Walter Gaines (1941-2025)

I was sadden to read this morning Walter Gaines, a life log fiend  died.  We were classmates at Waterman Street School from the first grade on.   His  sister Grace and my sister were also fiends.   Walter and Grace grew up across the street from our school.  By the way, next door from them on Waterman Street my father was born many years before.

Walter and his wife Darlene were active members of the Campground Methodist Church on Roswell Rd, and owned a cabin on the Church’s campgrounds., which we visited a few times.  Darlene is from Maine, where Walter was stationed in the Air Force.

Walter retired from Atlantic Steel.

We met a few times at The Varsity for lunch to talk about old times.  On our first meeting he presented me with a brick from the destroyed Waterman Street School.

Pictures of Walter and he and Darlene at their cabin at the Campgrounds.

 

An Emergency is an Emergency

The other day I had a medical treatment.  They imbedded an instrument in my body and I was  to returned the next day for it to be removed. 

It also came with an electronic gadget on the outside with a leather case and a window to show several on-going facors.  Most importantly was the power on or off light.   It showed it was on, which was good.

The nurse explaining al this to us said don’t worry, you cannot turn it “off”.

Back home when we placed it on the table I accidentally touched something I shouldn’t have and it made several flashing   lights then the power was gone.

We could not figure out how to turn it back on.  They told us when we picked it up if we had any problem just “call them”.  

We “called” them and no human was available.

We had a non-operating medical machine that was paying big money renting and nothing happening. 

It was an emergency to get get it running again.

We called 911.

In minutes an Emergency vehicle with its lights flashing backed up in our driveway.

Three technicians hopped out readt to do whatever needed to be done to save the day.

They did.

The lady who seemed to be in charge got on the phone and over road all non-humans and talked to  a someone who told her to get it working normal again.

All’s well.

 

GRAND OLDE OPRY, BLOG REVISITED

 This past week on TV was the 100th year celebration of the Grand Ole Opry in Nashville.   It reminded of my first visit there in 1962.

Here is my blog of that memory:

Last night we watched Dolly Parton perform at the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville, Tennessee, again.  We watched the same a few days ago.

It took be back to 1963 when some formative buddies and I first went to The Grand Ole Opry.  I dug through my blogs and found where I made a post about our adventure, here it is again, mostly, that I copied and pastred.

In October 1962 President J.F. Kennedy spoke live to Americans via live TV.  He told us through what he learned from spies and aerial photos that the U.S.S.R. was arming Cuba.  Kennedy ordered a blockade of the little country only  90 miles from Florida. 

By the way newscasters were whispering seriously  like they were almost scared they would be heard, about war possibilities. 

“Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country..”  I typed in typing class hundred of times.  But in October 1962, it was serious.  But when they said “good” I’m not sure I am that good of a person.  So, I substituted “young” for “good”.

Now is the time for all young men to come to the aid of their country.  I enlisted in the Navy Reserves at NAS ATLANTA in Marietta.

The Navy technician in charge of finger printing, Military I.D. cards, and Dog Tags was a friend, co-high school student and co-Big Apple Grocery Store employee.

I had my boot camp in December and it was planned that I would go active duty for two years in July 1963.

Before I went into an active duty and God knows where, I wanted my friends and I to go to the Grand Ole Opry in Nashville.

Then I had a PV544 Volvo.  We decided to go to Nashville in it.  It was small, we would probably get better gas mileage.  But it had brake problem.  My friend, who also was going on the trip said bring it by his mother’s house and we (him) would put new brakes on.  Which I brought by his house.  And we (him) put on the new brakes.

On the trip, this was before Interstate expressways, we went the old Dixie Highway.  Miles north of Chattanooga the road going up hills and mountains got steep.  Coming down one steep hill my brakes gave and our uncontrollable speed picked up getting faster and faster and faster.   Thank God for truck runaway ramps back then.  It saved our lives.  Ed screamed until we came to a stop.

I’m not sure of the date we went but it was before March 5, 1963.  Patsy Cline died on March 5, 1963, and so did Cowboy Copus.  We saw them perform at the Grand Ole’ Opry.

We drove into Nashville and got us a room at the  Andrew Jackson Hotel, next door to the Ryman Auditorium, home of the Grande Ole Opry.

