Ancestor Archives: Garland Eugene Macy (1924-2009) Part 1: Growing Up in the Great Depression

by Rocky Macy 

(Note:  Today begins a three-part profile on the life of my father, Garland Eugene Macy.  This section, “Growing Up in the Great Depression,” will be followed by accounts of the other two significant segments of his life:   “Becoming an Adult in World War II,”  and “Chasing the American Dream.”   Those will be posted in the coming days. 

There are seven other biographical sketches on my dad contained elsewhere in this blog, but this current effort is intended to be the definitive depiction of his life - at least as seen from my perspective.  The primary source material for this effort is a journal which Dad completed in 1997 and 1998 - at my urging.  My sister, Gail Macy, and I each have copies of that journal - as do all seven of Dad’s grandchildren.  Hopefully most of those copies are still in existence and will be available to future family researchers - and if anyone needs another, call me. Sources other than that journal will be noted as they are used.)

Overview:

Garland Eugene Macy was born on October 19th, 1924, in a remote section of Newton County, Missouri, at the home of his parents, Charles Eugene and Hazel Josephine (NUTT) MACY.   He married Ruby Florine SREAVES on March 31st, 1946, at a marriage parlor in Columbus, Kansas.  Garland MACY passed away at Freeman Hospital in Neosho, Missouri, at 1:30 a.m. on Christmas Day, 2009.

Part 1:   Growing Up in the Great Depression  

Garland Macy was born at his family’s home in Dayton Township of Newton County, Missouri, approximately halfway between the towns of Seneca and Neosho.  He was the second oldest of what would eventually become a family of four children.  His brother Wayne Hearcel was was about six weeks shy of his third birthday when Baby Garland arrived.  The family eventually had two more children who died at birth or soon after, and two additional ones who survived to adulthood:  Tommy Dean and Betty Joan.

The closest doctor at the time of my father’s birth was seven-and-a-half miles away in Sencea, so midwives were commonly used to deliver babies.   My father’s maternal grandmother, Louella (PRITCHARD) MACY was the midwife who assisted with his birth.  He said in his journal that he had been born a “blue baby.”

Dad described his family home as a “two-room shack” which sat on twenty acres.  He said one room was a bedroom that contained two beds which pointed in different directions, and the other room served as a living room and kitchen.  Canned goods were kept under the beds, and there was one closet for use by the entire family.  Apparently he and Wayne slept in the bedroom when they were little, but when the other two children came along the older boys slept in what my dad described as a “floorless attic” - and to stay warm at night they curled up around the chimney.  When Dad was about ten or so his maternal grandfather, Tom NUTT, a carpenter, added two rooms to the house which he made out of native lumber, an improvement that gave the family two bedrooms and a separate kitchen.

Dad was born during the boom times of the Roaring Twenties, but there was no “boom” or “roar” out in his impoverished neighborhood.  His family and all of the neighbors were so poor that many of them did not notice much in the way of changes when the Great Depression hit following the stock market crash of 1929.  I suspect though, from various clues in his journal, that Dad knew his family was the poorest around.  He talked about playing on the ice on the ponds in the winter, but noted that his family had no pond on their land.  He also mentioned - a couple of times - that he and his cousin, Lee MACY, whom he described as his “best friend,” would often play “cars” with old medicine bottles on the dirt sides of the root cellar at Lee’s house, and then mentioned that his own parents had no root cellar, but that they would bury apples, turnips, and potatoes in the ground in straw-lined holes to keep them fresh, and then dig them up in the winter - and he said those “fresh” apples were especially good at Christmastime.   

My dad was focused on making money at a very early age, and he had dreams of owning a nice home and a car.  He built rabbit traps and caught rabbits and other small game.  He would send the rabbits into Neosho with their milk hauler (the man who picked up the milk from the local farms and took it to the milk processors in town).  The milk hauler had a special cage on his truck for the rabbits, which he sold in town for fifteen to twenty-five cents each.  The hauler kept a cut for himself and brought the remainder of the proceeds back to the young businessman.  Dad’s notes said that at one time he had twenty-five to fifty traps - and maybe more - that were made out of old barn board, hollow logs, and anything else he could find. He had the traps spread out for about a half mile all around the family home.

Dad said that on the night his younger brother, Tommy Dean MACY, was born, December 27th, 1930, he and Wayne were sent to stay overnight at a neighbor’s house.  It snowed during the night, and the next morning the neighbor asked young Garland if he was anxious to get home and see his new baby brother.  Dad told the neighbor that the first thing he wanted to do was to “run” his rabbit traps!  He would have been six-years-old, barely.

Dad also revealed in his journal that he made money in his childhood as a peddler, selling anything he could come up with door-to-door, including several periodicals like “The Grit.”  He also worked with his dad cutting the wood in summer that they would need for heat and cooking in the winter.  He and Chock, his father, used a two-man crosscut saw to get the trees into chunks that could then be split for firewood.  Dad helped with plowing, milking, and tending to the chickens, all as part of standard farm life.  He also hired out to work for one of his uncles, Arnold MACY (Lee’s dad), pulling sprouts, picking apples, and running the cider press, and he worked with the threshing crew whenever it came through the area.

