A Beautiful Day in Rose Hill Cemetery

                                                  This morning was a work day.

My great grandparents

                                     The family plot of Washington Curran Whitthorne. A tree separates the parents from the children. The four columns are headstones for four of his children. The children died within 14 days. So very sad.

 

Once upon a Halloween

                                My Sunday School class Halloween party in 1972.

  
        I don't remember decorating the pumpkins, but I do remember chasing the apples around the tub and not getting one bite!

You can't just assume!

    When we discovered Jim's great grandfather served in the War between the States, we just assumed he served in the Confederacy.  Even though he was a Southerner, he served in the Union army. Since service records for Confederate soldiers can be found in our state archives, I assumed  that Union service records as well as pension records would be there as well.  Wrong again.  Union service pension records are located at the National Archives in Washington, DC.
     At some point in the near future, I plan to order the records.  Even though I would love a trip to DC, I guess I'll order the records from the archives.

The Birthday Boy

                                                              Happy birthday, Jim!

Homestead, Florida

     Recently, my father accompanied us on a trip to an apple orchard in Alabama.  As cars passed, we discussed the comings and goings of the travelers based on their state license tag.
     Upon seeing a Florida tag, I began a conservation about visiting Key West next year.  We discussed the pros and cons of driving versus flying to Miami.  My dad made mention of Homestead near Miami which jogged a distant memory of an old photograph.  The photo was of my dad's parents standing in a yard with a palm tree and words, "Cliff, Nellie, Homestead, Florida" written along the side. I asked Daddy why his parents moved to Homestead, and he replied, "because of me."
     At the age of sixteen my dad drove a 1942 truck to Homestead from Culleoka, Tennessee to work in the tomato fields.  He was in charge of transporting sixteen black men in the back of the truck.  The man in charge of the operation gave my father 100 dollars to purchase food and gas for the trip.  Since there were no interstates at the time, the packed truck weaved through a thousand miles of country highways with the top speed of 45 mph.  The trip lasted three days.  
     Daddy didn't elaborate on the traveling conditions other than the black men had mattresses stacked on  the bed of the truck, and bologna was a staple.  He chuckled when told how the men had to push the truck off to start it every time the truck's engine was turned off.

My grandparents 1947

       Daddy's pay for one week was 30 dollars.  His primary job duty was operating a tractor in the fields and he was allowed to sleep in an old cannery.  The owner gave him a pump rifle and instructed to shoot any rats roaming the building.  While lying on his cot at night, he reported he shot quite a few of them.
      His parents and three siblings moved to Homestead for several months while he was working there.  His brother, Ray, who was about 15 years old at the time, also worked driving a tractor for awhile before returning home with their parents.
       One last tidbit about his trip to Homestead-he didn't have a driver's license.  He had applied for one prior to leaving, but the license was not issued on site and had to be mailed. His mother mailed his license to him in Florida.