Does anybody really care?

Will anybody at the Reidsville Review even notice there's a problem?

I doubt it.

Go here to see the mess.

A Humble Beginning Home

This is my house.   This is where I was born.  Actually, I was born in Annie Penn Hospital, but this is where I lived for maybe my first couple of years.  My maternal grandfather owned the house for many years.  I don't know if he or his family ever lived in the house.

It's obviously a humble place.  You are looking at the good view.  The other side the house was a total wreck when this photo was made.  I wish I had made a photo of the other side before the house was torn down.

The front part of the house (to the right) was a farm equipment shed that was added many years after the house was abandoned.

The white area on the ground in the photo is snow.

I don't know whether the house had electricity or running water when I lived there.  It certainly had neither by the time I came into possession of it.

I don't know any of the history of the house, other than it's where I lived.  I'm sure my family was not the first occupants of the house.  The house has to be at least 100 years old.

I recall being told a story about my mother cooking a pot of tomatoes in the house and being so enraged at something that my father had (or had not) done that she threw the entire pot of near boiling tomatoes at a wall in the house.  My mother was not an entirely stable woman.

I now regret giving permission for the house to be torn down, except for the front shed part.  It would have eventually fallen down, but it would have stood beyond my lifetime.  I should have let my heirs deal with it.

This is an interesting partial photo of the backside of the house.  It's a double, or possibly a triple exposure.  The woman in the hat, who is my tomato-slinging mother, is not standing in an inflatable swimming pool with my older brother and my paternal grandfather (William Moore) is not mowing the water.  I'm not sure any of the three were even anywhere near the house.

Notice the clothesline in the background.  This is a good indication that there was not an electric dryer in the house.

I like the steps that led out the back of the house.  They give a genuine rural feeling to the premises.  It was indeed a very rural home.

My maternal grandfather lived in a much nicer house not more than 50 yards away.  The nicer house, though not refined, is where I now live.  Yes, that's right...I live only 50 yards from where I was born.

On the surface, it seems I've lived a sheltered life.  I've only moved 50 yards.  But there's been a lot of life crammed into those 50 yards.

This is another shot at the rear of the house.  I assume it was made at the same time as the first photo or my mother never changed clothes.  Either option is a possibility.

When I was in high school, I remember wearing the same pair of rubber boots that she is wearing.  Besides being somewhat unstable when it came to cooking tomatoes, my mother was a very frugal woman.  I can tell you some tales about her frugality that will make you shutter.

I also remember wearing the same pith helmet she is wearing.  I was never told the story of the pith helmet, but I suspect it is associated with the time my father served in the military in India.

The building in the distant background still stands.  It is much larger than it appears in this photo.  It was used by my maternal grandfather to store tobacco that had been dried and other farming odds and ends.

The small building to the right is an outhouse.  There was no bathroom in the shack or in the next house that my family moved into after leaving the shack.    I was too young to care whether we had a bathroom with running water.  Most of the time I just shit in my pants and let someone else worry about it.

I will show you the second house in a later story.

Between my mother and the outhouse, you will see what looks like an abandoned truck.  I would not bet that it was abandoned.  It may have well been our family car.

I am amazed that mother appears to be mowing the lawn with a gasoline-powered mower.  It's definitely an old mower, but a gas-powered mower seems particularly extravagant for my family.

If you've been paying attention, you probably noticed the clothesline has disappeared.  That's either magic or the result of the multiple exposures.

When I was four years old, my father made a decision that would change our lives.  I will tell you about that decision at a later date.

Hopefully, my older brother can contribute something to this story.  I have no memory of living in the shack, but I am sure he does.

I thank the Reidsville.Review for publishing these stories about my family.

Grandpa's Gas Pump

This is my Grandfather's gas pump.  Well, it's actually our gas pump now.  Grandpa passed away in 1969. 

The pump stands beside the driveway that leads to our house.  Spokesmodel Debbie stands a tad over five feet, so I'm guessing the pump is about eight feet tall.

Again I'm guessing, but I'd estimate the pump is 75+ years old.  The farmhouse was built in the 1920s, but I doubt the pump was put in when the house was built.  Grandpa ran the farm on mule-power.  He originally had no need for gasoline.

Here's a close up of the pump nozzle.  It's still  in pretty good shape.

I've removed the nozzle from it's holder on the side of the pump and placed it with the pump handle.

To pump gas from the underground storage tank you pushed the pump handle back and forth and filled the glass container at the top of the pump.

The black rubber-like hose that connects the nozzle to the glass container is also still in good shape.  That has to be some tough-ass hose to have withstood 75 years of weathering.

Because the pump is much older than I am, I'm again guessing the "CONTAINS LEAD" warning was added well after the pump had been installed.  

