lying areas to increase their plantable acreage in order to maximize profits. This ditching resulted in more run off flowing into the coulees and lakes. Over the last couple of years, thankfully, water levels have receded somewhat, resulting in farmers reclaiming a small portion of their lost acreage. This past October, we were able to drive to the “hanger” where Bill was working to clean up the debris left by the lake waters on the land around it in preparation for planting.<br />
On the southern shore of Devils Lake is the Spirit Lake Indian Reservation. Established in 1867 in a treaty with the U.S. government the reservation consists of more than 400 square miles. The Spirit Lake Tribe, formerly called the Devil’s Lake Sioux ( Mni Wakan Oyate) is a federally recognized Sisseton Wahpeton tribe. There are approximately 6000 members living on the reservation. The largest community is Fort Totten where the tribal government is located. The tribe operates the Spirit Lake Casino and the Cankdeska Cikana Community College on the reservation. The unemployment rate is near 50%. There is a high incidence of domestic violence and child abuse cases, thought to be related to high levels of poverty and alcoholism. This is a sad state of affairs for these people whose ancestors were once self sufficient, proud and courageous. <br />
North Dakota is a land of extremes. The wildlife, weather, agriculture, land, and its people, make our 39th state very unique. As previously mentioned, the waterfowl population and opportunities for hunting are second to none. The winter weather is unlike anything we have ever experienced. The average high temperature in Devils Lake in January is 14 with the average low being -2. On average there are 53 nights per year during which the temperature falls below zero. There are 104 days during which the temperature fails to top 32. The record low in Devils Lake is -41.<br />
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Agriculture is huge as 90% of the land in North Dakota is devoted to crops, the third highest percentage in the country. The size of the farms are huge as well, with fields referred to as quarters and sections. A section is a field that measures one square mile, 640 acres. Over the years the sizes of the farms have gotten larger, while the number of farmers has declined. Evidence of this can be seen by the abandoned farm houses found throughout the countryside. North Dakota is our nation’s largest producer of barley, wheat, oats, canola, flax, sunflowers, safflower, mustard, lentils, and honey. <br />
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North Dakota is the 4th least populated state in the country with an estimated population in 2015 of only 756,927 , 90% being White, 5% Native American, 2% Latino, 1% African American, and 2% mixed races and other. Most North Dakotans are of northern European descent, with 47.2% being of German and 30.8% of Norwegian ancestry. North Dakota has more churches per capita and the highest percentage of church attendance in the nation. 35% of the population is Lutheran and 30% Catholic.<br />
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In recent years North Dakota has experienced the highest percentage of population growth of any state, primarily due to the oil boom in the Bakken Formation in the north western part of the state. As a result of hydraulic fracturing (fracking) and horizontal drilling, the state was the 2nd largest oil producer in the country as of 2012, with an average of 575,490 barrels per day. With the current glut of oil and drop in oil prices, production has slowed somewhat recently. In contrast to its high percentage of population growth, the state is the least visited in the nation. It ranks last in the number of tourists that come to the state each year.<br />
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Our family has certainly done its part to improve the tourist ranking of North Dakota. After our first visit, John and I went back to North Dakota together with a couple of his friends three consecutive years. Following those four trips, John and friends began making the trip on their own without me. John has been to North Dakota every October for the past 15 years, with me tagging along the last couple of years since I am now on a more flexible schedule.<br />
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When we go up now we look forward to renewing our friendships and returning to a place that has become so familiar and welcoming. We love driving around the farm and seeing the work going on as it is truly an awesome operation. We also enjoy checking out Bill’s pet herd of buffalo. As previously mentioned, the buffalo were hunted and killed to near extinction, from an estimated 60 to 100 million in 1800 to less than 500 by 1900. Buffalo have made a resurgence thanks to the efforts of conservationist and ranchers. The current population of buffalo has been growing rapidly, and is estimated at 350,000 nationwide, which include herds on state and national parks, reservations and private ranches. Interestingly, the buffalo is on the ND license plate.<br />
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We have so many great memories from the adventures that we have experienced in North Dakota with Bill personally and as a result of his hospitality and that of his friends and neighbors. After a few years, Bill invited us to begin staying at the “Blue Goose” as his guest. On numerous occasions, Bill has taken us in his own truck to scout for ducks. In the early years those rides were crazy as Bill drives like a maniac. His driving would scare us half to death. Thankfully, he has mellowed somewhat as time has gone by. We are grateful for his hospitality, his love of adventure, but most of all, his friendship.<br />
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Given all the unique characteristics of North Dakota and the fantastic adventures we have experienced there, the take away that I bring home each time I visit is the generosity and friendly spirit of its people. <br />
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The essence of a true sportsman is not the quantity of the game harvested but rather the quality of the shared experiences with family and friends in Mother Nature’s great outdoors. The “trophy” is not what one hangs on the wall or the pictures of the kill but rather what we remember and cherish of our time together. It is a time of love and respect for God’s miraculous creation aligned with the love and respect we have for family and friends. To find, feel, and capture that love is actually the game we are hunting and hope to put in our bag.<br />
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Presented to:<br />
The Fortnightly Club<br />
Sumter, SC<br />
February 17, 2016<br />
Dr. John B. Hilton Jr.<br />
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Epilogue<br />
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It has been confirmed by the North Dakota Game and Fish Department that the flight of ducks we observed and hunted on Bill Wakefield’s farm during our first trip to North Dakota in October of 2001 is one of the largest flights to be documented in recent history and has assumed legendary status among outdoorsmen and wildlife officers in the region.<br />
Johnny Hiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02154934995931616079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16352683910149831.post-53772533632867367682014-05-26T08:18:00.000-04:002014-05-26T08:21:08.122-04:00These People Don't Know Who I Am This evening we shall review my attempts to solve a mystery. I began my search for clues several months ago after attending a funeral service at the Long Branch Baptist Church. The person for whom the service was being held was a member of the community of people known in Sumter as “Turks”. As the eulogy was being shared I realized there was a lot I didn’t know about these “Turkish people,” although my family and I have had numerous connections with them over the years. I am sure many of you have some personal knowledge and interaction with “Turks” as well. My curiosity was particularly whetted by comments about the deceased having attended the “Old Turk School in Dalzell.” <br />
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As the service ended and we walked to the cemetery behind the church I noticed the headstones included names such as Oxendine, Scott, Hood, Ray, Buckner, and Benenhaley. As I left that service I set out on a mission to learn more. My research has indicated there is much mystery, contradiction, and controversy regarding the background and identify of this clannish group that has been in Sumter County for over two hundred years. Indeed, I discovered an ongoing controversy among the Turks themselves regarding their heritage. This paper is an effort to share information about their journey and to discover something of their history. We may find, however, that my research raises more questions than answers.<br />
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Since this group of copper skinned, dark haired people are called “Turks” one might assume they were from Turkey. Some folks think this is true and some do not. A fascinating article by Calvin Trillin in the May 8, 1969 edition of The New Yorker begins with an astounding sentence, “The Turks who live in Sumter County aren’t really Turks.” The search to trace their history and determine the identity of this group has taken me down several intertwining paths. All these paths take us back to none other than General Thomas Sumter, the Revolutionary War hero for whom our fair city is named. The lines are blurred as to what is fact, fiction, legend, and myth regarding the General’s connection with the ancestors of the Sumter Turks. Let us first consider the more traditional and for many years the most widely accepted explanation of their heritage and identity provided by several historians. We shall see the historians based their accounts on an oral tradition, as there are no primary source documents that connect the “Turks” with Thomas Sumter.<br />
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Anne King Gregorie says the ancestors of the Sumter Turks were Joseph Benehaley, who served as the General’s scout, and a man named Scott, his bugler. She says a confused tradition connects Sumter with them, as they were either victims or members of a pirate ship that landed them in Charleston. <br />
Cassie Nichols reports that General Sumter found Benenhaley and Scott engaged in cock fighting in the low country. Nichols refers to Benenhaley as “Yusef Ben Ali,” a “Caucasian of Arab descent” and Scott as a “Frenchman using an assumed name.”<br />
Robert Bass’ account says that in August of 1780, while camped at Land’s Ford on the Catawba River, General Sumter’s forces were growing with regiments of militia and riflemen coming in from the lower Congaree, led by Col. Thomas Taylor, from the Broad River, following Col. Henry Hampton, and from Burke County, North Carolina led by his nephew, Capt. John Sumter. Bass goes on to say “And from the Barbary coast came Yusef ben Ali and one who called himself John Scott.” <br />
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The accounts shared above were all “lifted” and slightly paraphrased from <i>Stateburg and Its People</i>, a compilation of previous notes, letters, articles, and writings attributed to Thomas Sebastian Sumter and John Rutledge Sumter, the great-grandsons of the General, published in 1922. The portions of the book that are relevant to our research were written by T.S. Sumter. His knowledge of the origin of the Turks is based on oral history. I will share some direct quotes from Stateburg and Its People, written around 1917. The specific details are very important in our search for answers and will surface later in our discussion this evening.<br />
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I quote from <i>Stateburg and Its People</i>, “General Sumter then commenced trading with the Indians for land and bought a plantation from them as high up as the Santee River and made a home near Nelson’s Ferry. It was during this period that the war for American Independence broke out. It was not long before General Sumter had a following of friendly Indians and whites to join him in the fight for freedom. It was on one of his recruiting trips he came upon a crowd of men fighting game chickens at a crossroad.” “It was from this crowd he enlisted Joseph Benenhaley and a man who gave his name as Scott. He made Joseph Benehaley his scout.” “He was a Caucasian of “Arab” descent. Scott, the other man, was always thought to be of partly French descent and had an assumed name. General Sumter made him a bugler.” “General Sumter, after the revolutionary War, gave the two old soldiers a piece of land near his home at Stateburg, where they lived and he cared for them during his lifetime.” <br />
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The narrative continues with, “Joseph Benenhaly and the man Scott were either pirates or had escaped from pirates - the writer has forgotten which, but they were ‘white men’.” He then relates the story of how “their dark complexion brought up the question of their having a right to sit on a jury and when General Sumter was sent for – the writer (T.S. Sumter) was told this by the late Col. Jas. D. Blanding, who was about 18 years old, who said he saw General Sumter walk in, place his pistol on a desk and deliberately shake hands with both men and turning asked if that was sufficient. Of course this was sufficient to establish them as belonging to the white race.” T.S. Sumter then writes “I got all of this information as written above from my father (Sebastian D’Amblemont Sumter), who remembered General Sumter well, being 18 years old at his death, and was told this by General Sumter, whom he conversed with and rode with often as a boy. He, my father, showed me the very spot on the Stateburg hill where he said, ‘My son, here is where grandfather, (meaning the old general) jumped his horse over this ditch and escaped thence into the Waxhaw country, after the Tories had surprised him over there at the Ruins.’ I asked him if Benenhaley or Scott were with him and he laughed and said he did not know.” T.S. Sumter writes further, “I was born and raised at the ‘Home House’, near where the Benenhaleys and Scotts and their families lived. They got to be called ‘Turks’ by the country people.” “I know that if they ever wanted advice or anything they would come to my father or uncles or some of the family as their ancestors did to my ancestors and as they have done with me.” “It is or has been unfortunately, but nevertheless true, that on account of their inherited dark complexions they have been confused with that class of people known as Red Bones, scattered about in North and South Carolina, but this is entirely as mistake. They have never made any alliances except with white people as all of us know who are conversant with their history.”<br />
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Let us now consider a significant contradiction regarding the very essence of the “history” of the Turks we just shared by T.S. Sumter. This contradiction comes directly from T.S. Sumter’s father, Sebastian D. Sumter. In a letter written by Sebastian Sumter to McDonald Furman, dated August 16, 1889, responding to an inquiry by Furman about Benenhaley, Sumter writes, “As to the original Ben-En-Ali, I know nothing having seen him only once or twice in my early boyhood nearly sixty years ago. I am very certain that General Sumter had no hand in his importation and do not think that he made his appearance here until after the first decade of the present century.“ This is quite a different story from that reported in Stateburg and Its People, in which T.S. Sumter says he was told all this “by my father.” (Sebastian)<br />
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What about Joseph Benenhaly being of “Arab descent”. There were certainly people of Arab descent and Muslims in South Carolina, before, during, and after the Revolution. There are numerous documents that confirm their presence. One such document is the record of the SC House of Representatives from January 20, 1790, when a petition was presented to the House by four “Free Moors, Subjects of the Emperor of Morocco,” asking that should they ever be charged with a crime that they be tried under the same laws as the Citizens of this State and not under the Negro Act.” Those making the petition were named Francis, Daniel, Hammond, and Samuel, their wives being Fatima, Flora, Sarah, and Clarinda. There are other documents as well that could be presented that support the presence of Muslims and Arabs in SC during this time.<br />
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No written records can be found with the exact spelling of the name “Yusef ben Ali.” The 1810 census for Sumter District names a “Joseph Belenhaly” as the head of a family of seven including his wife Elizabeth. This could be the “Southernized Anglican” version of the spelling. The 1820 census names “Joseph Benenhali” as head of a family of twelve. The 1830 census listed seven in the household, but Joseph was listed as deceased. His wife was listed as “Elizabeth Bennenhaly” and his sons as Joseph, Francis, and Ferdinand Benenhaley. Note the different spellings for the last names, for which there is no explanation.<br />
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In an article in the 1943 Baptist Courier, entitled “Long Branch in the Santee” the author, J.H. Mitchell, a former pastor of Long Branch Church, makes a connection between the pronunciation of the Sumter Turk named Benenhaley and that of Benengeli, a Muslim character in Don Quixote, the Spanish novel written by Cervantes in 1615. Many who believe that Joseph Benenhaley was of “Arab descent,” use the pronunciation of the name as evidence to establish that the name Benenhaley is of Arabic origin. <br />
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As an aside, you have probably surmised that Long Branch Baptist Church is made up primarily of Turks, which is true. Initially, the Turks attended High Hills Baptist Church, along with their neighbors, White and Black. The Whites sat on one side of the isle, the Turks sat on the other, and the Blacks in the balcony. There are three cemetery areas at High Hills as well, one for Whites, one for Blacks and one for Turks. In 1904, many of the Turk families left High Hills Baptist Church and formed the Long Branch Church.<br />
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But let us return to our mystery and see what of Scott, the General’s bugler, a “Frenchman under an assumed name.” Our search takes us again to McDonald Furman, about whom we shall say more later on. In a letter to McDonald Furman, dated September 7, 1889, we read: “I would cheerfully write an article on the history of the “Red Bones” of this township if I had the information to do so. I like yourself am fond of history and have been much interested in the several articles from your pen on the subject. All I know of the Scotts et cet of this township is that Dave Scott, some sixty years ago, the progenitor of the Scotts here was living and subsequently died in Kershaw County - he living on a portion (of) that vast domain granted by the State of South Carolina to Gen Sumter for Revolutionary Services. Dave Scott was quite old when I knew him and he was said to be one of Gen Sumter’s soldiers of the Revolution and had been brought down or induced to come down from North Carolina to settle upon his (Gen Sumter’s) land. As to the other families of “Red Bones” I have never heard anything said concerning them but I presume they came down under the same circumstances that Dave Scott did as they all settled on Gen Sumter’s Land. Respectfully, K.E.L. Peebles (?)(I am unsure of the writer’s name)<br />
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This letter is dated within three weeks of the letter from Sebastian Sumter to McDonald Furman. Furman was obviously seeking information on the mysterious group of copper skinned, dark haired folk he referred to as “Red Bones” whom we may now call Turks. It is clear that the writer of the letter (Peebles?) also referred to Scott and his family as “Red Bones”. <br />
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Why was Furman seeking information about “Red Bones?” He was an amateur ethnologist and anthropologist living in the Privateer area of Sumter County, and the great grandson of Rev. Richard Furman. Held in high regard by the Smithsonian Institution Bureau of Ethnology, most of his fellow South Carolinians, however, considered him an eccentric. Many of Furman’s writings were published in the Sumter Watchman and Southron. <br />
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He studied groups of people of mixed ethnicity all over the south but was most interested in a racially mixed group very near his home who he called “Red Bones”. “They are a mixed race and have never been slaves.” “They are supposed to be descendants of Indians and negros, but nothing is definitely known of their origin,” Furman writes in an 1894 issue of the Watchman. These “Red Bone” families bore the surnames of Goins, Chavis and Oxendine. Furman found there were many other mysterious groups of mixed blood peoples, living in small isolated groups all over the South. These groups all share similar ethnic characteristics but have many different monikers for their groups. Melongeons, Croatans, and Brass Ankles are some of the more well known. These people, sometimes referred to by anthropologists as “tri-racial isolates,” were not considered white nor black, but existed in small isolated, and often endogamous groups. <br />
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In his book <i>Almost White</i>, Brewton Berry, originally from Orangeburg, provides a study of many mixed race sub-groups across the United States which he refers to as “mestizos.” He identifies the Sumter Turks as just such a group of mixed race peoples. Berry also maintains that peoples identified as tri-racial isolates or mestizos all have some level of Native American ancestry. Could the people living not as whites or as blacks but as “Turks” in Sumter County have a Native American connection in their ancestry?<br />
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This question takes us back to where we started with General Thomas Sumter. As you may recall Thomas Sumter was born in Virginia and served in the militia there. In 1761, Sgt. Thomas Sumter accompanied Lt. Henry Timberlake and an interpreter into the Virginia backcountry (Tennessee) to verify that the Cherokee war had ended. During the four month expedition Timberlake and Sumter had extensive contact and communication with the Cherokee, spending considerable time living in their villages. <br />
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In 1762, Timberlake, Sumter, and an interpreter accompanied three Cherokee Chiefs, one of which was named “Stalking Turkey” to visit King George III in London. During the trip the interpreter died and Sumter became the defacto interpreter for the Cherokee Chiefs. Sumter returned to Charleston with the three Chiefs spending some time with them in South Carolina.<br />