We went down on the streets of downtown Nashville to find a place to eat.  We ate at a Five and Dime Store, maybe Woolworths.  The booth we were witting in was facing the sidewalk.  A tall unkempt man with a guitar slung on him was just outside the window looking at every bite we took.  We invited him to join us.  He mimicked that he had no money.  We motioned that we would buy him a meal, which he immediately joined us.  He told he and Cowboy Copus grew up together and were good friends.  Cowboy told him if he ever got to Nashville he would see that he got to play on stage at the Grande Ole Opry.

We wished him good luck.

Shortly after that we were in the balcony of the Ryman Auditorium stomping our feet to country music.  We saw giant cereal boxes and famous singers, lined up one after another.  Cowboy Copus was the M.C. and kept the show time moving rapidly.

Then I looked down on the first floor and saw the familiar dirty old raincoat and the guitar.  I punched my friends to look.  The old drunk we bought his dinner was walking up the aisle toward the stage.  An usher stepped out from nowhere and asked him something.  The man pointed up towards Cowboy Copus and said something.  Another usher joined them.  They bot listened to hm and half way politely nodding and rudely shaking their head.  They forcefully removed the bewildered man.  Cowboy Copus, playing up on stage did not miss a beat.

Patsy Cline played that night.  My memory is confused.  I think her and Cowboy Copus were killed in a plain wreck in Camden, Tennessee, either that night or the following Saturday night.

Afterwards we went to a jam session at something like Earne’s Music Store and then to a bar/lounge called the Jungle.  Our waitress flirted with us for tips and somehow learned she had six or seven kids at home that her husband was minding over while she worked, not that that had anything to do with anything.

 

Emma Viola Hunter Abecrombie (1896-1992)

 

Emma Viola Hunter (1896-1992), my and my Hunter first cousin's first cousin, once removed. Emma was the daughter of John Rafas Hunter (1870-1940) (our grandpa Frank Paris Hunter's brother) and Lilly Belle Hill Hunter (1875-1973). Emma grew up in the Woodstock, Georgia, area, and married Andrew Joseph Abercrombie (1891-1924) and they moved to Birmingham, Alabama, for Andrew to work in a still mill. Emma lived 96 years and Andrew lived only 33 years.
They had four children, two daughters and two sons.
Emma and Joseph are buried at Bascomb Methodist Church, near Woodstock

Rub a Dub Dub

It was given to me about 50 years ago by a Navy buddy, Sam Kasuske. Sam bought it in India. I think it is about 11x14 and it is a rubbing. A rubbing is rubbing a crayon or something against a paper which is spread over carved art or inscriptions. It is used a lot by genealogists in cemeteries.

Claudius Linton Fosrer (1888-1965)

 These proofs are of Anna's mother's father's brother (or Anna's great Uncle) Claudius Linton Foster (1888-1965):

Hat on; hat off; and maybe "Do something with your hands."

Claudius was a young man in the pictures. They might have been taken about 1910.

Rocky & Benjamin

 

Paris Tx & Frank Paris Hunter

 

According to Uncle John's Bathroom Page-A-Day Calendar, 2018, Tuesday, Feb 20, 2018: Paris, Texas, was founded in 1844, when a farmer, storekeeper, and postmaster, donated 50 acres of land to establish the town. The town was named after the general store, the busiest store in town. Why the owner named the store Paris, no one knows.

There is a 70 foot Eiffel Tower replica wearing a cowboy hat in town.

Also, that is believed to be where our grandfather Frank Paris Hunter was born in 1879. Also, 1879 is the year Frank's family left Texas to move back East. I think they had plans of moving back to Franklin, North Carolina, Frank's father William A. Hunter's hometown, but had second thought, maybe because he was wanted for murder in Franklin, and instead moved to the Woodstock, Georgia, area, where William recuperated from a knee wound where he was shot during the Battle of Kennesaw Mountain. Frank was probably named after where they were leaving and where they thought they were going.

My Pedigree

 

Alfred Charles Hunter, DDS

 Dr. Alfred Charles Hunter (1891 - 1973) was born in Cherokee County, Georgia, the son of Charles Jefferson and Paraline Victoria Dobbs. Charles Jefferson Hunter is Frank Hunter's oldest brother. Charles owned Hunter's Store and was Postmaster and gossip columnist of the community.

Alfred went to Atlanta Dental College, before it was part of Emory. After he got his degree in dentistry he moved to Texas and hung his shingle in Kerrsville, Texas, which is just north of San Antonio

Alfred married Mamie Mae Akridge (1892-1933). They had one son, Dr. Akridge Charles Hunter (1917-1997). Akridge marred Helen Crain. Akridge became a dentist also. He also had the same initials as his father. If they were partners, they could save on stationary.