My dad and his siblings went to the Westview country school which served grades one through ten.  It was a two-mile walk to and from school on a country lane.  He said that when there was snow on the ground he would wrap his shoes with burlap bags.  He reported heavy snowfalls and said that if he jumped into a ditch the snow would often be up to his head.

Dad was a bright kid and was promoted directly from grade one to grade three, an accomplishment that did not sit well with some of his friends and cousins who also attended Westview.     He was small to begin with, and skipping a grade made him exceptionally small for his class.  He liked baseball and basketball, but was too small for the teams.  He said that he switched schools one year and went to Number Four so that he could be on a team.  Apparently Number Four was a mile further away from his home than Westview - which meant even more walking.  He did get to play, but the team at his new school lost to Westview and his old friends from that school seemed to especially enjoy the fact that Garland had moved just to be on a losing team!

My dad said that school pictures were taken by groups, usually grades 1-4, 5-8, and 9-10.  If he and Wayne were in the same group, his parents would only buy one, but if they were in different groups, Chock and Hazel felt like they had to buy two.  

One story that Dad recounted about his school days was of a traveling performer with a unique talent who visited the school:

“We had a man come to the school one day who ate glass.  He would pick up a big piece of glass, wash it off, and chew it up and swallow.  Unbelievable, but true.  No trick.  He warned us not to try it.”

(The old ‘school principal’ in me still shudders thinking how irresponsible and dangerous that ‘entertainment’ actually was!)

But those growing-up years in the backwoods of Newton County, Missouri,  weren’t all hard work and school.  My dad and his friends also rode bicycles, and they spent quiet times at several “swimming holes” where they played, fished, and caught crawdads - and then cooked their catch over a campfire.  At other times they all met in either a tree house that they built together, or in a nearby vacant home, where they learned to smoke corn silks and grapevines, and also played card games like "Rook" and "Pitch."   Dad and Lee liked to play marbles - with hickory nuts!  (The winner kept, and usually ate, all that he won!)

Dad discussed the neighborhood social life. He said that neighbors often gathered in the evenings to do outdoor things like rake and burn leaves, and after his parents bought a radio for the house - that operated off of a car battery - neighbors would sometimes come by in the evenings to listen to programs. One of Dad's favorite neighbors was an old man named Henry REDFEARN who lived by himself nearby. Henry was an elderly fellow who Dad described as "an old Indian fighter" who also told great stories.

My dad was an avid reader and was especially fond of books about cowboys - like those of Zane Gray. His parents received the "Joplin Globe" newspaper through a bartering arrangement with the newspaper carrier, and Dad was a regular reader of Will Roger's humor column that was carried by the "Globe." Will Rogers undoubtedly influenced some of Dad's cynicism toward the government that stayed with him throughout his life.

Dad finished tenth grade at Westview at the age of fifteen, and promptly left home to finish high school in Neosho.  He said that he never spent another night in his childhood home after moving to town. Dad stayed the first year with his aunt and uncle, Jack and Ina Pearl (MACY) LOWE who owned the 86 Taxi company and had several long-haul delivery trucks.  He was paid 50 cents an hour to wash and service vehicles and to answer the phone for the taxi company - and he also received free room and board at the Lowe’s home. His two primary courses at the high school during that year - his junior year - were wood shop and auto mechanics.

The second year, his senior year, Dad moved into an apartment with another boy and initially worked with him at a gas station where he again spent most of his time washing and servicing vehicles.  The pay was better, but he also had to pay rent and buy groceries.  During that year he got a much better job with the Pet Milk Company of Neosho and was able to arrange it so that he could work half of the school day and receive credits toward graduation.

Later when he was writing his journal, my dad seemed to lament the fact that he had not taken more academic classes in high school.  He also wrote an entry about how he felt small schools did a better job of teaching than large schools.

My dad seemed to feel that being one of the “country kids” he was looked down on by some of the students who had been born in town.  He eventually got his revenge in a couple of ways.  First, he aged into one of the older surviving members of his class, and when the class held occasional reunion breakfasts, he always went and mingled with the others - and by that time his wallet was just as fat as theirs - if not fatter!  He also bragged in his journal about getting to see his son - that would be me - serving forty years later as principal in the building where he had gone to high school (It was a Middle School when I ran the joint!).

My father graduated from Neosho High School in May of 1942, but being only seventeen (thanks to skipping a year at Westview) he was still too young for the draft.  He and another young man, Leon WILLIS, answered a newspaper ad to help drive to California for part of the fare.  They got to Los Angeles and “bummed around” looking for work but had no luck.  They were almost out of money but managed to buy bus tickets to Morro Bay where Dad’s older brother Wayne lived with his bride from Missouri, Mary Olive (DAY) MACY, and their infant daughter, Linda.   Wayne didn’t want to feed the visitors all summer, so he hauled them to Brentwood, California, where they got jobs picking fruit - peaches, apricots, nectarines, cherries, English Walnuts, and almonds.  He said they made seventy-five to eighty cents an hour and lived in tents provided by the company - “Balfour and Guthrie.”  There was also a convenient company store where they could buy their necessities and spend their hard-earned pay.

