"The Way It Was" Newspaper Column on Baker County, Florida History, 1979 part 1 File contributed for use in USGenWeb Archives by Gene Barber (no email address), through Carl Mobley (cmobley@magicnet.net) USGENWEB NOTICE: In keeping with our policy of providing free information on the Internet, data may be used by non-commercial entities, as long as this message remains on all copied material. These electronic pages cannot be reproduced in any format for profit or other presentation. This file may not be removed from this server or altered in any way for placement on another server without the consent of the State and USGenWeb Project coordinators and the contributor. *********************************************************************** THE WAY IT WAS ------------------------------------------------------------ William Eugene "Gene" Barber, Artist, Instructor, Historian & Genealogist authored a series of articles for the Baker County Press entitled "The Way It Was". His articles covered all aspects of Baker County pioneers lives in a colorful, entertaining, as well as, educational manner. At an early age, Gene possessed the desire and ability to interview the 'Old Folks'. He was as talented in the use of the pen, as he is with a brush, choosing his words and expressions in a way to paint an exciting and interesting story. The following are Gene's articles as published in 1979. Contents: * A Fresh Start * Some Historical Notes On The Rev. Marion DeGrate * 'Mystery hole' unearthered * 1924 Nursery Catalog - Two Parts * Some Notes On "Lightered" - Two Parts * Barber House Is Vandalized * The Saga Of George Reynolds * Samuel Spearing - Slave to Lawmaker * The Big Snow * Growth And Progress? - Four Parts * Immoral Behaviour On The Creek Bank * Black Pioneers - The Indian Fighter And The Wood Chopper * Some Tips On Genealogy * History Of County Newspapers * The Fraser Pioneers * The Great Horse Race * A Portrait Of The Dowlings * William Henry Stone 1843-1917 * You're Getting Old If...... * More.... You're Getting Old If...... * Frontier RecreationTwo Parts * Recognizing Pioneers In Preservation Of History Here (in part 2) * Gooder English & A Book Review (in part 2) * A Belated Fourth Of July Article (in part 2) * Arch Hogans (in part 2) * The Old Courthouse (in part 2) * The Telegraph Centennial (in part 2) * Mrs. Addie's Ancestors - Two Parts (in part 2) * The Sessions Family - Three Parts (in part 2) * Hurricanes, Guns And A Meeting (in part 2) * Dear Mrs. Fletcher..... (in part 2) * Historical Society Puts Battle Print On Sale (in part 2) * Buzzard Barbara - A book review (in part 2) * Yellow Fever Epidemic - An eyewitness account (in part 2) * A Witch Story (in part 2) * A Few Halloween Lessons (in part 2) * A Backwoods Frolic (in part 2) * An Expedition Along The Saint Mary's River (in part 2) * A Muster Roll From 1862 (in part 2) * Reflections On A Rainy Afternoon (in part 2) * James B. Matthews (in part 2) * Some Ideas On Generating Our Own Electricity Here (in part 2) * Some Of Your Reactions To Column Materials Past (in part 2) * Ain't No Problem So Bad We Can't Eventually Learn From It (in part 2) * Devil Enoch Roberts - Part One (in part 2) _____________________________________________________________________________ THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday January 4, 1979 Page Two THE WAY IT WAS - Gene Barber A Fresh Start Yearly beginnings are nice things. They provide us with (1) an excuse for waxing sentimental and (2) the perfect opportunity for setting our records straight. In this our first column of the new year we wish to remind our readers that we've been reporting the past to you for 3 1/2 years (missed 2 issues because of the writer's forgetfulness and laziness). Not being very professional in the face of criticism and verbal abuse, we've quit in disgust and anger 42 times. We believe in the past 3 1/2 years' writing we have been correct twice and know of 49,472 major mistakes. We have sworn off writing anything else about the families Griffis, Crews and Raulerson. Your favorite stories, if response can be our guide, were those involving blood and gore, references to sex, and outright slander. On the plus side, almost as many comments (nice type) came in from the writings your acceptance of which worried us most - PRESS and STANDARD news items from the '20's through the '40's, ex-slave and state representative Samuel Spears' eulogy of his former master Elisha Green, our personal memories of Christmas, the Canady Fort, Mose Barber's story, the interminable lists of Confederate soldiers, and, "Can Any Good Come Out of Nazareth." Your most "unfavorite" of those you found disturbing and incorrect: the Crews Family (our critics greatly aided us in-righting the wrongs), the Griffis Family (same here except for the couple who have promised to use a lightered knot on us), the Raulerson Story (almost the same except that almost all the unfavorable remarks came from non-Raulersons and those have been neatly negated by good comments and back-up information from members of that clan.) Response to last September's "New Jersey, and Downtown McClenny" article was varied and hardly ever calm - enthusiastic in agreement or, as one lady (we know she is a lady because of her colorful language), put it, "it's people like you moving in here who cause us so much trouble." Another lady suggested I go back to where I came from. It would have been easy; the writer was talking to her about a couple hundred yards from where he was born. Local Black history has been painfully short-changed in this column and we acknowledge the criticism (most from non-Blacks). Lord knows we've been digging and trying. Have you ever tried researching a people who were denied being recorded and whose lineage was given much less attention than that of hunting hounds? Rev. Marion DeGrate, educator and Black leader of post Civil War days, will be among our first such presentations. A few columns of corrections were planned but, seeing as how that project would run 24 issues long, we will publish only our major goofs and corrections along with much new material. We hope our readers have not forgotten that a county history is still coming in book form (only 3 years overdue) and we will have more corrected information included in its' text (the book is not just a compilation of these articles, by-the-way.) Maybe we should change this column's title to THE WAY IT WAS - And Quite Often Still Is since our format has begun to relate history a bit more to our present (no, Dear Reader in Lake Butler, we won't be cutting out any of our good ol' history...just seeing if we can use it to keep us from making the same mistakes again.) Your response to this has been very good. We will also be bringing a few suggested itineraries for local and neighboring area heritage tours. Inexpensive and interesting, although perhaps not as exciting and educational as "Laverne and Shirley," these little trips might surprise you with how much they can teach you about yourself and your home. This might be a great way for our newcomers to learn something of their new home (you newcomers do read our little offerings each week, don't you?) And, although we are far behind on our answers and other correspondence, we still invite your queries, comments, corrections and information. _____________________________________________________________________________ THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday January 11, 1979 Some Historical Notes On The Rev. Marion DeGrate Dear Editor: This is in response to the historical note column in the Press Jan. 3, 1979 concerning the intention of the Press to write historical notes about one Rev. Marion DeGrate. Being one of the granddaughters of Rev. Marion DeGrate, I deeply appreciate your effort to research and publish notes about my grandfather of whom I know very little about due to the fact that he had deceased at the time of my birth. However, my mother, Mamie DeGrate Peterson, often talked of Rev. DeGrate and his activities. There are other persons living today, namely, Mr. Edgar Lewis, Mr. William Lewis, Mr. Manard Patilla, Mrs. Elsie Lewis, Mrs. Etta Bird and maybe some of the older grandsons and ganddaughters. Rev. DeGrate is listed in the records of the United Methodist Church's deceased ministers column. Some known facts about Rev. DeGrate is that he was a former slave who escaped from his owner and joined the Union Army. It is believed that he assumed the name Marion DeGrate of his own choosing, as I have not been able to find any other people by the name DeGrate. He arrived from South Carolina to Sanderson, Fla. the then or later county site. There he married the former Rosa Snowden who was said to have been the sister to the mother of Mr. Arthur Givens, Sr. To Rev. and Mrs. DeGrate were born five girls, Florence, who now has one living daughter, L. D. Burke of Bunnell, Fla.; Maggie, no living offspring, Eliza, one living adopted son, Clifford; Emma, one living son, Melvin Smith of Jacksonville; two living daughters, Juanita Lille Bolden of Macclenny and Inez Ingram of Jacksonville, Fla.; Mamie DeGrate Peterson, five living daughters, Lois Peterson Dilliard of Jacksonvilie Beach, Marie Peterson Lewis of Macclenny, Edith Peterson Dowdell of Jacksonville, Ruth Peterson Atwaters of Jacksonville, Catherine Peterson Parker of Macclenny; one son George A. Peterson of Jacksonville, Fla.; a number of grandchildren and great grandchildren of the late Mamie DeGrate Peterson are also offsprings of Rev. DeGrate. Rev. and Mrs. DeGrate, it is said, moved from Sanderson to Macclenny in the late 1800's and settled on approximately 5 acres of land which he had purchased from a Mr. Turner. The parcel now grown up in trees is located in the section of southeast Macclenny known as Baby Town just east of SR 228 and west of the Old Maxville Road. Marie Peterson Lewis _____________________________________________________________________________ 'Mystery hole' unearthed - Do you know what it is?? Was it the burial chamber for a king of some forgotten civilization, or was it a launching silo for prehistoric space ships? Maybe, a long-ago sheriff built it for his secret cemetery for extra bad prisoners. "A passage from the sub-terranean world of evil" was the guess of one bystander doubtless inspired by the recent rash of books and movies of that theme. McClenny's Mystery Hole began Monday, October 29, with nothing more ominous than a slight depression in the backyard of the Sew-N-Nook at the south east corner of Sixth Street and McIver. Owner Mrs. Bottom called her landlady Wilma Morris. Mrs. Morris decided the hole's proximity to both city and county property dictated that representatives from both governments make a joint inspection of the unusual but not alarming sinkhole (Baker County is not within Florida's sinkhole region). All agreed to postpone digging until the main activities at the Haunted House sponsored by the Junior Women's Club in the adjacent former Jail were over. On Tuesday, October 30, at seven o'clock in the morning, the city work crew, under the supervision of Messers. Kirkland, Burnsed, and Varnes waited eagerly with their shovels for the word to begin excavating. As the morning mists lifted, the digging was obstructed three feet below the surface by a concrete slab. Suddenly the concrete gave way and part of it crashed far into the bowels of McClenny. Peering into the dim underworld the foremen discerned brickwork. Thus far, the mysterious hole has yielded a veritable treasure, viz. one leg from a cast iron stove, a decorative bracket from an ancient student desk, an indistinguishable straplike metal piece, and one rather worn 1887 nickel and one thighbone shaped object). The archaeology team returned to their work with renewed enthusiasm aided by one good backhoe operator - Buster Padgett. By Wednesday, October 31, the hole was barricaded against little trick-or-treat goblins falling in and underground goblins climbing out and was visited by former sheriffs and city manager. The parties viewed the fine very red brick masonry that curbed a perfectly round chasm about ten feet across. They noted the four dissimilar-sized drains that entered from the four points of the compass. When the pumps cleared the hole of water, the neatly cut clay walls that continued down for perhaps twenty feet were easily seen. "A cesspool," ventured one. But conspicuously absent was the typical malodor that hangs around buried cesspools for longer than a century. "A street sewer seepage well, "offered another. "The town never had street drainage until the early fifties," corrected one who had been with the city for several years. "How about a cistern?"