Dr. Akridge Hunter married Helen Crain (1920-2003) in 1946, and they had three daughers.

As far as I know Alfred never returned to his homeland but his son Akridge made up for it. In the mid 1980s he and his wife vested several times the same times as the Hunter Reunions in Marietta and Blairsville.

Waterman Street School & Miss Whitehead

 

I still have Waterman Street School on the brain after the picture the Marietta Daily Journal ran yesterday morning.

It brought back memories.

Like for instance:

When my first grade teacher Mrs. Oliver shook me in class for something, I don't remember what. Mrs Oliver lived in Calhoun, Ga. and took the bus there often. She had to walk right by our apartment in the Clay Homes. I remember a couple times she invited herself in and told my mother the latest no-good acts I did in class.

I remember in the second grade in Mrs. Killenbek's class in the lunch room one time Mickey Wilbur and I got into a scuffle. Mickey smeared a little pack of honey in my hair.

In the 3rd grade Mrs. Jessie McCollum was our teacher, the wife or fiancé of future Commissioner Herbert McCollum. I remember one time I was playing with a moth-ball, I liked the smell. I sucked in the smell through my nose so hard the moth-ball went into the cavity of my nose. I was so embarrassed I went hid the fact a moth ball was inside my nose. I slipped out of the classroom into the coat room and with a pencil pried it out.

Mrs. McCollum had me sit in the hall often for cutting up in class. I think the ideal was to sit there and when the principal made her rounds she would talk to you and get to the bottom of it. I found out early to hide when I heard her (Mrs. Whiteheads's) high heels click down the hall. The 3rd grade class was right beside the stairs going down into the basement to the boys bathroom, an off limits place for Mrs. Whitehead.

On one of our talks in the hall she let me know she was on to me... she said she taught my father and his brothers and stayed on to them and she would me too.... she was true to her word.

The 4th grade was first Ms. Rakestraw and she left, probably got married and Mrs. Pool took over her class. Ms. Rakestraw was pretty and pleasant. Mrs Pool was like a ugly hateful witch. I told Mama that Mrs; Pool picked on me, not knowing she would call Mrs. Whitehead. Mrs. Whitehead and Mrs. Pool glared at me the rest of the year.

The 5th grade our teacher was Mrs. Miller. I don't remember getting into trouble with her or anything. but one time I remember. The Duncan Yoyo man came on campus at recess time to show off his yoyo tricks. and I messed up his act and somebody told on me and Mrs. Miller scolded me. Oh me.

The 6th grade was Miss Shouse. Elberta Shouse, before the year was out she became Mrs. Bill Kinney, Marietta Journal reporter. One time Van Callaway pushed me against the fire escape during recess and it put a big gash in my forehead. Elberta took me to the teacher lounge and she had me put my head on her lap, her soft thighs, while she held ice onto my forehead and a a cloth to keep it from bleeding. It was my first contact with the female body, and although I was in pain and bleeding I enjoyed every minute of it. Daddy came in his police car and carried me to the Old Hospital to have Doctor Haygood put stitches to sew up the head split. Looking like Frankenstein for several months to a year was another good thing to come out of that.

One time Miss shouse, or Elberta had me to walk to her boarding house for a pigeon that somehow she saved for a storm. She gave it to me for a pet. I carried it home and put it locked in a little empty chicken coop we had in the backyard. The next working there were nothing but feathers; The bird was probably consumed by our cat. I didn't have the heart to tell Miss Shouse that our cat ate probably ate that nice pigeon. I lied the couple of times she asked me but then I told her it got loose and we didn't see it anymore.

That was also the year I think that us boys had pissing contests in the boy's bathroom. Nobody could piss higher than Archie Richardson. He could arch his back back and hold and aim his penis upward and urine would go up the wall and then to where the ceiling meets the wall. We were all envious.

It was also the year that James the Janitor left and went to work for the Red Cross on South Avenue and his replacement was Cliff. One time our little gang slipped into Cliff's work space in the basement, a dark room with a big furnace and a plain straight back chair. Hidden in the shadow was a box full of comics. We wondered if they belonged to James or Cliff. He must have confiscated them while cleaning up after everybody went home. Again, we don't know who "He" was, James or Cliff.

