I entered first grade at Eakin School in September, 1932. We lived about a mile from the school and, except for the first day when Mother took me in the car, I walked. That first year I walked with Bob and Marion Buckley, neighbors who lived about a quarter of a mile from us on the way to school. Bob was two years older than I was and Marion, four years older.
Eakin School was a one room, red brick building that housed all eight grades and had been around since before the Civil War. It had actually been used as a recruiting barracks during the Civil War. In the late 1800's my Grandfather and his brothers and sisters had gone to school there. Grandfather's brothers, Smith (Richard) and Clyde, taught there as young men. The red building bricks for the school were quarried and made on site. The building was approximately 12' x 40'x 60' inside dimensions. It had a fairly steep roof with two gable ends. There was only one door in the building and it was located in the front. Outside, there were four or five steps up to the door. There were four large rectangular windows with multiple panes on each side.
Inside, the room was divided roughly in thirds down its long dimension with, I believe, nine rows of seats except the back-center half was open to the entry door. In front of the door as you entered was a large, round, pot-bellied stove about mid-way in the room that sat on a piece of metal which protected the oily-floor timbers from the heat of the stove. Almost the the entire front wall on the inside, from about three feet above the floor to a height of seven feet, was a large black piece of slate that functioned as a blackboard. The teacher's desk was centered in the front of the room, just in front of the blackboard. Along one side wall near the entry door were three rows of wooden pegs, one above the other, used for hanging hats and coats when school was in session. The other wall had shelves and was used as a library. There might have been forty or fifty feet of shelf space for books.
Outside, in front of the school, was a large graveled area about ten feet wider than the building on both sides and maybe fifty feet deep. Near the far end of this graveled area was the school water supply, a drilled well capped by a long-handled pump standing about four feet high. To drink from this well one had to either have a personal cup somewhere, or as most all of us did, someone pumped while you cupped your hands below the spout to form a cup and drank. A few fussy girls would wash their hands before drinking. The rest of us thought they were showing off and "uppity."
Along the right hand side of the building when facing the school, and about two thirds of the way back, were two large, slanting cellar doors covering the passage way to the area under the school floor. These opened to several steps that led down into a dank, dark, dugout-space beneath the school floor where coal for the stove was stored for use during winter.
Behind the school, and about twenty feet away from the building, were the outhouses–two-holers- one for Boys, one for Girls. Each outhouse had a shielding, wooden wall in front and side of its entry door and a low, sloped, hinged, wooden cover extending out from the back from which the waste material could be removed. As you might imagine, these could become quite aromatic in the early fall and late spring. We boys used to get large, flat rocks, sneak up behind the girls outhouse, quietly lift the covering door and hurl the rocks into the “maggoty” mess hoping to splash some poor unsuspecting girl seated inside.
One time, unknown to us, the school teacher, a woman, was using the facility when some of us older boys did our thing and the flat rocks did their thing. We gloatingly waited for the customary screams, which had always happened with every gal we had caught. Surprisingly, silence. No one in there? Hmmmm. In about a minute, and to our total surprise and chagrin, one angry lady teacher came boiling out of the outhouse. As you might guess, no one would talk, so eight or nine of us were punished severely for that little caper.
On the north side of the school where the school’s long dimension was east-west and the entry door was on the west side, there was a grassy, upward sloping area with about ten very large old oak trees that provided wonderful shade under which to eat our lunches and for horsing around. Mudlick Hollow Road was about one hundred feet from the south side of the school and parallel with it. Going east from the school the road ran flat for just a short distance and then turned down as it wound its way down into “Mudlick” hollow. The road went from the school, where it intersected Sebring Road, all the way to Vanport, a distance of about five miles. During the winter when the snows were deep, this became a prime sled-riding slope. It was so long down to where it first leveled off that we could usually only make one or two runs during our lunch break.
Behind the school was a very large field that was farmed by the Hogue family who were my relatives. The Hogues living there when my syblings and I attended school were descendants of Grandfather’s Aunt Rachel (Holt) and Uncle John Hogue. Corn was frequently the crop of choice and after it was harvested and the slalks cut there remained about a six or seven inch "stob" sticking above the ground. These became flying missiles during recess and lunch times. Believe it or not, no eye was put out during my six years attendance there and "stob" slinging every fall. Don't tell me there wasn't a guardian angel watching over us kids.