- Cisterns have solid walls and bottoms for collecting water from the sky, but the mystery hole was constructed like a well that collected water from the earth. "A well that doesn't begin until three feet below the surface?" And so, under the guard and gaze of a ghost suspended in a doorway of the old jail, the mystery hole lay gaping until Monday, November 5, when the city crew carefully returned brick and concrete, with sufficient clay, to the hole to insure that whatever it held can never get out...unless it already had, and thus, can never return to whence it came. Withheld were the treasures of cast iron, bone and V nickel. All concerned agreed they should go to the new Baker County Heritage Museum where everybody can see a reminder of the Mystery Hole of McClenny. The Press will welcome reader response on the hole. If you think you know its purpose, would like to guess its purpose, or have a good suggestion what could have been done with it, send it in. _____________________________________________________________________________ THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday January 11, 1979 Page Two THE WAY IT WAS - Gene Barber 1924 Nursery Catalog - Part One Dorsey Jordan of Glen St. Mary graciously lent this column a Baker County treasure - a 1924 Glen Saint Mary Nurseries 82 page catalog and planting guide titled "Southern Planting Facts." On the title page is information regarding the nurseries officers - H. Harold Hume, president; H. E. Cornell, vice-president; A. B. Johnson, treasurer; E. L. Steele, assistant treasurer;. C. R. Stephens,: secretary; A. Tyler, assistant secretary; R. L. Wolfe, assistant secretary; H. A. Turner, assistant secretary;) W. B. Mathis, field manager. In addition to listing the officers, "Southern Planting Facts" informs the reader that Glen Saint Mary is the headquarters of the general nurseries and that the citrus nurseries were located at Winter Haven in Polk County. Also, we learn that the nurseries were established in 1882 and incorporated in 1907. Under "Terms of Business", the prospective customer learned that the nurseries' main office was equipped with a long-distance telephone and Western Union telegraph. "We do not care to ship orders amounting to less than $2" was the company's statement on minimum orders. The office folks also discouraged "badly assorted orders", C.O.D., and the use of any form of ordering other than their printed sheets. Rather quaint today, but not a bad idea at all, was the company's obliging customer relationships and offers. Customers would not only be conducted through the nurseries but met at the station. Substitutions (and, boy, this is rare today) were not made. The buyer was given the benefit of the doubt in just about everything, and all stock was securely labeled. Glen Saint Mary Nurseries, at the writing in 1923, had been the world's largest producer of citrus trees for several years. They possessed the world's most extensive collection of citrus fruits, and had exhibited 83 varieties of their own growing at the 1913 meeting of the American Pomological Society in Washington, D. C. Their "good" varieties of citrus were budded onto root stocks of rough lemon, sour orange, and Citrus trifoliata for hardiness (once in a while, one still comes across the thorny, almost bizarre appearing C. trifoliata in hammock land near the four old Baker County nurseries. Special treatment was given to the Lue Gim Gong orange, a fruit created by, and named for, Deland's Chinese horticulturist. Although the name is seldom heard now outside old-time citrus growers' conversations, it was a sensation in the early days of this century. It seemed the perfect sweet orange for north and central Florida. It was hardy in winter, late fruiting, and almost free from premature dropping. The nurseries offered it to the public in August of 1911 and were proud to report that it was the first new variety of orange ever awarded the prestigious Wilder Silver Medal of the American Pomological Society. The catalog's writer, probably Dr. J. Harold "Daddy" Hume, gave a short paragraph to the Washington Navel orange. While conceding it to be, "in many ways...the most remarkable orange grown today," the writer suggested Florida's growers should not be interested in it, "because it would not yield enough fruit to pay for planting it." Since then, maybe due to improved citrus farming practices, the Navel has become one of our state's leading oranges, coming in early and lasting well into winter. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday January 18, 1979 Page Two THE WAY IT WAS - Gene Barber 1924 Nursery Catalog - Part Two A nice little history of the pomelo is given, the calomondin (pronounced "kahl-ah-mun'-dee by most locals) and limequat introduced, and advice is given on packing foliage with kumquats for shipping (makes the basket pretty and makes a larger bulk). Even before 1923, kumquats had gone for as high as $10 per bushel up north, so claimed the catalog text. Give up? Don't know what a pomelo is?. Check it out in your dictionary. Hint: it's yellow, acidy, squirts, grows in clusters like grapes, and was eventually renamed by the ad-men to give it a new start. If its sales ever start to lag, watch the citrus industry re-introduce it by its old name "pomelo." Of interest is the statement regarding lemon production land - "a number of years ago, before the newer sections of Florida were opened up..." Remember, most of our readers were born, and many all-grown up when this sentence was written about the catalog's author's memory of opening up parts of wild Florida. Now, just a generation later, one cannot find enough bare dirt between mobile home villages in south Florida to plant one lemon tree (how time and wilderness do march on...and away.) The pecan was given a strong second place in the "Southern Planting Facts." In 1923 it stated, "in recent years the Pecan has become a very important nut, particularly, in the Southern States." The varieties offered by the nurseries were Curtis, Frotscher, Schley, Stuart, Moneymaker, and Success. The writer of this column, while not in the same class of style and knowledge as the author of the nursery catalog, will have to disagree on one statement regarding the Moneymaker pecan - "cracking easily." Much of our more colorful vocabulary was added while trying to shell the dern things for cooking purposes. A number of peaches, persimmons and plums which had been developed at the Glen Saint Mary Nurseries were listed including the delicious Excelsior plum (originated by Mr. G. L. Taber, Sr., in 1887.) Also listed were Mr. W. M. "Ferdie" Ventling's new strawberry "Glen Saint Mary" (created 1916), and an unnamed employee's pomgranate "Rhodie" (we wonder if it was Uncle Aneder Townsend who was quite an amateur horticulturist and the name honored his wife Aunt Rhodie.) Some of the prices were no cheeper in '24 than now (a few even higher), several native plants were offered for sale, much valuable information on landscaping and plant care was included, the photo illustrations superb (several colored), and, all-in-all, pleasant and nostalgic perusing. Memorium This column notes with regret the passing of Baker County's genealogist and a personal friend - Mrs. Loyce Knabb Coleman. An accomplished genealogist long before it became fashionable, an appreciator of Baker County's history, authoress, philanthropist, a business person, and civic minded, Mrs. Coleman was greatly responsible for and an inspiration in beginning this column. Much of the information contained in these articles is due to the courtesy of Mrs. Coleman. _____________________________________________________________________________ THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday January 25, 1979 Page Two THE WAY IT WAS - Gene Barber Some Notes On 'Lightered' - Part one Ask any genuine Cracker what thoughts and activities are brought to mind by the first drops in temperature and he is likely to answer, "cane grinding, buck hunting, hog killing and picking up pecans," and not necessarily in that order since buck-hunting usually takes precedence. With today's high cost of fuel some of us can add another activity to our Crackers' fall list of things to do - lightered knot gathering. Not exactly fun, it was still an occasion for some light-heartedness as the entire family, breaths steaming in the crisp afternoon air, spread across the woods discovering the black distorted chunks of fuel. In 1979 as one remembers the past month's heating bill, the project loses even more of its chore aspect. What lightered is and how it got to be that way isn't altogether clear in this writer's mind but he does know that its composition is pine heartwood (trunk, limbs and roots), is almost always possessed of a nasty charred exterior (product of fast traveling woods fires), is heavy (all the light sapwood has long been rotted or burned away), is always located far from the hauling vehicle, and often defies being split with the sharpest of axes wielded by the most determined of ax-wielders. Once ubiquitous throughout and unique to the lower southeast lightered is now rare and is not being renewed. For a pine tree to attain the size necessary to create lasting heartwood, it had to live long and grow slowly. Much of the lightered still being picked up in Baker County woods today came from virgin forests, old when the first white settlers came in back in the 1830's. Some of those knots you toss into your fireplace were buried in the sand maybe 5 to 10 thousand years ago. Often, the softer sapwood was burned away by the frequent galloping woodsfires (before Smokey Bear's campaign, instituted by timber companies, stopped an important natural ecological phenomenon in pine forests.) The pine pitch (locally called gum, rosin, or tar) was trapped inside the cauterized shell there to crystalize for several to several hundred years. Free of excess moisture by being baked by woods fires and buried away from air by that strange action which eventually swallows up anything left lying on the earth's surface in areas such as Baker County, the wood remained for flood washing action or pioneer land clearing to bring it up as fat lightered for Cracker fireplaces. One of the beautiful properties of lightered is that once split or even slightly splintered it will usually burn regardless of how wet it or the conditions are. Fetch up a knot from the bottom of a water-filled stump hole, whack it with a knife or even with another knot til its charred shell is broken, strike fire to it, and, lo, fire. Lightered's secondary and much welcomed characteristic is the indescribable heat its flame gives off. We don't wish to take issue with the wood fire experts who tell us that flames are not the effective source of heat that coals are, but we fear they have never backed up to a lightered fire. It can make chairs begin sliding back and a tin roof commence to pop. "Hell's hotter'n a lightered fahr," often thundered Elder B. R. Dinkins, Sr., from the 19th century Primitive Baptist pulpits. A cup of lightered smut (known as soot to some, but when it comes from lightered and is produced in Baker County it is smut) from the fireplace vigorously boiled in a quart of water made a tolerably good ink for the pioneers and it did not fade in the manner of berry ink. A little gum arabic or sugar added to the ink prevented it from smearing, but smearing didn't matter - the roaches then ate it. Many a vain pioneer gentleman darkened and shaped his mustache with lightered smut, and backwoods belles used it as eye makeup and to cover tell-tale gray. History has left to our imagination the results of sultry summer heat or hanky-panky on those home-made lightered cosmetics. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday February 1, 1979 Page Two THE WAY IT WAS - Gene Barber Some Notes On 'Lightered' - Part Two From his youth the writer remembers a few of the names given to various types of lightered by the older Crackers. The "knot" was the thickened junction of a limb or root with the main trunk, and the regular knot almost always was shaped like a huge chicken drumstick (convienient handle for toting). The "rosebud" or "rosehead" knot was a limb section from a very large tree and having a greatly enlarged end with an intricate pattern of rings and whorls, not unlike a giant sculptured wooden rose (if you find one of these, hide it - it is extremely rare). The "hat tree" or "pole" is from a smaller tree. Slender, smooth, and with short pointed or broken-off limbs, this piece fits its descriptive name well. A "crook" was simply that; a section of ill-formed tree or root or limb with a section of trunk still attached. A "snake" knot was a grotesque twisted piece of lightered that could pass, without much imagination, for a short length of arthritic boa constrictor. We wish we could remember if those beautiful torch shaped, spiraling knots had names. Even more, we wish we had saved a couple. In the art world we've judged wood sculpture much less well done and less sophisticated in design. Of even more concern to Crackers than how lightered was formed is the origin of its name. Of course the first thing done in a group discussion of lightered is to run for a dictionary. The second is to feverishly search hoping to add Webster's authority to our respective theories, and then wilt upon discovering the word never made it between those hallowed covers. Of course, you won't find it there. Many folks out there in the land of dictionary-compiling are relatively deprived and ignorant of such information. One of the silliest etymologies we've ever read is that lightered is wood that has been struck by lightning. While we won't deny that lightning-struck wood might pop and spark when a'flame, we cannot accept the story that lightning bolts create lightered. Another, even less intelligent theory is that because this particular wood burns so well in any weather (which it does), it was used in olden times as torches or "light wood". No doubt about it, lightered puts out a mighty handsome flame, and we accept the name "light wood", but we know that once a stick of highly flammable lightered gets a'fire, only a fool would hold it. In summer (forget it in summer) every piece comes long enough to use it as a torch. Anyone knowing the kindling, or lighting, power of lightered and having as little understanding of old Cracker English language usage realizes in a thrice the derivation of the name. The term "light wood" shortened by olden days Crackers into "light 'ood" was eventually and easily evolved into "light 'erd" by those "R" sound-loving folk. (see- THE CRACKERS - Part 4 "THE CRACKER SPEECH BEGINS", Baker County Press, Sept. 29, 1977) For our city-bred residents and those late from the northern provinces we might add a few words regarding the gathering of lightered (most often referred to as "picking up", even if most has to be dug or chopped free of sand, and muck). In addition to getting one out into the fresh air and away from TV's inanities the task is not unlike pioneering and is fraught with dangers. First, there is the possibility that the owner of the land from whom you are stealing the knots will, as was this writer's misfortune, threaten you with arrest or a shotgun. Every second piece of lightered has its own resident black widow spider. Every third chunk is home to thousands of easily irritated bull ants or equipped with a nasty tempered coral snake. In fact, it's sometimes quite shocking even in winter to find out you've brought in one of the cold-numbed little fellows and once in the flame he becomes lively. Never, never pick up lightered knots during dusk, especially in a pasture in which cows are kept. In dim light smutty knots and cow droppings have a weirdly similar shape. Your grandkids very likely will not see a lightered knot, never have the backs of their britches scorched by a lightered flame, not be spellbound as the sizzilng fat wood spews flame and turns blue. So what? Well, this column thinks the world will be a little poorer as another of our natural resources and bits of heritage run out. Ask the poor man dependent on a fireplace or wood heater. Lightered can be a renewable, but slowly so, resource. Every land owner can let a few acres remain forever without cutting; controlled burning (so necessary for the creation and balance of pine barrens) can be allowed and encouraged by the proper authorities; and after all of us are gone to our reward (or either to that great lightered fire below) posterity can be cheaply and effectively keeping things warm here. _____________________________________________________________________________ THURSDAY FEBRUARY 1, 1979 Barber House Is Vandalized Police have implicated three youths ages nine through 12 in the weekend vandalism spree that caused at least $7000 damage to the contents and fixtures of the historic Barber House off S228 south of Macclenny, which had among other things been utilized as a temporary county museum. Local historian and family member Gene Barber predicted the damage estimate would rise as inventory of priceless antiques and artifacts was completed. Barber, who also conducted art classes in a portion of the stately two story structure, said over $1000 was lost in destroyed art work and supplies. Antiques belonging both to the family and others who had donated them for the eventual museum were damaged at a loss said to be in excess of $3000. Only one of the wood frame windows in the house was left intact, all shot out with what police said was a pellet gun. Obscenities were painted on walls. Heirlooms including a gold watch and a portrait of Rowe and Pearl Barber, one time inhabitants of the house, were used for targets and damaged beyond repair. A glass display case containing old copies of The Baker County Standard and The Baker County Press was destroyed and paint dumped on the papers and other records. Barber's research file was rifled and he feared total destruction of the first manuscript of the upcoming book on Baker County history. The Sheriff's Department says several more youths may have been involved in the vandalism which took place sometime Saturday afternoon, and is continuing the investigation. Barber came on the destruction during a routine check of the premises on Barber Road about 5:00 p.m. and was able to give police a break in the case as he saw two of the youths running from the scene. The house is among the most historic in the county, having hosted notables like the young Billy Graham and three Florida governors. Constructed by C. F. Barber in 1889, it is close to the original homesite built by Arch Barber in 1829, and served as headquarters of the old Barber Nursery. Six generations of the family have at one time or another lived there. The case will be handled by Juvenile authorities. _____________________________________________________________________________ THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday February 8, 1979 Page Two THE WAY IT WAS - Gene Barber The Saga Of George Reynolds In the early 19th century England was not an altogether happy place for working folk. The industrial Revolution kept women and children laboring in dark factories from before sun-up to well after sundown. Violence and hunger were part of the common man's daily existence. Kidnapping children for, and bonding them out to, greedy taskmasters was not rare. Shanghaiing men and mere lads to serve on sailing ships was not unusual. In 1845 an 8 year old boy was stolen from the waterfront of Liverpool, probably as he returned from work after dark, and carried to the high seas where he involuntarily served as a deck hand and cabin boy for five years. He sailed the world until one day in Charleston harbor, South Carolina, 14 year old George Winston Reynolds jumped ship. He was through wandering against his will and he was decidedly set against taking any more orders. Young Reynolds made his way south to Camden County, Georgia. It would have been easy for the lad to have come out of hiding after his former ship was out of harbor and hail coastal vessels down port by port, or he might have immediately joined one of the southward-bound settler trains for Traders Hill. George Reynolds' biographer states he drew a piece of land in southern Camden County (lot nr. 353) in one of Georgia's last land lotteries shortly after coming to that state. That the 14 year old Reynolds could convince authorities that he was of age for the land lottery and was soon able to buy 351, 352 and 354 about 4 1/2 miles south of the present Moniac would make one believe that the youth was ambitious and industrious. The lad was also precocious in other ways - at age 14 he married the daughter of one of the area's big land owners and was a father at 15. His wife Martha was a daughter of Abel "Abe" and Caroline Yarborough Cowart and was born in 1838. Their children were John (born 1852 and married Amy Canaday); Elizabeth (born, 1855 and married James L., son of Riley and Sarah Leigh Johns); Alice (born 1859 and married William Hardy Johns, brother of James L.); George, Jr. (born 1863 and married Lillie Virginia, daughter of John and Sarah Howell Canaday); Victoria (born 1866 and married Shadrick M. Mills); Thomas Abel (born 1867 and married Aurelia, daughter of W. H. and Henrietta Dowling Stone); Lewis (born 1869 and married Elizabeth Stephens, daughter of Eliza); and James (born 1870 and married, first, Alice Johns and, second, Henrietta Yarborough). When the call came from the Confederacy during its war with the Union, George Reynolds chose to not respond. He leaned strongly toward the Whig Party in politics, continued to farm, and to rear his family. However, the Georgia Governor and the Adjutant General sent-out a general order placing every available male of the state, including Reynolds, in uniform. In the spring of 1862 Mr. Reynolds was mustered into Company B, 11th Battalion, Georgia Militia. Toward the end of the gruesome affair, Mr. Reynolds slipped home to care for his wife and four small children. There are three stories regarding his "return" to service - he voluntarily turned himself in at Lake City, Florida; or he answered Finegan's call to the big battle at Olustee and was recognized and imprisoned; or he was reported by neighbors and taken to the Lake City prison in chains. Whichever tale one chooses, only one ending follows - Pvt. Reynolds was scheduled for a Confederate firing squad because of desertion when the war ended. George Reynolds returned to his farm on the Saint Marys River and enjoyed relative prosperity. In addition to farming and rearing more kids he operated a general mercantile business, cotton gin, grist mill, and saw mill. He entered politics as a Democrat and served on the Charlton County Board of Commissioners and as a Representative to the Georgia State Assembly. He rafted goods down the Saint Marys River (when it was high enough) and shipped other products by rail via Darbyville (old McClenny). To facilitate his sawmill enterprise he constructed a bridge across the Saint Marys. Although the present location about 50 feet south of the original and is the third structure in about one hundred years it is still referred to as the "Reynold Bridge." A Primitive Baptist in his faith Mr. Reynolds often crossed his bridge to worship at the nearby North Prong Mt. Zion Church. When his wife Martha died in 1894 he crossed the bridge to place her body in the North Prong Cemetery. Mr. Reynolds remarried to Miss Julia Johns (she had been nursing his late wife through her illness), and soon moved with him to the Florida side to a farm just south of Baxter known as the Gowens (or Givens) place. There George Winston Reynolds died in 1905. Mr. Reynolds was a small man, 5 feet and 6 inches in height and never weighed more than 145 pounds. He was ruddy of complexion, retained much of his British accent, and was firm in all his convictions. To this columns knowledge this English-born pioneer was the only settler in the area who had been shanghaied, stood before a firing squad; and lived to become a prosperous man and a paragon of a faith in his community. We do hope the "Reynolds Bridge" will stand for a long time, honoring one of our most unique citizens. Much thanks to Mr. T. Reynolds of Jacksonville for his information and assistance producing this article. _____________________________________________________________________________ THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday February 15, 1979 Page Two THE WAY IT WAS - Gene Barber Samuel Spearing - Slave to Lawmaker There once existed in the Christian nation of the United States a strange and incongruous institution - slavery, the actual ownership of a human by another. Samuel Spearing was born a slave. He was owned before his natal day. The date and place of his birth has been lost in history but he believed the year to have been in the early 1800's and the place somewhere in South Carolina or Georgia. His mind was quick and open and by the time he was placed on the sales block as a young man he already had a knowledge of the rudiments of reading and numbers. These skills, combined with a fine healthy body brought his seller the premium price in 1840 of $1,800. Samuel's new master was Elisha Green of Columbia County, Florida. The Green plantation was only 10 years old and showing the ravages of the 2nd Seminole War (which was, in fact, not concluded at the time of the purchase of Mr. Spearing). The two, black and white, rebuilt the farm, protected it against scattered Indian attacks, and in the midst of adversities and sweat, entered into a relationship deeper than master and slave. They became friends. Mr. Spearing later wrote of their "friendship" which sprung up between master and servant, which lasted until death came between them." At night when the chores were done, Sam sat with the Green children and learned from his mistress the intricacies of the English language, the history of the Greeks and Romans, the humor and beauty of Shakespeare, and the politics of the young American nation. The young slave became quite literate, often writing letters for his busy master and keeping the plantation books. There were no separate facilities in the Green household. Sam was a member of the family, and the second slave bought by Mr. Green was Sam's choice and bride. Sam's physical labor was over as soon as Mr. Green had increased the slave numbers and elevated Sam to "Boss Slave." Sam was not reluctant to leave this bondage status, but he regretted having to part with the Greens. But when the Civil War was over, the Greens, once rich, could not afford to pay the liberated Blacks to remain on the farm. The illiterate Negroes wandered into Lake City, Gainesville, and Jacksonville hoping for a contract to work, but the Freedmen's Bureau discovered Samuel Spearing and had another job for him. Samuel Spearing was nominated by the Republican Party as Duval County's representative to the Florida State Assembly. The articulate ex-slave won the confidence of independent and conservative Republicans and was even popular with many Democrats and ex-Confederates. In 1874 Spearing was elected to the Florida Senate, but had to struggle against the radical Republicans who thought he was too friendly with the former Confederates. The more the Liberty Billings (he shouted to crowds of Blacks, "Jesus Christ was a Republican!") fraction opposed him the more support he elicited from what newspapers called "respectable" Democrats. Among Samuel Spearing's political friends were James M. Baker, Democrat for whom Baker County is named; Samuel N. Williams, politician in Duval and Baker Counties (both Baker and Williams were one-time members of the railroad's board of directors); John Wallace, Black politician and historian; and William Bloxham, conservative Democrat and later governor of Florida. In 1877 the military withdrew from Florida and thus ended the Republicans' protected favored position. Most ex-Confederates were returned their voting privileges and soon the Blacks in office were being counted out even the enlightened and sincere Blacks like Samuel Spearing. While Mr. Spearing was still in office he was called on to perform "the last act of love and devotion which could be shown this side of eternity." The telegraph summoned him and another fellow ex-slave to go to Sanderson where they would fulflil a promise made to their old master - to assist at his burial. Mr. Spearing was no longer a slave. He was a part of, in the 1870's, that turn of events sung about by the other former slaves - "the bottom rail's on the top." He did not have to return to Sanderson for any reason but for bonds of friendship. But Samuel Spearing often said he was "a man first, a Christian second, an American third, a Baptist fourth, and, oh yes, I'm a Black man too." He was eventually damned by much of the white population as a Black Republican and cursed by many of the Blacks as a toad for the whites. But we believe Samuel Spearing had little to be sorry for. As he quoted over his old master's grave from his favorite book, "Well done, thou good and faithful servant..." _____________________________________________________________________________ THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday February 22, 1979 Page Two THE WAY IT WAS - Gene Barber The Big Snow The winter of 1898 and '99 was an eventful and history-changing season in Baker County and environs. Arriving on the heels of a devastating hurricane fall, that winter arrived in full fury. The citrus industry of north Florida was brought to an abrupt close (although a few hardy souls tried oranges in the county until about 1910). It was reported that a couple of people died in the bitter cold. It was the year of the big snow in the Georgia Bend. The photos, courtesy of Mr. Fred B. Reynolds of Jacksonville, show about 2 inches of the white stuff in downtown Moniac. The sawmill was that of the Dyal and Upchurch Company, and when it left town in 1907 Moniac began its slow but certain demise. None of the people can be identified. Note cwm: Three photos omitted here. _____________________________________________________________________________ THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday March 1, 1979 Page Two THE WAY IT WAS - Gene Barber Growth And Progress? - Part One We recently experienced an incident that taught us two great lessons. First, the incident: a young couple from, Mandarin came to McClenny to talk-over some art and history topics with the writer of this column, not knowing his address but feeling secure in the belief that anyone should know everyone in a small rural town. They inquired of nine people (three within one-quarter mile of the writer's home), were sent to north of Glen Saint Mary, were informed that of the three Gene Barbers living in the county (we'd like to meet the other two) not one was an artist, and they were also informed that nobody by that name was a resident of Baker County although a few Barbers used to live here. The lessons learned were (1) humility (having a weekly article in the BCP does not a Drew Pearson make) and (2) McClenny and Baker County have grown. It all seems a far cry from the early sixties when some of us locals were often peeved by the remark, "you people are so d--- selfish; you won't sell a foot of land so that you can grow and prosper." Then in the mid sixties a little land on I-10 was sold to a couple of outsiders named Stuckey's and Gulf Oil and within six months hand-lettered "for sale" signs were sprouting all along the Interstate highway, in front