Sometime between the 5th and 7th grades two refuge families moved to Marietta into the Waterman Street District. I think they both were from Poland. They lived just down Atlanta Street from one another. One lived on the corner of Atlanta and Goss Streets, and the other lived a a few houses south of Crain Garage. The kids of the family that lived south of Crain Garage quit coming to school. One cold and rainy day Mrs. Whitehead got me out of class. She wanted me to walk (in the rain) to the refuge family's house south of Crain's and ask them why haven't they been coming to school. I don't know why she chose me for this errand. Maybe it was because I was about the most unattached unofficial of Waterman Street School she could find. I did as she asked, and no one came to the door. I think they moved out. I walked back and made my report, verbally, of course.

In the 7th grade Mrs. King was our teacher. She was freshly married and good looking. All us boys had a low grade crush on her. She was always smiling and always making school fun, not a drudgery. Once we had to do some creative writing as homework. . I put it off and put it off.. Then one evening we visited my grandmother, aunt, and cousin who lived in the Clay Homes. Archie Richardson lived next door to them. I visited Archie. He had a new comicbook I had never seen before. It was MAD Comic book. It made fun of things. It was a laugh a panel. I focused in on a story illustrated by Wallace Wood, called SUPERDUPERMAN. It had all the SUPERMAN icons and looks, but it was making SUPERMAN look like a farce. I was immediately addicted to MAD. But I wasn't above plagiarizing their material. I was so impressed with the SUPERDUPERMAN I remembered every line and punch line and sat down and wrote it down on paper. The next day we had to read the stories aloud in class. With my story I had Mrs. King and the students rolling in the aisles with laughter. Archie's face turned red, he knew the real inspiration. Mrs. King told me I was going to make a great writer someday. I beamed with pride.

One time at night I caught a bat that was diving for bugs in front of our house below a street light. I planned it pretty good. I would throw a rock and the bat would dive at it. Then, I figured if I threw a rock across the road as a car approached there was a good chance the car would hit the bat. I did and after several attempts a bat got hit by a car. I thought it was dead. I put it in a netted orange bag and carried it to school the next morning to show to Mrs. King. The next morning I was standing with some other kids in front of the door of our classroom waiting for the morning bell when somebody looked down and saw the bat. The bat was prying open the net and squeezing out... and out he flew.

Suddenly the whole school panicked. The bat flew crazily up near the ceiling of the wide hall and kids were screaming, and Mrs. Whitehead and Cliff was chasing it with brooms swinging at it. After it was brought down Mrs. Whitehead with a red face and trembling bent over and chewed me out good and asked hatefully was I going to tell my parents what a foolish thing I did like when I told on Mrs. Pool (3 years ago) - she wasn't the type to forget and forgive.

It got where after school several school a few of us would walk downtown and hangout. We wanted to be teenagers badly. We were teenager wannabes. We went to the T.A.C. above the fire station and City Hall a lot and got ran off a lot. And we played across the street a lot in the front yard of a a female co-student named Dona LeVann. Dona lived across the street from Mrs. Whitehead's boarding house. One day Mrs. Whitehead walked over and said someone had just called her and said somebody left the paper drive house opened, would we go down, make sure everything is OK, and if not call the police. She even gave us keys to the paper drive house. We did, I think somebody just forgot to shut the door and they left. But it made me feel good to know I was in Mrs. Whitehead's trust again.

 This is/was the old Greyhound Bus Station before and after. I remember when he ground was bulldozed to make the station. Before a two story home was on the grounds. After they bulldozed it we would play war... after all, this was at the climax of WWII and it was on our minds, playing war. I remember throwing a rock over a bank into a bunch of kids and it hit Tommy Hadaway in the head. He had to have stitches.

After it was completed, it had two waiting rooms: segregation. And behind the waiting room was a diner that smell like burnt bacon and grease. It had a jukebox and a pinball machine, which one of them was usually at work making noises.

It was one of our stops walking home from Scout meeting. On the dock, where passengers loaded onto buses was several vending machines. One of the machines you could make your own metal sheriff badge with a big star in the center. There was also a photo booth where I suppose was the original "selfie" machine. 4 photos for a quarter. Once Jimmy stood in the booth's chair and made several quarters worth of pictures of his genitals. He had nothing very little to show off or brag about but did it anyway. Then, knowing how "small" he was he pinned the pictures to various bulletin boards around Marietta High School taped or stapled to a sheet of paper saying,

"Girls, how would you like some of this?"