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We know that after Sumter’s initial visit to SC, he returned and purchased land from the Indians on the Santee River and established a home at Nelson’s Ferry. It is also well known that during his campaigns during the Revolution he spent significant time in areas of North and South Carolina where there were large numbers of Native Americans and that his guerilla bands included Indians. The bottom line here is Thomas Sumter was well acquainted with Indians and was very successful in dealing with them. <br />
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Could it be that Scott and perhaps even Benehaley were Native Americans or part Native American, recruited by the General on his trips around SC and into what is now Robeson County NC, to fight with him? Could Scott and Benehaley have been invited, along with some of their kinsmen, to live on the 150,000 acres of land around Stateburg granted Sumter by the State after the Revolution, with the General and his heirs becoming their benefactors? Many believe this to be the case and it has caused quite a bit of controversy within the Turk community. Some want to claim Indian heritage and others resent that position, believing they are the descendants of an Arab named “Yusef ben Ali”. <br />
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In <i>Strangers in Their Own Land</i>, Stephen Pony Hill shares information about the eight tribes of Native Americans in our State. In chapter five Hill discusses the Cheraw Tribe which he says is primarily located in Sumter County. Hill argues that “the core ancestors of the Cheraw Indians were six men who arrived in the area of the High Hills circa 1804.” He believes John Scott, Aaron Oxendine, William Deas, and John Chavis came from the “Charraw Settlement” in present day Robeson County, NC. The other two ancestors of the tribe were John Buckner and Joseph Benenhaley. Regarding Benehaley’s ethnicity, Hill concedes that he may have been of Arab descent, although it seems illogical for an “Arab” to become a “scout” in the back country of SC. He also points out the legends surrounding his background and connections with General Sumter are fraught with contradictions. Regardless, he argues, the descendents of Benehaley married men and women of Indian ancestry living in Sumter County.<br />
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As time went by, Hill believes that the Indians of Sumter County formed two communities, with the Chavis, Gibbs, Goins, and Smilings near Privateer and the Benenhaleys, Buckners, Deas, Oxendines, and Scotts near Dalzell. Initially both of these communities were called “Red Bones” by their neighbors. Around 1910 the Chavis, Goins, and Smilings of Privateer began gradually moving back to Robeson Co. The community at Dalzell continued to grow and soon came to be known as “Turks”, Hill submits. So the community that ethnologists might call “tri-racial isolates”, which we know as “Turks” may be the descendents of Native Americans, Christianized at some point, who came down from Robeson Co. NC which is the land of the Lumbee. Is this possible?<br />
<br />
Some of you more seasoned members of our group may recall that our fellow Fortnighter, Roger Ackerman, wrote a paper on the Lumbee Indians some years ago, connecting the Lumbees with the “Lost Colony of Roanoke”. What a fascinating topic that could have a connection with our search for the identity of the Sumter Turks. You may be pleased to hear, however, we are not going there tonight as time is of the essence. <br />
<br />
We need to return to McDonald Furman for just a moment, however. A letter written to Furman dated, August 8, 1889, which is the same time period as the other letters of this nature, from an unknown writer living in Red Springs, NC indicates that the writer believes the Oxendine name was derived from Ocksenstein of German origin. He goes on to say that a German immigrant married a Croatan Indian which was the beginning of the different families of the Oxendine name found near the Lumber River. Here is yet another connection with the Lumbee’s with a very familiar Turk name. <br />
<br />
Many Turks in Sumter now believe that they are descendants of Native Americans that most likely came down from Robeson Co., N.C. For several years now they have been amassing documentation to that effect. On November 22, 2013 the Department of Minority Affairs for the State of SC officially “recognized” the Cheraw Tribe of Sumter as the eighth Native American Tribe in South Carolina. Ralph Oxendine, the Chief of the Tribe, says there are now more than 900 registered members. The tribe is currently negotiating the purchase of some property near the Highway 378 flea market in order to establish their “tribal grounds”. Mr. Oxendine shared some interesting points with me regarding why the “Red Bones” and subsequently the “Turks” maintained the mystery regarding their identity and ancestry until recently. There have been times in our past when being identified as a Native American was not in one’s best interest. <br />
<br />
The Indian Removal Act of 1830 resulted in an “ethnic cleansing” and relocation of 46,000 Native Americans from their homelands in the south to federal lands mostly in Oklahoma. The “Trail of Tears” refers to the relocation of 16,000 Cherokee during which as many as 6,000 died along the way. Not until 1923 were all Native Americans, regardless of tribal affiliation, recognized as American citizens with the right to vote. <br />
<br />
Perhaps the Turks were advised by their greatest benefactors, General Sumter and his progeny to maintain their “whiteness” as it was certainly in their best interest. We recall that T.S. Sumter in Stateburg and Its People referred to Benehaley and Scott as “white men” and was emphatic they were not Red Bones. He shared the story of General Sumter striding into the courtroom asserting their “whiteness” and their right to serve on a jury, an opportunity no Indian would ever have. T.S. Sumter also states that if the Turks “ever wanted advice or anything” they came to the General and his heirs. No doubt there was some kind of symbiotic relationship between the Sumter family and the copper skinned clan living on their land.<br />
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As previously mentioned, there is quite a controversy currently within the Turk community regarding the ethnic makeup of their ancestry. Some have embraced the notion that they are the descendants of Native Americans. Others are adamant they are of Arab descent and argue that the Turks who are claiming Indian ancestry are doing so “for the money”, meaning they are hoping to profit from the special status now being afforded Native American “Tribes” in our state and across the country. Moreover, some criticizing the Native American faction argue they are participating in “pagan ceremonies.” Believe me, the folks on opposite sides of this fence are very passionate about their position.<br />
<br />
Greg Thompson, a resident of Stateburg with family ties to the Turks, has done extensive research on the Turks through personal interviews and a review of the few historical documents available. He is the co-author of a book, as yet untitled, to be published soon with a comprehensive history of the Turks of Sumter. He shared with me there will be DNA testing results in the book that will be of interest to those in Sumter that are curious as to the ethnic background of the Turks.<br />
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As we near the conclusion of our time together, let us now consider the “Old Turk School” that initially stirred my curiosity and started this research project. I found that indeed the Turks did have their own schools, the first being established near Stateburg around 1870. The “Benenhaley School”, located on what is now Shaw AFB, was in operation from 1885 through the First World War. When this school closed, the Turk children attended schools in various spots, including the old American Legion building in Dalzell, an old house on Craven Lane and the old Sunday School building of the Long Branch Baptist Church both of which were off of what is now Peach Orchard Rd. <br />
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In 1934 the Turks appealed to the school district for a more proper facility. The school district offered for the Turks to attend the black schools but they refused. When the Turks threatened to litigate, a new building was constructed in 1935 on Stamey Livestock Road, a short distance before the intersection of Frierson Rd. This school was in operation until 1961. <br />
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As you know, the 1950’s and 1960’s saw the beginnings of sweeping social changes in our country. Sumter County was no exception. Around 1950 the Turks petitioned Sumter School District 2 to allow their high school aged children to attend Hillcrest High and threatened litigation. The school district acquiesced and a handful of Turk students began attending Hillcrest. The white parents and students were very upset. The Turks were not allowed to participate in any organized school activities including athletics. Many school social events, such as the “Prom” were cancelled and “private events” were organized by the white parents. The Turk students were treated very unkindly by the white students. They were subjected to derogatory comments, and many humiliating and physically harmful situations. Academic success was difficult as well because their previous learning lagged behind that of their white cohorts. Some of those admitted dropped out. It was not a happy experience for the Turk students. General Sumter was not around to come to their aid and no one seemed to believe that these were the descendants of “white men.”<br />
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In 1953, Turk parents petitioned the school district to allow their younger children to attend white elementary schools. The school district refused and the Turks brought suit in federal court in Charleston. On Monday, August 31, 1953, Judge Ashton Williams issued an order restraining the school district from refusing to allow the children to attend the white elementary schools. The school district could no longer require them to attend only the Turk School. <br />
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That evening in Dalzell there was a mass meeting of more than 100 white parents who decided to keep their children out of school if the Turks were allowed to attend. On Wednesday, September 2, 1953, Judge Williams issued a second order removing “the mandatory clause of his first order and in effect allowed the school board to designate a school of attendance for children of Turkish descent.”<br />
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In 1955 and 1956, Turk parents brought suit again, this being after the landmark 1954 Brown vs. Board of Education case which found that separate but equal schools for Blacks violated the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment. However, this next round of hearings ended with the same results. The courts upheld the district’s right to require the Turk students to attend the Turk School and deny them admission to white schools such as Shaw Heights Elementary. The basis of the Turks’ argument in all these cases was that they were “Turkish descendants” and were “white people”. The school district argued that they were of “Negro descent.”<br />
<br />
Enter Ira Kaye, a New Yorker who came to Sumter via Shaw AFB and married Ruth Barnette of Sumter. During his time at Shaw he became familiar with the unique social position of the Turks in Sumter. The Turk parents approached him and asked for his help. Kaye told them he would take the case if they would abandon the argument that they were white. Initially, the Turks would not agree to that tact as they said it was “dividing their community” but eventually agreed. <br />
<br />
During the interim, while the Turks were considering whether to drop the “white” argument, Kaye overhead and observed a Turk couple about to have a baby being admitted to Tuomey hospital. The father was arguing with the clerical person about the race to be put on the birth certificate of the child. In those days in Sumter one could be designated as White, Black, or Turk on a birth certificate. Kaye overheard the Turk father saying “That birth certificate is going to brand that child for the rest of her life, we are white.” The Turk couple left the hospital heading for Columbia. By having the baby in Richland Co. their child would avoid the stigma of being designated “Turk” on her birth certificate. Kaye left the hospital that night determined to help the Turks.<br />
<br />
Long story short, Kaye joined forces with the ACLU, (the NAACP turned him down as the Turks weren’t Black) took the case to the Federal Court of Appeals in Richmond and in October 1961 the school district was ordered to close the Turk School and allow the Turk children to attend the elementary schools with the white children. Before the 1961 ruling, Kaye helped an individual Turk family gain admittance for their 6 year old daughter to attend Shaw Heights. She was the first, and for a while, the only Turk in the school. Her story is fascinating as well, but will have to wait to be told another time.<br />
<br />
So what is the human connection and the moral of this story? When we study history or look around our own community today we can find examples of man’s inhumanity to man while right alongside we find examples of the hope, resilience and strength of the human spirit to work and find a way to right the wrongs that surround us. Being human, we all make mistakes, as did our forefathers, but we can all work to make things right as they did as well.<br />
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As I was researching this paper I was fortunate to have the opportunity to talk to lots of people, young and old, a good number of who are connected with the Turk community. One lady told me her father and grandfather had always said they were the descendants of Cherokee. Others were told by their fathers and grandfathers they were Turkish. Some were told not to ask about their heritage. Some of their stories were troubling and heart breaking. Others were inspiring and uplifting. Some wouldn’t talk at all; some talked reluctantly, while others were happy to share and I think found it helpful to tell their story. <br />
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In closing, I will share one story with you. As a child this lady attended the Turk School during her first and second grade years. When the Turk School closed in 1961, she transferred to Shaw Heights. Initially the going was very tough as she and the other Turk kids were not accepted at all. They were often taunted and picked on. As she moved into high school, things were still difficult and she always felt she was “looked down on” by the majority of the white kids. <br />
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After graduating from Hillcrest she had the opportunity to attend college in Alabama. There her life changed radically. She made many new friends. Her classmates were very complimentary of her “beautiful tan skin” and many asked if she was from Italy or of Italian descent. She met a wonderful man whom she married. She told me, “As all these good things were happening to me I thought to myself ‘these people don’t know who I am’.” It was during this time that she came to realize she could define who she was for herself, rather than let others determine her identity as had been done in such a negative way during her youth. She came to grips with being different and being Turk.<br />
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We set out this evening to solve a mystery, that being the identity of Benehaley the “scout” and Scott the “bugler”. I’m not sure we accomplished that but I hope you enjoyed the trip, I know I did. I look forward to hearing your comments as perhaps you hold the key to unlock the door that leads to the garden in which together, we shall solve the conundrum of the Turks.<br />
<br />
John B. Hilton Jr., Ph. D.<br />
The Fortnightly Club<br />
April 30, 2014<br />
<br />
Bibliography<br />
<br />
Almost White: Brewton Berry (1963) <br />
A History of Sumter Co: Anne King Gregorie (1954)<br />
A History of the Turks: W.D. White, manuscript, South Caroliniana Library (1975)<br />
Charles James McDonald Furman Papers: South Caroliniana Library (1863 – 1904)<br />
History of Sumter Co: Cassie Nichols (1975)<br />
Jewish Heritage Collection: Oral history interview with Ira Kaye and Ruth Barnett Kaye: http://lcdl.library.cofc.edu/lcdl/catalog/lcdl:11792 (1996)<br />
Nowhere Else on Earth: Josephine Humphreys (2000)<br />
Personal Conversations and Interviews (2014)<br />
Stateburg and Its People: T.S. Sumter; J.R. Sumter (1922)<br />
Strangers in Their Own Land: S. Pony Hill (2010)<br />
The Gamecock: Robert Bass (1961)<br />
The Lumbee Indians: Roger Ackerman , Fortnightly Paper (circa 1994)<br />
The Memoirs of Lt. Henry Timberlake: Duane H. King (2007)<br />
The ITEM<br />
The Watchman and Southron<br />
Thomas Sumter: Anne King Gregorie (1931)<br />
U.S. Journal: Sumter County, SC, “TURKS”: Calvin Trillin, The New Yorker, March 8, 1969<br />
Johnny Hiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02154934995931616079noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16352683910149831.post-38807122848799796462013-07-28T09:04:00.002-04:002013-07-28T09:05:28.593-04:00Everything To MeWhen I wake up in the morning she’s the one I want to see <br />
Go to bed at night I need her right here next to me <br />
When things are going good she celebrates my success <br />
I’m worried ‘bout a problem she helps me with the stress <br />
Her laughter is the music to a song I want to sing <br />
When I’m going to a party she’s the one I want to bring <br />
She’s a little bit of everything to me <br />
She’s a little bit of everything to me <br />
<br />
Sitting ‘cross the breakfast table smiling back at me <br />
The sugar in my coffee, the lemon in my tea <br />
Keeper of my secrets, my pal, my best friend <br />
The one I want to talk with, my beginning and my end <br />
She’s an angel, she’s a devil, she’s so good you know she’s bad <br />
She’s my dancing partner, she’s the best I ever had <br />
She’s a little bit of everything to me <br />
She’s a little bit of everything to me <br />
<br />
Keeps me on the straight and narrow <br />
Pulls me in, back from the brink <br />
Drives me home on sat’day night <br />
If I’ve had too much to drink <br />
We been so long together <br />
She knows what’s coming next <br />
Lord knows I’m a lucky man <br />
Tell you she’s the best <br />
She’s a little bit of everything to me <br />
She’s a little bit of everything to me <br />
<br />
Copyright Johnny Hilton 2011<br />
Quiet Place Music BMI<br />
Johnny Hiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02154934995931616079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16352683910149831.post-20141512583212510642013-07-28T08:48:00.002-04:002013-07-28T09:18:36.548-04:00Find My Way Back Home<br />
Summertime is here again, hay is on the ground<br />
Corn is high and in the breeze, and there’s children all around<br />
Everywhere there signs o' life, little rabbits in the grain<br />
Blackberries on the side o' the road, smell of an evening rain<br />
Makes me want to find my way back home<br />
Yes it makes me want to find my way back home<br />
<br />
Come to know so many folks, L.A. to Alabam’<br />
All the time searching, just to find out who I am<br />
Then one day it came to me, I ain’t never been the same<br />
I found the answer wasn’t on the road, it was back from where I came<br />
It made me want to find my way back home<br />
Said it made me want to find my way back home<br />
<br />
My traveling days are done you see, now I’ve settled down<br />
‘Cause the dream came true ‘bout a little home on some shady Southern ground<br />
And there’s a little girl I’m so glad I married, took her for my wife<br />
To share the things that are in my heart and love her all my life<br />
And she makes me want to find my way back home<br />
Yea, she makes me want to find my way back home<br />
<br />
Now I’m caring for my family the best that I know how<br />
Tending to the old folks, who’ve lost their way just now<br />
Raising up my children giving them my time and love<br />
Teaching them the golden rule and to trust the Lord above<br />
And they make me want to find my way back home<br />
Yea they make me want to find my way back home<br />
<br />
Summertime is here again, hay is on the ground<br />
Corn is high and in the breeze, and there’s children all around<br />
Everywhere there signs a life, little rabbits in the grain<br />
Blackberries on the side a the road, smell of an evening rain<br />
Makes me want to find my way back home<br />
Yes it makes me want to find my way back home<br />
Oh I know I’m gonna find my way back home<br />
<br />
Copyright 2004 Johnny Hilton<br />
Quiet Place Music BMI<br />
Johnny Hiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02154934995931616079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16352683910149831.post-51259000829849742832012-11-17T19:57:00.001-05:002012-11-17T20:29:16.270-05:00Forever Young<br />
Forever Young<br />
<br />
Memories of our youth stay with us forever. Some are comforting and peaceful, making us feel safe and secure. Others are exciting, frightening, exhilarating, serendipitous adventures. As we grow older we often reflect on those times. As teen agers, we all had places where our friends gathered to “hangout”. No matter where or when, every hometown had its spots at which the young gathered together to experience the rights of passage from childhood to adulthood. This evening, just for fun, we will take a short journey back in time to remember one of those places where teenagers in Sumter hung out over three decades from the mid-forties through the mid-seventies. This was a place where many experienced some firsts… a first dance, kiss, cigarette, drink, or heart break. There was always lots of drama, highs and lows, all played out most often in plain sight of the crowd. <br />
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November, 1944 marked the beginning of a relationship between the City of Sumter and its teens which lasted for over thirty years with the announcement of the formation of The Teen Age Canteen. The first canteen was located on North Main Street across from the post office near the current location of the Creech Building. Mayor Edwin Boyle, A.T. Health, and W.E. Covington paid the rent on this original building which was the former sight of a bowling alley. The first “hostess” was Mrs. Douglas McKeown. Membership was for teen residents of Sumter County at a cost of 15 cents. A contest was held to determine the name of this new facility and Mary Quincy, a senior at Edmunds, won $5 with a submission of “The Hang Out”.<br />