That's "TETRAETHYL" at the bottom of the warning label.  I have no idea what "TETRAETHYL" is, but I know it was introduced in the 1920s as an aid to engine compression.  

The U.S. government didn't become concerned about lead in gasoline until the 1970s.  I don't remember whether the warning label was on the pump when I was a little boy.

There is another identical warning label on the opposite side of the pump.

I'm going to take another guess with this pipe on the side of the pump.  I believe it was opened to allow air to enter the underground tank as the gasoline was pumped into the glass gas container.  The pipe prevented a vacuum from being created in the underground tank.

I suppose it could have also been used to pump excess gas back into the underground tank.

If you know more than I do about old-fashioned gasoline pumps, please speak up.  I could be wrong.

All I remember is pulling the tractor up to the pump, cranking the handle, filling the glass container, and then draining the gasoline into the tractor.  It was a helluva thrill for a young kid.

Obviously rust has started to attack some parts of the pump.  I'm hoping my son will remove the rust and restore the pump to it's original Pure Oil blue color. 

Some people, who rented the house for a short period of time, painted the pump green.  They also did some really dumb things to the interior of the house.

This is a close-up of the pipe.  That's a lock in my hand to prevent the pipe from being opened to breathe into the underground tank.

This is a view of the glass gas container.  It's numbered from the top down with 1-9, which represents gallons.  I know it filled from the bottom up.  The reverse numbering makes no sense to me.  

 

Debbie has her foot planted beside the steel fill cap to the underground tank.  You can't see it very well, but the fill cap is on a concrete square near the pump.  I have to be careful not to mow over the cap.

I've been offered several thousand dollars for the pump, but so far I've resisted the money.  It's my heritage that keeps the old pump in my front yard.

Sheriff Page Joins The Embers

Click images to enlarge

Who remembers 1959?  If you do, you're old as shit.  That's when The Embers started up.

Back in those days Rockingham County Sheriff Sam Page wasn't the lead vocalist for The Embers Band, but things have changed.  Sheriff Page has cue cards to remember all the lyrics, but he's still kicking out the jams for the people of Draper Village.

The Embers Band played all the 50+ year-old tunes they could remember at the Betty Ann Wright Memorial Stage.  Have you never heard of the Betty Ann Wright Memorial Stage?  Well, don't feel bad, I haven't heard of it either.  But, it exists.  The Embers, featuring Sam Page, played there at an almost bearable volume.  The BAWMS is located in the heart of Draper Village, not far from the Tommy Woodall Memorial Barber Shop

Hundreds of listeners gathered to cut a rug in a sand "mosh" pit while The Embers played tunes by the Showmen, the Tams, and maybe somebody else.

If you knew the right people, you got an ALL ACCESS pass to all the backstage activity and a free ride in a golf cart to the closed BIG HOUSE (sorry no photo).

Some say there are no black people in Draper Village, but I know that's not true.  I spotted this one black fellow at The Embers shindig.  It was reported a black female was also seen at the event.  That makes a total of two.   It's funny The Embers were playing mostly music by black artists, but there were damn few black people in attendance.  It's a mystery to me.

The Embers have come a long way from their days riding around the country in a Dodge van and a U-Haul trailer.  Now they travel in an eighteen-wheeler with the The Embers Agency 4420 Rygate Dr Raleigh NC 27604 (919) 876-9431 on the door.  Sheriff Page has really jacked them up a notch or two.

Go Topless!

** IMPORTANT REMINDER **

Saturday August 26th is the 10th Anniversary of National Go TopLess Day.

For more information on how and where you can celebrate the event, go to:

www.gotopless.org

I will be attending a party of close friends (all topless).

I hope you enjoy the festivities😃😲!😀

Story of the Tombstones

Here is where my grandfather's story takes a somewhat depressing turn.  

I know the above tombstone is not easy to read unless you enlarge it.  My Grandfather Albert L. Wall ("Old Man Al") is buried on the right.  His wife (my grandmother) is buried on the left.  Grandpa died in 1969, not 1968 as I originally wrote.  He was born in 1882, which means he was 87 when he died.  At least I was close when I made my original estimates.

It's been a few years ago and my memory is not getting any clearer.  There are some things I am certain about.  I remember it was a very cool night - a wear-a-sweater kind of night, which means it must have been in the fall or winter.

I was walking down the sidewalk in front of Wilkerson's Funeral Home when it was in the old home on the corner of Main St. and Harrison St. in Reidsville.   I remember I was crying because my grandfather was in a coffin in Wilkerson's.  I was outside on the sidewalk because I didn't want anyone to see me crying.

I was never told much about the circumstances of Grandpa's death.  He was sent to Annie Penn Hospital.  He was there a few days and then died.  There was talk about a case of diverticulitis, which means his intestines fell apart and infection took over his body. 