yards, and in scattered cane patches. Every third person attended real estate school and, as the late Uncle John Red Lauramore once put it, "they wudn't enough dirt left to plant a patch a' collards. But for those of you old timers and even later-arrivers who are beginning to panic and feel crowded, take heart - this is but one of several such growth spurts. We've survived each and have even benefited by some of them. The area's first big growing period was from the late 1820's through 1835. The Second Seminole War cut that one short. After the war the Armed Occupation Act of 1842 opened former Seminole Territory to settlers and the present Baker County lost several families to the grasslands and hills of central and south Florida. A few new pioneers moved in during the 1850's but the growth was negated by the continuing drain toward the south. Except for temporarily taking away a large number of males the Civil War had no perceptible effect on the population. In 1864 a Union soldier wrote home that he had seen but one small field under cultivation between Baldwin and Olustee. This column takes no issue with the statement about sparse settlement but known facts about the soldier's route and the settler's home land descriptions prove he was either marching while asleep or was flat out fibbing (we try to remember, however, that we Rebels were the only biased chauvinistic ones during and after that great war). Reconstruction (1866-1877) saw another shuffling and shifting among the country's population. Many Crackers who had been living in the area for 30 years or more picked up and left for greener pastures, not only to south Florida but to Jacksonville and back to Georgia. Into a county that was demoralized and almost empty of white Southerners and native-born Blacks came scores of Northerners and newly freed Blacks from the once richer states to our north. The economy took an upswing with the almost exclusive industries of turpentining and sawmilling. Hardly had Reconstruction and its attendant evils of peonage (hardly better than slavery) and graft exited than Florida felt its first surge of land opportunists and sales booms. A Jacksonville firm made up of a gentleman lately from Ohio and Indiana teamed up with Carr B. McClenny at a little sawmill and turpentine distillery town named Darbyville and there they platted out the city of McClenny. The sales pitches brought in a great many mid-westerners and some New Englanders and it seemed that McClenny was to rival the other "tropic" cities just quoting the sales brochures) of Jacksonville and Saint Augustine. Glen St. Mary was also platted out as a tourist resort and Margaretta was given some attention, but, it was all brought to a close in the summer of 1888 when the great yellow fever epidemic hit. Baker County was almost emptied out again as the northern survivors moved back home, southern residents moved to Jacksonville, and many local-born Crackers joined their relatives in central and south Florida. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday March 8, 1979 Page Two THE WAY IT WAS - Gene Barber Growth And Progress? - Part Two After the disastrous yellow fever epidemic of 1888 Baker County had to regroup and begin again. Some communities such as Margaretta and Cedar Creek no longer existed except in memories. Glen Saint Mary never regained its competitive status with Darbyville-McClenny. And Sanderson, already losing ground to the towns of Glen Saint Mary and McClenny since the late 1870's (everything was becoming Jacksonville oriented and the westernmost towns couldn't compete), lost its county seat importance in the late 1880's and soon almost bit the dust. From the Turner Cemetery section north of Glen Saint Mary and northward things were picking up with a new influx of Georgians from the southeastern counties of that state. After more than a century of uninterrupted farming the land there was finally wearing out and that, combined with a poor state of politics in our sister state to the north, brought in new residents by the scores. Business slowed down for a while along the original railroad because of scandals within the rail company and thus the way was opened for new rails to push through to pick up the old business and to tap the wealth of forests in the north and south of the county. The center of the county lost out greatly to the Baxter area and the narrow strip of land running through the south end of the Okefenokee once called both the Old Settler Train Trail and the Yarborough Trail. New communities sprung up in the late 1880's and early 1890's along the new rails that were recently put through the south east section of the county. When the forests were depleted in the north and west of Baker County the big sawmills at Baxter-Moniac and Olustee folded and moved away. Many of the new white citizens they had brought in moved away with them but most of the blacks remained to farm and enter turpentining. It was said in the 1920's that a black man signed away his birthright when he joined a turpentine camp. However, a birthright didn't mean much to a man whose belly was pinching almost beyond endurance. Almost no blacks were left in the north end of the county from a once enormous population. Attention began to refocus on McClenny. The cut-over forests there had regrown and were ready for another siege of sawmills, but this time it was small outfits. A few new residents saw hundreds of denuded acreage and figured things were right for promoting this section as a great farming potential. The Baker County Standard, the Sentinel, and neighboring newspapers preached farming and the message caught with a few Northerners. Some came in and tried cotton farming (much of McClenny east of College and north of US 90 was a gigantic cotton field). Two silk farms, complete with Japanese experts, were tried in McClenny, one behind the present Baker County Press office and the other the site of and east of the present courthouse. Olustee tried its Pecan and Pony Farm. Unfortunately, Baker County soil just didn't suit anything tried, the products were too far away from their markets, the local labor situation has never been cooperative around work, and most of the business operators were anything but business operators. Some brilliant young professional men believed in the future and magic of McClenny and established their practices there. In spite of a devastating hurricane season or two, severe freezes, and a couple of rainless winters, McClenny grew from about 1890 through the first World War at a comfortable and almost rapid pace. It seemed as if the future of the little community was assured, even though the other towns were floundering. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday March 15, 1979 Page Two THE WAY IT WAS - Gene Barber Growth And Progress? - Part Three From the 1890's through the first World War McClenny grew in size while the remainder of the county lost in population. Newspapers sprang up overnight and died almost as quickly. In 1909 McClenny had five doctors at one time, almost one per every hundred residents. One of Florida's brilliant young attorneys, Max Brown of Lake City located there. Mr. Brown had the distinction of being the first Floridian ever elected to the presidency of prestigious Yale University. McClenny's first masonry buildings were erected during this period, few of which remain and it is hoped that they will be considered worth saving during any downtown revitalization plans for the city. A few more fashionable homes were constructed including the fabulous Gasque house on the southeast corner of present McClenny Avenue and 6th Street. It was considered a showplace and model home for many other houses in the area. World War I had little effect on the population of the county although several young Baker men volunteered for service "over there". But as soon as they came home some were infected with the fever of brighter lights and they moved on. After all, "how're you gonna keep 'em down on the farm after they've seen Paree?" One last attempt was made to sell Baker County during the big Florida land boom of the twenties. Some very impressive subdivision names still remain on maps from the last great promotion. One former resident moved back from Sanford, bought up many acres, lavished a fortune on advertising, threw a bodacious barbeque, sold one piece of land (it was never paid for), and promptly went broke. Some Northern' folks bought land in the county sight-unseen. During some research during the early 60's it was discovered that many had continued to pay taxes but had never visited their Florida dream home sites. A few became interested enough after being contacted and questioned that they decided to come south and view their land. Boy, were they surprised to learn that it would take considerable draining to see their soil even if they could get through the big timber companies' tracts to it. About the only other effect the boom times of the Roaring Twenties had on Baker County was to further drain off population toward Miami and the newly opened farmlands around Okeechobee. Prohibition came in nationally and THAT was nother story. Briefly, Prohibition was an attempt to regulate morals by legislation; admirable in theory and dumb in practice. Every since mankind discovered that rotten grapes put them on a high he has steadily drunk booze and other spirits, and, if the past is any indication of the future, he will continue to do so. Backwoods Baker Countians, themselves influenced by the conservative Calvinistic doctrines of moderation rather than abstinence, took to making the stuff wholesale for the big cities to the north and wild Miami to their south. The depression hit and although it did not make things easier for Baker County it could hardly hurt a people who had never known too much in the way of physical comfort and luxury. "Nobody worth the salt in his grits ever went hungry", often stated the older heads, "if, that is, he wasn't too sorry to try." No cases of starvation were reported in the county and even the sorry were taken care of by the few "have's". Unfortunately, many believed their salvation lay in the cities and they sold out or just simply forfeited their little farms and migrated to the fleshpots. The Federal Government bought up scores of farms west of Taylor and north of Olustee across the county line into Columbia and established the Osceola National Forest. This was another great idea, except for the few who had preferred to remain and were forced out by the various means used by big government. The forest was established for the use and enjoyment of the people (that's you and me), but hardly had the ink dried on the proclamation than Uncle Sam began to lease it out to the rich for weekend cabins, hunting lodges, and timber and naval stores production. Adding insult to injury ol' Unc also began flirting with the phosphate industry in order to gouge out big holes in the beautiful pine barrens. No argument with the phosphate people but the forest was not established just for them to make money from. What happened there was the omen for what we have done with our growth, and change. Next week we'll see just what we've done with it. Pertinent Hlstorical Information? Write: P.O. Box 523 Macclenny, Florida 32063 ---------------------------------------------------------------------- THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday March 22, 1979 Page Two THE WAY IT WAS - Gene Barber Growth And Progress? - Final Installment World War II had its effect on Baker County's population. Many young folks were called into military service and several did not come back, relocating in more lucrative areas up north or lying beneath foreign dirt and seas. The big post war boom took more away by droves. Jacksonville, Miami and its environs, and points north, especially New York City, were enriched by Cracker blood. The population drain continued through the 1950's with hardly a high school graduate remaining home. And for good reason: there was nothing in the county to provide him with a decent living, if a living at all. Farming was never a biggie in the county and by the 50's it was dead except for a few little green farms. Turpentining had gone mechanized and left the county. Lumbering petered out. Shine was a sometimes-type business (it also modified the population, many of the males taking temporary vacations in Federal "colleges"). With the advent of the "Great Give-away Era" in the early to mid '60's, the Federal Government saw to it that nobody who didn't want to had to work. Subsistence checks were doled out to deserving families (meaning those with a large voting block). While the taxpayers scraped around the plastic margarine tub the former "have-nots" were picking up real butter (remember that stuff?) in their Continentals at the Commodities Office. It was noised abroad that of all the give-away areas in the world Baker County was the softest touch of all and the needy (that's to be read "sorry, shiftless, -- and I don't work on Saturday or any day touching it') flocked across the county line to stand in the hand-out line. The Kennedy period of Camelot introduced us to that family's mainstay - Scotch whiskey. Nobody who was anybody who had been previously thought of as deprived would have condescended to drink that foul brew of the devil called moonshine and all jumped on bonded whiskey, especially Scotch, and the shine industry died more from that than from, all the "Revenoos" put together. In the late 1950's we began to hear of a superhighway that would take us from Jax Beach clear to San Diego in a matter of 3 to 4 days. Our local powers-that-be prepared us by advising us that within a few years the great highway would be our salvation. Folks would just pile out here from Jacksonville to play golf and live. We wouldn't be able to handle our share of the travelers' dollars passing through. The Centennial of 1961 seemed to signal our last great concentrated effort as a county-community. In a couple of years or so the predicted flow along I-10 began...the other way. Years before Baker Square was ever on paper the buying public gravitated toward the chrome and glass shopping centers of Jax. The late Jim Rowe's favorite pastime was to park at the intersection of I-10 and its two McClenny exits and count cars heading toward Jacksonville. It was strangely ominous how each day his count steadily increased (228 more than 121). Downtown McClenny exhibited its first death rattles. Stores began emptying. Businesses popped up and died almost as quickly. And the population drain continued. Some folks began to panic. Most, however, saw nothing nor did most care to see anything...complacency blinds. Back to Article nr. 1, a few parcels along I-10 were sold