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As with any institution in the community, events at the Canteen were a reflection of the larger societal context in which it found itself. Visitor’s cards were issued to “servicemen still in their teens home on furlough.” The Teen Age Canteen opened its doors for the first time on Dec. 11, 1944, five days before the Germans launched their last counter offensive of WWII, the Battle of the Bulge.<br />
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There was a “Teen Canteen Board” made up only of teens and an “Adult Advisory Board” first chaired by Mrs. J.P. Brunson. This “board structure” of students and adults making collaborative decisions was used throughout the next thirty years of the life of the Canteen.<br />
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In October of 1945, the City of Sumter began construction on a new building on North Salem Avenue which would become the new Teen Age Canteen. On January 11, 1946 the first dance was held at the new canteen. According to the ITEM two to three hundred teenagers in “bobby sox and hair bows, moccasin and ballet slippers, sweaters and skirts, and purple high school athletic jackets swung out to the tunes of “Chickory Chick”, “Beulahs Buggy”, and “Buzz Me”.” Teen leaders for the new canteen included Jimmy Knight, Bobby Morrow, Helen Murray, Bobby Cuttino, Charlotte Jarman, Orian Davis, Marilu Shaw, Mildred Inskeep, and Maxie King.<br />
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If we move forward to November of 1948 we find that hundreds of teenagers are still attending the Canteen, so many, in fact, that it is decided that only junior high school students could attend the canteen that year. Dues had risen to 25 cents. Teen leaders during this time included Ladson Cubbage, John Duffie, Alice Shelor, Sister Heath, Molly Ariall, and Bunny McLauren.<br />
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Events in our hometown are subject to the societal influences that are at work elsewhere in the world. In an ITEM article and photos from March of 1951, we can see that the “big bands” of the Forties era are still popular among the locals. Interestingly, just two months after this photo, the song “Sixty Minute Man”, by Billy Ward and the Dominos, an African American Rhythm and Blues group, would be released. After hearing this song, Alan Freed, working as a DJ at a radio station in Cleveland at the time, is credited with coining the phrase, “Rock and Roll”. In the song, which boasts of the sexual prowess of the singer, the lyrics say “I’ll rock em, roll em, all night long, I‘m a sixty minute man.” Alan Freed starting using the phrase “Rock and Roll” to describe the Rhythm and Blues music he was playing so that it would avoid the racial prejudice of the time among white audiences. The music of the teens was evolving and so would our community and the Canteen as the years went by.<br />
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If we move forward to the fall of 1955 we find the Canteen at a pivotal moment. As the Canteen became more popular than ever, the neighbors are complaining about the noise. In late September of 1955, a complaint from someone in the neighborhood was read to City Council by Mayor Pricilla Shaw. A response to the complaint had been prepared by the Canteen Teen Board. In their response the Teen Board reported that over two hundred teens were in attendance at the Canteen and were keyed up after an Edmunds - Eau Claire Football game. Most of the noise came from talking and cars as teens were coming to and leaving the dance at the Canteen after the game. The noise was exacerbated by congested traffic due to “inadequate parking facilities” since parking was available on one side of the street only.<br />
<br />
The Teen Board came to City Council armed with solutions to the problem which included: 1. To hold remaining dances at a non-residential area (the Legion Hut), 2. To endorse a plan proposed by a citizen to build a parking lane from Salem Ave. around the canteen to exit on Hampton Ave. 3. To recommend that City Council relocate the Canteen to another facility at a more suitable location. Board members at this time, all from Edmunds High School, included Owen Lee, Sherbie Knight, Johnnie Mills, Billy Fort, Cathy Bryan, Betty Kennedy, Lester Hudson, David Rogers, Tommy Bowen, Howard Jones, Martha Dabbs, Johnnie Sue Stone, David Addlestone, Marion Myers, Jessamine DuBose, and Sammy Pringle.<br />
<br />
A few weeks later, at the October, 1955 meeting of City Council, the Teen Board sent a delegation to petition Council for a new and larger teen canteen building, located in a “less congested area”. Several possibilities were discussed by Council which included building a new center at the municipal airport sight on Miller Road, or acquiring the old Miller school building and sharing the facility which was being used at that time by the Little Theater. It was pointed out by City Manager Wade Kolb, that a bond issue would be needed to finance such a project. Members of City Council also pointed out that this was a county problem, not just a city problem, and that that an increase in the tax levy would likely be necessary as well. Despite the efforts of the Teen Board, the Canteen was not relocated nor were improvements made to help with parking issues. No changes were in the cards for the Canteen in Sumter on that day, but there were significant changes about to take place in other southern towns. On Dec. 1, 1955, two months after the Teen Board met with City Council, Rosa Parks was arrested in Montgomery, Alabama when she refused to give up her seat in the colored section of the bus to a white passenger after there were no more empty seats in the white section. Changes were coming but they came slowly to sleepy southern towns in the late fifties. <br />
<br />
The Canteen continued to be a hub of teen activity on through the fifties and into the sixties. There were dances on the weekend, and more sedate “hanging out” activities during the week which might include a few games of pool or some ping pong. There were assortments of other activities at the Canteen for the members as well which included bridge classes, fashion shows, hay rides, and bake sales to raise money. There were dances at every season of the year, Christmas, Halloween, and of course, Valentines. For many years a Valentines king and queen were voted on by the kids and crowned at the Valentines dance.<br />
<br />
As previously noted, the big bands were replaced by rock and roll and then came soul music from Memphis and Motown. In the mid to late sixties “Soul Music” was king. I began my “professional music career” at the canteen in 1963, where I played my first paying gig. Countless bands and musicians got their start at the Canteen. Junior High night was the time when the younger musicians could play. Kids enjoyed seeing their peers making music.<br />
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There was always plenty of adventure at the canteen no matter which decade one examines. Sneaking in a little alcohol hidden in your pants or coat sometimes took both athleticism and artistic talent. On Junior High night, once you went inside you couldn’t go out until the appointed time for parents to arrive to take you home. Of course, that didn’t keep those southern belles, soon to be debutantes, from climbing out of the bathroom window so they could rendezvous in the park for a little romance with their boy friend, who hadn’t gone inside at all but was waiting by the swings as previously arranged.<br />
<br />
The year that I played my first gig at the canteen, 1963, Martin Luther King made his “I Have A Dream” speech from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial at the “March on Washington.” An estimated 250,000 gathered on that hot August day and heard Peter, Paul and Mary sing Bob Dylan’s “Blowing in the Wind”. Bob Dylan and Joan Baez sang a duet, “When the Ship Comes In.” <br />
<br />
Three months later, on November 22, 1963, President Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas. The next evening Bob Dylan opened his show with his first public performance of his song that would become an anthem for many young people and the most famous protest song of the sixties, “For The Times They are a Changing”. Changes would soon be woven into the fabric of our hometown. <br />
<br />
In the mid-sixties the music teens were listening to went through another major metamorphosis primarily influenced by the Beatles. The June 1967 release of the Sgt. Peppers album by the Beatles marked the beginning of the “psychedelic era”. That same summer of 1967, 100,000 hippies converged on the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood in San Francisco in what became known as the “Summer of Love”. This was the summer I graduated from high school, on May 30, 1967, one day after my 18th birthday. Two summers hence, the Woodstock Music and Art Fair, “the event that changed the history of rock and roll”, took place Aug. 15 – 18, 1969 with 500,000 young people camping on Max Yasgur’s 600 acre dairy farm in the Catskills of upstate New York. There were 32 musical groups, including Joan Baez, Janis Joplin, The Grateful Dead, The Who, Joe Cocker, Jefferson Airplane, The Band, Crosby Stills Nash and Young, and Jimi Hendrix. Things would never be the same again.<br />
<br />
As the sixties were winding down and we moved into the seventies, teenagers in Sumter were looking for something “different” than teenagers of the previous decades. Attendance at the Canteen had declined significantly as the sixties came to an end. Parents and community leaders looked for ways and places to provide “wholesome” activities for teens. Rock and Roll had become Rock. The drug counter culture, Vietnam War protests, the civil rights movement, and the generation gap had all come home to Sumter. In the fall of 1969, concerned parents were holding meetings to determine how to provide places where teens could and would congregate that would also provide some supervision.<br />
<br />
The decision was made to give the old canteen a face lift and a name change, as spending the money for a new facility was, again, not in the cards. In February of 1970, the TAC Shack was born. Taken from the old name of the Teen Age Canteen, The TAC Shack had a new look and feel which had been designed by the kids on the Teen Board. There was a flurry of activities during the first couple years of the TAC Shack. The Parks and Recreation Department, parents, and the Teen Board were working hard to make some positive things happen. This article in the ITEM on Thursday, May 7, 1970 announced that a “Memorial Day Pop Festival” was planned for Swan Lake Gardens put together by the TAC Shack Teen Board. Woodstock was coming to Sumter. Three bands were on the bill: Blood, Stone Creek, and Krishna. These names for the bands were clearly a reflection of the times.<br />
<br />
Tragically, four days before this article ran in the ITEM, the Ohio National Guard fired on a group of students at Kent State University conducting an anti-war demonstration, killing four students and wounding nine. The May 4, 1970 shootings led to protests on college and high school campuses throughout the United States. A student strike of four million students caused more than 450 college campuses across the country to close, with both violent and non-violent demonstrations, including the University of South Carolina where I was a student at the time. We had become a nation at war with itself. These were difficult times for teenagers to sort things out and find their way.<br />
<br />
The Canteen continued to provide activities and events in which teens could participate into the seventies. Playing pool was an activity that remained a favorite the entire thirty year life of the Canteen but bridge lessons and fashion shows had given way to guitar lessons, leather working classes, and modern dance.<br />
<br />
The golden years of the canteen were in the past, however. Never again would there be the big crowds of the forties, fifties and sixties. In 1973, a teen center was opened at the old Green School on the Pinewood Rd., known as the Spectrum, which only lasted a year or so, but this more “mod” venue further reduced the number of teens visiting the Canteen. As use by teens of the building on Salem Ave. for a “hang out” declined, it was increasingly being used by others. Square dance groups, some of which were teen agers, began to meet at the “Memorial Park Youth Center”, as it came to be known, on a regular basis to square dance.<br />
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Ironically, of the groups that wanted to take over the Youth Center the one that created the most conflict with teens were the senior citizens. In the spring of 1978, the Sumter County Council on Aging asked City Council for the use of the building. This resulted in an outcry from the square dancers and others interested in keeping the Youth Center for use by kids only. A compromise was reached and The Council on Aging would be allowed to use the building when it did not conflict with youth activities. The writing was on the wall, however.<br />
<br />
Bolstered by grant money for remodeling and up keep of whatever facility was available for its use, the Council on Aging eventually won out. At the City Council meeting on June 20, 1979, City Council voted to grant the Council on Aging a 15 year lease for the building at 110 N. Salem Ave., formerly known as the Teen Age Canteen. In the end, the Canteen died a quiet death and just faded into our memories as a special place for all of us who spent part of our teen years there.<br />
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The Canteen has gone through lots of changes, just as our town and nation have, and just as we all do as we are growing up and growing older. The music changed from big bands, to rock and roll, to soul, and then rock. During the years the Canteen was a hang-out for kids in Sumter, massive social changes occurred in our nation and our community that were as significant as any in our history. The hippies of the counter culture remind us that relationships are more important than possessions. The anti-war movement reminds us that one can disagree with the government and still be a patriot. We all remember that our first patriots were at war with the established government. American was born out of protest. The civil rights movement changed the way we interacted with our neighbors, particularly in the south. It reminds us that “all men are created equal” and resulted in more opportunities for minorities and women including access to better education, increased participation in the political process, and expanded employment and career choices.<br />
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We have all gone through lots of changes as we have grown older. As we reflect on our younger days let us draw from that time of both security and adventure for our days ahead. My prayer for us all as we move farther away from our teen years is that we can hold on to the mystery, excitement, anticipation, and hope that being young is all about. Let the love we share with friends and family be a source of vigor and renewal as we grow older. Let us measure our wealth by what we share rather than what we keep. As Bob Dylan wrote in his song of blessing for his three children, and I wish the same for all of us, “May you stay forever young.”<br />
<br />
Presented to:<br />
The Fortnightly Club<br />
November 7, 2012<br />
John B. Hilton Jr.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i> <br />
Forever Young<br />
Bob Dylan<br />
1974<br />
<br />
May God bless and keep you always,<br />
May your wishes all come true,<br />
May you always do for others<br />
And let others do for you.<br />
May you build a ladder to the stars<br />
And climb on every rung,<br />
May you stay forever young,<br />
Forever young, forever young,<br />
May you stay forever young.<br />
<br />
May you grow up to be righteous,<br />
May you grow up to be true,<br />
May you always know the truth<br />
And see the lights surrounding you.<br />
May you always be courageous,<br />
Stand upright and be strong,<br />
May you stay forever young,<br />
Forever young, forever young,<br />
May you stay forever young.<br />
<br />
May your hands always be busy,<br />
May your feet always be swift,<br />
May you have a strong foundation<br />
When the winds of changes shift.<br />
May your heart always be joyful,<br />
May your song always be sung,<br />
May you stay forever young,<br />
Forever young, forever young,<br />
May you stay forever young.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Additional thoughts:<br />
<br />
“Dreams can come true, It can happen to you, If you’re young at heart”- Frank Sinatra 1953<br />
<br />
“Be young, be foolish, but be happy” - The Tams 1968<br />
<br />
“I’m growing older but not up, my metabolic rate is pleasantly stuck” - Jimmy Buffett 1980<br />
<br />
“It’s never too late to have a happy childhood” - Hooters cocktail napkin 1999<br />
<br />
“He who has good health is young” – China Chef Fortune Cookie 2012<br />
Johnny Hiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02154934995931616079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16352683910149831.post-71141462777639070322011-02-05T14:37:00.019-05:002011-02-07T20:59:58.089-05:00It's The Only Thing That Lasts<strong>"It's The Only Thing That Lasts"<br />(Or Is It?)</strong><br /><br />There are people, places, and events in the lives of everyone that hold special significance. One of those special places in my life is Cane Savannah. From childhood to the present, being intimately intertwined with the lands in and around Cane Savannah has fostered a deep affection in the heart of your presenter. Working the land: on our little family farm, planting, cultivating, and harvesting crops of soybeans, com, wheat, oats, peanuts, hay and long leaf pine. As a teen-ager, gaining an up close and personal understanding of the old saying "coming in the short rows now". Living on the land: building a home, starting a family, raising children,and enjoying the serenity of the woods for twenty years. Playing on the land:riding horses, camping, hunting, cooking, steaming oysters, Bar-B-Q'n, hay riding, raising a glass with friends, and in younger days, inviting a lady or two out to the country to "gaze at the stars". Most recently, researching the history of the land, that parcel of paradise entrusted to me by my father, which I share with you all this evening. <br /><br />Some questions we will answer are: Who owned and lived at the Cane Savannah Plantation? What was the exact location of the Cane Savannah Plantation? Where was the plantation house located? To answer this question we will identify the exact location of some roads that pin point the house spot. And lastly, what became of the Cane Savannah Plantation?<br /><br />There is no doubt indigenous peoples lived at Cane Savannah, as artifacts have been found in several places nearby. Information regarding the Native Americans that inhabited the area before the arrival of European settlers,however, must be the subject of a later presentation, perhaps. The story of Cane Savannah I relate to you now begins with Matthew Singleton.<br /><br />Born in 1730 on the Isle of Wight, England, Matthew Singleton came to America with his father, Christopher Singleton, living in Virginia before moving to South Carolina. In 1750, at nineteen, Matthew married Mary James, daughter of Sherwood James of Virginia. Sherwood James moved his family to South Carolina in 1753 bringing Matthew and Mary James Singleton with them (Nichols, 1975). <br /><br />By this time, Matthew and Mary had a daughter, Nancy Anne, who would later marry Isham Moore, about whom we shall have more discussion momentarily. Matthew Singleton obtained a grant of 500 acres upon which]he built a home that came to be known as Melrose, located in what is now Manchester State Forest, just off the River Road near Poinsett State Park(Gregorie, 1954). <br /><br />There is some controversy regarding the exact location of this home. Some believe it was located off the River Road just beyond the Arthur Gayle Road very near the site of old Manchester. Others believe that it was at campground site number five in Poinsett State Park.<br /><br />Matthew Singleton's role as a community leader and patriot in the District Eastward ofWateree is well documented. In 1770 he signed a petition for the establishment of a Chapel of Ease, which later became The Church of the Holy Cross. He was a representative at the First and Second Provincial Congress, a signer of the so called SC Declaration of Independence, commander of a volunteer Company of Horse of which Isham Moore, his son-in law, and John Singleton, his son, were also members, and participated in the Snow Campaign. In addition, late in the war he and his son John served with Francis Marion. After the war Matthew Singleton served in the General Assembly, helped organize the Claremont Academy, a school in the Stateburg area, and played a role in the development of the town of Manchester (Nichols, 1975).<br /><br />In the latter years of his life Matthew Singleton moved to Cane Savannah. Nichols (1975) reports that "In Appreciation for his loyal and patriotic service in the cause of independence during the war, in 1784 the State of SC gave him the Cane Savannah Plantation. Leaving his beloved Melrose, he moved to his new home where he died in 1787" (pg. 358). The grant of land from SC Governor Benjamin Guerard was 4000 acres.<br />(Singleton, 1784) A house was built on Hatchet Camp Branch, near the current Cane Savannah crossroads, about which we will have more discussion shortly.<br /> <br />In addition, Matthew Singleton built a millpond and mill on Cane Savannah Creek. (Singleton, 1786) That millpond is today known as Boyles Pond. Amelia Barnwell "Toots" Harper and Caroline Arthur Hendrix,descendants of the Moore family, have indicated another house was built, at some point, on the Cane Savannah Mill Pond. (personal communication, A.Haper and C. Hendrix, February, 2009) Unfortunately, no records of exactly when either house was built nor any pictures of the houses have been found.<br /><br />Matthew Singleton's estate was divided between his son, John, and his daughter, Nancy Anne, wife of Isham Moore. The Cane Savannah Mill and Plantation were left to Nancy Anne Moore, thus Isham Moore came into the possession of that property. The will of Matthew Singleton was destroyed in a fire in the Sumter District Clerk of Courts office in 1805, but court documents from 1839 in the settlement of a dispute between the Moore and Singleton families regarding an unpaid debt that Matthew Singleton owed Charles Pinckney, indicate that the estate was divided between John Singleton and Nancy Anne Moore and that Isham Moore inherited all the lands of the Cane Savannah Plantation and Mill (Rice, 1839). Now we begin the saga of the Moore family.