I remember Grandpa's body was brought to his home (where I now live) and lay "in state".  I remember looking in his casket and seeing his body.  

I only recently learned the "living room" where Grandpa was laying was originally called the "death room" in the 1800s and the early 1900s because it was often used to display deceased relatives.  I suppose it was changed to "living room" because "death room" sounds too creepy.  I know my grandmother never used that room for anything other than to accommodate an overflow crowd on Thanksgiving Day.  

The room was so pristine that the furniture was covered in tight-fitting plastic to protect it from dust.  I can remember going to Grandma's every Sunday and crashing in her "living room" on her "plastic" couch because I was so exhausted from playing in a band on Saturday night and getting up and going to Mass at 9 AM on Sunday and then driving an hour to Grandma's.  It never bothered me that only a few months earlier Grandpa had been laying "in state" in the same room.

My wife now watches TV in the "death room".

This is the headstone for Albert D. Wall, my great-grandfather.  I believe the "D" stands for David.  It should be much easier to read.  He was born in 1833 and died in 1922, which means he was almost 89.

I've heard that he fought in the American Civil War and his age is right for the period.  He would have been about 30 at the time.  Why the man went into battle is something I will never understand.  He had no slaves.  I suppose he was drafted and needed the money paid by the Army.

Whatever the reason, he was wounded, but survived the conflict and went on to have seven children.

I've also heard that he raised horses for the Confederate Army and made moonshine liquor for the troops.  He supposedly also ran what might be called a "convenience store".  It was located just yards from his house.  Part of it still stands today.

Who knows what's true.  Maybe it's all true.

He built the house that my grandfather eventually owned and lived in.  It is (or was located) just a few hundred yards from my/Grandpa's house.  Before it burned down, I went in it a time or two.  It was a large wooden shack (two stories, I believe) where Grandpa housed tenant farmers.  These were farmers who raised Grandpa's tobacco for a share of the crop when it was sold.  

I am told the staircase had secret compartments that held a nest of liquor bottles, evidence of his possible bootlegging past.

I remember a hand-dug well in the yard behind the house with a bucket and a rope.  It was probably dug soon after the Civil War.

That well is now located underneath a house that I now own.  The shack burned down and Grandpa replaced it with a cheap house and then my wife and I built a much nicer house around the cheap house.  The top of the well has been shaved off and it has been covered in concrete, but the unused hand-dug well is still under my house and is still filled with water.

My Mother owned the house and property for about 10 years before selling it to me.

We now rent that house out.

My past is not refined.  I am living only a step or two beyond some very roughed, hard-living people.

This is the tombstone for my uncle.  He was Grandpa's eldest child.  His name was Albert J. Wall.  I've never heard him called anything other than Al Joe.  I assume the "J" stood for Joseph which is interesting because my middle name is Joseph. 

I was always told I was named after Joseph H. Christ, the father of Jesus H. Christ, but now I am getting suspicious of that story.  My birth certificate actually has no middle name on it - it just lists me as Richard Moore.  I adopted my middle name when I was 12 years old and confirmed in the Catholic church.  I'm not sure "adopted" is the right word.  I'm not even sure what "confirmed" means, other than I went to a special "confirmation" class for about a week where I learned how to kneel and kiss the Bishop's ring.

"Given" my middle name is probably more correct.  I never understood why I had no middle name when all the other kids, even the Catholic kids, had middle names.  

I went by Richard J. Moore for a very long time - high school, college, work.  My social security card even says I am Richard J. Moore.  The only things that don't have my middle name are my birth certificate and my drivers license.

My older brother had the same experience with his middle name.  However, in his early twenties he made the effort to have his birth certificate changed to reflect his confirmation name.

Growing up Catholic was a very strange experience.  The Catholicism came from my father's side, not my mother.

Anyway, back to Al Joe.  If you enlarge the photo you will see he was a very young man when he died - 19 years plus 7 months and 14 days.  

When visiting the cemetery, I noticed a lot of older tombstones list the years, months and days of life.  You don't see that so much these days.  

 Al Joe served in World War II.  He fought in the Battle of the Bulge.  The Battle of the Bulge was Germany's last great stand against the allies.  The battle began on Dec. 16, 1944.  Al Joe was killed on Dec. 20, 1944.  The war with Germany ended in May, 1945 when Hitler committed suicide.

My wife and I were married on Dec. 20th.

If you look at the top of the tombstone, you can barely make out a very worn photograph of Al Joe.  The photograph above is what is on the tombstone.

I am told it was many years before Al Joe's body was returned home from Europe.  My older brother says he remembers it.  A soldier stood guard over Al Joe's body as it rested in the "death room" at Grandpa and Grandma's house.  My brother remembers eating breakfast with the guard, a breakfast made by my Grandmother.

At some point a detachment of soldiers came to Grandpa's house and fired a three round salute to Al Joe.