One story that Dad told about his time picking fruit was that he had never had nectarines before and quickly became overly fond of them - and ate every one that he came across that was too ripe to be harvested.   His gluttony wound up causing fruit sores on his legs that kept him from working for an entire week!

When that fruit harvest was over Dad and Leon went on further north to Lodi, California, and picked grapes.  Leon left and went back to Missouri after the grapes played out, but Dad stayed on and went to Porterville to pick olives.  He stayed with Wayne and Mary waiting on the olives to ripen but they were late that year, so Dad went back to Brentwood and began pruning fruit trees, but unrelenting rains cut that job short.  He went to Wayne and Mary’s in Moro Bay one more time, spent a couple of days camping out on the beach, and then told his brother that he was going to go home and join the Army. He said that Wayne, who had a wife and a daughter and a good job in construction, did not think his plan to join the Army was “real smart,” but Dad caught a bus and headed back to Missouri and did that very thing.  

The next time my dad and Wayne saw each other was two years later in Wales, and they were both in the Army!

John Hinckley, Jr, Released Unconditionally

 

by Pa Rock

Citizen Journalist

John W. Hinckley, Jr, a white son of wealth and privilege, earned his bit of fame back on March 30th, 1981, when he opened fire on President Ronald Reagan and his party as they were leaving a union gathering at a Hilton Hotel in Washington, DC.  Hinckley, firing six shots from a .22 caliber revolver, managed to wound four people including the President of the United States (who was actually hit in the chest by a bullet that deflected off of his highly armored limousine), the President's press secretary, a secret service agent, and a police officer.

Reagan and the two men with badges eventually recovered, and Reagan went on to spend eight full years in the White House (1981-1989), but Press Secretary James Brady was not so fortunate.  Brady, who was struck on the right side of his head, remained paralyzed on the left side of his body for the remainder of his life.  He did use his remaining years to become one of the nation's most recognized anti-gun advocates.  When Brady died in 2014, his cause of death was listed as "homicide," referring back to the shooting in 1981 which had permanently incapacitated him.

That shooting in 1981 left many law-and-order Republicans in a tough spot.  While they were always quick to recommend maximum sentences for the "others" in society, this shooting of an American icon had been committed by one of their own - an exceedingly rich and very white young man whose father was an oil company executive who was well known in Republican circles.  Daddy and Mommy rushed to their son's defense, as many good parents would do, but they had the means to make things happen.  They came in with a team of the best lawyers, entered an insanity plea, and stood by solemnly as their son was eventually pronounced "not guilty" by reason of insanity.

Because of that egregious show of wealth and privilege, the federal government eventually tightened requirements for an insanity defense, and so did several states - and the defense of insanity was eliminated entirely in Utah, Idaho, and Montana.

And John Hinckley, Jr, did have obvious mental issues, though some, myself included, would argue that anyone who fires a gun in public with the aim of harming or killing others is to some degree mentally unstable.  Hinckley was fixated on the actress, Jodie Foster, following her film debut as a child sex-trafficking victim in the movie "Taxi Driver."  When Miss Foster enrolled in Yale University in 1980, she soon learned that she had an admirer who was stalking her.  Hinckley managed to visit with Foster a couple of times on the phone, and he slipped several written communications under the front door of her university residence.

But Jodie Foster was basically ignoring the love-struck twenty-five-year-old Hinckley, so he decided to up his game.  Shooting the President of the United States would be a sure way to get her attention - and on March 30th, 1981, he did just that - an act that he later described as "the greatest love-offering in the history of the world!"

So yeah, John Hinckley, Jr, was nuts - and he had parents who had the money and the ability to prove it.

Hinckley was assigned to to a lockdown ward of St. Elizabeth's hospital in Washington, DC.   While he was there he corresponded with serial killer Ted Bundy and received at least one letter from Lynette Squeaky Fromme, the woman who took a wild shot at Gerald Ford.

Hinckley also gave a famous interview to Penthouse magazine during the early years of his stay in which he reported that on a "typical" day at St. Elizabeth's: 

"I see a therapist, answer mail, play my guitar, listen to music, play pool, watch television, eat lousy food, and take delicious medication."

Hinckley's parents moved to a gated community near Williamsburg, Virginia, in order to be close to their son, and in 1999 he began being allowed to take escorted visits to their home.  Those visits soon began expanding in duration.  After his father died a few years ago, Hinckley was allowed to live permanently with his agoraphobic mother, but still under court and medical supervision.  His mother died last year and Hinckley, now sixty-six, has recently moved out of her house.

He has reportedly issued apologies to all of his surviving victims, including Jodie Foster, and is ready to get on with what is left of his life.  (It has not been reported whether he telephoned his apology to Miss Foster, sent her a letter, or slid a note under her front door.)

And I, for one, think that after all of this time John Hinckley, Jr, should be allowed to get on with what's left of his life, but I will always regard it as a shame that our country continues to rely on two systems of justice - one for wealthy white individuals, and another for everyone else.

Clipped and Boosterized!