and with the first taste of dollars in several years the rush was on. The county Development Commission took out a few token ads in the Jax Times-Union using the same old tired photos of our new courthouse, the Saint Mary's River, golf course, and our newest and most uninteresting school building. They could have saved their money. With Duval County's school situation worsening, the Jacksonville consolidation woes and increased taxes, and the introduction of hoodlumism via the new morality and liberalism into the Jacksonville area, its population was going to overflow into all us little rural counties surrounding the big city. They came to escape taxes, demanded the same services (or better) than those they had left, and wondered how come the big tax mill will jump in their new home. The native born, slightly bewildered with their share of their land sales handed them by one of the new Baker County breed called "Realtors", immediatemly purchased a color TV, took a trip to Disney World, and bought themselves a new plaything called a metalilc robin's egg blue four wheel drive complete with brushed chrome dog box. With all this progress we wonder why downtown McClenny continued to die. How come good little family restaurants floundered while folks flocked to city eateries costing much more and of much less quality, why local lounges sometimes had troubles while 52 tags were lined up at the Happy Jax on Lane Avenue, why locals carefully avoided our modest but good art shows but didn't mind forking out young fortunes on imported junk art at the so-called "hungry artists" sales at the Thunderbird, why the community theater passed on from lack of nourishment. Sometime ago we noted a bit of philosophy scrawled on a fence around a construction project - "progress is a four letter word." Looking further, we expected to see something less than nice added by the disgruntled graffiti person. His completing word was "love". We're not certain that the little observation ties in with our four article report on "Growth and Progress?" but we think it perhaps lets us close on an optimistic, less than sour note. _____________________________________________________________________________ THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday March 29, 1979 Page Two THE WAY IT WAS - Gene Barber Immoral Behavior On The Creek Bank Few weeks go by without re-teaching this writer two great lessons - (1) people are basically rotten and (2) people are basically good. Since the second lesson always rides in on the coat tails of the first it seems to negate and refute the first. Examples: on the 29th of January, almost all our records and history collections were destroyed in a senseless orgy of vandalism by some misguided kids (never brought to justice); but, even before the clean-up began, offers to help and new history material began to flow in. Among these several salvaging angels was Lt. Col. Mace Harris of Orange City down in Volusia County. Besides genealogical material and historical narratives, Col. Harris offered a number of little personal incidents that recalled days less complicated, harder physically but easier mentally, more disciplined, and always tempered with love and humor. It won't mean much to anyone born after about 1955 or so. It'll seem quite tame and even pointless to the County's more sophisticated pot heads, but in those days kids spent more time in old-fashioned, deliciously wicked behavior than being engaged in a day-long vandalization of $10,000 worth of house, records and antiques. Called "Mace's Immoral Behavior" we present our guest writer's recollections of Baker County's past. "One fine summer afternoon on a Sunday I and some cousins, T. A. and Douglas Reynolds, Johnny Harris and some brothers decided we would go a 'washin' down at the ford on Bluff Creek. "We were all about 12-13 years old and of course had never heard of bathing trunks. So we went the time honored way - plum naked. We put our overalls on the bank and jumped in." " Pretty soon here came a passel of young women from up on the hill. They were Rhoden girls, daughters of Hardy I think. These young women had on their every day calico dresses with a safety pin run through the skirts for modesty's sake. They too did not have any swim wear. When they came on the scene we boys did not pay them any mind and kept on our own doings. The girls also went about their way, and I am sure that the fact we were unclothed did not worry them. The day ended Just fine." Next morning I was out at the cowpen fending off the calves for Grandma while she milked. Things did not seem to go as usual. When she had done a 'milkin' she walked over to the nearest peach tree and cut herself a fairly good switch. Now, if Grandma wore a dress, she also wore an apron. In the pocket of the apron she always carried a Barlow knife for many useful purposes. So she was prepared for the cuttin' and pretty soon she had me prepared for my cuttin'. She opened up with "Mace didn't you go washin' yisterday a naked?" "Warn't there some girls there?" "I thought real fast and knew she had been told about it by somebody who had gone through the ford while we were there and I saw that I could not get out of the jam. But I knew that we had been behavin' and I told her that we were there first. When the wimmin arrived we warn't about to leave. She replied "well I have got to teach you not to go washin' with girls when naked." With that she gave me several cuts across the back of my legs with the peach whip. She was about to get going real good when suddenly she broke out in a hard fit of laughing. It was so amusing to her that she couldn't keep it up. No boy ever had a grandma as lovin' as I did, may the good Lord rest her sou1." The Tom Harris and related families will hold a reunion on Saturday the 7th of April at the Harris Homestead. This is now the home of Mrs. Bertha Mae Harris in the middle part of the county on the Big St. Marys. Genealogy Needed Col. Harris needs help from the current generations and back through the 1890's for the following families: Crawford, Crews, Dowling, Harris, Johns, Padgett, Prevatt, Raulerson, Sweat, Stone, Thrift, Williams and Yarborough. It is Col Harris' intention to write up these families, correcting older records and bringing them up into this century. Bible records, legal records and other data greatly needed by Mace A. Harris, LTC (Ret) 930 Tappan Circle, Orange City, Fla. 32763 Tel. 904-775-3489. _____________________________________________________________________________ THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday April 5, 1979 Page Two THE WAY IT WAS - Gene Barber Black Pioneers - The Indian Fighter And The Wood Chopper The first known Black to become a permanent resident of the Baker County area was named Jason (slave parents were usually not privileged to name their own children and the white owners liked to give the babies classical and Biblical appellations). He was purchased in Saint Augustine in the late summer of 1829 and his "papers" stated that he was born on Alimicani Island, part of the Zephaniah Kingsley slave property. Jason was powerful, witty, sometimes a little too independent for his master (the term used to be "biggity"), and very black. He quickly climbed through the shackled ranks to gain his master's attention and never lost his position as boss slave. As boss slave Jason was permitted to live in the "big house" and possess his own firearm. He is credited with often saving his plantation from Indian attackers while his master was away. It was reported that he and his mistress were much better shots than the master. He also prevented his Black charges from succumbing to the Seminoles' entreaties that they run away and join them. His manner of influence and methods of restraint were frequently harsh and violent and did not endear him to his fellow slaves. It is small wonder that a daughter of his master risked her life to save his from an attacking Indian. The red man entered the kitchen through the scuttle hole and was about to bury his hatchet in Jason's skull when the younq girl tossed a kettle of burning grease on the Indian, seriously burning her hands - not to mention what it did to the Indian. As the Indian writhed across the floor in pain she stuck a flaming stick to him and burned him to death. Jason's first mistress died in the mid 1850's and he did not take to the new lady brought to the plantation house. Neither did he approve of the unmarried status of his master and new mistress. The good relation built up between slave and master was soon destroyed as the master attempted to beat obedience and devotion into the resentful black man. For a man who had never known the receiving end of a beating, Jason endured until the early spring of 1864. When the Union Army neared Baker County he escaped his bondage. Morale and discipline broke down on the plantation and the former master accused Jason of being an ingrate. There was a story that in the late 1880's an elderly, large-framed Negro came to McClenny and spent a few days camped near Dick White Branch on the present golf course. He poked around the soil, raked a few leaves off a small patch of ground, and brought some wild flowers to that cleaned spot. When asked by some of the old-timers what his business was there, he answered, "Just looking for a little bit of happiness that once stood on this ground...just a little bit of happiness." ------------- Uncle Willis Rawls was fondly remembered as a "slavery days" Baker County Black. He probably never touched a weapon as did Jason nor was he erudite as was Senator Samuel Spearing but he was the archtype slave, laboring until death set him free long after the Emancipation Proclamation. In 1877 the first list of county taxpayers since 1861 was made up and Mr. Rawls was listed as paying 50 cents each to the state and to the county. To make a meager living Uncle Willis went from house to house in the McClenny area chopping firewood. As he reached advanced age, Uncle Willis was taken by former Confederate Rob Rowe south of McClenny. His own little house was built by Mr. Rowe and he was given a small dole each week for his needs. Mr. Rawls reckoned he was in his 90's or beyond, his eyes were getting dim, and he asked Mr. Rowe to assure him of his burial wishes. He wanted to be taken to the little slave cemetery on the northwest side of McClenny to rest with the "old time people." In 1898 Mr. Rawls died and Mr. Rowe took the frail black body the last mile in a wagon to the deserted slave cemetery. At the same time a Baker County born Confederate Veteran died in Orange County and he had also requested to be buried in the same cemetery near his former home. Thus, during the same week a former slave and a former champion of slavery were united in that very final state which has no time or place for prejudices and chips on the shoulder. Today, a street, golf course, and a house sit on top of them both as well as on the little piece of ground cleared out by the black stranger. _____________________________________________________________________________ THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday April 12, 1979 Page Two THE WAY IT WAS - Gene Barber Some Tips On Genealogy This column receives many questions of a genealogical nature and we usually cannot supply adequate answers. We will try to be of help, albeit tardily, providing you (1) enclose a self-addressed and stamped envelope, (2) give us as much data as you can on the subject, (3) be willing to exchange information with this column, and (4) offer the same courtesies to the person(s) we might refer you to. Americans are great on fads. Right after streaking and bottle collecting died out we jumped into genealogy and CB's. Nothing against fads...anything beats working for a living and not spending money. On the subject of genealogy, if you're going to be a do-it-your-selfer, at least do it right. A very reasonable membership fee in one of the area's two groups involved in the study will be of great assistance - Southeastern Genealogists Exchange, 2525 Oak Street, Jacksonville and Jacksonville Genealogical Society, P.O. Box 7076, Jacksonville. The local LDS Church has occasional classes on the subject; a call to its office will provide information. Your writer knows all three institutions are quality programs because he has participated in them himself. The Sunday Florida Times-Union offers a genealogical column with a question and answer section written by the multi-talented LaViece Moore Smallwood. Mrs. Smallwood, a former classmate of this writer, conducts exhaustive research into genealogy methods and resources. More for the do-it-yourselfers later, but, now, the great rip-off. We advise you folks to stop wasting your money on mail-order coats-of-arms. You can, of course, hang any such you wish but you have no moral right to display as your own a coat-of-arms not granted to a direct ancestor. If you wish you may devise and design your own and have it registered and it will be proper and ethical to do so. Also, beware of bargain mail-order genealogies. Ancestor searching is always time consuming and is often expensive even by the experts, and there can be no bargains in it. Mail-order genealogies are nothing more, even at the best, than one ancestral line (always illustrious, of course) from about the late 1400's to "the first of that line to arrive in America." From the first to land on these shores to you is a long, complicated way and it is doubtful the subject of the mail-order genealogy is even remotely related to you. These compilations, as well as the mail-order coats-of-arms, are resplendent with mayors of London, keepers of the king's hunting preserves, Louis IX's right hand man; daring sea pirates who were later pardoned and knighted by the queen, etc. Folks, let's face it...somebody back then had to be common and un-illustrious (more specifically, your ancestors and mine). And be careful of the nice letter you receive from Cousin Some-One-You've-Never-Heard-Of-In-California announcing the publication of the official history of your family surname. After her greeting is usually a convincing run-down on the first to enter your particular state and a list of his children (always called "issue") with their down-home type names. If you live in one of the southern states you can rest assured ol' Cousin What's-Her-Name will emphasize the family's devotion to the Confederacy. Just to be on the safe side there will always be included one branch who arrived on the Mayflower (history's most crowded vessel; greater even than Noah's ark). And, Just to be democratic, one ancestor's brother was a rebellious sort who "went west" or "married an Indian." And when a genealogy starts out with, "there were four