<br /><br />Born in 1750 in Northampton County, North Carolina, Isham Moore was in SC by 1770 (www.singletonfamily.org). Like his father-in-law, Isham Moore was a prominent member of the Manchester community. He too,petitioned st. Marks Parish for the establishment of a "Chapel of Ease" in the Stateburg community. Moore served during the Revolution as a lieutenant in the mounted company under the command of his father-in-law,Matthew Singleton (Nichols, 1975). Anne King Gregoire (1954)introduces some controversy regarding Moore's allegiance during the revolution,however, as she reports that his name appears on "the legislative list of the loyalists to be amerced 12% of the value of their states"(pg 46).<br /><br />Isham Moore worked as a surveyor and a planter, gradually increasing his holdings of land to several thousand acres. The Federal Census of 1790 indicates he was the largest slaveholder in Claremont County with 145 slaves( Gregorie, 1954). Present day Sumter County was at that time part of Claremont County. Moore played an important role in the development of the town of Manchester, surveying and laying out much of the town and owning significant property and numerous lots there (Nichols, 1975).Isham Moore also served as a County Judge and in the State Legislature. (Gregoire, 1954). <br /><br />He and his wife, Nancy Anne Singleton, had six children. In his will,Isham Moore divided his property among all his children. His holdings in the town of Manchester, farmland, and lands giving access to Beech Creek and the Wateree River were divided among his two oldest sons and daughters. His youngest son, John Isham Moore, inherited all the properties at Cane Savannah. The language in the will indicates that Isham Moore was probably living at Manchester when he wrote his will. He died April 24th,1803, just eight days after signing his will (I. Moore, 1803).<br /><br />John Isham Moore lived on the Cane Savannah Plantation he inherited from his father. He continued family traditions; being a planter and public servant, as State Senator and Lt. Col. in the State Militia (South Carolina Portraits, 1996). Like his father and grandfather, John I. Moore chose a wife from a prominent family, marrying Hermione Richardson, daughter of James Burchell Richardson, Governor of South Carolina 1802-1804, and granddaughter of General Richard Richardson, Revolutionary War hero (www.singletonfamily.org).<br /><br />The Moore family continued to live at Cane Savannah for several generations. Moore family members associated with the plantation include John Isham Moore, 1794-1852, followed by John Burchell Moore, 1830 - 1875, Marion Deveaux Moore, 1856-1929, John Singleton Moore 1860- 1930 (brother of Marion Deveaux) and McKenzie Parker Moore, Sr., 1890- 1966 (C. Hendrix, personal communication, February 2009), (M.P. Moore,<br />Jr., Personal communication, Feb. 2009), (1. I. Moore, 1852), (J.B. Moore, 1875), (M.D. Moore, 1929), (J.S. Moore, 1930). <br /><br />The last member of the Moore family to be born at Cane Savannah was Dr. McKenzie Parker Moore Jr., on November 7, 1919. Dr. Moore is a retired physician now living in Charlotte, NC. Unfortunately, the house in which Dr. Moore was born burned around 1920when he was an infant (M.D. Moore Jr., personal communication, February 2009).<br /><br />Dr. Moore shared a story with me regarding the burning of the Cane Savannah Plantation house as told to him by his mother. The fire was started by sparks from the chimney somehow igniting the eaves of the house. Since the house was burning from the roof downward, this gave the family an opportunity to escape and time to save a few possessions. Baby Mac (Dr.Moore) and his crib were put safely in the yard away from the house. As the family and housekeepers were removing items from the house into the yard they began throwing some of them into the crib with the baby, apparently unaware that he was laying there. Luckily someone noticed what was going on, that the baby was in potential danger of being smothered or crushed from items being piled in the crib, and informed the mistress of the house of the situation. The family joked for years afterward that Mac was spared from the fire, but nearly lost his life in the crib.<br /><br />In recent years there has been speculation and discussion on the part of the Cane Savannah locals, generated in no small part from questions posed by your presenter, regarding the exact location of the house that burned in 1920. One would think that an event occurring so recently and with a resident of the house still alive, the answer would be readily available. That has not been the case, however. Dr. Moore told me that when the home place was destroyed the family moved to Charleston and he lost touch with the area around Cane Savannah. He said he was certain the house was north of the Railroad but not really sure if it was on the west side or east side of the road (M. Moore, Jr., personal communication, February 2009). <br /><br />Many in the local area believe that the house was located on the east side of the road (Sumter side) near some very large deodar cedar trees. These large evergreens are often called "Cedars of Lebanon". The belief that the house was on the east side of the road is held in part because of statements made by Dr. Moore himself several years ago upon a visit to Sumter. Let us now examine some evidence to determine the location of the house.<br /><br />The S.H. Boykin Map of 1821, and the M. H. McLaurin Map of 1870 both indicate the location of the Cane Savannah Plantation home place. The Boykin Map of 1821 shows the location with the notation of "Capt. J Moore" as being west of the road and east of an unnamed "branch" which one would assume is Hatchet Camp Branch (Boykin, 1821). However, there are no other landmarks indicated on the map to further pinpoint the location. <br /><br />The McLaurin Map of 1878 provides more information. By that time the Wilmington, Columbia, & Augusta Railroad had come through Sumter. That rail line, running east and west, passed through the Cane Savannah Plantation and on to Wedgefield. The McLaurin Map also shows a road crossing the railroad track heading north and south at or near what is now the Cane Savannah crossroads. On this Map the home place notation of "Est. Col. J.B. Moore", is on the west side of the road, north of the Railroad,and east of Hatchet Camp Branch (McLaurin, 1878).<br /><br />Another very exciting and conclusive piece of evidence is a survey of the Cane Savannah Plantation dated 1889 done by James D. McIlwain. This hand drawn survey shows the entire plantation including the Cane Savannah Mill Pond and Mill. Of more significance to our research, however, it shows the railroad track, the road, and most importantly a sketch showing the location of a house. The house sight of the Cane Savannah Plantation is shown on the plat as west of the road, north of the railroad and east of Hatchet Camp Branch (McIlwain, 1889). This location is west of what is now the North St. Paul Church Road just slightly north of the CSX railroad at the cross roads at Spann's store. <br /><br />In determining the actual location of the Cane Savannah Plantation home place,the question arises, is the St. Paul road of today in the same location as the road running north and south shown on the McLaurin map of 1878 and the McIlwain survey of 1889? Let us examine additional evidence.<br /><br />Before 1960 the St. Paul Church Road was a dirt road and was named the Cane Savannah Road. There were majestic red oaks, live oaks, and cedars lining the section of road from the Cane Savannah crossroad going north to the curve. When I was a little boy I often accompanied my father riding under the canopy of the big oaks as we traveled down what was then not much more than a dirt lane. When the road was paved in 1960 most of the trees were cut down. The highway department required 33 feet of right of<br />way for the new paved road. Unfortunately, these majestic trees stood inside the required right of way so they were taken down. Drawings of the SC Highway Department construction plans for the paving of this section of the road show the exact location and diameter of the trees, some measuring as much as 48 inches across (SCDOT, 1960). After being cut, the trees were dumped into the edge of Hatchet Camp Branch. I have witnessed the decomposition of these trees during the forty-nine years since their demise.<br /><br />The trees that stood along side the road are one of the keys that unlock the mystery of the location of the house. Since the road ran between the lines of trees in 1960 it undoubtedly did so for many years prior. The trees were either planted or left to grow along side the road. It takes many years for an oak to grow to the diameter of those indicated on the SC Highway Department drawings. The location of these trees provide natural evidence of historical significance nearly equal to that of a survey, if you will, that the road ran down this lane of trees and has been in the same location for a hundred years or more. That being the case, this confmns the site of the home place on the west side of the road, for the road is in the same location today as that indicated on the McLaurin map of 1878 and the McIlwain survey of 1889.<br /><br />Carolyn Arthur Hendrix, granddaughter of Marion Deveaux Moore, has confirmed the location of the Cane Savannah home place as being on the west side of the road. (Personal Communication. C. Hendrix February,2009). So, those grand deodar cedar trees on the east side of the road were not the sight of the "big house" but may mark the sight of another smaller house in which other family members lived, including J. Singleton Moore,about whom we shall hear more presently. Mrs. Hendrix has confrrmed through personal communication that there was another smaller house on the other side of the road and that J. Singleton Moore did live there.<br /><br />The next question for our consideration is exactly where on the west side of the road was the house? The McLaurin Map of 1878 and The McIlwain plat of 1889 both show a road leading to the front of the house from the east,coming from the direction of Sumter. There is a section of this road still in existence. This long abandoned road, lying just north and running not quite parallel but at a very slight angle to the existing Wedgefield Rd is known to many locals in Cane Savannah as the "Avenue". I have often ridden horses and hunted quail on this old stretch of road, which passes along side a soybean field and a "broom sedge and gum bottom". My father, J.B.Hilton, and his hunting buddies, H.Q. Jones, and Ernest Newman, who I often accompanied to this the area, told me on many occasions they believed the Avenue to be the original road from Sumter to Wedgefield. They were partially correct in that the Avenue ran from Sumter to Cane Savannah but ended there. In order to get to Wedgefield in earlier days, one had to either drive north to Stateburg, south to Manchester or catch the train. <br /><br />The will of J. Singleton Moore, references the "Avenue" and indicates it ran east to west across the plantation (Moore, 1930). A Survey, done by R.F. McLellan in 1943, references the "old road" as being the line between two tracts of land in this very area of Cane Savannah, running on the exact same line as the Avenue (McLellan, 1943). The section of the Avenue closest to the sight of the Cane Savannah home place is now a canal ditch. However, if one travels east following the line of the canal until its end, the Avenue begins again and runs for several hundred yards. The present day canal was dug down the Avenue. Hattie Coles, daughter of life long area residents Andrew and Elizabeth Keels, told me the canal ditch was dug down the Avenue. The existing remnants of the Avenue run perpendicular to and are on each side of the drive leading into the Keels' front yard. Mrs.Coles remembers her father often driving the mule and wagon down the Avenue to avoid getting on the "paved road" for as long as possible (H.Coles, personal communication, February, 2009).<br /><br />The "Avenue" is the road shown on the McLaurin map and the McLellan survey leading from Sumter to the Cane Savannah Plantation. The location of the remnants of the Avenue and the current canal ditch pinpoint the location of the home place of the Cane Savannah Plantation. The line of the Avenue and the canal intersects the road at 150 North St. Paul Church Rd. Since the McIlwain plat indicates the house to be just north of the Avenue,the location of the home place lies between 150 and 170 N. St. Paul Church Road.<br /><br />My curiosity concerning the Cane Savannah Plantation was tweaked at a very early age. As a small child, I often heard my father refer to the big barn on our farm at Cane Savannah as "Colonel Moore's barn". With a lilt in his daddy's voice and a twinkle in his eye, that little boy was never quite sure if it were really true. And who was this Col. Moore from the Revolutionary War his daddy was talking about? As time passed, of course,it was obvious the barn was not old enough to have been built by Colonel Isham Moore, but perhaps J. Singleton Moore his great-grandson, built it, as he was the last of the Moore family to live on the property.<br /><br />The final chapter of the Cane Savannah Plantation is a rather sad one.Upon the death in 1930 of J. Singleton Moore, 3000 acres of the plantation were sold through foreclosure for $5000, or about $1.66 per acre. (J. S.Moore, 1930) W.S. Manning, nephew of Gov. Richard I. Manning III, purchased the entire tract. Wyndham Manning, a former member of The Fortnightly Club and the son of Gov. Manning was the executor of J.Singleton Moore's estate. (lS. Moore, 1930). J. Singleton Moore had accumulated debts that were not paid by his family and all the lands he held as his death were sold in foreclosure. <br /><br />Within a few years of the death of "Sing" Moore, the Cane Savannah Plantation was broken up and sold to various individuals. (McLellan, 1943). After the foreclosure sales only 359 acres of the Cane Savannah Plantation remained in the hands of the descendants of Matthew Singleton, with whom our story began. Marion Deveaux Moore, brother of J. Singleton Moore, left this 359 acres of land to his children and grandchildren (M.D. Moore, 1930). Dr. McKenzie Parker Moore Jr., Marion Deveaux Moore's grandson, sold the last bit of the plantation left in the family, 42 acres, in June of2006. (M.P. Moore, 2006)<br /><br />The earth upon which we live is both precious and fragile. We know that now more than ever before during this time of potential nuclear and ecological disaster. The use of, quest for, defense of, and stewardship of land can bring out the best and the worst in human kind. We know from history the good and the bad that can result from wars of conquest, empire building, imperialism, industrialization, and our own manifest destiny. The desire to own or be in control of land may be a basic drive for all human beings. <br /><br />You may recall an admonition regarding another more famous<br />Southern Plantation when Gerald O'Hara speaking with his daughter cried "Do you mean to tell me, Katie Scarlet O'Hara, that Tara ... that land doesn't mean anything to you? Why, land is the only thing in the world worth workin' for, worth fightin' for, worth dyin' for, because ...it's the only thing that lasts."<br />Or is it?<br /><br />Presented to the Fortnightly Club<br />Sumter, SC<br />March 18, 2009<br />Dr. John B. Hilton Jr.<br /><br /><br /><strong>Addendum:<br />John Burchell Moore</strong>Lived at Cane Savannah. Attended Harvard Law School, earning an LL.B. in 1852. Married Anne Peyre Deveaux, grand daughter of Richard Singleton. Before Civil War he served as a Colonel in the Charleston light Dragoons (State Militia). During Civil War served in 4th cavalry, and as adjutant for 3rd Artillery Battalion, commonly called the Palmetto Battalion of Light Artillery. During his lifetime he collected a vast library.<br /><br /><strong>Anne Peyre Deveaux Moore Manning</strong>Anne was the daughter of Videaux Marion Singlton and Richard Deveaux and Granddaughter of Richard Singleton of Home Plantation. She married John Burchell Moore, they had two children, Marion<br />Deveaux Moore and John Singleton Moore. Anne's aunt was Angelica Singleton Van Buren, wife of Abram Van Buren, son of President Martin Van Buren. Anne Peyre Deveaux was her husband's (John Burchell Moore) second cousin once removed, since they had a common ancestry from Matthew Singleton. John Burchell Moore died in 1875. Anne subsequently married Richard I. Manning I, son of John Manning, governor of SC and builder of Milford Plantation. J. Singleton Moore (Anne and J. B. Moore's<br />son), owner of 3000 acres of Cane Savannah Plantation, named Wyndam M. Manning, son of Governor Richard I. Manning III, as the executor of his estate. Upon the passing of J. Singleton Moore the plantation was purchased in foreclosure proceedings by W.S. Manning. Thus, the majority of the plantation left the Moore family. <br />)<br /><br /><strong>Abbreviated Singleton / Moore Family Tree</strong>-----Matthew Singleton -(-M-ar-y -Ja-m-es) John Singleton (Rebecca Richardson) ~nne Singleton Moore (Isham Moore) I I mchard Singleton (Rebecca Coles) .~" John Isham Moore (Hermione Richardson)<br />/ ----... ~ "-' Angelica Singlet-on-(Ab-ram-Va-n B-ure-n) -Videau M\arion Singleton (Robert Marion Deveaux) ~n Burchell Moore(Anne Peyre Deveaux) ~ . ~<br />Marion Deveaux (John Pinkney) Anne Peyre Deveaux Marion Deveaux Moore (Caroline Naylor Parker) J. Singleton Moore I I (Adopted) Amelia Nott Moore Amelia Nott M\re (St. Julian Barnwell)<br />Amelia D.Barnwell "Toots" Harper<br />Marion Deveaux Moore (Caroline Naylor Parker)<br />~<br />McKenzie Parker Moore Sr. Desaussure Moore Nancy Moore Arthur John B. Moore Amelia Nott Moore Barnwell<br /><br /><br /><strong>References</strong><br />Boykin, S.H. (1821). Map of Sumter District, South Carolina<br />Gregorie, A.K. (1954). History of Sumter County. Sumter, SC : Library Board of Sumter County<br />McIlwain, J.D. (1889). Survey of Cane Savannah Plantation. Plat book V-4,pg.351. Register of Deeds, Sumter County Courthouse, Sumter, SC<br />McLaurin, M.H.(1878). Map of Sumter County, State of South Carolina.<br />McLellan, R.F. (1943). Plat showing division of Cane Savannah Plantation.Plat book Z-5, pg. 14. Register of Deeds, Sumter County Courthouse,Sumter SC<br />Moore, I (1803) Will of Isham Moore, bundle 70, package 7, Probate Court,Sumter County Courthouse, Sumter, SC<br />Moore, J.B. (1875) Will and estate settlement documents of John Burchel Moore, bundle 170, package 15. Probate Court, Sumter County Courthouse, Sumter SC<br />Moore, J. I (1852) Will and estate settlement documents of John Isham Moore, bundle 161, package 18. Probate Court, Sumter County Courthouse, Sumter, SC<br />Moore, J. S. (1930) Will and estate settlement documents of John Singleton Moore, bundle 220, package 52. Probate Court, Sumter County Court House, Sumter, SC<br />Moore, M.D. (1929) Will and estate settlement documents of Marion Deveaux Moore, bundle 220, package 18. Probate Court, Sumter County Courthouse, Sumter, SC<br />Moore, M.D. (1930). Plat showing division of estate of MD. Moore. Plat book G5, pg. 6. Register of Deeds, Sumter County Courthouse, Sumter,SC.<br />Moore, M.P. (2006). Title to real estate. Deed book 1035, pg. 784. Register of Deeds, Sumter County Courthouse, Sumter, SC<br />Nichols, C. (1975). Historical sketches of Sumter County: It's birth and growth. Sumter, sc: Sumter County Historical Commission<br />Rice, W. (1839) Reports of Cases in Chancery argued and determined in the Court of Appeals and Court of Errors of South Carolina. Charleston, SC http://books.google.com/books?id=GPoaAAAA YAAJ&pg=PA11O&lpg=PAll0&dq<br />Singleton, M (1784). Land Grant. Singleton / Deveaux family collection,4MSS. 15 July, 1784 - December 1850. South Caroliniana Library,University of South Carolina, Columbia, SC<br />Singleton, M (1786). Indenture. Deed book BB. pg. 209 - 212. Register of Deeds. Sumter County Courthouse. Sumter, SC<br />South Carolina Department of Transportation (1960). Plan and profile of proposed state highway. Docket # 43.373. Road 40. Sumter County, SC<br />South Carolina portraits: A collection of portraits of South Carolinians and portraits in South Carolina. (1996). National Society of The Colonial Dames of America in the State of South Carolina. Columbia, SC.<br />www.singletonfamily.org<br /><br /><strong>Cane Savannah Plantation Power Point Slides</strong><br />1. Earth from space, Google Earth<br />2. Zoom from space to Cane Savannah<br />3. (4) Google Earth slides of Sumter Co. and Cane Savannah<br />4. Melrose<br />5. Land Grant to Matthew Singleton<br />6. (4) Indenture / Matthew Singleton & Peter Melette, Cane Savannah Millpond<br />7. (2) Isham Moore Portrait<br />8. (2) Will of Isham Moore<br />9. (2) John Isham Moore Portrait<br />10.(2) Boykin Map<br />11.(2) McLaurin Map<br />12.(3)McIlwain Plat<br />13.Ariel Photograph Cane Savannah Crossroads<br />14.(3) SC DOT Drawings<br />15.Rotting Tree Trunk<br />16.(3) Big Trees not cut<br />17.Ariel Photo Cane Savannah<br />18.(2)Deodar Cedar Trees<br />19.McLaurin Map<br />20.McIlwain Plat<br />2 1.(2)Will of 1. Singleton Moore<br />22.(2) McLellan Plat<br />23.(2) Google Earth Ariel of Cane Savannah<br />24.(3) Photos of Avenue<br />25. Google Ariel of Cane Savannah<br />26.Site of Cane Savannah Plantation Home Place<br />27.BigBarn<br />28.Foreclosure Sale Statement for Estate of J. Singleton Moore<br />29.Real Estate Inventory for Estate of J. Singleton Moore<br />30.Photo of Sing Moore, Sonny Arthur<br />31.Photo of Sing Moore, Aimee Moore, Mr. & Mrs. Pinckney, Rev.Barnwell.<br />32.Portrait of Mrs. Marion Deveaux Moore (Caroline Naylor Parker)<br />33.McLellan Plat<br />34.McIlwain Plat<br />35.Plat Dividing Estate of Marion Deveaux Moore<br />36.Google Earth Zoom out from Cane Savannah to SpaceJohnny Hiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02154934995931616079noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16352683910149831.post-59581619687842375612011-02-05T11:47:00.005-05:002011-02-07T21:01:17.963-05:00Where Paradise Lay<strong> Where Paradise Lay<br /> <em> A Trilogy</em></strong><br /> Everyone has their own idea of paradise. It might be an afternoon on the golf course with friends, a day in a favorite fishing hole with one’s grandson, a week at Pawleys with family, or being at Death Valley when the tigers rub the rock and run down the hill. There are many moments and places we enjoy with family and friends that we love and cherish as being in paradise. This evening I will share some thoughts on three spots not far from us that some might consider paradise. They are woven together by common threads that will become apparent as we explore this trilogy. We will primarily move chronologically through this saga which will sometimes take us from one spot to the other and then back again. As we near the end of the story, however, we will fly freely about through space and time.