 

by Pa Rock

Fully-Vaxxed American

Most days I don't go into town at all, but today I have been twice already, and it's not even noon yet!

I had an overdue appointment with the podiatrist early this morning for diabetic foot care, a visit which entails a cursory visual examination of my feet followed by a heaven-sent clipping of my toenails.  I used to get that service monthly at the Senior Center, but about the time the pandemic closed them down a new podiatrist arrived in town who would clip toenails.  My first three or four visits were scheduled three months apart, which I considered a bit too long, but beggars cannot be choosers!  The last time I went I was scheduled four months out, but I did not complain because I figured the young doctor was going on a well deserved summer vacation that would interrupt his routine.

This time, after four months, my toenails were literally like claws.  I politely pointed this out to the doctor and his assistant, both of whom told me to request a three-month appointment as I checked out - which I did.  The girl at the desk smiled when I asked for three months and told me that she could "fit me in" in February.  She didn't seem to have a medical degree, so I felt that I could be a tad more plain spoken with her.  "Three months," I repeated, and held up three fingers in case she was a visual learner.  "I'm sorry," she smiled back, "but the doctor's first opening is in February."  I took the appointment, but asked to get placed on her magic waiting list in case of cancellations.

The problem, I suspect, is that all of those  other damned old people have learned that he does toenails.  How dare they interfere with my racket treatment!

But for today at least, my toes feel great, finally!

Then I came home and was sorting through my email and learned that there was a Pfizer booster clinic going on in town, so I raced back into town, got into a gaggle of old people, and eventually got my COVID booster shot.

Now, as the clock inches toward the noon hour, I am beginning to think about lunch and how best to catch back up with my day that seems to have rushed on by.

I guess that I am making progress, but that may be open to interpretation!

Monday's Poetry: "The Wreck of the Old 97"

 

by Pa Rock

Train Rider

A major part of my grand plan to free myself from he abject tyranny and misery of airline travel is to begin relying more on riding the rails.  Train travel may be slower than flying, but at least you don't have to fight your way across glorified hog pens in your stocking feet in order to board a train.  Aside from the slowness of the travel, an aspect that I like, there is also the very real problem that trains in America have limited routes.

Our new transportation secretary, Mr. Pete Buttigieg, appears to be promising to address both issues, if the Republicans in Congress who work for the defense industry can be persuaded to actually allow some of the national treasury to be spent on the needs of people - for a change.

This past weekend, on Saturday afternoon, there was a deadly passenger train derailment in the farmlands of northern Montana, one that killed three and sent seven to local hospitals - and I am certain that airline industry flacks are already on the news and entertainment shows bemoaning what they will claim to be the dangerousness of train travel.  But I have done both and I know that when a train crashes, many more people are likely to survive and even walk away that when a airplane crashes.  When a big passenger plane goes down, the passenger manifest is almost always going to be the obituary list as well.

Train travel is ultimately safer than air travel - and I will not be convinced otherwise!  Train travel is much, much more comfortable than sitting with your knees tucked under your chin between two large and annoying people on an airplane.  The seating on a train is more spacious, and passengers have the freedom to get up and walk about whenever they want - even to adjoining cars - and to exotic destinations like the dining car, club car, and even the observation car.  Every seat is no more than one place removed from a wide window, and sleeping cars are available for those who wish to travel in ultimate comfort.

The train that crashed in Montana was an Amtrak, part of its "Empire Builder" route that runs between Chicage and Seattle.   The tracks it was traveling belonged to Burlington Northern Santa Fe (BNSF).  as of yet the reason for the crash has yet to be determined.

I have not ridden the "Empire Builder" yet, but plan to do so by next summer.  That route has a stop within a couple of miles of my cousin's home in Idaho, and it connects with another train at the beautiful King Street Station in Seattle, a train that I have ridden that has a stop within a couple of miles of my daughter's home in Oregon.  

Again the limited routes are a problem.  Right now my two best ways of catching the "Empire Builder" heading west are to drive to Kansas City, board an Amtrak heading east to Chicago, and then backtrack westward - or to drive to Minnesota, like a friend of mine does, and catch it at one of its stops there.  Both are far from ideal, but again, Secretary Buttigieg is gong to add some routes and introduce some high speed trains  -  if  -  we can keep Republicans out of power long enough to let some real progress happen!

But regardless of the inconvenience, I am determined to make travel more relaxing and enjoyable in the coming years - and that ain't a-gonna happen riding airplanes!

A very famous train wreck occurred one-hundred-and-eighteen-years ago today.  The Southern Railway Company had a "Fast Train" #38 which rain a southerly mail route through Virginia,   But that particular train was out of commission and had to be replaced with a substitute for a time.  That substitute, "Old 97" was being pushed to make up time when it derailed and overturned on a trestle in Danville, Virginia on September 27th, 1903.  Eleven people were killed in the train wreck, and seven more were injured.  Henry Whitter wrote a song about the incident, and today many claim that song was the first "million-seller" in country music.  It has been performed by such greats as Woody Gutherie, Hank Snow, and Johnny Cash, and is still a staple of classic country music.