brothers. One went north, one went west, one came south, and one stayed there," the writer of this column immediately closes the book. He just cannot believe we all started out over on this side of the big water with four brothers who were so hung up on the four points of the compass. _____________________________________________________________________________ THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday April 19, 1979 Page Two THE WAY IT WAS - Gene Barber History Of County Newspapers Americans have always been great on newspapers. Most folks subscribe to a news sheet or regularly buy one because to not do so would be unthinkable and un-American (like not watching Mork and Mindy, not eating at McDonald's, not wearing Jogging costumes when shopping). Baker Countians have not been exceptions to the rule. According to the late Mr. Tate Powell, Sr., a small paper was being published at Sanderson as soon as the county was formed in 1861. The life expectancy of a newspaper in a county with a population of less than 500 including perhaps 25 literates, could not have been very good. It must have folded during the Civil War and, except for a reporter traveling with the Federal troops in February of 1864, that was the end of newspapering in the county until ex-Confederate Charles A. Findley (Finley) of Lake City established the Star at Sanderson in 1866. One would surmise that Capt. Findley's move to Darbyville-McClenny in the mid 1870's indicated his foresightedness and business acumen, seeing as how many of the county residents were agitating for the county seat removal to that town from Sanderson. The rumored truth of the matter is that the editor's "circulation" in the Sanderson area had little to do with his newspaper and that he ran afoul of several fathers of unwed mothers-to-be. Capt. Findley discreetly removed himself from the sticky scene and re-established the Star at Darbyville-McClenny. The news void in Sanderson was filled by a one-fold sheet called the Press owned and edited by a Baptist preacher, school teacher, and singing master named Professor Carr. When a local businessman questioned one of the Baptist parishioners about the Professor's many business pursuits, the parishioner is reported to have replied, "he might as well...he can't preach." Professor Carr either passed on to that great printing press in the sky or sold out to a Columbia County native named Mott Howard. Mr. Howard had many family ties in the Baker County neighborhood and was possessed of a Midas' touch. His sheet prospered until the removal of the county seat in 1886. The Press was printed in McClenny for a short while until Mr. Howard retired. Capt. Findley soon ceased publication of the Star and moved to the greener pastures (and, we might add, safer) of Gainesville. A man named Matthews moved into McClenny soon after the county seat change and published the Sentinel until the late 1800's. Mr. C. D. Allen, lately from up North, published the McClenny Standard around the turn of the century. He and his mother lived in the John O. Thompson house on Florida Avenue (across from the parking lot of the present post office). His print shop was in the upper story of a house around the corner on College Street. In the early years of this century a young veteran of the Spanish-American War came to McClenny looking for opportunities. Tate Powell was a handsome, olive-complexioned native of Bradford County, of Welsh ancestry and of old and illustrious North Carolina stock. He was, according to his contemporaries, rather bold, persistent, witty and shrewd. Young Mr. Powell took a shine to the printing business and stated that he wanted to buy the McClenny Standard. He asked around town for a backer and all replies were, "see Charley Barber." The two talked with Mr. Allen who asked for $1,000 for his newspaper. Before the afternoon was over Mr. Powell had Mr. Allen's price cut in half. Then Mr. Powell and Mr. Barber motored into Jacksonville to request a loan of $500 from the Florida National Bank. Mr. Barber had a wide-spread reputation for aiding deserving people and his word was the only collateral anybody ever needed. The bank president's immediate answer was, "yes, you can get it." It took a little of the loan for living and moving expenses but in the early part of 1905 Tate Powell took the $465 he had left plus $35 advanced him by his, mother and bought the Standard. With his brother Avery and a Washington hand press they began working upstairs in Mr. Allen's print shop. A German tramp printer, fond of alcohol, came by and taught them the business "from one end to the other." A couple of job presses were acquired and business boomed. In a short while Mr. Powell moved his bride, the former Miss Carolyn Rivers, into Mrs. Lizzie Barber's hotel. Their firstborn, a daughter, died young but soon there was a son named for his father. Mr. Powell later recalled that he had a desire to quit it all and ramble and never understood why. But ramble is what he did - for 12 years. In early 1929 the Powells returned to McClenny. "I decided McClenny was where I wanted to stay", mused Mr. Powell many years later. He determined to purchase the Standard again and he found backers in the persons of the Messrs. Lucious Knabb, T.M., Dorman, W. C. Thompson, I. R. Rhoden and Joe Jones. He renamed the little paper in honor of Mr. Howard's Press and, thus, on the 12th of April, 1929, the Baker County Press was born. (the Standard was revived by others and operated until 1942.) Mrs. Powell died and was laid to rest in Woodlawn Cemetery and Mr. Powell later married the beautiful Mrs. Cecil (nee Crews) Harris. The new Mrs. Powell and Mr. Powell's daughter-in-law helped to gather news but the mainstay in the business was young Tate, Jr. He and his father enjoyed a partnership that lasted 32 years. The Press was widely quoted by state and Georgia newspapers, its wit and wisdom appreciated by knowledgeable editors. Tate, Jr., served as president of the Florida Press Association. The elder Mr. Powell's eulogies were poetical and sincere and without excess praise. Young folks enjoying a party or settled citizens "motoring to Jacksonville last Tuesday" were news items of concern to the editors and their readers. In the early 1960's Mr. Powell, Sr., sold out to his son and grandson Ray Powell. In the following decade the Press changed hands three times, its format went to National Enquirer size, and its ink turned red (literally and figuratively). One solid citizen and politician complained that the new compact size was hardly enough to hide a bottle in. (In those days the post office from which one picked up his Press and our one package store were side by side.) Tate, Jr., moved back in to save the Press much to the relief of Baker Countians. Meanwhile, another institution died - Tate Powell, Sr. "Little Tate", as he will always be known to his fellow Baker Countians, needed a rest from the headaches of the newspapering business and in 1974 sold the Press to a young gentleman described in the Miami Herald as an "Irish, Catholic, redheaded...Yankee." Life has not always gone easy with the Press. It has been joked about, praised and quoted, sometimes a little wobbly on its foundations, but it is an institution we folks would rather not do without...whether edited by a twinkling-eyed Tate, Sr., a dry-humored Tate, Jr., a quick succession of folks whose names we have difficulty remembering, or the present owner-editor. What is the status of the Press and what kind of job is the present owner-editor Jim McGauley doing? Quoting again from the Herald, former owner-editor Powell commented in 1976, "he's making the payments." These days, that's noteworthy in any business. THE PRESS..... 50th Anniversary 1929-1979 _____________________________________________________________________________ THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday April 26, 1979 Page Two THE WAY IT WAS - Gene Barber The Fraser Pioneers This Sunday the Florida Clan Fraser will hold its annual reunion at the picnic shelter on Rowe Barber Road south of McClenny. Since so many of Baker County's outstanding educational, business, legislative and banking persons are members of and descendants of that family we thought it appropriate to present a few notes on them. Mordecai Fraser, according to genealogist LaViece Smallwood, is the earliest known of this line. Born shortly before the Revolutionary War in North Carolina of Scottish ancestry, Mordecai migrated to South Carolina and married Mary (last name unknown at this time). He possibly married a second time and lived in Marlboro County, S.C. from the end of the 18th century through the 1840's. Two of his sons were Lewis and Thomas Jefferson and it is through them the Baker County Frasers were descended. Lewis, born about 1802, was married twice. To his second wife Latilla Caulk, was born, among several others, Elizabeth "Bettie". She was to later marry her cousin Clemon (or Clement) Cogdell Fraser and moved to Florida. Lewis and his wives remained in Marlboro County and are buried in a little family cemetery which was lost for several years. Thomas Fraser was born, either in 1795 or 1802, depending on which census one uses to determine such dates. He married Miss Emily Burroughs, also a native of South Carolina in 1831. Although the census of 1860 (like the 1850 schedule, not always very reliable) listed all the children as being born in South Carolina, later research has enlightened us that Tom and Emily made their move to Florida's Columbia (that part now Baker) County prior to 1850 and that four of their children were born in Florida. The Tom and Emily Fraser homestead was on the high banks of Cedar Creek (near the present Hamp Register Farm) and was a model homeplace. There they reared nine children. John, born in 1835, married Mary Raulerson, a daughter of Herod and Nancy. (The Raulersons lived about 15 or 20 miles west on the Jacksonville-Tallahassee Road). He was lost in 1862 during the War Between the States. Martha, born in 1835, and Samuel, born in 1839, probably later returned to South Carolina during the latter years of the Civil War. Georgia Ann was born in 1845 and married Henry L. Berry, a son of Lewis and Nancy (the Berry place was a few miles east of the Frasers on the aforementioned route). "Miss Georgann," as she was known to her neighbors and many students, was evidently widowed early (some folks whispered there was not a marriage at all). She reared a young lady on the Berry Place north of McClenny and then broke up housekeeping to live with the Robert Rowe family south of McClenny. "We had great respect for Miss Georgann", commented a former student of the itinerant teacher, "but she was not particularly easy to get along with." Clement "Clem" was born in 1847 and married his first cousin Bettie Fraser, a daughter of Lewis and Latilla. Clem also returned to South Carolina but came back to Florida. One fine early summer day his brother Brantley woke his family at their farm between Glen St. Mary and Sanderson and said, "Well, this'll be the day Clem comes rolling in." About noon, just in time for the extra big mess of rations put on by Mrs. Fraser, Clem, Bettie, and their kids did turn up the lane in their loaded wagon. Among the kids was Jim who grew up to marry Lizzie, a daughter of Mott Howard (see last week's article on county newspapers regarding Mr. Howard). While living in Alachua County, Jim and Lizzie became the parents of Edwin Gardner Fraser, one of Florida's most illustrious lawmakers. Young Jim had been named for his Uncle James, born in 1849. The elder James also went back to South Carolina as did his sister Sarah, born in 1850, and his brother Francis, born in 1852. Amanda, born in 1850, married a neighbor, John Commander Williams, son of the proliferate John Daniel and Rebecca Sweat Williams. She remained in Baker County to become the clan mother of literally thousands of that name. The late Preacher Jim Williams of the ready smile and the friendly booming voice and the well known and valuable citizens who were the children of Henry and Mary Dugger are among the many descendants of Amanda. The youngest child of Tom and Emily was Brantley. He was born in 1856 and at the age of 8 was involved in the daring and traumatic experience of retrieving a wounded Reb from under the very noses of the Yankee invaders. He accompanied his mother and an aged slave on the mission and was forced to take the oath of allegiance to the US flag (in case one wonders why the word "forced", it must be remembered that banner was then the emblem of an enemy of the Crackers). Although it has been rumored the Frasers were of Quaker sentiments in their faith, an occasional member of the clan seemed to enjoy a good fracas. Thomas Jefferson Fraser was reported to have been one of that type. While on a business trip to Lake City in 1860 Tom was killed by a Mr. Walker in an argument. There are two versions and either or both could be correct. That there was a quarrel regarding a bill owed to hotel and livery stable owner Mr. Walker seems to be fact. But that Mr. Fraser, was a conservative Whig somewhat opposed to the Secession from the Union (as indeed most Baker Countians were) and that Mr. Walker was a rabid Secessionist seems factual also and is supposed to have been the subject of arguments in the past between them. Mrs. Fraser buried her husband at Lake City in a grave which has not been found by their descendants. After the Battle at Ocean Pond in February of 1864, she packed up the children who wished to go and removed to Marlboro County, South Carolina. Shortly after her return to her ancestral home Mrs. Fraser passed away. Georgann and Amanda remained in Baker County. Brantley married Maranda Bowyer and moved back to live near his sisters and, as stated before, Clem and his wife Bettie followed several years later. Witty, personable, charming, somewhat rebellious, and usually possessed of luck and good looks the Fraser Clan is a welcome ingredient to the heterogeneous mixture that has become Baker County, Florida. _____________________________________________________________________________ THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday May 3, 1979 Page Two THE WAY IT WAS - Gene Barber The Great Horse Race Answering our call for some old-time anecdotes and tales, our long time friend in Orange City, Lt. Col. Mace Harris, came up with a story that was typical of every generation of Baker County boys except the past couple - racing the work animals against parental orders. The time was prior to any paved roads in the county and before every family went deeply in debt so that every kid 12 years of age and above had his/her own TransAm or Mustang or whatever else is currently in vogue in wheels. A