<br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>The Cowasee Basin</strong><br /> After the War Between the States, thousands of acres of land across South Carolina that had been under cultivation before the war were left fallow because there was no more slave labor to manage the fields. Much of this land grew up in trees. Likewise, those areas in the hardwood river bottoms, most commonly called swamps by us, that had been diked and the tree’s cleared for agricultural purposes returned back to their natural state as well, with trees growing rapidly in the fertile alluvial soils made rich by the periodic flooding of the rivers. Of course, there were many large areas in the swamps that contained virgin timber that had never been cut. Such was the case in the flood plains along the Congaree, Wateree, and Santee rivers, today known as the Cowasee Basin.<br /> <br />Flowing 413 miles from it’s headwaters to the Atlantic Ocean, the Santee River, which is the final leg of the Cowasee Basin, is the second largest river system on the east coast, draining 16,800 square miles. Its headwaters begin at Old Fort, NC, near Black Mountain, as the Catawba River. The Catawba becomes the Wateree as it enters SC. At Columbia, the Saluda and Broad Rivers join to form the Congaree. The Congaree and Wateree join together just southeast of Columbia and form the Santee.<br /> <br />After the War Between the States there was also an influx of businessmen who saw opportunities in the south. This phenomenon of northern businessmen moving or expanding their operations to the south has continued even until today. In the period from the end of the Civil War to the turn of the century industrial growth and railroad expansion were major factors in the movement of business and industry from the northeast to the west and the south.<br /><br />In the mid 1890’s Francis Biedler I, started purchasing swampland along the Congaree, Wateree, and Santee Rivers. In short order Beidler had purchased over 165,000 acres all bought at bargain prices of $1 - $2 an acre. The swamp land was no longer used for agricultural purposes. There was a lack of capital and industrial capacity in South Carolina to harvest the timber, so land owners were eager to sell the swamp land which many considered to be of little value. <br /><br /> Biedler and B.F. Ferguson formed the Santee River Cypress Company and began harvesting Bald Cypress and many other varieties of timber from the river bottoms of the “Cowasee Basin”. Beidler and Ferguson, both from Chicago, had worked together for several years with Beidler’s father in the lumber business. Cypress was in demand because of it’s renown resistance to rot. Used for shingles, building exteriors, railroad ties, pilings, and bridges, cypress was known to last longer than any other wood, with cypress shingles often lasting a century or more.<br /><br /> In order to process the timber Beidler and Ferguson built a sawmill, around 1895, on a patch of high ground just off the Santee River near present day Eutawville. The mill manager beginning in 1896, working off and on for many years, was Fred Seeley, who you shall see is one of those threads moving through our story. A boom town developed at the mill which came to be known as Ferguson, SC. The mill was massive, capable of processing 80,000 board feet a day, with a drying kiln heated with electricity. The town of 800 people in its heyday included a hotel, houses for white and black workers, a hospital, company store, school and a bank. Way ahead of the surrounding areas, Ferguson boasted running water, a sewer system, gas lights and electricity provided by a 10 boiler power plant. Railroad lines connected Ferguson to the outside world and were used to transport the lumber from the mill to markets in the north.<br /><br /> Logging the swamps was difficult work to say the least, with all the timber being harvested by hand with cross cut saws. Mosquitoes and the malaria they carried were a real danger. Many workers and members of their families died a terrible death from malaria. The hot humid environment in the swamps that were often flooded contributed to the tough working conditions. Many of us know from personal experience how hot and humid it can be in the swamp during the summer. Most of the harvested timber lay close to the rivers or along the creeks, sloughs and guts that flowed into the rivers so that the logs could be floated down stream. It was found that the cypress logs were too heavy to float “green”. The trees were girdled to kill them and allow them to dry out making them lighter and better able to float. An early technique to move the logs from where they were cut through flooded swamps was called “bull hunching”. Logs were pushed by hand down a ‘track” made from other logs that led to the higher ground where mules could be used to move the timber on to the river.<br /><br /> In 1905 Ferguson sold out his interest in the Santee River Cypress Company to Beidler. When Beidler began losing his sight around 1912 he turned over operations to M.B. Cross. Within a couple of years Beidler decided to close down the mill altogether. Beidler sold the existing lumber and timber rights south of Ferguson around Black Oak Island, to Brooklyn Cooperage, at that time operating in New York and Missouri, which subsequently established a barrel making plant in Sumter a decade or so later. By 1916 Ferguson was literally a ghost town. With the lumber mill shut down, the main source of income vanished and so did the inhabitants of Ferguson.<br /><br /> Information from Fred Seeley, manager of the lumber mill at Ferguson for several years, indicates that although the lumber operation at Ferguson was the largest in the southeast at that time, it was not profitable. One of the problems was an abundance of lumber being cut in the United States at that time, causing supply to exceed demand. Around 1912 Francis Beidler loaned the company $621,000 of his own money to keep things going but ultimately ended operations in 1915.<br /><br /> Francis Beidler I died in 1924 leaving his estate to his two children, Francis II and Elizabeth Beidler Carton. After the death of Francis I, most of the land was held together with Frank II and then Frank III managing the affairs of the estate. Over the ensuing years timber contracts were issued to numerous timber companies which harvested timber in various places along the rivers about which we shall have more discussion shortly.<br /><br /><strong>The Wateree Swamp</strong><br /> For many of us who grew up in Sumter County the Wateree Swamp is synonymous with great hunting and fishing. Many sportsmen who knew of the wonderful opportunities in the swamp joined together to form clubs in order to lease areas of land for hunting and fishing. One such organization was the Columbia Sumter Club.<br /><br /> Originally known as the Columbia Hunting Club, all the members were from Richland County. During the early days of the Great Depression many members dropped out as money was tight and some in the club were having trouble paying their dues, which in 1929 were $5 per year. It was decided by the remaining members, all from Columbia at that time, that to keep an adequate number of dues paying members in order to pay the lease on the land, some sportsmen on the Sumter side of the swamp should be asked to join. The charter members from the Sumter side included Johnny McKnight, Mac Boykin, Dr. Edgar Durant and a few others.<br /><br /> As the Depression deepened and times got even tougher other members were recruited from Sumter. For a number of years there were actually more members from Sumter than from Columbia. Eventually it was established there should be an equal number of members which was twenty-five from each city. The presidency of the club was alternated each year between a Sumter and then a Columbia member. In later years the membership was raised to thirty from each side of the river for a total of sixty members. In the late thirties dues were $10 per year.<br /><br /> The land leased by the Columbia Sumter Club was located roughly between Millford Plantation and Poinsett State Park. The land was owned by the Beidler family. The Beidler family is the most important of those common threads running through the fabric of our trilogy. The hunting rights were leased by the Columbia Sumter Club from the timber companies that held the timber contracts from the Beidlers. Over the years those timber companies included several that are familiar to us such as Georgia Pacific, Vestel, and Williams Furniture Company.<br /><br /> There were many well known and sometimes colorful sportsmen from both Columbia and Sumter that were members of the club. Some Sumter members during the 1950’sincluded, A.C. Cribb, Stuart Burnett, R.E. Dunn, Dr. Eddie Durant, J.R. Fidler, Hugh Humphries, H. C. “Briggs” McLauren, Ernest Newman, D.I. Reardon, John Terry, Burke Watson, J.O. Barwick, W. O. Staley, and Mallard Marshall. Perhaps the most notable from the Columbia side were Frank and Harry Hampton of The State newspaper about whom we shall hear more shortly.<br /><br /> The origin of the old clubhouse is unknown as it was built prior to 1929 before sportsmen from the Sumter side of the river were members. In the early days, the deer dogs were kept in a pen directly under the clubhouse. This sometimes led to cursing and shouting from those trying to sleep or play cards when the dogs were barking at the moon. The original road leading to the clubhouse was the old Starks Ferry Road, which back in the day went all the way to the river to the sight of Starks Ferry which crossed the Wateree over to Richland County. In the sixties much of the old roadbed was still visible as it ran through the swamp towards the river.<br /><br /> I started hunting in the Columbia Sumter with friends when I was in high school. My father joined the club in the late seventies. I learned firsthand that the hunting and fishing opportunities in the Columbia Sumter Club were second to none. Deer drives were the big group activities. Duck hunting was excellent because back in the day there were plenty of ducks in the swamp. When the water was at the right level and the “color of Tetley Tea” the fishing was extraordinary. The club house was the scene of many a card game. The cook shed boasted a fish fry every Wednesday afternoon during the spring and summer months, with fish so fresh they were still flipping in the pan. There was a long tradition of “camping” at the clubhouse during the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays. Hunting, fishing, and napping during the day; eating, drinking, telling stories of previous adventures and the “characters” of the club both living and dead; capping it off by a late night poker game, the night before merged into the cold starry morning as the potbellied stove in the cook shed was stoked up and the coffee put on at 5:00 a.m. to do it all over again. It would be just another day in paradise in the Wateree.<br /><br /><strong></strong><strong>The Santee River<br /></strong> Formed by the confluence of the Wateree and Congaree rivers 25 miles southeast of Columbia, the Santee meanders 143 miles to the Atlantic. As it nears the coast it divides into two channels which flow parallel to each other for about 10 miles, reaching the ocean roughly 15 miles south of Georgetown. In the early days of our State the rivers played an important role in commerce as the primary means of transporting products to market. In 1800 construction was completed on a canal to link the Santee River with the Cooper River which would allow goods to be transported directly to Charleston. The Old Santee Canal, as it is now known, was abandoned near mid-century because the railroads proved to be a cheaper and faster mode of moving goods.<br /><br /> The idea of linking the Santee and Cooper rivers was reincarnated in the 1920’s by T.C. Williams, owner of the Columbia Railway and Navigation Co. He envisioned building two lakes with navigation locks to provide his steam-powered paddlewheel boats a route from Columbia to Charleston. He was well on his way with the development of this project when the Great Depression brought an end to his dream.<br /><br /> The idea was revisited in 1933 when Strom Thurmond and James F. Byrnes realized that President Franklin Roosevelt’s “New Deal” held promise to provide the rural areas of South Carolina, one of the last areas in the nation without power, the benefits of electrification. In 1934 the S.C. General Assembly created the S.C. Public Service Authority whose mission was a hydroelectric and navigation project that would connect the Santee and Cooper Rivers. The project was challenged by private power companies all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court. The court, of course, ruled in favor of Santee Cooper.<br /><br /> There was opposition to the project from many individuals in the local communities as well. The project called for the construction of two large lakes. The 200 square miles encompassing 170,000 acres that would be inundated by the lake waters included much more than just swampland. The plantations in historic Saint John’s Parish to be covered by the rising waters included Francis Marion’s Pond Bluff, William Moultrie’s Northhampton, Peter Gaillard’s The Rocks, and the St. Julian family’s Pooshee. There were dozens of churches and cemeteries, working farms, and several small communities below the high water mark as well.<br /><br /> Despite the opposition, construction began in the spring of 1939. Nearly 13,000 workers, many that had been on government relief, went to work with the WPA (Works Progress Administration) on the largest land clearing and earth moving project in U.S. history. During the clearing operation 200 million board feet of timber were harvested. In order to expedite the completion of the project there were large areas in Clarendon County that were not cleared of trees. In some instances trees were cut down and cabled to the stumps. Years later when their tethers decomposed, these logs rose to the surface causing hazards for boaters. (Many of us have had personal experiences at Santee with floating logs or logs with one end sticking up near the surface of the water.)<br /><br /> The eight mile Santee Dam was the longest earthen dam in the world at the time it was built. The Santee spillway, with 62 gates, was 3,400 feet long when completed. The various dams and dikes that formed the lower lake combined to run 26 miles. A hydro-power station and navigation locks were built at Pinopolis. These locks are 60 feet wide and 180 feet long. Raising or lowering boats 75 feet from the tailrace canal to the surface of the lake, they are the highest single lift locks in North America and were the highest in the world at the time of the project. (Making the “river run” and passing through the locks is an exciting experience and a little scary when your boat is lowered and the gates high above you are holding back what seems to be all the water in the whole lake.)<br /><br /> The project was completed in less than three years with the formation of Lake Marion and Lake Moultrie which are now very familiar to all of us. The generators did indeed provide power to Berkley, Georgetown, and Horry counties with electricity first being generated in February of 1942. My father’s family whose homeplace is in Berkeley County was a beneficiary of the power that flowed as a result of the Santee Cooper Project. My father was 18 years old and out of high school before their home had electricity.<br /><br /> The land to be flooded, which was all private property, was taken by the State through eminent domain. The rising waters required that hundreds of families be relocated. The owners of the property were paid $12.00 per acre, which was well above the market value for farmland at that time. Most of those relocated were poor African-Americans. In some instances small communities and family groups were relocated and kept together to some degree. Each family that was relocated was also given 100 chickens to compensate for the disruption of their lives.<br />Many cemeteries were relocated with nearly 6,000 graves having their bodies exhumed and then reinterred on higher ground. Numerous churches and houses were relocated as well. Many structures, however, were abandoned and all those left behind were submerged by the rising waters. Ferguson, the previously mentioned lumber mill town built by Francis Beidler and B.F. Ferguson, deserted since 1916, was covered by the rising waters. Here again, we find those common threads running through the fabric of our trilogy. The Beidler family lost about 74,000 acres to the lakes, but of course was paid $12 an acre like all the other property owners.<br /><br /> The project caused many to suffer personal sacrifice, being uprooted from their homes and farms where they had lived for generations. The concept of eminent domain, of course, is that private land is taken for the public good. There is no question that our state benefited from the damming of the Santee River. The economic development resulting from the presence of electrical power can’t be understated. The economic impact from the business and tourism related to the lake system is measured in the hundreds of millions of dollars. Recreational activities such as boating, fishing, hunting, and golfing will continue to insure economic growth for the counties that surround the lakes.<br /><br /> We all know from personal experience the pleasure associated with “Santee”. Many of us grew up on the lake, swimming, water skiing, and boating at Wyboo, Church Branch, and Potato Creek. My grandmother had a house on Church Branch where my family and friends spent a lot of time. I can still hear the whine of propellers going by as I would hold my breath and see how long I could stay under. Sometimes we would wait until dusk dark for that last ski of the day when the water was like glass and the bugs would hit you in the face. I’m sure some of the wrinkles I have today are a carryover from so much time in that dark water. As we grew older there was a lot of “social interaction” at the Lake. We all did a lot of growing up down there. I dare say there were more than just a few “firsts” for many teenagers near the waters of the Santee. Not many of us are still jumping the wake and cutting sharp on a slalom but we are still on the lake. Now we are getting to enjoy the lake again as we watch our children and grand- children growing up on the water. We’ve exchanged the slalom for a pontoon boat full of family and friends, with a well stocked cooler, headed for a cheeseburger at Scarborough’s Landing which is somewhere close to paradise.<br /><br /><strong></strong><strong>The Congaree Trees</strong><br /> As previously mentioned, Francis Bieidler I had two children, Francis II and Elizabeth Beidler Carton. After the death of Francis I in 1924, most of the land was held together with Frank II managing the affairs of the estate. Francis II had three children, Francis III, Betty and Eleanor. Mrs. Carton had two daughters Mrs. Louise Beidler Desfrancs and Mrs. Anne Marie Biedler Boardman. Again in this instance, the namesake of the founder of the Santee River Cypress Company, Francis III managed the affairs of the land in South Carolina for his sisters and cousins. In the 1960’s foresters advised Frank III that certain areas of the Congaree Swamp contained trees that were over mature and should be harvested. Some small parts of this area may not have been logged at all in previous years.<br /><br /> Those areas of the swamp that had been logged were left to nature for close to fifty years and had reverted to near “virgin” conditions. Hunters and naturalists during the 1950’s and 60’s had been finding huge pine and cypress trees that had been spared the axe. High timber prices in 1969 brought about a resumption of logging by the Beidler family on some of their holdings in the Congaree Swamp. This brought about an outcry from sportsmen and naturalists that the “virgin cypress” on the Congaree would be lost forever.<br /><br /> One sportsman that had been calling for preservation of this area since the 1950’s was Harry Hampton. Here is another example of those common threads running through the fabric of our trilogy, for as previously noted, Harry was a member of the Columbia Sumter Hunting Club. Hampton had been a lone voice lobbying for the state of South Carolina to provide protection for the flood plain forest. For years, in his column “Woods and Waters”, in The State newspaper, he promoted preservation of the Congaree Swamp. Hampton had identified a huge bald cypress which he often used as an example of what would be lost if logging continued. He was joined at this critical time in the early 70’s by others including Jim Elder, Jim Welch, Dick Watkins, The Sierra Club, and Friends of the Congaree Swamp which campaigned to stop the logging of the swamp and preserve the massive trees. Despite opposition from the timber industry, some local property owners and hunting clubs that leased the hunting rights, the grassroots effort was a success. In October of 1976, legislation introduced by Fritz Hollings and Floyd Spence was signed by President Gerald Ford establishing the Congaree Swamp National Monument. In 2003, as a result of legislation sponsored by Jim Clyburn, the area was declared The Congaree National Park. The original purchase by the federal government in 1976 was 15, 138 acres for a price of over $30 million paid to the Beidlers.<br /><br /> Today the park encompasses 24,000 acres containing the largest contiguous area of old growth bottom land hardwood forest in the United States. The park has hiking trails, board walks and a marked canoe trail on Cedar Creek that all go down into the swamp so that visitors can experience the awe of being in the presence of some of the oldest and largest trees east of the Mississippi. Trees that have attained record sizes in the park include bald cypress, loblolly pine, oak, elm, and water tupelo. The largest pine is more than 15 feet in circumference and 167 feet tall. The largest bald cypress is 26 feet in circumference and 131 feet tall. The visitor’s center at the Congaree National Park is named for Harry Hampton and the giant bald cypress tree that Hampton used to promote the preservation of the swamp is now named the Harry Hampton tree. It has a circumference of 23 feet and is the tallest bald cypress in the park at 148 feet. Regarding the age of the trees, Fred Seeley, manager of the Santee River Cypress Company saw mill at Ferguson indicated that most of the cypress trees brought through the mill during the period of 1895 – 1914 were 500 – 700 years old. The oldest cypress recorded at the mill, however, had 1,600 growth rings, and Seeley indicated there were larger trees but no one took the time to count up the growth rings.<br /><br /> When one visits the Congaree National Park the serenity and peace found there among the oldest living things in our state that were around long before any European set foot on this continent is truly a journey back to what some would call paradise.