Here is a story of what can happen when you get in a hurry:

The Wreck of the Old 97

by Henry Whitter

They give him his orders at Monroe, Virginia
Sayin', "Steve, you're way behind time
This is not 38, but it's Old 97
You must put her in Spencer on time."

Then he look around and said to his black, greasy fireman
"Just shovel on a little more coal
And when we cross that White Oak Mountain
You can watch Old 97 roll."

It's a mighty rough road from Lynchburg to Danville
In a line on a three-mile grade
It was on that grade that he lost his airbrakes
Oh, you see what a jump he made

He was goin' down grade making 90 miles an hour
When his whistle broke into a scream
He was found in the wreck with his hand on the throttle
And was scalded to death by the steam

Now ladies, you must take warning
From this time on and learn
Never speak harsh words to your true love or husband
He may leave you and never return

Subpoenas, Executive Privilege, and Criminal Contempt: Oh, My!

 

by Pa Rock

Citizen Journalist

There was movement this week from the House Select Committee on the Events of January 6th.  The committee created news when it issued four subpoenas to former Trump advisors and administration officials requesting that those individuals present materials relevant to the committee's investigation by October 7th, and appear at depositions on October 14th and 15th.  The lucky recipients of the first round of the committee's subpoenas were former Trump advisor Steve Bannon, former Trump Chief of Staff Mark Meadow, former White House Chief of Staff for Communications Dan Scavino, and ex-DOD official Kashyap Patel.

Bannon and Patel are scheduled to be deposed on October 14th, and Meadow and Scavino on October 15th.

The committee is also seeking White House correspondence and other materials related to January 6th, much of which is stored with the National Archives and Records Administration, NARA, which is under the control of the executive branch of the federal government.  

Taylor Budowich, a current spokesman for private citizen Trump, referred to the House subpoenas as "Communist-style" and "overboard and lacking merit."

Donald Trump is putting forth a claim of "executive privilege" with regards to the documents and personnel associated with his tenure in office.  One kink in that defensive posture seems to be that he is no longer the executive and therefore not in a position to claim the privilege.  President Joe Biden, who is the executive in charge of the executive branch of government is indicating that he will claim no executive privilege in the matter, and that his administration will cooperate fully with the House Committee.

One recent opinion piece in the press suggested that Trump may head into federal court with a lawsuit ostensibly aimed at keeping the congressional committee from accessing records from his administration which are stored with NARA.  That effort would likely prove futile, but the opinion writer suggested the true aim of such a lawsuit would be to "gum up the legal works" for a time until after the 2022 elections when Republicans might have regained control of the House and could disband the committee - or, in others words, Trump's goal in going to court might be just to try and run out the clock.

There are also strong indications emanating from the four subpoenaed individuals suggesting that they may refuse to honor the subpoenas based on the old boss's claims of executive privilege.  Regarding that eventually, committee chairman Bennie Thompson has stated that criminal contempt charges are not "off the table," and contempt charges could result in those individuals being jailed.

Materials are due in less than two weeks, and depositions are scheduled to be held in less than three weeks.  The clock is ticking.

MTG: A Bully Who Is Unloved, Insecure, and Badly Hurting

 

by Pa Rock

Citizen Journalist

Yesterday the US House of Representatives passed a piece of legislation that would protect a woman's right to have an abortion by codifying that right into law.  In order to actually become law, that bill would also have to be approved by the US Senate, something that is unlikely to happen at the present time, and then be signed into law by President Biden.  But the vote did amount to a significant statement from the House, nonetheless.

Upon completion of the vote several female members of the House went outside onto the Capitol steps to hold a press conference regarding the legislation, but instead of a press conference, the event quickly turned into something more akin to a circus when Georgia congresswoman Marjorie Taylor Greene began heckling her congressional colleagues.  Greene began taunting the group for  not being "Christian" and for what she deemed to be their support of the "murder" of children who had yet to be born.   Several of the women walled back inside of the Capitol to ignore Green when she began her harangue, but Congresswoman Debbie Dingel of Michigan finally felt compelled to respond to Greene.  Dingel criticized Green for "not standing with women" and for her general incivility.

But uncivil or not, Congresswoman Greene got what she was after:  attention.

Yesterday was not the first time that Marjorie Taylor Greene had put on a show outside of the Capitol.  In March of 2019, before she was elected to Congress but when she was in the early stages of seeking a House seat from her native state of Georgia, Greene came to Washington, DC, to try and meet with some Senators and other prominent politicians to advocate against gun control and to get a few photo ops and sound bites for her upcoming campaign.  As she was walking between buildings near the Capitol, she happened to run into anti-gun activist David Hogg, one of the better known survivors of the massacre at the high school in Parkland, Florida, on Valentine's Day in 2018.

Greene, who had had no luck in getting any meetings with anyone in the Senate, then decided that she would  follow young Mr. Hogg around for awhile and heckle him.   During her marching rant, Greene yelled that Hogg was being funded by George Soros (a favorite boogeyman of conservatives) and liberals, and she also called the young shooting survivor an "idiot" and said that he had been "trained like a dog."   She also called David Hogg a "coward" because he kept walking away from her and would not respond to her ravings.  Greene later admitted that she was angry that while she had not been able to meet with ay senators, David Hogg had secured meetings with several.