little background: Col. Harris as a youngster, lived with his grandmother Emma Stone Harris, the widow of Thompson "Tom". Mrs. Harris' mother Harriet Dowling Stone, a Confederate Army Vet widow, lived with them. The Harris homestead was on the St. Mary's River about five miles south of Taylor Community. Like most Baker Countians, the widows, though certainly not impoverished, had to watch over their belongings with a careful eye. Their work animals were not to be abused and misused making them unfit for plowing and necessary riding. And, thus, hangs a tale. "Great-grandma Stone's pride and joy was her old mare "Pet". She drove that old horse to North Prong on big meeting day and let as many of us young'uns as could ride, go also. Generally, I had to walk as the old mare was so slow I could keep up without any trouble and still have plenty of time to play and catch crawfish in the water-filled ditches along side the road. "It was my duty to go to the mail box several times a week and I was allowed to saddle up and ride old Pet most of the time. The road from the farm to the county road led through the oak thicket about two miles and then onto the "throwed up" road (road work was often accomplished by the taxpayers' own manual labor in lieu of paying their taxes. There was no DOT labor crew, convict road gangs, or hired help in many parts of the county, especially Taylor which was so far away from the county seat). "The way led us over Bluff Creek and up the rise past Mr. Rhoden's and on about 1 1/2 miles to the end of the mail route from Glen Saint Mary. "I was repeatedly told to 'not run that mare' and so on this day I was very slowly and sedately poking along. From off to my left came Charley Altman on a big white mule, fat and sleek as a hound's tooth (the mule, not Charley). I waited up til he joined me and he suggested 'let's race to the mail box.' This seemed like a very fine idea to me so I agreed and we got ourselves lined up for the start. "In no time I was in front several hundred feet and going lickity-split. But I had forgotten two important things - a horse will not run over any obstacle it can jump and that there was a little ol' bridge that drained the side ditch just ahead providing just such an obstacle. "When the mare and I got to the bridge she jumped, naturally, and I jumped with her. But we came down at different times, me later than she. As I laid there, lost of breath, here came the biggest dadgummed mule's hoof I had ever seen and it barely missed my face. "The mule had also jumped the bridge and Charley fared no better than I because he came down at a later time than his mount. In fact, Charley did much worse than I as his foot caught in the bridle and caused the mule to veer off into the woods dragging poor Charley across every lightered knot and stump along the way. "The remarkable thing about it all was that Charley kept his sanity and voice, hollering, 'whoa, mule, whoa' the entire trip. When his steed finally halted, Charley rose with not one broken bone, though only the Lord knows why. We went about our duty of getting the mail and you can be sure that neither of us ever told anyone about it until we were grown. Charley is still alive and well in McClenny and I can't imagine that he's ever forgotten about The Great Horse Race." (Sorry, the writer cannot possibly give individual answers to the several letters received this week but hopes all of you will read this collective response. He is unauthorized and unable to make collections for the local historical association and proposed museum but he strongly supports both and encourages donors to please remember them. A much needed organizational meeting is proposed for the near future and information will be published regarding article and financial donations received. This column is separate from the historical association and welcomes data of a historical nature.) _____________________________________________________________________________ THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday May 10, 1979 Page Two THE WAY IT WAS - Gene Barber A Portrait Of The Dowlings In 1914, when the accompanying photograph was made, the ranks of the old Confederate Soldiers were thinning rapidly. Many wished to retain ties made during the great conflict and thus former Boys in Grey gathered each year for their re-unions. On the days of May 6th through the 8th, 1914, Jacksonville was the scene of such a session. Some Dowlings and a brother-in-law took time out for a family portrait. Left to right, standing, were an unidentified Dowling woman, William Henry Stone, Darling Dowling, and another unidentified Dowling woman. Left to right, sitting, were Harriet Dowling Stong, Lazarus Dowling and an unidentified Dowling woman. All the women and the two Dowling men were children of Darling and Sophie (nee Davis)Dowling of the vicinity of High Bluff Church in the present Brantley County, Georgia. Darling, Jr., was a member of Company A of the Satilla Rangers. He often recalled how the snow was so thick on the soldiers' blankets during one Of the war's winters that the men could hardly turn over. "I would've gladly crawled under Mama's kitchen stove back home, if I could've only been out of that mess." He was captured in one of the Virginia campaigns. He returned home, married Miss Mary Harris, and farmed near Ft. Mudge on the north edge of the Okefenokee Swamp. Lazarus married Mary Ann Thomas, and after 15 years and 14 children Mary Ann died. "Lay", as he was often called, reared his children and taught Sacred Harp singing in the Primitive Baptist Church. He joined Company A of the 50th Georgia Infantry and was appointed a squad leader. He was wounded during the second day of the Battle of Antietam and his wounds eventually caused his discharge. W. H. and Harriett Stone will be treated separately in a later article. We are indebted to "A Dowling Family of the South" and to Mr. Tom Reynolds of Jacksonville for the material on the Dowlings. Note cwm: Photo omitted here. _____________________________________________________________________________ THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday May 17, 1979 Page Two THE WAY IT WAS - Gene Barber William Henry Stone 1843-1917 NOTE: First part missing. the Dowlings had removed to the Georgia Bend pocketed within the Saint Marys River and to just across that stream in Baker County, Florida. Mr. Stone remained in Pierce County until three children were born. There he was a Justice of the Peace and taught school. Sometime in 1870 the Stone family followed the Dowlings and settled in Charlton County across the river from Florida's Fort Moniac (then abandoned). He often said that he could not compete with the bears and gators eating his hogs and the 'coons eating his corn. After a fourth child was born at that site Mr. Stone moved his family into Florida (about 9 miles north-northwest of the present Glen Saint Mary). The family resumed farming and Mr. Stone was elected JP of his district. He performed many marriages, including the first recorded marriage after the courthouse burning in the mid 1870's. He helped build a log cabin school near Turner Cemetery and he and his sister Harriet taught there. His Mount Zion, North Prong, Primitive Baptist Church congregation selected him as their church clerk and song leader. Mr. Stone became deeply involved in his church work spending several days during church visitation trips. Under his influence Mt. Zion enjoyed one of its greatest growth periods. When his Confederate pension was finally granted he received $100 per year which was later raised to $112. In his 69th year, William Henry Stone died south of Sanderson, Florida, at his son Isaiah's home. The body was taken to old Mount Zion where it was laid to rest in his chosen Florida soil overlooking the soil of his birth state, Georgia. His wife followed him in death 10 years later and was interred by his side. Their children were: William Henry, Jr., born 1864 in Pierce County, Georgia; died 1920 in Baker County, Florida; and married Mary Lavina Rhoden. Emma, born 1866 in Pierce County; died 1937; married John Thomas Harris. Aurelia, born 1869 in Pierce County; died 1954 in Jacksonville, Florida; married Thomas Abel Reynolds. Allen, who died as an infant. Isaiah David, born 1872; died 1937; married (1) Sallie Roberts, (2) Mary Lillian Clark. Civilla, born 1873; died 1930; married Joe Harris. Colquit, born 1876; died 1930; single. _____________________________________________________________________________ THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday May 24, 1979 Page Two THE WAY IT WAS - Gene Barber You're Getting Old If........ The writer of this column has never been one for birthdays (why get excited about something we had nothing to do with?), and birthday parties are barely edged out by fire ants and jumping dogs as being his most unfavorite things. However, for one so opposed to celebrating one year closer to the end he vied with the Aga Khan and Queen Victoria in the length of his recent natal anniversary and number of parties (including two surprise parties...the surprise being that he didn't show up) from central Florida northward. Now, we aren't certain just what all this means. Is it flattery or are our acquaintances jumping on the sidelines of our great marathon of life cheering us on to the final days? One effect it had was to make this writer reflect and wonder "are we getting old?" Watching Mrs. Eleanor Thurston, a delightful and spritely octagenarian doing volunteer work at the local nursing home tending to folks a decade or so her junior, we doubt that years alone do the job of making us old. We have difficulty buying the mental attitude because about the only people who say "you're only as old as you feel" are the ones who haven't gotten there yet. During the course of our thinking we came up with a little test you kind readers might wish to take along with the writer. You're getting old if you still take your clothes to a pressing club instead of a dry cleaners...you remember when cokes were dopes...vour car has a dashboard rather than an instrument panel...you claim the kids are spending too much time in dance halls instead of discos. You're getting old if you insist on calling a mobile home a house trailer...buy ethyl instead of high test...take your car for repairs to the Ford place and not to the Ford dealership...have your hair dyed instead of color-styled...still have supper in the evening rather than dinner...raise Japonicas instead of camellias...remember when men's shirts were either long or short sleeved and only came in three color choices each...remember when only farmers and working men wore overalls and a swinger wouldn't be caught dead in them. You're getting old if you still try to order hamburger scramble in a restaurant...use a looking glass instead of a mirror...insist on using those quaint terms "Ma'am, Sir, thank you, and please"... look over a store's goods rather than its stock...use toilet paper instead of bathroom tissue...remember when you didn't use either...never learned (nor cared) the difference between trash and garbage. You're getting old if you still refer to certain armed service men as sailor boys and soldier boys...remember when nobody but a deliveryman and drummer drove a van...remember what a drummer is...still pull to the side of the road when a funeral cortege passes...know what a cortege is...think a home or office is nicely arranged rather than cleverly appointed...know the meanings of the words "privy, closet, and johnny"...fondly recall those facilties and refer to them as being part of the "good old days" (you're not getting old here...you're senile). You're getting old if you remember when you could call your neighbor with "2 longs and a short" instead of dialing 11 digits...fix dinner on a cook stove instead of make dinner on your range...wonder what people are talking about when they claim their cake is made from scratch....remember when a redneck wouldn't wear his hair long...remember when a teenager was embarrassed to wear a redneck bill cap...know what a bill cap is...ever said "it'll never happen here." But don't ever change. Hang in there (or stick with it if you're older than 35) and your terms and habits will once again be in vogue. For instance, record players (after we quit calling them Gramophones and Victrolas) went the circuit of other names such as phonograph but are now back to being record players (with an occasional "turntable" thrown in). Folks are using dope again rather than narcotics and we wouldn't be surprised if the term "dope fiend" catches on again. And if you recall buying a dollar's worth of gas and stretching it out by doing a lot of coasting downhill, well...aren't you doing it again? As long as this writer can still boogie with the best and has the blood pressure of a twenty year old, he thinks he'll just not be getting old, thank you. Except, that is, in his archaic vocabulary. See you at the pressing club. _____________________________________________________________________________ THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday June 7, 1979 THE WAY IT WAS - Gene Barber More .... You're Getting Old If...... After our little self-test on aging we received several suggestions and memory-joggings on other dated terms and activities which we would like to share with our readers, the majority of whom probably couldn't care less. But for you nostalgia buffs, here goes. You're getting old if you still snap pictures with a Kodak instead of a camera, remember tiptoe recess, recall when stores were air-cooled (meaning fans) rather than air-conditioned (notice how many are reverting to that practice and we still haven't died from lack of being chilled down when entering a business establishment?), ride a wheel rather than a bicycle, pronounce "motorsickle" instead of "motor sigh-cle". You're getting old if you refer to old time movie serials as chapters, if you remember them by any name, say your husband laid out all night in a juke joint instead of a tavern, if you pronounce it jook to ryhme with look and not to rhyme with duke, make a pie with pee'cans instead of pe cahns', eat roasted pean'its rather than parched pea'nuts', if the humor in calling people turkies escapes you, call them beauty parlors while others call them hair salons or designers or stylists, don't lump blouses and, shirtwaists together as tops, remember what a shirtwaist is. You're getting old if you're still collecting bottles instead of ancestors, always request a pianist to play some boogie woogie, think you know what kids are talking about when they say they boogied last night, if you copy your funny sayings from your great uncle rather than from the Fonz, if you remember what a great