<br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Paradise Purchased</strong><br /> In July of 1987 Mike Watson noticed Roy Belser, a forester with Shaw, McLeod, and Belser, (now American Forest Management) coming out of the “north gate” of the Columbia Sumter Club. Along with Roy Belser was Lang Rivers and several other gentlemen. Being curious, Mike called Roy and inquired what they were doing. During the ensuing conversation Mike learned that Mrs. Louise Desfrancs, the granddaughter of Francis Beidler I, wanted to sell her portion of the swamp being leased by the Columbia Sumter Club, which consisted of approximately 3,800 acres. He also learned that the gentlemen with Lang Rivers were clients looking at the property as potential buyers. The property for sale was the lower portion of the Columbia Sumter Hunting Club, starting at the clubhouse on Big Lake and heading south towards Millford Plantation, Dow Lake and the “State Line” which was the northern boundary of land owned by the Santee Cooper Authority. The ownership of all the lands in the Wateree Swamp had been divided between the Beidler family members in 1981, with each heir gaining ownership of specific sections of the swamp. Prior to that time the lands had been held in common by all the heirs of Francis Beidler I.<br /><br /> The division of the property was precipitated by the sale of the Congaree tract to the federal government. When Frank III’s sisters and cousins got their share of the sale price, they became curious regarding exactly what they owned in South Carolina that generated the kind of money. As a result, the land was divided into equal tracts among the heirs. As just mentioned, the portion up for sale was owned by Mrs. Desfrancs who wanted the money to put a new roof on her “castle” in France.<br /><br /> Upon learning the property was for sale, Mike Watson went to his father for advice. “Big Burke” suggested that a small group be put together to discuss the feasibility of purchasing the property. It was decided that this small group should include three members of the Columbia Sumter and a couple of individuals that were not members. All those approached by Mike were in agreement that purchasing the property was a good idea and agreed to work together toward that end. In addition to Mike, the original five included Bill Cockerill, J. B. Hilton, Tee Dee Allesandro, and Burke Watson, Jr., the latter two not belonging to the Columbia Sumter Club. The committee of five began negotiations with Mrs. Desfrancs, with Shaw, McLeod, and Belser acting as her agent.<br /><br /> In September of 1987, a contract was signed by Burke Watson Jr., with a commitment from the other four members of the committee to Burke, to purchase 3,749 acres at a price of $915,000.00 with $10,000.00 earnest money put up, to be forfeited should there be a failure to perform. There was a stipulation in the contract that Mrs. Defrancs would have five years after the closing date to harvest the existing timber on the property. It was decided that the committee should now approach the Sumter members of the Columbia Sumter Club about the opportunity to purchase the property.<br /><br /> A meeting was held shortly after the contract was signed with all Sumter members of the Columbia Sumter Hunting Club requested to attend. The committee presented a plan to the Sumter members that the property would be purchased as a corporation with thirty certificate holders, each putting up an equal amount of money to cover the purchase price. At this meeting it was decided that the Columbia members should be brought into the discussion.<br />Within a few days a meeting was held a Sikes Bar B Que with all sixty members requested to attend. The proposal to form a corporation with thirty certificate holders was presented to the entire membership.<br /><br /> There were many members of the club who had very negative feelings about the plan to buy the property. In addition, there were many members who had negative feelings about those who were leading the effort to purchase the property. Some members of the club believed that the club would be able to continue to lease the hunting rights for the property even if a ‘third party” purchased the property. There were others who believed that the ability to continue to lease the hunting rights would be in jeopardy if it were sold and that buying the land themselves was the only way to insure the opportunity to hunt and fish on the property.<br /><br /> An alternative plan was proposed by several club members which called for the money needed to purchase the property to be borrowed by the Club. The dues of the sixty members of the club would be used to make the loan payments. One shortcoming of this plan was that it would require a substantial increase in the dues for each member, which some might not be able to handle. In addition, there was discussion as to who would be the signatory on the loan. The committee rejected this proposal as they felt it was best to find potential investors willing to commit to provide the capital up front so that there would be no loan or indebtedness associated with the endeavor.<br /><br /> Over the course of the next few months interested sportsmen began to commit to purchase the property. Each person that committed put up a $5000.00 deposit. By March of 1988, thirty had signed on to purchase the property at a cost of $30,500 each. The closing was held April 4, 1988. Curiously, only nine of the sixty members of the Columbia Sumter Club decided to take advantage of the opportunity to purchase the property. Those were Mike Watson, J.B. Hilton, Bill Cockerill, Burke Watson Sr., Dr. Charlie Andrews, Dr. J.J. Britton, Gee Dew, John Rowland, and Mars Sapp from Columbia.<br /><br /> Another circumstance in this saga that is also most curious to your presenter deserves sharing. Upon the decision of Louise Defrancs, in the early summer of 1987, to put the “lower track” up for sale, a letter was sent to the secretary of the Columbia Sumter Club by Shaw, McLeod, and Belser. This letter was sent as a courtesy to the club informing them of Mrs. Defrancs’ decision to sell the property, not giving the club “first refusal” but giving the club “first crack” at the opportunity to buy before the property was put on the market for sale. There was no response from the Columbia Sumter Club. After receiving no response from the club, Shaw, McLeod & Belser then started seeking potential buyers for the property. Here is another common thread in this fabric and this one brings us back to Mike Watson’s chance sighting of Roy Belser showing the property to potential clients at the north gate. From my perspective, it seems curious that there would be no response from the club and even more curious that there was such resentment on the part of many Columbia Sumter Club members against those buying the property when in fact the club had the first opportunity to do so but failed to take advantage of that opportunity. At the next meeting of the Columbia Sumter Club, after the property was purchased, a majority of the members voted to expel the nine members of the Columbia Sumter Club, who purchased the land, because of “disloyalty and a conflict of interest”.<br /><br /> The “new club” was officially named the Sumter Wateree Club but was often referred to as the “thirty thirty” and sometimes the “dirty thirty” club. Unfortunately, resentment lingered for a time on the part of some on both sides of the fence.<br /><br /> At the time of the purchase of the lower tract by the Sumter Wateree Club, the Columbia Sumter Club still held the lease on the upper tract. However, in just a few years Frank Beilder III, who owned that portion of the swamp, decided to sell, also. In 1995, the State of South Carolina out bid all others and purchased the property for $5,175,000.00. After the State bought the upper tract this left the Columbia Sumter Club with a membership of sixty but no property upon which to hunt or fish.<br /><br /> I am very fortunate that my family and I had and still have the opportunity to enjoy the Wateree. My son and I will never forget the wonderful times we had in the Sumter Wateree when he was growing up and my dad was teaching ‘Little John” how to hunt and fish. He had the opportunity to spend Thanksgiving in the swamp just as I did when I was younger. We have precious memories of the hymns that we all sang with the “old timers” after the evening meal when they were enjoying a little taste of Jim Beam. He also learned a most important life lesson that what he saw and heard in the swamp, stayed in the swamp.<br /><br />In our quest to locate Paradise you need to know there is actually a spot in the Sumter Wateree known as Paradise. It’s a stretch of Beech Creek, just below where Boat Creek flows into it. It’s an unusually long straight stretch of water that is truly beautiful and worthy of the name “Paradise”.<br /><br /> At the present time the Sumter Wateree Club is cutting some of its timber to pay for the purchase of a permanent easement into the swamp and some additional property from Emory Clark, owner of Millford Plantation. The recently purchased property will be the site for the construction of a new clubhouse overlooking Big Lake. The view from the new club house spot is just a little north east of paradise.<br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Paradise Lost?<br /></strong> Paradise can be a fragile place. There are some that would do it harm. In 1977 The Bennett Mineral Company obtained an industrial waste permit for its kitty litter operation in Pinewood SC, only 1,200 feet from the shores of Lake Marion. The location would more properly be described as only a stone’s throw from Sparkleberry Swamp. According to court records DHEC ”issued the permit without providing a public notice or hearing and prior to the promulgation of either state or federal regulations governing such facilities.” In 1978 the site was purchased by SCA Services and the permit was transferred with the purchase. Over the years the site was owned by several different companies including GSX, Laidlaw, and Safety-Kleen.<br /><br /> Many in our local community were concerned about the possible pollution of the swamp and lake and took action, forming a grass roots organization known as Citizens Asking for a Safe Environment (CASE). On March 14, 1988, my father and four other members of CASE were arrested as they stood in front of the gates leading into the site to prevent trucks carrying hazardous waste from entering the facility. Thoreau would have been proud of their “Civil Disobedience”<br /><br /> The South Carolina Environmental Law Project (SCLEP) representing the Sierra Club, Citizens Asking for a Safe Environment (CASE), SCDNR, Santee Cooper, Sumter County, and Senator Phil Leventis, sued, appealing the permit. In 2000, after fifteen years of litigation, the SC Court of Appeals made rulings which led to the closure of the landfill.<br />The 240 acre site now holds five million tons of industrial waste, including heavy metals, solvents, and cancer-causing PCB’s. Safety-Kleen negotiated a deal with DHEC to provide only a portion of the funds needed to cover the cost of a contamination clean-up and then filed for bankruptcy. Many believe that Safety-Kleen left South Carolina taxpayers holding the bag. Experts debate till this day whether the liners will someday leak into Sparkleberry. The potential for a disaster is actually still very real although we don’t think about it much these days since the hazardous dump is no longer making headlines. The profit motive and the protection of paradise are often at odds with each other. Paradise could be in trouble someday.<br /><br /> Attacks on paradise can come from different directions as well. On May 20, 1981, there was an article in the New York Times which announced the Union Camp Corporation would be building a $600 million bleached pulp and paper mill near Eastover, S.C. and would ultimately employ between 350 and 400 people. Sounds like great news, right? Well, maybe not. Going through Georgetown is sometimes a stinky passage. Not only can paper mills smell bad, they also emit a very dirty effluent into the water.<br /><br /> Many were concerned that the effluent from the paper mill would have an adverse effect on the swamp and the lake. The Citizens to Preserve Santee Cooper was organized to oppose the construction of the paper mill on the Wateree. Fifty Bar-B-Que fundraising dinners, one law suit and court proceedings, and one “Paper Mill Blues “song later, the mill was built anyway. This tale, however, has a much happier ending than the previous horror story, as The Citizens to Preserve Santee Cooper did have a positive effect on the outcome. As pointed out in an editorial in The Item on June 22, 1982 conservationists keeping an eye on the licensing process and on the standards placed on the cleanliness of the effluents being emitted into the river, no doubt helped to save Santee and protect paradise.<br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Investing in Paradise</strong><br /> As we said when we started this epic, we all have our own ideas of paradise. The thought I hope to leave with you this evening is that we all need to make sure we do our part to protect whatever our paradise might be. We need to be ever mindful that protecting paradise is good business and that the relationship between profits and protection must be looked at as a long term investment.<br /><br /> As the afore mentioned editorial points out “a clean environment is everyone’s business.” Based on a true story of strip mining in Western Kentucky, these lyrics from the song “Paradise” written by John Prine, (which is always a favorite in the swamp at Thanksgiving by the way) help me keep it in perspective.<br />“Oh Daddy won’t you take me back to Muhlenberg County<br />Down by the Green River where paradise lay?<br />Oh I’m sorry my son but you’re too late in asking,<br />Mr. Peabody’s coal train done hauled it away.”<br /><br />I don’t want my children and grandchildren (If and when) asking me why I let paradise get “hauled away”.<br /><br />Do you?<br /><br />Presented to the Fortnightly Club<br />Sumter, SC<br />January 19, 2011,<br />Dr. John B. Hilton Jr.Johnny Hiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02154934995931616079noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16352683910149831.post-49447877019080012522009-06-18T14:49:00.005-04:002009-06-23T10:16:50.664-04:00Camping on the 4th<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:0;"></span>Every 4<sup>th</sup> of July week for about five years running when the kids were small, we went camping in the Mountains.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>We went up between Boone and Blowing Rock to a place called Valle Crusis, where the original Mast Store is located.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>We actually camped in the Mast campground, owned by a member of the same family that originally owned the Mast Store. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:0;"></span>I’m talking tent camping here.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>The kids slept on the ground.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I had a folding cot. We cooked on a Coleman stove and over the campfire.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Some of the best bacon and blueberry pancakes in the world.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>(We would bring our own homegrown blueberries.)</p><p class="MsoNormal">There was a creek that flowed around the perimeter of the camp ground.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>The water was freezing…. Of course we had to get in it.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>We would pile up rocks in the creek just below a deep spot to form a pool so we could swim in the frigid water.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>We became friends with a family from <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 /><st1:place><st1:city>Cary</st1:city>, <st1:state>NC</st1:state></st1:place> that came down every 4<sup>th</sup> too.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>They had three girls that my kids loved hanging with.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>The dad loved to trout fish in the creek.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Seems like all he caught were too little to keep. It was great to see them again each year. We still exchange Christmas cards.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:0;"></span>During our stay of three or four days we would always go to the Tweetsie Railroad for an afternoon of fun.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>The first couple of years, the Indian attack on the train seemed very real, and a little frightening to the kids.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>It scared me too when I was a kid…. Those same Indians at the same fort, screaming as they ran though the train car…Some things never change….It was exciting.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:0;"></span>On the actual 4<sup>th</sup> of July, the Valle Crusis Community would have a big picnic at the “park” across the road from the campground, just behind the Mast Store. For a couple of years they had a “bike decorating contest” to see whose bike was best decorated in patriotic garb for the Fourth of July.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>We all had our bikes decorated with red, white, and blue streamers and ribbons.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Just about dark there would be a big fireworks display.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>There was a creek and pond on the lower side of the park and the fireworks crew of “locals”were set up across the pond.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>There was usually some kind of mishap with the fireworks, an unexpected explosion or two, which added to the excitement of the evening.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>It was important to pay attention so as to avoid injury from falling debris as well.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:0;"></span>I don’t know if those old times are as vivid to the kids as they are with me, but I sure enjoyed making those memories.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Spending time with your children is one of the greatest gifts you can give them.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I hope you are making some memories this summer with your kids too… There’s nothing more important that putting “family first”.</p>Johnny Hiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02154934995931616079noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16352683910149831.post-89648419828477668612008-07-08T22:44:00.003-04:002008-07-08T23:15:29.301-04:00Dancing GirlWonder why she loves me like she says she does<br />Wonder why she smiles and say it’s just because<br />It’s the way that I understand her<br />My little Dancing Girl<br />My little Dancing Girl<br /><br /><br />Wonder why at night when she’s by my side<br />The softness of her body, feelings we both confide<br />They make me dream of her morning laughter<br />I need my Dancing Girl<br />My little Dancing Girl<br /><br /><br />Well I know their hearts are yearning<br />By the way their heads are turning<br />When they see her moving ‘cross the floor<br />Whenever she is dancing<br />It’s like magic, it’s entrancing<br />She’ll be my partner forevermore<br />She’s my little Dancing Girl<br />Dancing Girl<br /><br /><br />Wonder when the music calls me far away<br />Why I’m thinking of her and starting to count the days<br />You know she flows through the moments after<br />I love my Dancing Girl<br />My little Dancing Girl<br /><br /><em>Original version Circa 1976</em><br />Revised 2007<br />Copyright 2007 Quiet Place Music BMIJohnny Hiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02154934995931616079noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16352683910149831.post-91351159293076487112008-03-18T20:47:00.010-04:002008-07-07T20:02:49.667-04:00Floatin' The CreekFor several summers when the kids were elementary and middle school age, we vacationed at Pawley’s Island. We rented a house named the “Larboard” that was on the narrow part of the island where there was only one row of houses. It was just a couple doors north of the Pelican Inn. We loved that little house. It was an “ole timey” beach house, with pine floors and pine paneled walls. It had the smell of wood and old books, taking me back to my childhood when it was ok to come running off the beach into the house soaking wet with sand on your feet. <br /><br />You could literally walk off the deck of that little house and step right on the beach. We “laid out” in the sun, walked the beach, rode boogie boards, played baseball, and swam in the surf looking for the next “big wave coming”. Our son John, when he was just a little fellow, would talk to the fishermen and surfers or whoever was on the beach. He never knew a stranger it seemed on the sand at Pawleys.<br /><br />There was a crab dock across the street on the marsh that extended way out through the spartina grass and pluff mud to one of the dozens of small tributaries of the main creek. The crab dock was a favorite spot. Morning coffee, crabbing, fishing, throwing the cast net, enjoying a drink in the afternoon, watching the sunset, and soaking up the moonlight were just a few of the good times we had on the crab dock. It was such relaxing spot and we all felt so close to each other on that little dock. <br /><br />The real highlight of the week for me, however, was always “floating the creek”. Our preferred means of flotation when enjoying this outing was the simplest, a life preserver. That’s right, just get in the water and float, with a “life jacket”; no boat, no float, just a personal floatation device. Sometimes folks did use these other means of floating but it really took away from ones connection with nature so we avoided them. <br /><br />Now, this sounds simple enough, just put on a life jacket and get in the water, but as is the case with most great adventures there were numerous advance preparations required. Timing was of the utmost importance. This voyage was best accomplished when timed perfectly with the turning of the tide in the creek. We always set out just after the marsh was at high tide as the water was starting to make its way back into the sea. The creek needed to have lots of water in it and to be flowing in the right direction. <br /><br />There were other advance preparations as well. One was packing some refreshments or a picnic lunch. The provisions could be as elaborate as desired, keeping in mind however, that whatever was brought along had to either float on its own or be placed on a float or an “inner tube” that drifted with us as we floated gently along. And finally, we had to place a car at the north end of the island so that when the trip was over we would have a ride back. <br /><br />We always got in the creek at the north causeway bridge. There were usually some fishermen there, wondering what in the world two grown people and their children were doing, walking down through the granite rocks at the bridge, stepping in the mud, and getting into the creek with life jackets on. We just chatted with them, being friendly, asking if they were catching anything, commenting on the beautiful day and such.