But again, Greene got what she was after, attention and some colorful material for her campaign.

 After Greene was elected to Congress and sworn in, Fred Guttenberg, whose daughter Jamie was killed at the high school shooting in Parkland, Florida, released a tape of Greene's attack on David Hogg and noted that Marjorie Taylor Greene had called the young activist a "coward" because he had ignored her "insanity."

For his part, David Hogg said this in a tweet:

"It's sad to think about how the unloved hate.  People like Greene, like most bullies, always try to attack and project strength because that area so badly hurting, so unloved and insecure."

As the group of congresswomen who were attacked by Marjorie Taylor Greene yesterday no doubt realize, the attention-seeking Georgia congresswoman is still unloved, insecure, and badly hurting - and she is going is going to spread that hurt unsparingly in her desperate attempts to get noticed.

And the House of Representatives should notice Marjorie Taylor Greene - and then expel her!

Planet's Privileged Roll Up Their Sleeves for Shot #3

by Pa Rock

Believer in Science

The Centers for Disease Control announced yesterday that it has approved a COVID booster shot for people (like me) who are over the age of 65 and received two initial doses of the Pfizer vaccine more than six months ago.  I received the initial doses through a large clinic that was set up and run by my county health department, so today I called them and learned that I could received the booster if I was immuno-compromised, but Type-2 diabetes did not qualify, and they are still waiting on more guidance before giving shots to those who qualify strictly based on age.  Then I called Walgreen's and got essentially the same message from a damnable phone machine.

I guess I am unclear as to why the CDC would make a general announcement and then fail to provide all of the necessary information to the people who will actually be administering the shots.

But I am not complaining.  I will keep my mask on, my sleeve rolled up, and my happy butt at home until the vaccine starts flowing - and I will be thankful, though embarrassed, that I live in a part of the world where there is enough concentrated wealth to vaccinate the entire population - if the entire population was smart enough to take advantage of their privilege - and I will continue to feel guilt over the millions of people in the world who don't have access to clean water and an adequate food supply, much less to life-saving vaccines.

For those who are burdened with a conscience, the inequity of wealth and privilege will kill a good vaccine buzz every time!

Ancestor Archives: Nancy Jane Roark (1889-1953) Part Two

 

by Rocky Macy

Nancy Jane Roark was born on May 18th, 1889, to Samuel James and Nancy Anthaline (SCARBROUGH) ROARK in the community of Hart, McDonald County, Missouri.  She married Daniel Alexander SREAVES at the home of Justice of the Peace H.C. “Clay” HALL in McDonald County, Missouri, on the evening of March 12th, 1913.  Nancy Jane passed away at St. John’s Hospital in Joplin, Jasper County, Missouri on February 5th, 1953.

Nancy Jane (ROARK) SREAVES was my maternal grandmother.

Throughout her life, Nancy Jane was known by her family and close friends as “Siss.”  She was even listed on her and Dan’s wedding license as “Siss Roark.”  The spelling of that nickname varied on documents from “Sis” to “Siss,” but I have a letter that she wrote to her brother-in-law, Jess SREAVES, during World War I, in which she signed her name as “Siss,” so that is the version which I use here.  If it is spelled otherwise, such as “Sis” in this profile, that reflects how it was spelled in whichever source document was being referenced and cited.

The 1890 census burned in a warehouse fire, but two remaining census records - 1900 and 1910 - exist in which Siss was still residing in her parents’ home.  In 1900 she was an 11-year-old listed as “Nancy J. Roark,” and in 1910 she was 21-years-old and the census taker recorded her name as “Sissie Roark.” Siss was also mentioned several times in the ”Hart” section of the local newspaper between 1906, when she was almost seventeen, and when she married Dan at the age of twenty-three in 1913.  In most of those entries she was listed as “Sis,” but her name was noted as “Siss” in a couple.  Those newspaper mentions follow, sequentially:

“Pineville Democrat” (March 2nd, 1906)  “Hart Happenings”  page 1:
“Miss Sis Roark returned from Johnson, Ark., last week where she has been on a visit to her brother, Jno. Roark and family.”

“Pineville Democrat”  (March 1st, 1907)  “Hart Happenings”  page 1:
“Misses Ethel and Sis Roark, Leona Crawford and Orpha Pogue spent Sunday with Clyda Smith.”

“Pineville Democrat”  (March 15th, 1907)  “Hart Happenings”  page 5:
“Miss Della Williams spent Sunday with Sis Roark.”

“Pineville Democrat”  (July 6th, 1907)  “Hart Happenings”  page 1:
“Misses Sis Roark and Etta Darr are on the sick list.”

“Pineville Democrat”  (May 28th, 1909)  “Hart Beats”  page 4:
“Misses Siss Roark and Orpha Pogue took dinner at J.M. Smith’s Sunday.”

“Pineville Herald”  (March 14th, 1913) page 5:
“License to Marry:  Dan Sreaves and Sis Roark, of Seneca.”