The school year in those rural schools was from the day after Labor Day until April 15th the following year, reflecting the fact that the community was still in the transitional stage between being a rural farming community where all available manpower was needed to help with spring planting to more modern times when machinery replaced manpower. Change was in the air everywhere, but in those little one-room schools, time seemed to stand still. World War ll changed all of that almost overnight.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Thomas Holt ll & Elizabeth (Humphry?) Walker
Thomas Holt II, third son of Thomas Holt and Elizabeth Mitchell's nine children, was born in April 1761 in Oliver Twp (?), Mifflin County, Pennsylvania. Mifflin County at that time was still very much frontier country and was recovering from the aftermath of the French and Indian War. Thomas was just 16 when his father, Thomas, on the eve of the American Revolution in 1777, was shot and killed during a target practice session of the local militia. It is hard to imagine the trials and tribulations his mother Elizabeth and the family must have gone through over the next ten or fifteen years. Her youngest child was just three years old at the time.
Thomas II was the oldest male in the household after his two older brothers, William and John, joined the local military unit and marched off to war. Even then, he did serve in the home guard or militia completing four short tours, mainly chasing roving bands of Indians. For that service he was granted in 1840 a Revolutionary War pension #S4400. He was living in Trumbull County, Ohio at the time.
Thomas lived at home untill his mother died in 1798 in Lewistown, Mifflin County, Pennsylvania. He was still a batchelor living at home so his syblings permitted him to continue using his mother's iron cooking ware. It's interesting that such a mundane item as the pots and pans would be considered important enough to list in the final settlement papers. Some time after that he moved to western Pennsylvania and then on to Ohio. Somewhere along the line, either in Mifflin County or Ohio, he met and married a widow?, Elizabeth Walker, b1778, seventeen years his junior. Elizabeth is thought to be the daughter of another Mifflin County couple, William and Jane Humphry.
In the first week of June, 1806, Elizabeth gave birth to twins, William Humphry and Dorcas. Interestingly, William used the birth date of June 4 and Dorcas used June 2. Elizabeth apparently had a very difficult time giving birth to the twins for she died either during the children's birth or shortly thereafter. I have no information on where they were living when the children were born, the date of her death, nor where she is buried. Her death left forty-four year old Thomas with two newborns on his hands. He had been a bachelor for forty-two of those years and obviously knew absolutely nothing about caring for children let alone infants. So the babies were parceled out, William to his grandparents(?), the Humphrey's in Mifflin County Pennsylvania, and Dorcas to Thomas's sister, Eleanore (Holt) Windle and her husband, Francis, who lived in rural Trumbull County, Ohio.
As an interesting aside, the Windles had eight children and shown here is a picture of the second of the six Windle daughters, Mary. The Windle children were, Elizabeth, b25 Oct. 1796, Mary, b3Mar 1799, Dorcas, b7Aug 1801, Eleanore, b15 Jun 1804, William b2 Jan 1808, Rebecca b10 Apr 1810, Francis b6 Apr 1812, Martha Jane bJun 1817.
Thomas II was the oldest male in the household after his two older brothers, William and John, joined the local military unit and marched off to war. Even then, he did serve in the home guard or militia completing four short tours, mainly chasing roving bands of Indians. For that service he was granted in 1840 a Revolutionary War pension #S4400. He was living in Trumbull County, Ohio at the time.
Thomas lived at home untill his mother died in 1798 in Lewistown, Mifflin County, Pennsylvania. He was still a batchelor living at home so his syblings permitted him to continue using his mother's iron cooking ware. It's interesting that such a mundane item as the pots and pans would be considered important enough to list in the final settlement papers. Some time after that he moved to western Pennsylvania and then on to Ohio. Somewhere along the line, either in Mifflin County or Ohio, he met and married a widow?, Elizabeth Walker, b1778, seventeen years his junior. Elizabeth is thought to be the daughter of another Mifflin County couple, William and Jane Humphry.
In the first week of June, 1806, Elizabeth gave birth to twins, William Humphry and Dorcas. Interestingly, William used the birth date of June 4 and Dorcas used June 2. Elizabeth apparently had a very difficult time giving birth to the twins for she died either during the children's birth or shortly thereafter. I have no information on where they were living when the children were born, the date of her death, nor where she is buried. Her death left forty-four year old Thomas with two newborns on his hands. He had been a bachelor for forty-two of those years and obviously knew absolutely nothing about caring for children let alone infants. So the babies were parceled out, William to his grandparents(?), the Humphrey's in Mifflin County Pennsylvania, and Dorcas to Thomas's sister, Eleanore (Holt) Windle and her husband, Francis, who lived in rural Trumbull County, Ohio.