After the demand for a big bus station the building was sold and became a lawyers' building (below).

The latest bus station is on the edge of Kennesaw University, South Campus, near South Marietta Parkway (a.k.a. Clay Street. From the outside it looks no bigger than a single-wide trailer.

Poor Blind Charlie

 

This engine was made by Glover Machine Works, where my grandfather worked as a machinist and my father worked there as one of his first jobs.

We lived on Manget Street, near the intersection of Glover Street. A lot of times on Sunday, finding myself alone I would explore in the nearby woods, which was behind Glover Machine Works. I usually climbed a brick all and on the other side jumped intro the machine works’ back yard. It was a very big green grass area, at my age and size it looked as big as a football field. With no one around.

In the middle of the green grass was a train engine. By the size, I think it was this one. Then it was brown, covered with rust. I usually climbed up in the pilot pit, or engineer’s section and pretend I was in a spaceship fight enemy’s spaceships. That was a generation before Star Wars, I was ahead of my time.

When I got bored, I would climb back over the brick wall, into the woods where Skipper, my white spotted part collie/birddog was waiting patiently waiting on me.

Would take a different route out of the clump of woods or plum trees. If the wild plums were in season I would pull me some of those. Also in the same area, there were a lot of tree mice in little nests.

I came out of the woods behind Charlie’s house. Charlie was an old blind man. His pupiless (?) eyeballs protruded outwards. I came out of the woods by his outhouse. A clothesline hooked on to the outhouse and led to the back porch. Charlie had to hang onto the clothes line to guide him to and from the outhouse.

Charlie and his sister lived in a small unpainted frame house and were poor as dirt.

I like to drop by and visit with him. He had a good memory and lived there as a young man and told me a lot of wild stories at my father and his brothers. According to Charlie, they stayed in trouble.

Unfortunately, I have a short retention memory, so all those stories died with Charlie.

Years later, after we moved out of that area and I became a teenager I forgot about Charlie. One evening after dark my car broke down and I went into a Taxi stand, which is now a free standing vitamin store and Charlie was behind the counter as a dispatcher. He knew Marietta like the back of his hand, I’m sure he did well.

Daddy told me a few years that Charlie and his sister died and was buried in Potters Field, off Allgood Road. But a lot of the bodies had to be removed to make way for the new expressway, I-75.

Everything changes.

Me within the debts of the ATLANTA TRAIN TERMINAL

 The Atlanta Train Terminal. It was a grand old beautiful building of its time wasn't it? It was on Spring and Mitchell Streets, across Spring Street from where I worked at the Postal Service at the Federal Annex.

I think they bulldozed it away in the late 1970s to make way for the Richard B. Russell Federal Building, a non-descript building with no character or artful look like the Atlanta Terminal had. Behind it at the tracks, underneath the bridges and viaducts was an area that never saw daylight is where I parked my car. A guy named Thumond charged $5 a month. It was the cheapest parking in Atlanta. Also, an area you don't hang around. You park and run! The area was on the edge of what would become Underground Atlanta. Then, when I parked there it was an area for the homeless and criminally insane, I found out. It was cluttered with beer wind bottles and occasionally a pile of human shit.

Once I got out of my car and a heavy elderly man approached me and asked if I had some money to spare. I said no, but he wanted to talk so I paused to hear what he had to say. Bad idea. He grabbed me and wrapped a strong arm around my neck and with his other hand touched a knife blade to my throat. He told me he had just escaped from prison that very day and he needed money, now how much money did I really have. I gave him my wallet, he looked at it and said something like, "Shit! I got more money than you, you should be holding me up!" Then he sung me a rendition of a religious song... we still had a hold around my neck. He sung me another religious song - both songs were about Jesus and how much he loved us. The second song, I think he was in the habit, when singing it to spread his arms wide apart to really belt it out, to get the point across, I suppose, which he did, which released me, and I ran off like a wild rabbit. He was too old and drunk to chase me. I did not park there again.

Moral: Never trust anyone that holds a knife to your throat and sings to you about Jesus.