Pineville Democrat  (March 21st, 1913)  page 4:
“Dan Shreaves and Siss Roark of Hart were married by H.C. Hall here Wednesday evening.”

By the time of the 1920 census Siss and Dan had been married just over seven years and they were listed in their own household.   That census recorded her as Nancy J. “Neaves” of Buffalo Township, McDonald County, Missouri.  The census said that she was thirty-years-old, able to read and write, and had no occupation -  a distinct irony in describing a farm wife who worked everyday from before daylight until after dark!  Also present in the home were Daniel “Neaves” (age 31), a son, “Hearoldene Neaves” (Harold Dean Sreaves) (5), a daughter, Mary R. “Neaves” (3), and a nephew, Ivan Roark (8).

(Ivan Lafayette ROARK was Siss’s nephew, the son of her older brother John Henry ROARK and his wife, Phoebe (GRUNDEN) ROARK.  Ivan was born on September 18th, 1911, and was the couple’s fourth child and fourth son.  Less than three years later, on August 7th, 1914, Phoebe gave birth to a baby girl, Edna Gladys ROARK, but it was a troubled delivery and the mother died a week later on August 14th.  The baby girl died a couple of months later on October 9th, 1914.  Somehow the family reached an undoubtedly hard decision and placed young Ivan in the home of Siss and Dan where he became an automatic older brother to their son Dean who had been born in April of 1914.  Ivan grew up in the SREAVES’ household.)

As an example of what life was like in the SREAVES’ household just before the 1920 census was taken, here is a transcription of a letter that Siss wrote to Dan’s younger brother, Jess SREAVES, who was working at a hospital in Boston as a part of the World War I effort.  The letter was given to me many years ago by Mary SREAVES CLOTFELTER, Jess’s daughter.  It was written in pencil, addressed to “William Jesse Sreaves, Boston, Mass General Hospital No. 10,” and postmarked in Seneca, Missouri on the afternoon of May 20th, 1919.  The postage was three cents.  In that two-page letter Siss wrote:

“Seneca, Mo

“Dear Brother,  We got your letter.  Was real glad to hear from you.  Ruby is at your Mother’s.  She seems real nice.  When do you think you will be home.  I hope soon.  Dan is plowing corn.  He has just about got it over two times.  We have not heard from Claude for over a month but he was well when we heard.  I guess he got your letter for he don’t hardly ever get one.  Mother worries so much about him.  Her and Papa said for you to send them your picture if you have one.  Do send them one for they would be glad to get one.  I was sure glad you sent us one.  Write soon & a long letter.  

“Siss & Dan”

The 1930 census listed Siss correctly as Nancy J. Sreaves, but had her age incorrectly as thirty when she would have actually been forty.  Dan’s age was given as 31 when he would have really been forty-one.  Others residing in the household were Dean Sreaves (16), Ruth Sreaves (13), Nead (Ned) Sreaves (9), Larine (Florine) Sreaves (7), Chistine (Christine) (6), Bettie (Betty) L. Sreaves (5), and Ivon (Ivan) Roark (18).

Ten years later in 1940 the census recorded Siss as Nancy Jane Sreaves, age 50, an unpaid family worker who had a fourth grade education.  Also in the family were Dan Sreaves (51), Ned Sreaves (20), Florine Sreaves (18), Christine Sreaves (17), Betty Lou Sreaves (15), and Floyd Sreaves (10).  During the interim between 1930 and 1940 Ivan ROARK had gotten married and left home, Mary Ruth SREAVES had also gotten married and left home, and Harold Dean SREAVES had been placed in a mental hospital in Nevada, Missouri. 

The seven SREAVES children were, in addition to Ivan ROARK who was born in 1911 and probably came to live with them in 1914, were:  Harold Dean (1914-1968), Mary Ruth (1916-1995) (Mrs. Fred MARBLE), Ned Roark (1920-1970) (married Gwendolyn WALLACE), Ruby Florine (1921-1986) (Mrs. Garland MACY), Virgie Christine (1922-1999) (Mrs. A.G. “Bob” DOBBS), Betty Lou (1926-1996) (Mrs. Dalton MACY), and Floyd Edgar (1930-2017) (married 1. Shirley MEANS, and 2. Carolyn LANKFORD).

Harold “Dean” SREAVES was to some extent a family secret, and I did not even hear of his existence until his death in 1968 - at which time I was twenty.  A cousin who was also born in 1948 told me that she, too, had been unaware of Dean.  One story that I heard later was that Dean had developed a fever as a result of measles, and the fever had left him mentally impaired.   Margaret (ANDERSON) SMITH (Ethel SREAVES ANDERSON’s daughter) told me that the two oldest children, Dean and Mary Ruth, had typhoid fever when they were in their early teens, and that could have also been the fever that left Dean impaired.   I heard through the family story mill that Dean, as an older teen, had been discovered standing in someone else’s home in the middle of the night and that was when Dan and Siss realized that he needed more help and supervision than they could provide.