<br /><br />Getting in the water and floating along was like heaven. Not a worry in the world........unless you were concerned about cutting yourself on oyster beds, getting nibbled on by crabs, fish or other underwater creatures, being snared by fishing lines running out from docks, or getting run over by a fishing boat. It didn’t make a bit of sense to me why our then very young daughter Margaret might be thinking about any of this. For reasons never understood by me, Margaret sometimes appeared to have mixed feelings about floating the creek. These concerns were usually brushed off as being overly paranoid and we proceeded on our way to a fantastic interaction with Mother Nature.<br /><br />The sights, sounds, smells, and feel of the salt marsh are a sensual paradise when you are floating along in it. The warm sun, the cool salty water, and the breezes all titillated our senses. There were gulls and terns flying and sitting on the water, their occasional calls sailing over the creek, piercing the serenity of the moment. Fish would break the surface, sometimes jumping completely out of the water like miniature dolphins. And all along the way were the oyster beds, spartina grass, and pluff mud. <br /><br />Sometimes we would drift to the shallow part of the creek and walk along on the bottom. We always wore old tennis shoes or “water shoes”, as we called them, to protect our feet from anything on the bottom that might be sharp or hurtful. Some spots in the creek had sandbars where we could stand up and get out of the water for a minute. There was always something to see, hear, smell, taste, or touch.<br /><br />There were people along the way too, on docks and in boats. Some were fishing, others just riding, while some were grilling or having a drink on the crab docks. They were enjoying the bounty of nature and the beauty of the day just as we were. It was fun to chat with them. Some we met along the way seemed curious about our little band, floating gently down the stream. Others seemed to understand perfectly what we were about, as if they had done the same themselves at some point.<br /><br />When we rounded the last curve in the creek there were the breakers and the ocean. What a magnificent sight. The current was really strong where the creek flowed into the inlet as it met the sea. It was an exillerating and often scary end to the voyage. <br /><br />Sometimes we would get out on the Litchfield side of the inlet and walk up the beach and explore the dunes. Back in those days there was no development for a long, long way up the beach. It was beautiful pristine barrier island beach. If we were ready to call it a day we would get out on the Pawley’s side and make our way to the car we left earlier. We were tired, a little pink from the sun, wet, wrinkled and sticky from the salt water, but always fulfilled. The kids would be a kind of fussy on the walk to the car, moaning about how hot it was, but all knowing we had a great time.<br /><br />Things are always changing, some for the better, some not. The kids are older now, both in college, that’s a good thing. The little house has been knocked down and replaced with a newer bigger one, that’s a bad thing. Although it’s been a while since we’ve been in the creek, I’m pretty sure it’s still there, having changed hardly at all. The creek is rising and falling with the turning of each tide, just waiting for you and me to come enjoy it. This summer just might be the right time to get the gang back together, go down to Pawley’s, revisit some memories, and float the creek again. <br /><br /><em>Feb/March 2008</em><em></em>Johnny Hiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02154934995931616079noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16352683910149831.post-70017552770163920322008-03-02T12:18:00.010-05:002008-07-07T20:03:38.142-04:00Dawn at Wyboo Creek<em><strong>Day One</strong></em><br />Dawn is breaking over Wyboo Creek. There’s a hound straight across the way that's baying in long mournful drawls every few seconds. A pair of wood ducks pass in front, winging up the creek. The sky begins to lighten and the exact spot the sun will come over the trees becomes apparent. Crimson arms reach out to herald its arrival. <br /><br />The first boat is moving my way. As it moves directly in front it stops. The men inside reposition a piece of gear. Their conversion carries across the water as they discuss their eventual destination and their anticipation of a good catch based on what they’ve been told. As they move away the lapping of the water against the pilings of the dock and the boats tied to it, join the splash of a fish as it breaks the water a few yards out. An osprey circles the water to the north and screams as he perches in a tall pine. <br /><br />Off to the right there is a voice coming from Camp Bob Cooper. Some one is up early over there too, as the sun has not yet made it over the trees. A chorus of purple martins sit on the rail of the dock next door and are busily talking about their plans for the day. They are sitting in a line, almost perfectly spaced, just singing away. As the sun breaks over the trees they mysteriously hush, or is it the sound of the approaching boat that quiets their conversation? Two fishermen on an old covered pontoon move by, headed for the big water. The wake finally reaches the bank, splashing and licking at the retaining wall holding up the lawn. <br /><br />Applause suddenly rings across the water. There’s a group at Bob Cooper already up and in the midst of their morning opener. More clapping rings out. Their morning activities begin early. Another boat passes headed toward potato creek. The day is coming on. Soon the solitude and serenity of the early morning will be replaced by the roar of jet ski’s and boats racing up and down.<br /><br /><em><strong>Day Two</strong></em><br />Had a rain last night. A little thunder and lightning. This morning it’s very quiet. There’s a dove across the lake making it mournful cooing. A goose is honking in the distance. Seems much quieter this morning than yesterday. Gentle breeze, the flags on the neighbor’s pole are barely moving. As the morning approaches the sounds of birds increase. One’s chirping, and a woodpecker knocking on a tree. <br /><br />It’s a Sunday morning. From a human standpoint those are usually quieter. Nobody working on their house, no hammering or sawing this morning. It‘s not like it used to be, however. Many more people now have to work on Sunday’s than year’s back. Lots of retailers open on Sunday. The Old Southern Agrarian custom of a day of rest has changed with the passing of so many other things in our society. The first boat is coming up the way. Not so many fishing boats today either. Seems Saturday is still the preferred day for fishing. <br /><br />The water is still and flat. What a great morning for water skiing. When I was a teenager, early in the morning and just before dark were our favorite times to get behind the boat. You could jump the wake and cut with no worry of your slalom dipping from a wave on the water. Sometimes we would ski until almost black dark and the bugs would start hitting us in the face. Were those the good old days or are we living them now? I vote for now….<br /><br /><em>Spring 2007</em>Johnny Hiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02154934995931616079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16352683910149831.post-83460020699542647822008-02-24T15:17:00.007-05:002008-07-15T10:20:16.199-04:00Like The ChildrenYou call me up and tell me that you’ve two kids and a home<br />Their daddy makes good money but you hate to be alone<br />It’s years since I’ve laid eyes on you, now we’re talking on the phone<br />And it all seems like just the other day<br /><br />Sometimes no one answers when I ask a reason why<br />Did I say believe me and then watch you start to cry<br />Is it someone else’s dream that makes it all seem real<br />I forget, won’t you tell me how you feel<br /><br />Time slips along you know<br />For some it’s almost gone you know<br />Mine is right now and so<br />I’ll sing for you, Oh let it ring true<br /><br />Children born to friends of mine they learn and love and need<br />Old folks who can’t see so well, still life’s lessons they can read<br />They’ll tell you all they can about the things that they have seen<br />Like the children they are learning<br />Like the children they are yearning<br />To be free<br /><br /><em>circa 1977<br />Copyright 1978 Quiet Place Music BMI</em>Johnny Hiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02154934995931616079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16352683910149831.post-52492106945312068532008-02-03T14:37:00.002-05:002008-07-07T20:04:35.207-04:00Family First IICommon sense tells us the people a child grows up around significantly influence that child's growth and development, particularly in the first few years of life. Our family really determines the kind of start we get in life. Language development is one of those things upon which families have a huge influence. As infants and toddlers, we listen to our parents and siblings and that’s how we begin our language development. We speak English because we listen and learn from our parents and siblings who also speak English. Early language development is our ability to process sounds, and understand words and phrases. The receptive vocabulary of young children, those words and phrases that one understands and responds to when heard, is a direct result of the conversation and language interaction that children have with their parents and siblings. That’s why it is so important for parents to talk with and read to their children. <br /><br />The more language interaction children have the better. It doesn’t matter what language or dialect, the important thing is that the mind learns to process language and verbally interact with another human being. The interaction component is where television falls short. Kids learn so much more from conversation and interaction with parents or siblings than they do from simply listening and watching TV. Likewise, when someone reads to a child, there is also the opportunity to interact by asking questions, explaining, and discussing what is being read. Children’s early language development is based on the language interaction of their parents.<br /><br />I can share a personal example of this. My father was from rural Berkeley County. In addition to farming, his family ran a butcher shop in a farmers market in Charleston. He spoke using a unique mix of English and low country slang based on gullah and geechee dialects. I think he may have also made up a few words of his own. As a young child I learned this same “low country dialect”. This realization hit home for me when I started school. I seemed to know words that no one else knew…only to find they weren’t words at all; or at least not words one could find in a dictionary or words that the teacher had ever heard. I had picked up these unique words and phrases from my dad. When I went to college the boys in the Kappa Sig house thought I spoke using a unique dialect and accent as well, particularly the way I pronounced the name of my hometown, “Sumptah”.<br /><br />The point here of course, is that it’s not so important the kind of language we are exposed to, it’s really the “richness” or “fullness” of the language experience that counts. If children are not immersed in language during their early years, they will experience difficulty in learning to read when they grow older. It is so important for the parents and grandparents of young children to verbally interact with infants and toddlers. Talking, singing, and reading with an infant or toddler is so fundamental to that child being able to do well in school later on. <br /><br />Children need different kinds of language interaction as well. Looking at words printed on paper is also an important part of the puzzle that leads to a child’s ability to learn to read well. For a child to have books of their own is more important than having toys. Books should be as much a part of a young child’s life as a pacifier and diapers. They don’t have to be expensive books, just any kind of little books. <br /><br />Children learn by watching adults, consequently it is essential for children to see their parents reading. Even if reading is not one of the parents’ favorite things to do, when raising children it’s a must. No one likes changing diapers either, but it’s something you do when you have a child. Reading with, to, and in front of your child is so important if you want them to do well in school. No one ever said raising children was easy. Actually it’s the most challenging and time consuming thing one can do, but it’s also the most important and rewarding. No one is a perfect parent. We can all do better and we will if we always put family first.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Jan/Feb 2008</span>Johnny Hiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02154934995931616079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16352683910149831.post-44414506528991303562008-02-03T08:14:00.002-05:002008-07-07T20:04:53.062-04:00JB's Early YearsMy Great Grandfather was Jeremiah Hilton. He lived in Berkley County in the Sandridge Community on the road between Holly Hill and Charleston. His wife was Elizabeth Smith Hilton. Everyone knew them as Jerry and Lizzy. They made their living on a farm of about 300 acres. All the farming was done with mules. Legend has it that Jerry was a real “Character” with red hair and a fiery temper. They had eight children, one of whom was my Grandfather, Paul Tillman Hilton. <br /><br />Paul and his wife, Gussie Welch Hilton, lived across the road from Paul’s father Jerry, and next door to Paul’s brother, Travis. Sandridge was a rural farming community that didn’t get electricity until 1942. The community drew its name from the long sandy ridge upon which the dirt road to Charleston lay as it passed through the Hilton's property. Paul and Gussie had seven children, the fourth being my father JB, born in 1922. <br /><br />The story goes that JB didn’t have a “name” until he joined the army during WWII. He was “initial named” JB. That’s what everyone called him. When he joined the army he was told he must have a name so he named himself John Bingley. John was a name he just picked out of the air and Bingley was taken from his maternal grandfather, Bingley Welch.<br /><br />When JB was a just a little fellow he established that he was not one to settle for less. His grandparents, Jerry and Lizzy had come over for Sunday dinner. As the meal was being served his mother put a pork chop on his plate. He looked up at her and announced that he wanted “two meats”. Grand Pa Jerry rolled with laughter. It made such an impression on Grandpa Jerry that it generated the nick name, “two meats” which he called little JB for the longest time.<br /><br />Grandpa Jerry was known for his ability to express his feelings in no uncertain terms. JB inherited this quality from his grandfather. A most memorable demonstration of this came about when young JB was denied the opportunity to travel to the market in Charleston. Paul, J.B.’s father, in addition to farming, ran a butcher shop in a farmers market in Charleston. Every weekend he would take fresh meat from the farm down to Charleston for sale in the market. Buck, JB’s oldest brother, often went with his father to help out. As JB got a little older he wanted to make the trip too. One Friday evening, when told he was too young to go, watching as his father and older brother drove off, he threw a “conniption fit”, falling down, kicking and screaming, into the deep wheel ruts in the middle of the sandy road.<br /><br />Time passed quickly, and soon JB grew old enough to help on the farm. As a teenager, he and Tom Brown, a black man that lived next door and helped them on the farm, were repairing a fence line in the edge of the swamp. Cows were foraging in the corn fields that bordered the swamp. As JB and Tom moved along the fence through the edge of the swamp, they discovered an alligator den. JB decided he needed to do something about the alligator as it might be a threat to the cows. After driving a fence spike into the end of a post, he had Tom Brown thrust the post down into the alligator’s hole, agitating the resident. After a minute or so of this, the alligator took hold of the post with its jaws and decided to come out of the hole to determine the source of the problem. As the alligator’s head came clear of the hole, J. B. sunk the axe deep into it's skull. He cut off the tail and took it home as he had heard alligator tail was good to eat. At his urging his mother tried to cook it but said the smell nearly killed her. Gussie threw most of it out to the dogs.<br /><br />As a teenager JB also worked part-time as a laborer for the railroad loading and unloading freight, which included loading cotton bales onto flat cars, at the Holly Hill station. After graduating from Cross High School, JB went to work as a clerk for the railroad. The railroad took him away from the old homeplace in Sandridge and the low country, to a small town in the midlands where he would find a sweetheart that would become the love of his life.<br /><br /><em>06/07</em>Johnny Hiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02154934995931616079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16352683910149831.post-34693875334254747312008-01-30T22:04:00.002-05:002008-07-07T20:05:17.199-04:00Hometown FeelingMoma called me up on the telephone<br />Said boy we sho' are missin you back here at home<br />First chance you get now you come on and see us all<br />You know Granny's sick and she's staying with your cousin Paul<br /><br />I'm going home one of these days<br />I'm going home to stay<br />I'm gonna live on the land I been so near all my life<br />Leave behind all this crazy moving strife<br />Tell all the old folks<br />Hold on I'll be there<br />For all to share<br /><br />Got that hometown feeling <br />Want to see them people I love<br />Young partners got it too<br />We need some help from a friend who looks up above<br />Can't go back just quite yet<br />Too many things here left undone<br />Want to do 'em while I can<br />Remember how it was when you were young<br /><br />I'm going home one of these days<br />I'm going home to stay<br />I'm gonna live on the land I been so near all my life<br />Leave behind all this crazy moving strife<br />Tell all the old folks<br />Hold on I'll be there<br />For all to share<br /><br />When I reach that Island<br />In that unknown sea<br />Sailing on this ship that's hewn from my dreams<br />With sails of song just about you and me<br />I'm pushed on by something that I can't begin to see<br /><br /><em>Circa 1975<br />Copyright 1978 Quite Place Music BMI</em>Johnny Hiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02154934995931616079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16352683910149831.post-80980354395982652322008-01-21T20:16:00.003-05:002008-07-07T20:05:38.352-04:00Family First IEveryone’s connected to a family. Most of the time we’re just born into them, without much say so regarding the circumstances. “You can pick your friends but not your relatives.” We’ve all heard that one. I know some of my cousins probably feel that way about me. We don’t have much input in the selection of our relatives. <br /><br />The way family groups are made up can be as different as the individuals in them. There are, and always have been, all kinds of configurations of adults and children living together. The most important thing about families, however, is not their structure but their purpose. The primary reason families exist is to provide for the needs and well being of those in the group. Providing love and nurture, good health and positive growth, giving emotional and spiritual support for the members of the group, particularly the children, are the reason humans live in families.<br /><br />Families are different, but they all have some things in common. One thing common to all families, no matter what the structure, is the enormous influence they have on who we are and how children develop into adults. Who one becomes as an adult is in large part under the influence of the family members, adults and siblings, he or she grows up with. “The nut doesn’t fall far from the tree”… “Your daddy won’t be dead until you are”… “You’re the spittin’ image of your daddy”…these old sayings are used to describe our resemblance in both appearance and behavior to our parents. <br /><br />Our physical characteristics, of course, are a result of the genes we inherit from our parents. Both the genes we inherit from our parents and the experiences we have when we are young, however, determine our behavior and personality characteristics. It’s the old nature vs. nurture controversy. Which has the biggest influence on our attitudes and behavior, the genes we inherit or environment we grow up in? No matter which side of the aisle you line up on, the family is right in the middle because in most cases it’s responsible for both the characteristics you inherit and those you learn. We are products of the genes we inherit from our parents, and the experiences we have with our parents and our siblings as we are growing up.<br /><br />That is why it is so important for parents to provide experiences for their children that will broaden their minds. These experiences don’t have to be expensive vacations but simple and inexpensive activities right here at home. The first and most important activity is to talk to and with your child at every opportunity. Take them with you whenever possible and interact with them constantly, particularly in their first three years of life. Take them to the park, the library, the grocery store, church, wherever you can, talking constantly with them about the things they are seeing around them. Play with them using their toys or what ever is available to encourage interaction. And of course, read to them and with them at every opportunity.<br /><br />You inherited red hair from your mother, your musical ability from your father. You learned to love the outdoors because your dad took you hunting as a child, and you love animals because your mom always had a soft spot in her heart for strays and took them in as part of the family. These are examples of the influences of nature and nurture. We can’t control the genes our children inherit but we can do something about the things they learn, through the experiences we provide them.<br /><br />Proverbs 22:6 says “Train up a child in the way he should go, even when he is old he will not depart from it”. Being a parent is a miraculous blessing and an awesome responsibility. We can all do better and we will if we remember to always put “family first”.