As an interesting aside, the Windles had eight children and shown here is a picture of the second of the six Windle daughters, Mary. The Windle children were, Elizabeth, b25 Oct. 1796, Mary, b3Mar 1799, Dorcas, b7Aug 1801, Eleanore, b15 Jun 1804, William b2 Jan 1808, Rebecca b10 Apr 1810, Francis b6 Apr 1812, Martha Jane bJun 1817.I'm not certain whether Thomas was living with the Windles or just near them. He lived on in Ohio until his death on the 29th of September, 1848. He was buried in the Eckis Cemetery, Milton Township, Trumbull County, Ohio as were the Windles and several of their children. The cemetery is in a rural area in the southern section of the county and is at the end of a fairly long lane leading in from the highway. As you come up on the cemetery the first thing you notice are four, fairly tall. black slate stones. These stones mark the graves of Thomas and the Windle family members buried there.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Spring, Spring, Beautiful Spring at Last.
By now, in rural Brighton Twp, Beaver County, Pennsylvania, on May 9th in the 1930s, school would have been three weeks behind us and long forgotten. Shoes, shirts and long pants would have been abandoned, some hanging in the closet or, more probably, under the bed waiting for Mom to find them. Garden planting and watering time for Rod and me. Sis's assignment would of been to kinda watch baby "Leezer--Squeezer--Squirt,---never Lee" take your pick. The orchards would have been harrowed by Dad or Uncle Frank on the old Fordson Tractor with its steam-emitting radiator and giant, bladed, rear driving wheels churning away.
We would have tested the ponds still-much-too-chilly, murky waters just in case. Little fuzz-ball "peepies" would be clustered around their almost-constantly clucking and scratching old mother hens leading them in search of weed seeds, bugs and, if lucky, a worm. And the mighty majordomo of the yard, big-daddy-turkey-gobbler, would be strutting his stuff for his small harem. Many of the fruit trees would be in blossom and some of Granddad's many flowers would have already exhibited their beauty for everyone's pleasure.
Spring on that old farm was was always a wonderful time for me and my siblings. It wasn't just that we were free of our school chores, we were free to just enjoy and explore everything around us. That kind of feeling is exclusive to youngsters and we had it in abundance.
We had a half-dozen or so neighbor kids to hobnob with: the Buckleys, the Bevingtons, the Gillespies, the Killians and Bankovitches, as well as a half-dozen or so cousins. The cousins were my Uncle Guy's kids, the "Davis Glenn" clan, from over on the Dutchridge Road. Ruth was the oldest, Ronny, next in line, whom we saw only occasionally because he was in the "CCC" (Civilian Conservation Corp), Cleo, Herb, and Ann, the baby of the bunch. We saw them a lot. We either visited them or they visited us.
By then the crows and songbirds would be nesting and Granddad Holt would be watching the skies for the purple martins to arrive and take up residence in the special boxes he had made for them and erected on great high poles. At least they were great high poles to us kids. Small dirt mounds appeared in many of the fields and if you were observant you could catch sight of Momma groundhog and her babies out of their holes enjoying the sunshine and eating the abundant fresh clover. There was "new" everything everywhere, confirmed by the old Burma Shave add which announced: "Spring has sprung, grass has Riz, where last year's wreckless drivers is." What wonderful memories.
We would have tested the ponds still-much-too-chilly, murky waters just in case. Little fuzz-ball "peepies" would be clustered around their almost-constantly clucking and scratching old mother hens leading them in search of weed seeds, bugs and, if lucky, a worm. And the mighty majordomo of the yard, big-daddy-turkey-gobbler, would be strutting his stuff for his small harem. Many of the fruit trees would be in blossom and some of Granddad's many flowers would have already exhibited their beauty for everyone's pleasure.
Spring on that old farm was was always a wonderful time for me and my siblings. It wasn't just that we were free of our school chores, we were free to just enjoy and explore everything around us. That kind of feeling is exclusive to youngsters and we had it in abundance.
We had a half-dozen or so neighbor kids to hobnob with: the Buckleys, the Bevingtons, the Gillespies, the Killians and Bankovitches, as well as a half-dozen or so cousins. The cousins were my Uncle Guy's kids, the "Davis Glenn" clan, from over on the Dutchridge Road. Ruth was the oldest, Ronny, next in line, whom we saw only occasionally because he was in the "CCC" (Civilian Conservation Corp), Cleo, Herb, and Ann, the baby of the bunch. We saw them a lot. We either visited them or they visited us.