uncle is, remember altar calls, call all refrigerators "Frigidaires" (if you're still calling them ice-boxes you're a museum piece), don't know the meaning of the word "macho", if you still do the wash instead of doing laundry, if you iron, if you remember rayon. You're getting old if you wear stockings rather than hose, if you remember the Andrews Sisters from before the 1940's craze of a few years ago, if you'd rather forget the '40's, if you remember Bill Haley and the Comets of the '50's, if you'd rather forget the '5O's. You're getting old if the words "house" and "home" don't mean the exact same thing, if you know the difference between streets and highways, remember the meaning of "the Yellow Peril", nickname little boys Butch or Buck or Bud instead of Skip or Flip or Rock, name your daughters for their grandmothers instead of soap opera heroines, remember when Cocker Spaniels were more popular than poodles, still call them "French" Poodles, still argue if Hitler is alive, remember who Tojo was. You're getting old if you recall carpet grass, know the difference between a rug and a carpet, ask your kids if they did the grand march at the prom, keep plants in a hothouse instead of a greenhouse, keep your spare tire in your car's cooter hull rather than in your trunk, believe a concert has something to do with an organized program by an orchestra or trained voices and that a show is given by a rock group or bluegrass band, if you buy a license plate instead of a car tag. You're getting old if you refer to a mortuary as a funeral parlor, refuse to use the word "boutique", remember when jeans were not formal and business wear, remember when starched and ironed overalls and jeans were as close to formal and business wear as you would get (and were very happy and thankful for them), think coo'pons is a funny pronunciation of kew'pons, still go over yonder instead of over there, don't call your grandparents by their given names. And, Folks, you're getting quite old if you long for the days when music will once again have the meaningful lyrics of "Three Little Fishes" and the artful quality of Spike Jones. _____________________________________________________________________________ BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday June 14, 1979 THE WAY IT WAS - Gene Barber Frontier Recreation - Some Notes On Dancing - Part One This column has noted with interest that in addition to being National Dairy Month June is Recreation Month. Your writer is enthusiastic about both (he likes ice cream and doin' nothin'). With the number of motor homes on the road and all the folks on the tennis courts, he thought last month was dedicated to recreation, and the month before that, and the month before that, ad infinitum. Today there are two lines of belief on the history of American recreation. The more liberal minded among us think that fun and games for the masses was made possible only with government funding in the late 1960's while the conservatives still cling to the cherished thought that frontier folk spent a large portion of each day turning all work into "bees" and walking through dances only slightly less exciting than whittling sticks. Well, the truth is, people will play and in those parts of the already settled eastern seaboard the early Americans were racing horses, inventing folk toys, giving tar and feather parties for members of heretical religions, and generally involved in other forms of merriment. But from the first settlement until the late 1840's when our Cracker ancestors finally wrested the area from the original red-skinned citizens, nobody had time or inclination for recreation. Shoving an ox-drawn plow through oak runners from "can't to can't" with one arm and cradling a single shot firearm in the other wasn't conducive to singing rounds of songs each verse of which ended with "twee dum twisty dee dee" (or however those absolutely boring folk songs go.) Except for roasting an occasional live Indian the recreational life of this area's frontier people would hardly warrant a publicly funded director. However, as soon as the woods were cleared of the creeks and Seminoles, fun began. The pine barrens and cabins rang with songs to break the monotony of the work-filled day - "Sugar in the Gourd", " Hambone Hambone", and the ever popular "Oh, She Wouldn't and She Couldn't and She Wouldn't Do A'tall"; Sorry to tell you gentle readers who keep writing to this column insisting that your great-grandmothers who bore 18 children each never did anything of a not-nice nature, your sainted great-grandmothers sang lyrics that would be censored even at a rock concert today. Dancing, of course, is almost as natural to the human being as breathing and in the old days of Baker County, everybody danced. Religion had made no statements regarding frolics except for the Primitive Baptists condemnation of such on the Sabbath (fiddling was included), and we repeat...everybody danced. None of your intricate maneuvers, draggy Virginia Reels, or crinolined double-shuffling as seen on the TV, but stompdown good shindiggings were held in entire houses while the furniture (all 4-5 pieces of it) gathered dew in the yard. The best dancers among the males were those who could stomp the hardest and therefore the loudest and the best among the women were the highest jumpers (terribly un-ladylike). Now, if they could do their respective things while balancing a cup of water on their heads they were indeed celebrated as doozies. Nobody knew what a hoedown was, the term was "daintcin" and not "square dancing", the only instrument used was a fiddle, women were as often the fiddler as were men, and a body would receive a funny stare if he used the term "bluegrass". Still, work had to be done and after sufficient neighborhoods were established (that is, a population averaging about 2 per square mile in Baker County), land was cleared with communal log-rollings. A big part ot the day was the food ("cooked enough for a log rolling"), cane-knots-rejuvenation, and the frolic at the end of the day. As the ERA ladies wax indignant over their unfortunate ancestresses being handed the dirty end of the stick having to bend over hot open kettles all day, we wish to remind them that the ladies of olden times could still stomp and leap with the best all night long. Along the turn of the century, dancing felt the wave of the renewed pentacostal and fundamental evangelism and reformation. The writer's grandmother stated that as she was progressively converted away from Episcopalianism through Methodism to the Missionary, or regular Baptist, she quit dancing because of the introduction of the immodest waltz, "where men and women actually held each other on the dance floor". And, once again in American history people were instructed, "thou shalt no more enjoy being human and alive." Next week we'll continue with buck dancing, the brawl as public entertainment, and Baker County's all-time favorite form of recreation. Until then this column wishes to leave you with some food for thought. Have you ever really mulled over the fact that we dedicate an entire month to recreation but give only one day to labor?..and nobody works on that day? (In last week's column, we accidently switched a couple of the terms. Actually, "roasted pean'it" was taken from the current obnoxious pronunciation on peanut butter TV commercials and " parched pea'-nuts" usage means you're getting old. Thanks.) ---------------------------------------------------------------------- THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday June 21, 1979 Page Two THE WAY IT WAS - Gene Barber Frontier Recreation - 2nd of Two Parts While the Crackers stomped through their versions of the old reels and sets from the British countryside the Blacks were cutting loose in the slave quarters. They imitated their frolicking masters and added some spirited touches and creative flourishes of their own. They and the white folks both had a several generations gap between their old world ancestors' dances and what they were evolving into in America, and it is very doubtful that the early American Negro steps retained any elements of the old African dances. Leastwise, one is hard put to recognize any similarities in the foot and thigh slapping buck dance and the nice steady shuffling we see as performed on National Geographic specials. In the old Anglo-American slang a buck was any healthy male and many a youth earned the nickname "Buck" through his strength and prowess. Eventually the term leaned more heavily toward Indians and especially Blacks. Since performing an extra athletic and lengthy dance for the white folk usually earned a Black a few pennies (big money in the 1800's) and perhaps a short respite in the day's labor, he often practiced and became very creative in the intricacies of foot and hand movements. Youngsters are natural imitators and soon the little Cracker whites, who often worked with and played with the black children, picked up the buck dance and for a century and a half it continued and reigned as the single dancer's favorite along the American southern frontier. From the end of the Civil War until the 1920's the buck dance crept into vaudeville and minstrels, influenced modern square dancing, and for a while could hardly be distinguished from the "shouting" it seemed to have inspired among the newly emerging pentecostal religious groups through the south and midwest. The last fast footwork artist this writer ever saw perform the buck dance was the late George Pelham, one of the county's best wits. He was engaged by Mrs. Kathryn Jones to do some carpentry for a dance revue stage set. Inside, the kiddies were going through their heel and toe routine and doing a couple of Pas de deux's on the side. Mr. Pelham finished up for the day and was replacing his tools to the romantic strains of Clair de Lune when he informed the dance instructor that he was also a dancer and had nary a lesson. There on the back porch as Debussy faded into the distance, Mr. Pelham tore into an energetic but beautifully coordinated buck dance, accompariying himself by humming and singing. He, by his own admission, was no spring chicken at the time but could still "cut a rusty." With the beginning of World War II things of this nature moved into the dance halls, McClenny's Legion Hall being the most famous, or "infamous" depending on how many eyes one lost there. In fact, if less than a quart of eyeballs was swept up there come Sunday morning, it was figured to have been a poor evening. The Department of Defense once reckoned that during the month of December, 1944, the Army and Navy had more casualties from McClenny's Legion Hall dances than from the entire European theater of activities. Drinking and fighting vied with dancing as favored forms of Baker County recreation and therefore today's generations might think our ancestors to be a Godless bunch. Not so. Before about 1900, most area faiths had taken no stronger stand on alcohol than urging moderation and forbidding drinking only on the Lord's Day. And fights were always common as a means of settling differences in a courtless society such as 19th century Florida. Most fights arose from preservation of their women's modesty, the protection of youth's rights, and property ownership (dogs and cows often being more important than land). One of the biggest and most tragic brawls in nearby Nassau County was the result of a young fellow being denied the privilege to dance. In the ensuing shootout the writer's great-great granduncle and great-great grandfather were shot in the chest, the former fatally. A later Baker County representative to Tallahassee was wounded in the knee. Many of the Dorman clan would rather fight than eat when hungry and a member of that family (can anybody provide us with his name?) bit off a Hogans' nose during one of the set-to's that often ended Baker County dances. Nose and ear chewing have been quite common forms of entertainment in Baker County - and we don't mean the tender, attentive kind either - but that didn't mean the Hogans family was going to take the loss of one of their noses lightly. The Hogans boys traveled from the Baxter-Taylor district south on Christmas Eve and met the scrapping Irish Dormans on the banks of Cedar Creek near where the Johnsville-Sanderson Road crossed the Jacksonville-Tallahassee Road. Several men were killed, the heaviest losses belonging to the Hogans but the results were judged a tie by the contemporaries. Lacy Green, the sheriff, had the good sense to be tardy in arriving. There was nothing he could have done anyhow. He met his own death several years later at the hands of a Black, a friend or relative of another Negro who was being forced to buck dance at the point of a gun (almost reminds us of today -- have fun or else. Signed, the Federal Government. The final topic in our little offering needs but a very few paragraphs since most of our readers are already familiar with it. This column calls it "procreation as recreation." It was the rule rather than the exception that area Cracker couples produced more offspring than they could adequately care for. When one wife wore out, the Baker County pioneer remarried, usually within the week and, if available, to his deceased wife's sister. He was not at all averse to marrying her aunt, niece, or even her widowed mother (try to figure out some of those relationships). At the same time the procreant Cracker gentleman also "kept a woman" across the field who bore him a few children, and some more bolder kept an extra lady or two within the same household or housed within the yard. To prove he is not a male chauvinist, the writer wishes to inform all that his research shows that many a married lady "jumped the fence", as it were, to provide their husbands with one to several kids who eventually changed their names and drove their later descendants - genealogists quite batty. So, we must not feel sorry for our ancestors. Their lives were hard but all white, black, female, male, old and young knew how to have fun too. Of course it wasn't as exciting as burning a tank of gas while dragging Main or as stimulating as watching "Mork and Mindy" or as educational as butting Dempsey Dumpsters with four wheel drives. And they didn't even have somebody salaried to direct them. Radical Proposal: since we're in the middle of the worst ever inflationary period, and since most folks work but 40 hours or less a week, and since we spend 60 to 75 hours a week in recreation (that includes TV, coffee breaks, gossip sessions, etc.), and since some experts finally admitted that the lowest labor productivity we've ever known is a contributing factor to inflation and recession...why not try a National Work-A-Little-For- A-Change Week?