Hunter Brothers Line-Up

 August 1977 - My dad (Ed Hunter) and my mom and my dad's brothers and their wives: L to R: Bus & Zema; Ed & Janie; Jack & Ruby; Doug & Lola Jean; Stanley & Sarah; and Dick & Jeanette Hunter. The oldest brother, Herbert Hunter had died the year before and the only sister Beatrice "Bee" Hunter Crain had died in 1971. Their brother Walter Clarence "W.C." Hunter was in the Veterans' Hospital at the time. Johnny Hunter once pointed out that they always lined up in chronological age order. This time they are oldest on the left and work to younger on down the line. I guess they just automatically did it, I took the picture and I didn't tell them to do it.

Twin Authur & Oscar Hunter

 his is an interesting email I received this morning via Ancestry.com. Indeed we are related. This person's grandfather and our grandfather Frank Paris Hunter are brothers. I replied and told him/her so. Australia?

The picture, I think Arthur Hunter is on the right and his twin brother Oscar is on the left.

The email:

Hello, my Grandfather, William Arthur Hunter, was a farmer, originally from the Woodstock Georgia area, later moving to Central Florida. I have lived in Australia for the past 25 years but still return to the States on a regular basis. Any possible connections here? Sincerely, Leslie Todd.

Doug Hunter & Nephew Ray Hunter

 

In the 1940s: Sitting up front is my first cousin Ray Hunter. Standing in the back is my aunt and uncle Lola Jeanne Turner and Doug Hunter. About the same time period as this picture was taken I was part of some kind of kids recital at Crestview Baptist Church on a Sunday night. I remember Doug was in the audience and raised his head above everybody else with that same smile. It cracked me up. After that I had the giggles.

with Grandson

 

Anna's Mother's Moher's Family

 

This is Anna's mother's maternal family. The picture was taken about 1903 in the Alpharetta, Milton, Cumming Community. The man is Anna's great grandfather Walter Vernon Jones (1873-1940), little boy Felton Murdock Jones (1900-1981), the lady, Anna's great grandmother, Mintora Mathis Jones (1880-1975, holding Nellie Elizabeth Jones (1903-2001).
2nd Row: Edith Gertrude Jones (1898-1986), and Anna's grandmother Myrtle Irene Jones (1895-1991).

John T. Huey and War

 

The first is Drusilla Wilson Huey (1825-1905), wife of John T. Huey (1826-1891). Both Drusilla and John were born in South Carolina and died in Cherokee County, Georgia. They are buried in the Bascomb Methodist Cemetery, near Woodstock.

John and Drusilla Huey were the parents of Nancy Elizabeth Huey Tyson (1854-1938)l She married Obediah Hargraves Tyson, they were my great grandparents (2nd picture). Their daughter, my grandmother, Minnie Victoria Tyson married Frank Paris Hunter

By the time the Civil War came (1861) John T. Huey was a large land owner. Being a large land owner made him exempted from military duty. Rich people just didn't have to put their lives on the line in war time like the working class did.

Another law back then, if you were drafted you could pay someone to serve in your place. Even though John T. Huey, did not have to go, a buck is a buck and went in place of John B. Tippens.

During the Seize of Vicksburg, Mississippi John appeared to have been jumping back and forth to stay on the winning side. A couple of times he was AWOL from his CSA unit and he signed U.S. Oaths of Allegiance..... then he would be AWOL from the Union unit he was assigned to and back on the CSA mustard roll

Chicken-fat plug

 Being the editor of the blog CHICKEN-FAT.COM, I take plugs wherever I get them. This is ripped from MAD Comicbook #9, THE RAVEN, art by Will Elder.

Lois Carroway & Nephew Wm Jason Hunter

 

One of these men is William A, Hunter/Trammell's son Jason William Hunter (1875-1896). It looks like a formal portrait made in a studio. He lived only 21 years. The picture was taken within a year or two of his death.

Jason married Fannie Emaline Medley. Fannie was luckier than Jason on living a long time. She lived within three months of 102 years.

Jason and Medley had two daughters.: Lois and Jacie.

Jacie Hunter married Vernon Tip Ingram. They had three children. Their son Hunter Davenport Ingram became a councilman of Woodstock, then Mayor.

Lois married a Carraway but it did not last long. They had no children. Lois worked for Western Union in Atlanta.

Lois or Jacie never knew their father. Lois was a baby and Jacie was not born yet.

William A. Hunter/Trammell and Emeline Ray Hunter took the two girls and their daughter-in-law in after Jason's death and their welfare was became the grandparents responsibility.

William A. Hunter/Trammell was the only father they knew.

Lois ended up with the house that her grandfather had built.