By then the crows and songbirds would be nesting and Granddad Holt would be watching the skies for the purple martins to arrive and take up residence in the special boxes he had made for them and erected on great high poles. At least they were great high poles to us kids. Small dirt mounds appeared in many of the fields and if you were observant you could catch sight of Momma groundhog and her babies out of their holes enjoying the sunshine and eating the abundant fresh clover. There was "new" everything everywhere, confirmed by the old Burma Shave add which announced: "Spring has sprung, grass has Riz, where last year's wreckless drivers is." What wonderful memories.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Jeremiah & Rebecca M. (Evans) Smith, Hancock Co,, WVA
Jeremiah E. Smith, son of John and Annie M. Smith, first saw the light of day in County Kildare, Ireland in the year 1825 ( according to his entry in the 1860 census, Fairview, Hancock County, Virginia). I have not been able to find when the family migrated to America. What I do know is that he married and that his first wife, Ann, died in Hancock, County, West Virginia on 8 July,1859 and is buried in the Methodist/Protestant Church Cemetery, New Manchester, Hancock County, West Virginia. I could not find any record of children or whether she was from Ireland or America.
Two and a half years later, on the 21st of January, 1862, in New Cumberland, Hancock County, West Virginia, Jeremiah married Rebecca M Evans daughter of Isaac W. and Ruth (Dawson) Evans. The marriage lasted until Jeremiah's death thirty eight years later in very early 1900. He wrote and signed his will on August 7, 1899 and it was submitted for probate on July 14, 1900. He was not listed in the 1900 census. He is buried in the New Cumberland Cemetery, New Cumberland, Hancock Co., West Virginia.
They had ten children over a period of twenty years, all born in Hancock County, West Virginia, Ann b1862, Isaac Kirby b18 February, 1864, Fanny Bell b23 March, 1866, John H b1868, George R. P. b5 January, 1870, Benoni Edward bNovember 1873, Ida bJanuary 1876, Blanche. b1878, Samuel, b1880 and last but not least, Bessie May, b13 January, 1883. I have death dates for only three of the ten, Isaac, 24 August 1864, Fanny Bell, 3 December, 1926 and George R. P., 24 October, 1928. In the 1900 census of the Clay District, Hancock County, West Virginia, only three were still at home with their mother, George, Samuel and Bessie. Rebecca lived on another twenty years until 2 February, 1820. She is buried along side of Jeremiah in the New Cumberland Cemetery. Interestingly, her daughter, Fannybell lived only four more years dieing in Redondo Beach, California 3 Dec 1924. She is buried alongside her husband, John Newton Thornhill in the Inglewood Park Cemetery, Inglewood Park, Inglewood, California, Los Angeles County, California.
If anyone who reads this has any information on any one in this family, marriages, children,
pictures, deaths ,etc. I would really appreciate receiving it. Also, I have come across pictures of Jeremiah and Rebecca and will add them as soon as I get them.
Two and a half years later, on the 21st of January, 1862, in New Cumberland, Hancock County, West Virginia, Jeremiah married Rebecca M Evans daughter of Isaac W. and Ruth (Dawson) Evans. The marriage lasted until Jeremiah's death thirty eight years later in very early 1900. He wrote and signed his will on August 7, 1899 and it was submitted for probate on July 14, 1900. He was not listed in the 1900 census. He is buried in the New Cumberland Cemetery, New Cumberland, Hancock Co., West Virginia.
They had ten children over a period of twenty years, all born in Hancock County, West Virginia, Ann b1862, Isaac Kirby b18 February, 1864, Fanny Bell b23 March, 1866, John H b1868, George R. P. b5 January, 1870, Benoni Edward bNovember 1873, Ida bJanuary 1876, Blanche. b1878, Samuel, b1880 and last but not least, Bessie May, b13 January, 1883. I have death dates for only three of the ten, Isaac, 24 August 1864, Fanny Bell, 3 December, 1926 and George R. P., 24 October, 1928. In the 1900 census of the Clay District, Hancock County, West Virginia, only three were still at home with their mother, George, Samuel and Bessie. Rebecca lived on another twenty years until 2 February, 1820. She is buried along side of Jeremiah in the New Cumberland Cemetery. Interestingly, her daughter, Fannybell lived only four more years dieing in Redondo Beach, California 3 Dec 1924. She is buried alongside her husband, John Newton Thornhill in the Inglewood Park Cemetery, Inglewood Park, Inglewood, California, Los Angeles County, California.