The body was eventually moved to the cemetery where my Grandfather, Grandmother, Al Joe, and another uncle are now buried.  

When I was a young boy I can remember my Grandmother showing me a copy of a 1944 Life Magazine.  The issue contained a large photograph of American troops marching into Paris.  Grandma said one of the soldiers at the front of line was Al Joe.  Unfortunately that magazine and Al Joe's Purple Heart disappeared when my Grandmother died, along with a lot of other memorabilia. 

I won't mention the name of the other uncle buried in the same cemetery because he was crazy as hell and mean as a rattlesnake.  He too lay "in state" at my house, but for an entirely different reason.

There were also two daughters that are buried elsewhere.  One was my mother and another my aunt.  Later on I will show you a photo of my Mother's grave.

I noticed a lot of children less than 10 years old were buried in the cemetery with Grandpa.  I think the youngest was one day old and another two days old.  Many were five or six.  It was not an easy task to grow old in the past.  My grandparents were lucky, which means I too was lucky.

This is the tombstone for one of my Grandpa's brothers.  He was born in 1879 and died in 1951.  His name was Bam L. Wall.  I guess that was his full and proper name.  He is the only person I've ever heard of named "Bam".  

Isn't "BAM!" what Chef Emeril Lagasse used to say whenever he threw a little cajun spice on whatever he was cooking?

There is another of Grandpa's brothers buried in the same area.  His name was Thomas.

One of Grandpa's sisters is also buried nearby.  Her name was Rosa.  I understand she died as a result of being over the head with a frying pan wielded by her husband.  He served some time for that incident.

That accounts for four of great-grandpa's seven children.  There may be others buried there also, but many of the tombstone's are nothing but rocks with no markings.  Times were tough in those days.

Quite coincidentally I found a copy of my great-grandfather's will on the same day I wrote my first "Old Man Al - Part 1" story.  I have printed the will above and below.  It's not easy to read nor is it very interesting, but I thought I should preserve it here.

If you do read it, you will see great-grandpa left a sizable estate of 440 acres.  Over the years Grandpa somehow ended up with more than 300 acres.  He bought some of it, traded for some of it,  and finagled for some of it.  I don't think his siblings were very well off and Grandpa seized on the opportunity to buy them out.

Since Grandpa and the unnamed uncle passed on, the estate has dwindled down to pretty much what my wife and I own, which is two houses and about 50 acres of land.

Notice the will is dated in 1915 when great-grandpa was 82 years old. 

Also notice he stipulates that "no one of these 7 lots shall be sold or pond for spirits or liqors of any kind only from a prescription from a dr."

I have no idea what "pond" means.  The only reference I can find is to water.

The notion of a prohibition of selling or ponding doesn't seem to jive with someone who supposedly made "liqor" for the Confederates.

More of my Grandfather's story to follow.

Click images to enlarge

Old Man Al

This is a photograph of my maternal grandfather, Albert Wall. He was known around the neighborhood as "Old Man Al".  He is seated on the carport at the home in which I now live. He built the house in the 1920s.

I'm guessing the photo was made around 1968 by my older brother. 1968 is the year my grandfather died at the age of 88.

I remember Grandpa pretended to be much more blind than he really was. When I was a young child, he would "feel" his money and give me a $5 bill and then ask me to confirm that it was a $1 bill. I didn't fall for his ruse and I would fess up that it was actually a $5 bill. He would laugh and tell me to keep it anyway.

I remember the green wooden "couch" that he is sitting in front of. There were some matching chairs too. I don't know what became of the green furniture.

Notice the dipper hanging on the wall behind his right shoulder. That dipper was used to drink from the faucet that is shown just to Grandpa's right.

The faucet (right beside the first bucket) sticks up about two feet out of the ground and is wrapped in burlap. I always thought the water that it produced was so delicious. The short building next to the big house is a pump house that covered the water pump and holding tank that fed the faucet and house.

The pump house still remains, but it is no longer pumping water. The faucet is gone as is another faucet that was maybe 30 yards away next to our driveway. That distant faucet was used to water the garden and the mules. I believe I remember the faucet emptied into a trough from which the mules drank. The trough is gone too, if it ever existed anywhere other than my imagination.

Grandpa used the mules to plow the garden and pull his wooden tobacco sleds. I can hear him calling "gee" and "haw" to the mules. I think "gee" and " haw" meant turn left or turn right. And of course there was "giddyup" and "whoa".

I have some other memories which I will share over the next few weeks, including my memory of his death and funeral. I believe it is important that I write down these few scraps of information for my descendants.

I would give anything for the written memories of my Grandpa's father. I still shake my head that my great-grandfather fought in the American Civil War. Why? He owned no slaves.

Unfortunately all I have is a tombstone in a cemetery near my home. I will show you that tombstone.