Then, in the 1980s I came along doing genealogy research. Lois showed me around the house and pointed out things of historical interest and old family pictures . She also showed me the barn William fell out of and broke his leg which put his health on the incline. I also waw grapes on a vine on a little fence by the barn that William had planted. I shooed them away the wasps and picked some grapes for Lois and I to enjoy.

We were buddies.

During my visits I asked her did she know about William being adopted? She said she didn't. I asked her about the story that William killed a man in Franklin, North Carolina. She said she didn't know anything about that but it was probably untrue.

As research time went on I found out more of the details of killing and the adoption.

William was the bastard son of Jason Henderson Hunter, so the court of Macon County, declared, and his mother Rebecca Trammell died before 1850 and he was raised by his grandparents, Jacob and Polly Hogshead Trammell. He did not murder someone but his uncle Van Trammell did, over an argument about the Civil War and William provided Van with a false alibi, which was proven wrong so a warrant went out for his arrest for being an accessory to murder, so he skipped town and changed his name to his paternal name.

I typed up a letter and sent all my uncles and other interested parties, including Louis Hunter Carraway, my findings.

Lois called me up so mad she was sputtering. She told me she knew all that and that was the only father she knew and she wanted to carry that trashy information to the grave with her to protect his good name. She said she had a some correspondence between Jason and William recognizing their father son relationship. I first instinct was that wanted to see those letters but I let her rant and rave. And knew she hated me at the moment so much I was not going to see those letters.

That is the trouble when doing family research: Not every family member is highly successful and some of those who are did it my unscrupulous means.

Like her mother, Lois lived a long time, over 102 years. She is buried at Bascomb Methodist Church Cemetery, near Woodstock.

MAD Cover by Will Elder

 

John Rafas Hunter

 

This is John Rafas Hunter (1870-1940), son of William A. Hunter/Trammell and Emaline Ray and his wife Lillie Belle Hill (1875-1973). Lillie lived just a few months short of 98 years. They are both buried at Bascomb Methodist Church, near Woodstock, Cherokee County, Georgia.

The first picture, taken about 1891, their children: Elaine Jenny Hunter and Emma Viola Hunter.

The next picture was taken about 1905. The children: The back row Elaine (1891 - ? ) and Emma (1896-1992)

The front row: Walter Clarence* "Brother" Hunter and Ida Guyrine Hunter (1901-1919)

*John's brother Frank also had a son named Walter Clarence, about the same age. That may be the reason Frank's Walter Clarence Hunter went by "W.C." John's son Walter Clarence was nicknamed "Brother". Neither Walter Clarence Hunter went by their given name.

Elaine married Paul Willliam Poor and the moved to Lorain, Ohio, where they spent the rest of their lives. They had five children.

Emma married Andrew Joseph Abercrombie. They first lived on Sixes Road in south Cherokee County, then they moved to Birmingham, Alabama to work in the steel mills. They had four children.

Ida Guyrine died of a rare disease at age 18.

Walter Clarence went north to work in the steel mills. He married Elsie Elizabeth Mohle He died in East Chicago, Il, at the young age of 31. They had two children.

Harriet Hunter, Daniel England, & uncle Moses Harshaw

 

This is our ancestor John Hunter's daughter Harriet E. Hunter (1821-aft 1900) and her husband Daniel England (1818-aft 1897). Daniel and Harriet and their children moved into John Hunter's cabin with Martha after John had died in 1848. On a postcard with the same picture of the cabin that is on last Saturday's post, credit is given to Daniel England, not John Hunter, for building it. I think probably Daniel was the first person to get a deed for it.

Daniel 's parents were William Richard and Martha "Patsy" Montgomery England. They and William's siblings are credited for being the founding settlers of Helen, Georgia.

Down the road from Helen, Georgia, is the Sautee Valley. William Richard England's sister Nancy England married Moses Harshaw of Sautee Valley. Moses had a large farm or plantation with slaves. When slaves grew old and/or sickly and became a liability Moses simply killed them. Some he had them dig their own graves and then shoot them. And some he forced them up nearby Lynch Mountain and pushed them off a cliff.

Moses was also a lawyer in nearby Clarksville. He was charged many times of manslaughter, so he was probably his own client most the time. At the time he was called "The Meanest Man in Georgia".

Moses house was, the last time I was there, Stovall's Bed and Breakfast (and special events). Isn't that charming?