If anyone who reads this has any information on any one in this family, marriages, children,
pictures, deaths ,etc. I would really appreciate receiving it. Also, I have come across pictures of Jeremiah and Rebecca and will add them as soon as I get them.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Send Me Your Pictures, Please
The individual farthest back in time of any of my genealogical lines of whom I have a picture is that of Elizabeth Windle, b25 Oct, 1796, daughter of Eleanore Holt and Francis Windle. With regard to my oldest direct ancestors I have a picture of William Humphrey Holt, born in 1806. He is one of only three of the 16 great, great Grandparents of whom I have pictures. He appears to be friendly, tall, well built, not skinny or fat, obviously dressed for the picture taking occasion and I got the feeling that he was a competent person from his countenance. How about his wife, Mary Noss? I know little or nothing of what she looked like, was she tall or short, skinny or fat, dressed well or was sloppy. All I know is my Grandfather Holt described her as being small, fairly agile, enjoyed sitting on her front porch in the evenings smoking a small, white-clay pipe. A picture of her would be worth more than a thousand words of description. The other two you haven't seen yet: Jeremiah Smith b1831, and his wife Rebecca Evans, b l844, are the only pictures I have of any of my sixteen great, great Grandparents.
I am fortunate I have pictures of five of my eight great Grandparents, Mary Ann (Taylor) Holt, John and Fanny Bell (Smith) Thornhill and John and Agnes Baxter (Ecoff) Childs. I would really appreciate getting pictures of the other three, Samuel Jacob Holt and Joseph and Sarah Ann (Kennedy) Davis. Unfortunately, few people smiled for their picture taking in the early days of photography, it took too long to take the picture, so most were solemn, almost pensive, while they waited for the blinding flash and the photographer to say okay. But that doesn't matter, I can still form an image of what they looked like if I have a photo of them.
If any of you out there have photos of any of the folks listed above, or their ancestors or descendants, I would really appreciate having a copy. I'll happily pay for the reproduction. I'd just like to know what they look like. I don't want to restrict my desire for photos to just my direct ancestors, I'd like photos of any of their descendants right up to today. Photos can be exchanged via the Net without any cost. If I publish a photo that you would like a copy of, just ask and it will come flying your way. I promise you I will not publish a photo of any living person without that person's consent. I'll wait awhile and then publish the pictures I have as a group.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Lorenzo Childs, my Great Great Grandfather
Lorenzo’s birth place has long been an enigma for me. I first find him in the 1830 Brooklyn, Kings County, New York Directory as proprietor of his own store. He does not show up there in the 1830 census. Why?, Who knows? It was here that Lorenzo met the love of his life, Ann Caroline Marshall. She was born 8 May, 1813, the fifth child of John Marshall and Sarah Dayrell, all of whom were born in Barbados, British West Indies. Both John and daughter Ann Caroline were born in St. Thomas Parish and Sarah was born in St. Michael Parish, Barbados. As an interesting aside, back along the Dayrell line one of the Dayrell women was the mother of Jane Seymore, one of King Henry the 8th's many wives.
In those years Barbados had a large population of black slaves who from time to time revolted resulting in many deaths of both whites and blacks. Several years after one such revolt and with rumors flying of another, John, in 1821, moved his family to the United States, settling in Brooklyn, New York. It was in Brooklyn where Lorenzo and Ann Caroline met. At some point, John and Lorenzo decided to joint-venture Lorenzo’s grocery store and in the 1833 Brooklyn Directory, the store is listed as “Childs & Marshall Grocery.” Tragedy struck soon after the joint venture was consummated. John Marshall died..
In the 1840 Beaver County census I find Lorenzo enumerated with an adult female and two young males under ten. The family then moved to Fallston to take advantage of the waterpower provided by a lively set of falls on the Beaver River. The third child, Nancy Anna, was born 5 December, 1840, a nice Christmas present. Unfortunately, Ann Caroline never really recovered from Nancy’s birth and tragically died the following 21st of March, 1841.