<br /><br /><em>January 2008</em>Johnny Hiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02154934995931616079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16352683910149831.post-57117824463092958832008-01-20T11:27:00.002-05:002008-07-07T20:05:59.723-04:00Granny and Papa'sWhen my sister and I were little children, our family would go to Berkeley County to visit my Dad’s parents. We called them Granny and Papa. They lived in a white clapboard house in a farming community known as Sandridge, about halfway between Holly Hill and Goose Creek. My Grandparents house was across the road from my great-grand parents, and next door to my grand father’s brother. The Hiltons' had been living and farming in this community for several generations. <br /><br />My memories of these visits are quite vivid. One particular visit was in the winter. The heat in the majority of the house came from fireplaces. There was a small kerosene heater in Granny and Papa’s bedroom, but the rest of the bedrooms had only a fireplace. This was wonderful adventure for a little kid. A great fire would be built in the fireplace and my sister and I would snuggle together under a mountain of quilts, all handmade by Granny. When we awoke in the morning the room was chilly, as the fire had burned down during the night. From the kitchen however, the comforting aroma of sausage on the stove drew us out of the bed onto the cold pine floor to scurry to the back of the house. It was always warm in the kitchen. <br /><br />There are many other memories from other visits. The back porch had a squeeky hand pitcher pump that was such fun to use. Outside were farm animals galore, chickens and guinea hens, ducks, hogs, and cows. The most fascinating to us, however, were a pair of mules. Dora was often saddled-up and rode us around the barnyard. There were farm tools and implements from another era to examine and ask about. Behind the house were grapevines that had the sweetest scuppernong and muscadine grapes in the late summer. <br /><br />These are priceless remembrances. Our experiences make us who we are. They often define our perceptions of the world and our place in it. More important than the memories of the fireplace or the quilts or the smell of sausage from the kitchen are those of a loving and supportive family. A family that took care of each other during the hard times, encouraged each other when there was disappointment, and celebrated together when there were accomplishments and successes. Those are the most important memories.<br /><em>Circa 2007</em>Johnny Hiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02154934995931616079noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16352683910149831.post-33566174280903067512008-01-20T11:02:00.002-05:002008-07-07T20:06:20.001-04:00Willis and JaniceWalk in and tell me how you’re feeling<br />It’s been a week since we begun<br />Your Daddy thinks I’m kind of lazy<br />But Lord knows work just ain’t no fun<br /><br />Oh how I love you<br />When your hair is hanging long<br />Some folks think that we’re crazy<br />We’ll just have to prove ‘em<br />We’ll just have to prove ‘em wrong<br /><br />You know your wedding sure was pretty<br />With all the flowers and all the songs<br />But all those fancy things have gone now<br />You just got love to help you along<br /><br />Oh how I love you<br />When your hair is hanging long<br />Some folks think that we’re crazy<br />We’ll just have to prove ‘em<br />We’ll just have to prove ‘em wrong<br /><br />Now nothing in my life is certain<br />Tomorrow night you could be gone<br />But now your bright blue eyes are shining<br />I’ll worry ’bout your leaving later on<br /><br />And when our youth has grown in wisdom<br />And the things we believe ain’t all the same<br />If you're still smiling standing near me<br />Then I’ll be glad that they all came<br /><br />Oh how I love you<br />When your hair is hanging long<br />Some folks think that we’re crazy<br />We’ll just have to prove ‘em<br />We’ll just have to prove ‘em wrong<br /><br /><em>Willis and Janis <br />Married June 9, 1973<br />Written May 1973<br />Copyright 1978 Quite Place Music BMI</em>Johnny Hiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02154934995931616079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16352683910149831.post-9770534920489929972008-01-12T21:44:00.001-05:002008-07-07T20:06:35.517-04:00Finding PigsOur parents are our first and most important teachers. Our first beliefs are given to us by our parents. Some of these stick with us for a lifetime and some we outgrow. The benefits of honesty and hard work might be a lasting value, while Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy take on a different perspective as we grow up. In addition to what our parents are telling us, as kids we are always trying to figure out for ourselves how things work in the world. Our understanding of where babies come from is just one more of those mysteries to be unraveled. <br /> <br />My childhood was shared with every kind of farm animal known to man, plus an assortment of wild things we drug in from the woods. Growing up on a farm gives one a unique perspective on lots of things. The direct contact with nature; the impact of the weather, being outdoors often, the animals and the life and death relationships between them, shape one’s thinking in a way that is different from those whose formative years are not spent in the country. This holds true for early ideas about how things come into the world as well. There were always baby animals on the farm, with more new babies showing up all the time. My earliest memories of these babies and where they came from were about pigs<br /> <br />My father, who was from the most rural part of Berkley County, had many expressions and ways of describing things that existed no where else in the English language, except in our family. One of those descriptive phrases related to the birth of pigs. Daddy would say, “The black and white sow is about to find pigs.” This phrase takes on real meaning when you understand that the moma sows never “found” pigs in the farrowing house, a barn that was a “maternity ward” for hogs. Instead they would break out of the pen and go down into the woods behind the barn and “find their pigs” in the edge of the swamp. Daddy and Harden, a man that helped us on the farm, would go down in the swamp and bring out the pigs in a big tin wash tub. From my perspective, they were carrying a tub full of squealing babies that the mother had “found” in the swamp. For a time as a young child I believed that all animals, and humans too, found their offspring in the swamp or woods somewhere. Since mother sows found their babies in the swamp, I extrapolated that all creatures must find their kids out there in the woods. What an amazing thing, I thought, that babies were out there in the swamp and the mother was able to find them. I had never found any babies out there.<br /> <br />These ideas didn’t last very long, however, since I would soon witness firsthand the excitement of conception and the miracle of birth. With so many animals around us it was just a matter of time until the mystery became even more complex. The amazement grew when I saw with my own young eyes our dog giving birth. It was a mystery that later came to be understood from a biological standpoint but would always be awe-inspiring. The miracle became even more fantastic when I saw my own children come into the world. The two babies that were "found" in the hospital on those two special days were the greatest finds anyone could ever have.<br /><br /><em>Circa 2006</em>Johnny Hiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02154934995931616079noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16352683910149831.post-71605680977908174692008-01-08T06:30:00.001-05:002008-07-07T20:06:47.649-04:00Billy Kohl<em>January 8 is Billy's Birthday</em><br /><br />I share this with you to celebrate the life of our friend Billy Kohl. Billy was many different things to each of us. He was a sportsman. He loved the outdoors. He was a “character.” He loved to joke around, have fun and laugh with his friends. Billy was a generous person. It made him happy to do things for people, and to share with his friends. And most of all, Billy was a loving person. He was a loving father and he loved his family and his friends.<br /><br />I have known Billy for a long time. One of my earliest recollections of Billy is when he was playing basketball in the 9th grade at Alice Drive Middle School. That’s right, playing basketball. He was the smallest guy on the team, but he had the biggest hustle. He always gave it 110%. He was the star of the team, because he was the most fun to watch.<br /><br />In high school, Billy always had a job so he could earn some extra money. His most famous job was when he worked at the car wash on the corner of Broad St. and Miller Rd. He knew every single person that came through the car wash by name and he knew exactly what they wanted for their car. When Billy was in action at the car wash, it was like listening to a symphony orchestra. He was the epitome of suave; everything was so smooth. <br /><br />When we were in high school there was no doubt what Billy was spending his money on: clothes. Billy was always sharp. His shoes were shined, his shirts pressed to perfection, and not a wrinkle in his pants. His senior year Billy was chosen as a senior superlative. He was voted “best dressed” by his classmates. Billy was sharp.<br /><br />In those early high school years we loved to spend the night at Billy’s house on the weekends, particularly if we were planning to be extra mischievous. You see, Billy’s mom was hard of hearing. She wore hearing aids. At night, when she went to bed, she would take her hearing aids out and lay them on the night stand. She couldn’t hear a thing. She would sleep through anything. Back in those days even boys had curfews. We would come in on time, tell Billy's mom good night and then after she was asleep, sneak out again. Well.... one weekend Billy’s older sister, Pam, was home from college and she caught us sneaking back in Billy’s bedroom window at 3a.m. We had been having too much “underage” fun and got in big trouble.<br /><br />When Billy got out of the Army, he became a salesman and was very successful. He won numerous awards. He was salesman of the year, year after year. Eddie and I used to tease him about his plaques, which he proudly displayed. Billy was a hard worker.<br /><br />Billy was a sportsman. He developed his love of the outdoors at an early age. When we were young, anything with fur, feathers, or fins was in mortal danger. Spencer, Hugh, Billy, and I had many an adventure. In time, Billy’s real love became fishing. He was a member of the Sumter Bass Masters. He won fishing tournaments on numerous occasions. Billy could catch fish, big fish. There is a picture of David and him holding a string of so many bass, that are so heavy, it looks like they are both about to have a stroke. I’m sure David will confirm that Billy caught all those fish. :)<br /><br />Billy was a character. He loved to joke around and have a good time. His presence would always fill the room. There was an ambiance about him that was so engaging. He was always playing tricks and making people laugh. When Billy was in the hospital a while back when he had gotten burned, he was tying dollar bills onto fishing line and laying them in the hallway outside his room. When someone would come along and get ready to pick it up, Billy would jerk the line. Billy was one of a kind. You know he brushed his teeth in the shower. He was a clean fellow… When he got out of the shower he wanted to be clean in every way. We all have a Billy story. We can all tell something silly or outrageous he did to get a laugh. He loved seeing his friends have a good time.<br /><br />Billy was a generous person. He would give you the shirt off his back. He loved to entertain his friends. Cooking fish and sharing it with his friends was one of his favorite things to do. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of people have eaten food cooked by Billy. He loved giving to others. He would always try to give you food to take home. "Let me fix you a plate", he would say.<br />When I became the principal of Millwood, Billy found an old mounted pintail at Mom’s house that I had killed while hunting with him when we were in high school. He secretly had it restored and put it in my office as a special gift to help celebrate my success.<br /><br />Billy was generous with his time. He loved to take people fishing. He taught many a kid how to fish. He loved pulling kids on the tube behind his boat. He pulled my kids lots of times. He loved helping kids. He taught my niece how to water-ski. He was a coach. He helped coach some of Justin’s Little League teams. There used to be a picture of Billy and Spencer on the wall at the Y. They had long hair. They were coaching a YMCA Little League football team. Billy helped me with my house: we put down a hardwood floor together with one of his staple guns. Billy was always doing something to help someone. Billy’s heart was as big as the lake that he loved so much. He was a generous person.<br /><br />Billy was a loving person. He was a loving father. He loved his son Justin so much. He loved to take Justin fishing. He had Justin's first fish mounted. It was a little bass that weighed about a half/pound. The size really didn’t matter at all to Billy, he was so proud of Justin. He bragged about Justin playing football in high school. Justin went to Clemson and was a successful student. Billy was always talking about how well Justin was doing. Billy was proud of Justin. Justin now has a wonderful wife, Christine, has a great job and is doing well after college. If you were in a hurry, it just wasn’t a good idea to ask Billy about Justin. You could tell how much Billy loved Justin. And we all know how much Billy loved his friends because we all experienced that love first hand. Billy was a loving person.<br /><br />Life is difficult. We all have our crosses to bear and our demons to face.......<br />But, when it is all said and done, the question is, what will be our legacy? Today we might reflect on Billy’s legacy. If he could speak to us today, I think he would tell us to get out and enjoy the great outdoors. He’d tell us to spend some time with our family and friends in this beautiful world with which we are blessed. I think he would tell us to laugh, and enjoy each other. To cut up and be light hearted. I think he would tell us to be generous. He would tell us to give our time, energy and resources to our friends, family and to people we don't even know.<br /><br />When I think of you all,I think of people that Billy loved and people that loved him. That brings me to the most important thing I think Billy would tell us.<br />And that is to love one another. To take care of each other, to allow others to love us, to knock down those things that separate us and keep us apart.<br />But you know, Billy has already told us these things. He told us these things by the way he lived. That is his legacy to us. The way he lived. That is how we should honor and remember Billy.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">December 30, 2005</span>Johnny Hiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02154934995931616079noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16352683910149831.post-30734787877080293212008-01-06T10:02:00.001-05:002008-07-07T20:07:02.511-04:00Hoe Cake<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I want to sing you all a story ‘bout the place that grew my mind<br />It’ll give you just a little peek inside<br />Quilt on my bed and like I said, that rich dirt was my pride<br />But I had to leave it just to say I tried<br />I’m happy for today, tomorrow’s blind<br /><br />To see me now you won’t believe that I was once a child<br />Just a’rocking on my handsome daddy’s knee<br />A pitcher pump and a lighter stump and a mule named Dora Lee<br />They can’t mean the things to you that they do to me<br />Ain’t a West bound plane a curiosity<br /><br />'Cause we had Hoe Cake in the Kitchen, Lawd<br />And pea vine hay outside<br />And a dog or two, they loved to auto-ride<br />And all I ever had to do was to work off half my hide<br />But you know they loved me even when I cried<br />Yea, you know they loved me even when I cried<br /><br />Sat’day ev’nin swimming Moma stops to watch the fun<br />You better look out chil’in that river sho’ can run<br />When I think o’ how they raised me, it makes me proud to be their son<br />I can step back now and look at things they’ve done<br />I hope the best part of their lives has just begun<br /><br />‘Cause we had Hoe Cake in the Kitchen, Lawd<br />And pea vine hay outside<br />And a dog or two, they loved to auto-ride<br />And all I ever had to do was to work off half my hide<br />But you know they loved me even when I cried<br />Yea, you know they loved me even when I cried</span><br /></span><br /></span><em><span style="font-size:85%;">Circa 1975<br />Copyright 1977 Quiet Place Music, BMI</span></em>Johnny Hiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02154934995931616079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16352683910149831.post-74135206225501753072008-01-05T08:13:00.001-05:002008-07-07T20:07:25.796-04:00J.B. came to Sumter with the RailroadJ.B. came to Sumter working for the Atlantic Coastline railroad just after he graduated from high school. He worked in the freight depot. He met a man that worked in the yard office named Van Newman. Mr. Newman went home and told his wife Selma about this hardworking, smart, handsome, young man that was driving a brand new ’41 Ford. Selma thought it would be a good idea to introduce their daughter Elizabeth, who was a senior in High School, to this young fellow. Before you know it, Selma shows up at the depot just about quitting time, with Lib in the car. She honks the horn, as was her custom. Van comes out, but Selma sends him back inside to get that young fellow to meet Lib. Don’t know if it was love at first sight, but it soon became a true love story.<br /> <br />In those days there were only eleven grades in high school. Lib was 17 and a senior when she and J.B. met. After graduation Lib planned to go right to work as her family couldn’t afford to send her to college. Lib’s cousin, Margaret Boone, was attending college at Meredith, a girls school in Raleigh, N.C. and was able to secure a scholarship for Lib who joined her in Raleigh. During Lib’s freshman year at college, J.B.’s work with the railroad sent him for short stints to several others towns including Florence and Cheraw. <br /> <br />The backdrop for this romance, of course, was World War II. The United States entered the war as J.B. and Lib were courting. It wasn’t very long until Uncle Sam called J.B. into the service of his country. He entered the army in the fall of 1943 and was sent to Clovis, New Mexico for training. He was assigned to the Transportation Corp in the 747 Railway Battalion as a telegraph operator because of his experience with the railroad. They planned for Lib to come out to New Mexico where they would get married. In early February of 1944 J.B. sent a telegraph to Lib saying, “Plans have changed. Do nothing till you hear from me. Love, J.B.” Lib thought he was being shipped out overseas. She was upset and worried. Two days later, there was a knock at the door, and there stood J.B. They were married Saturday, February 6th at Selma and Van’s house at 111 E. Charlotte Avenue, in Sumter, S.C. <br /> <br />They went to Orangeburg, S.C. on their honeymoon. Taking a walk on Sunday evening around “downtown” Orangeburg they came upon a church where a service was being held. They heard the congregation singing as they came up the street. The hymns drew them inside. They both loved music and being in church.<br /> <br />J.B. went back to New Mexico and Lib soon followed. They had a little room in a boarding house. The place was full of other couples like them, guys in the army whose wives had come out to spend some time with them before they were shipped out.<br />In late May all the men were restricted to base. Around 1 a.m. on the morning of June 6 Lib was awakened by sirens sounding on the base. She sat straight up in the bed and knew the invasion of France had begun. It was D-Day. First thing that morning Lib went to the base, where all the men were preparing to board a troop train, headed for the east coast and then on to Europe. She found J.B. and they said their good byes. She walked back to the room, crying all the way. <br /> <br />Once at the room she realized she had to go back to the base until the train left, as she might never see J.B. again. Finding a girl at the house who had a car, she caught a ride back to the base. By this time the men were already on the train. Lib just happened to come up at the end of the train. Asking for Head Quarter’s company, she was directed forward. At each car, with men hanging from each one, she would yell out, "Where is Head Quarters Company?" Each time she was directed forward. She was worried that the train might pull off before she found J.B. She broke into a trot, shouting her inquiry as she moved forward. As you might expect, head quarters company was at the very front of the train. She found him just moments before the train moved out. A few more kisses, another goodbye and he was gone. <br /> <br />Gone to France and Germany. Places with strange names like Coblenz, and Remagen. Not usually on the front, he did experience combat action in the Battle of the Bulge, however, when the Germans launched their last big offensive of the war. Thankfully J.B. came home unharmed, to spend the rest of his life with his beloved Lib, who he always referred to with genuine affection as “My Bride”. It was the railroad that brought them together. Their ride on the rails lasted a lifetime.<br /><br /><em>Circa 2006</em>Johnny Hiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02154934995931616079noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16352683910149831.post-15030395954963193402008-01-03T23:56:00.001-05:002008-07-07T20:07:48.378-04:00Question IsLook here James, look here James<br />Can’t you see I’m smiling at you<br />Seems you been too long alone<br />But soon some girl’s gonna catch you<br />So come along, let’s have a drink<br />And talk of these good times passing<br />Laughs deep inside these mirrored halls<br />Good friends are for the asking<br /><br />On this bar stool,<br />‘side this drinking fool<br />I’m thinking Pisces knew<br />Garden dreaming after school<br /><br />Pull the covers from your head<br />Let the cold floor touch your feet<br />I smell the coffee brewing<br />Monday’s here and I must meet<br />A blond haired girl with silver eyes<br />About a place to work<br /><br />Look here James, look here James<br />Women used to make me crazy<br />But the game we play it ain’t the same today<br />I’m getting closer to my lady<br />Preaching Midnight Mass in this barroom class<br />I hope she hears what I been saying<br />To a smoked filled cast, ain’t the drummer fast<br />Question is, just who’ll be staying?<br /><br />On this bar stool<br />‘side this drinking fool<br />I’m thinking Pisces knew<br />Garden dreaming after school<br /><br /><em>Circa 1975<br />Copyright 1977, Quiet Place Music, BMI</em>Johnny Hiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02154934995931616079noreply@blogger.com0