Lorenzo was obviously a hard worker and a hustler, trying all kinds of things to make a living. In many ways he had a good and successful life. He went into the machinery business with considerable success, establishing his operation in Smith’s Ferry, Pennsylvania. Another of his entrepreneurial ventures was drilling for oil, interestingly, it was at the same time as Colonel Drake, who was credited with bringing in the very first oil well anywhere. Drake made his momentous discovery near Titusville, Pennsylvania, not far from where Lorenzo’s efforts were taking place. As they say, close counts only in the game of horseshoes.
In those years Barbados had a large population of black slaves who from time to time revolted resulting in many deaths of both whites and blacks. Several years after one such revolt and with rumors flying of another, John, in 1821, moved his family to the United States, settling in Brooklyn, New York. It was in Brooklyn where Lorenzo and Ann Caroline met. At some point, John and Lorenzo decided to joint-venture Lorenzo’s grocery store and in the 1833 Brooklyn Directory, the store is listed as “Childs & Marshall Grocery.” Tragedy struck soon after the joint venture was consummated. John Marshall died..
I’m not sure whether it was before or after John’s death, but Lorenzo and Ann Caroline married April 30, 1833 in the Episcopal Church, Jamaica, Long Island, New York. The family continued to reside in New York where the two boys, William O., August 1836 and John Worrell Marshall, 1 January 1838, were born. The family left Brooklyn in 1839, going first to Cleveland, Ohio then on to Pittsburgh and finally, settling in Beaver County, Pennsylvania.
In the 1840 Beaver County census I find Lorenzo enumerated with an adult female and two young males under ten. The family then moved to Fallston to take advantage of the waterpower provided by a lively set of falls on the Beaver River. The third child, Nancy Anna, was born 5 December, 1840, a nice Christmas present. Unfortunately, Ann Caroline never really recovered from Nancy’s birth and tragically died the following 21st of March, 1841.
A few years later, Lorenzo married Sarah Mehaffey and had two more children, Charles C, born in 1844 and Caroline in 1847. Tragedy struck Lorenzo’s life again when Sarah died on the 28th of April 1859. Several years later, he married Deborah E. Green, and had two more children,both of whom died in infancy. I can’t imagine such a string of sorrows.
In 1861 the Civil War broke out and in 1862, William, Lorenzo's oldest son marched off with the local regiment. Upon leaving, he had Lorenzo made Guardian of his children. He fought in many battles but was wounded in the face in the battle of Spotsylvania. He eventually was transferred to a hospital in Pittsburgh. About that time Lorenzo contracted the deadly scourge, Small Pox. Within weeks, it proved fatal and he died in Bridgewater, Pennsylvania, 19 August, 1864. William immediately went AWOL because of his children and never returned to his unit. That cost him a pension in later years.
In 1861 the Civil War broke out and in 1862, William, Lorenzo's oldest son marched off with the local regiment. Upon leaving, he had Lorenzo made Guardian of his children. He fought in many battles but was wounded in the face in the battle of Spotsylvania. He eventually was transferred to a hospital in Pittsburgh. About that time Lorenzo contracted the deadly scourge, Small Pox. Within weeks, it proved fatal and he died in Bridgewater, Pennsylvania, 19 August, 1864. William immediately went AWOL because of his children and never returned to his unit. That cost him a pension in later years.
One of the long standing enigmas in my research on Lorenzo has been identifying whom his parents were and where he was born. In the 1850 census in Beaver, Lorenzo stated that he was born in Massachusetts . Surprisingly, in the 1860 census he stated he was born in Vermont. I have a bit of data from his son William’s research into where Lorenzo was born and he came up with Vershire, Orange County, Vermont. Unfortunately, he gave no indication where he found such data. I’ve queried both Orange County and Vermont historical entities and they have no record of a Lorenzo Childs born there, or that he ever lived there. But, there are two other items of interest. Lorenzo named his oldest child William. And living and enumerated in Thetford, Vermont, not far from Vershire, in both the 1810 and 1820 census, is a William Childs. The only catch, in censuses prior to 1850, dependents are listed in gender and age brackets only, not named. And discouragingly, there was nothing listed for Lorenzo's age bracket as we think it was. Or, could he have been born after the census was taken. I don't have a verifiable birth date for him, however, there were two males in the next bracket up. Could one of them have been Lorenzo? And lastly, in the 1841 issue of the Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania City Directory, there is listed a "Lawrence Childs, Machinist." Remember, he was in Pittsburgh just before going to Beaver. Makes you think about the fact that the name Lorenzo was popular in those days and he just started calling himself, Lorenzo.
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Monday, April 12, 2010
Rhetta Hogan: Teachings Best of the Best
My Early School Years
We lived in the rural part of western Pennsylvania when my brothers and sister and I were growing up and our early schooling was in a small, one-room, red brick schoolhouse in Brighton Township, Beaver County known as Eakin School. First through eighth grade was taught by only one teacher. In fact, everything pertaining to that school from sweeping the floors, washing the windows, keeping the stove fired up in the winter and meting out punishment to an errant youngster was handled by that same teacher.
Those teachers, in Rural America who taught all eight grades by themselves had to be saints beyond belief. One such teacher whom I remember well and who lived about two miles from us and had been raised next door to my Grandfather, Frank Holt, was Miss Rhetta Hogan. Miss Rhetta, who had taught almost countless years in such schools and would often substitute for our regular teacher. She herself, had gone to Eakin School as a youngster. She continued her education finishing up at nearby Piersol Academy in Bridgewater, Pennsylvania. She died 21 November, 1945. She was a first generation farm lass who never married.
I had her only as a frequent substitute. When she was there, she would ring the bell promptly at eight to bring us all in from playing outside. She would quiet us down by going to the front of the room, turn around and stand, ramrod-straight, with an open Bible cradled in her hands just above her waist. There was always a wisp of iron-gray hair curling like a coiled spring over her heavy eyebrows, which shaded two of the most piercing, steely, blue eyes you ever saw. Those eyes would rivet all thirty-two of her first-to-eighth grade students to full attention as she recited, from memory, passages from the divine book that ruled her life. Next came the Lord’s Prayer. That completed, she would make a half-turn, lift her eyebrows slightly, and as one, she and the obedient class would pledge allegiance to that great symbol of this bold, brash, young country we all loved.
Rhetta was then, when I had her, a seventy-five year old spinster who had taught school for fifty-eight years and would never have dreamed of opening a school day without that ritual. Her entire career was lived out in one-room schoolhouses. Many generations of local Brighton Twp kids were drilled in the three R’s by this stern but gentle, caring woman. Farm born and raised by immigrant Irish parents, Thomas and Hannah (Mullins) Hogan, she lived, worked, and died within one county, Beaver, in western Pennsylvania. When she first started teaching, school was reached by either walking or driving a buggy. When she died, the skies over Europe and Japan were alive with angry, roaring airplanes.
Stories were legion around Beaver county about how this wiry, little woman managed to maintain discipline over pupils, some of whom towered over her by as much as a foot. Everyone, including students, referred to her with typical country familiarity as Rhetta, but no student dared to be so bold to her face. It was either “ma’m” or Miss Hogan.
I remember one warm, spring day when all the windows were open, and except for lesson recitations by students standing around Miss Rhetta’s desk, not a sound could be heard. Suddenly, titters interrupted the silence. Heads turned, first toward the sound and then toward Rhetta. The cause of the tittering was a wasp, with a string hanging from its waist, flying level, about eye-high, around the room. At one point, it flew straight toward a giggly little girl who let out a piercing screech that ignited screeches from half of the other little girls in the room. Pandemonium broke loose. Instantly Rhetta was on her feet and the clack! clack! clack! of her eraser against the black-slate blackboard restored order. Smoke seemed to curl from her eyes and up from her collar as she glared at the bib-overall clad boys one-by-one until something told her this was the culprit.
How did she know? I suppose the pink flush from cheeks or ears, the downcast eyes, or the bare toe scribing circles on the floor had something to do with it. The young man’s demeanor abruptly changed when he was commanded, by a deep, authoritarian voice, to report immediately to the front of her desk. Your obedient servant, who had been thoroughly chastised in front of everybody, was then dispatched to the woods behind the school to cut an appropriate switch with which to have the dust whacked not-too-gently from the seat of his pants.
Woe betide the clown who had the temerity to bring in an inappropriate switch. He would be nailed to his desk for the entire day for a week. His parents would be summoned for a conference and to mete out the required punishment in front of the class. She didn’t fool around and everyone knew it.
This caring woman, who dedicated all of her productive life to teaching had passively but positively, influenced a long line of young people, was of the last and best of the old. I count myself exceptionally fortunate to at least have had her from time to time as a substitute teacher. Also, I went to school with her niece and nephew, twins, Leona and Leo Hogan. Leona was a WAVE during WWll. In the summer I use to earn a little money by picking strawberries on the farm where she lived with her brother, James Hogan, Atty at Law, and his family. What wonderful memories.
We lived in the rural part of western Pennsylvania when my brothers and sister and I were growing up and our early schooling was in a small, one-room, red brick schoolhouse in Brighton Township, Beaver County known as Eakin School. First through eighth grade was taught by only one teacher. In fact, everything pertaining to that school from sweeping the floors, washing the windows, keeping the stove fired up in the winter and meting out punishment to an errant youngster was handled by that same teacher.
Those teachers, in Rural America who taught all eight grades by themselves had to be saints beyond belief. One such teacher whom I remember well and who lived about two miles from us and had been raised next door to my Grandfather, Frank Holt, was Miss Rhetta Hogan. Miss Rhetta, who had taught almost countless years in such schools and would often substitute for our regular teacher. She herself, had gone to Eakin School as a youngster. She continued her education finishing up at nearby Piersol Academy in Bridgewater, Pennsylvania. She died 21 November, 1945. She was a first generation farm lass who never married.
I had her only as a frequent substitute. When she was there, she would ring the bell promptly at eight to bring us all in from playing outside. She would quiet us down by going to the front of the room, turn around and stand, ramrod-straight, with an open Bible cradled in her hands just above her waist. There was always a wisp of iron-gray hair curling like a coiled spring over her heavy eyebrows, which shaded two of the most piercing, steely, blue eyes you ever saw. Those eyes would rivet all thirty-two of her first-to-eighth grade students to full attention as she recited, from memory, passages from the divine book that ruled her life. Next came the Lord’s Prayer. That completed, she would make a half-turn, lift her eyebrows slightly, and as one, she and the obedient class would pledge allegiance to that great symbol of this bold, brash, young country we all loved.
Rhetta was then, when I had her, a seventy-five year old spinster who had taught school for fifty-eight years and would never have dreamed of opening a school day without that ritual. Her entire career was lived out in one-room schoolhouses. Many generations of local Brighton Twp kids were drilled in the three R’s by this stern but gentle, caring woman. Farm born and raised by immigrant Irish parents, Thomas and Hannah (Mullins) Hogan, she lived, worked, and died within one county, Beaver, in western Pennsylvania. When she first started teaching, school was reached by either walking or driving a buggy. When she died, the skies over Europe and Japan were alive with angry, roaring airplanes.
Stories were legion around Beaver county about how this wiry, little woman managed to maintain discipline over pupils, some of whom towered over her by as much as a foot. Everyone, including students, referred to her with typical country familiarity as Rhetta, but no student dared to be so bold to her face. It was either “ma’m” or Miss Hogan.
I remember one warm, spring day when all the windows were open, and except for lesson recitations by students standing around Miss Rhetta’s desk, not a sound could be heard. Suddenly, titters interrupted the silence. Heads turned, first toward the sound and then toward Rhetta. The cause of the tittering was a wasp, with a string hanging from its waist, flying level, about eye-high, around the room. At one point, it flew straight toward a giggly little girl who let out a piercing screech that ignited screeches from half of the other little girls in the room. Pandemonium broke loose. Instantly Rhetta was on her feet and the clack! clack! clack! of her eraser against the black-slate blackboard restored order. Smoke seemed to curl from her eyes and up from her collar as she glared at the bib-overall clad boys one-by-one until something told her this was the culprit.
How did she know? I suppose the pink flush from cheeks or ears, the downcast eyes, or the bare toe scribing circles on the floor had something to do with it. The young man’s demeanor abruptly changed when he was commanded, by a deep, authoritarian voice, to report immediately to the front of her desk. Your obedient servant, who had been thoroughly chastised in front of everybody, was then dispatched to the woods behind the school to cut an appropriate switch with which to have the dust whacked not-too-gently from the seat of his pants.
Woe betide the clown who had the temerity to bring in an inappropriate switch. He would be nailed to his desk for the entire day for a week. His parents would be summoned for a conference and to mete out the required punishment in front of the class. She didn’t fool around and everyone knew it.
This caring woman, who dedicated all of her productive life to teaching had passively but positively, influenced a long line of young people, was of the last and best of the old. I count myself exceptionally fortunate to at least have had her from time to time as a substitute teacher. Also, I went to school with her niece and nephew, twins, Leona and Leo Hogan. Leona was a WAVE during WWll. In the summer I use to earn a little money by picking strawberries on the farm where she lived with her brother, James Hogan, Atty at Law, and his family. What wonderful memories.
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