Siss apparently had trouble reconciling herself to the fact that Dean was unlikely to ever leave the placement at State Hospital No. 3 in Nevada, Missouri.  On January 7th, 1939, she wrote a letter to the staff of that facility regarding Dean’s condition.  The superintendent of the hospital  responded to her letter two days later:

“January 9th, 1939

“Mrs. D.A. Sreaves
Route 1
Seneca. Mo.

“Dear Madam,

“Replying to your inquiry of January 7, we regret to say there has been no change in the condition of your son, Harold Sreaves.  He is in good health and is well satisfied here, but his conduct has not improved and his mind is impaired much the same as it always has been.

“Sincerely yours,
“Orr Mullinax, M.D.
Superintendent”

Nevada, Missouri, where Dean was confined, is about eighty-five miles from Seneca, but a visit would have required a full day away from the farm.    Siss and Dan were able to visit Dean on occasion, and someone in the family told me that Dean knew them when they came, and that he would refer to his father as “Old Daddy.”  Harold Dean SREAVES passed away at that hospital on April 28th, 1968, after spending at least thirty years there as a resident patient.

Siss SREAVES began exhibiting heart issues in the 1930’s, a condition that finally brought about her death nearly two decades later.  My uncle, Floyd SREAVES, the youngest of Dan and Siss’s seven children, told me about his mother’s first stroke.  He said they were gathered at the dinner table and that “Daddy returned thanks.”  After that Siss began laughing and telling them that everything on the table was out of the garden except for the bread - but as she was finishing that remark she had her first  stroke and was rushed to the hospital.  Uncle Floyd said that his mother could not speak plainly for quite a while after that.

Uncle Floyd also talked about Siss’s insistence on planting certain vegetables on certain days, and he said that when Dan jokingly disagreed, she would plant hers and he would plant his when he thought it was right, and they would see whose crops came up first.  Floyd said that his mother did a lot of canning, an endeavor that was common in farm families.

Uncle Floyd also told me about a near tragedy involving him and his mother.  It was a cold winter day and all of the older kids were in school, but Floyd was home with Siss because he was still too young for school.   They were in the main room and she came into contact with the wood stove and caught her dress on fire.  Floyd said his mother was very scared, but he “grabbed her” and got her outside where he set her in a tub of laundry water.  Floyd said that Siss was scarred from that incident.

(Farm women catching their voluminous dresses on fire from wood stoves was not an uncommon occurrence at that time.)

Mary (SREAVES) CLOTFELTER was Jess SREAVES’ daughter and a cousin to Siss’s children.   Mary told me those cousins of hers were “a family of fun-loving kids.” 

Margaret (ANDERSON) SMITH, a daughter of Dan’s sister, Ethel (SREAVES) ANDERSON, was also a cousin who spent a lot of time around Dan and Siss’s children.  She told me how much Siss liked to embroider, but was conflicted about whether it was an appropriate activity to engage in on Sundays.  Apparently Siss, who was very religious, felt compelled to bring the matter up with her pastor.  She explained to the pastor that it helped with her “nerve problems.”  The pastor must have given his blessing on the matter because Siss continued to embroider - even on Sundays!

Margaret said that Siss stood up for her family, had good principles, and was a fun person to be around who was often laughing.  She said that Siss made most of the children’s clothes.  She also mentioned that Siss was often sick.

Margaret told me that she and her mother, Ethel, and Siss were all attending to Gramma SREAVES (Dan’s mother, Mary Jane Ellis SREAVES)) the day she passed away.  She said that her grandmother had asked Ethel to kill a hen and make chicken and noodles.  Margaret said that she and Siss had just raised Grandmother SREAVES up in bed when she suddenly died.

Although she began having strokes in the 1930’s, Siss SREAVES managed to live long enough to see all of her children reach maturity, and all except for Dean marry and start their own families.  She passed away on February 5th, 1953, at St. John’s Hospital in Joplin, Missouri.  Dan, who was a passenger in my parents’ car and heading home after Siss died, became ill in the car and had to be taken back to the hospital and admitted.  He was so sick - and no doubt distraught - that he was unable to attend her funeral.

Although my younger sister and I were left outside in the car during the funeral (I was four and Gail was two), today I somehow have possession of a copy of her funeral book - something I undoubtedly came across in my mother’s things when she passed away.  One of the things included in that book was a list of signatures of “relatives” who attended the service.  They were, in order of signing:

Glen Tucker, Jess and Lula Sreaves, Marvin Sreaves, Harry and Ethel Anderson, Grace Tucker, Margie Tucker, Hycle Tucker, Mr. and Mrs. Ernest Tucker, Margaret Pogue, Carol Nunn, Christine Dobbs, Ruth Marble, Bob Dobbs, Floyd Sreaves, Shirley Sreaves, Betty Lou Macy, Ned Sreaves, Gwendolyn Sreaves, Dalton Macy, Joe and Fannie Ulmer and family, Mr. and Mrs. Gene Scurlock, Florine Macy, and Garland Macy.

Also included among those funeral papers is a page of typed notes that appear to be what the minister used in the eulogy.  It follows:

“Nancy Jane Roark, familiarly known as “Sis,” was the daughter of Samuel and Nannie Roark.  She was born in McDonald County, Missouri May 18, 1889.   All her life was spent in Southwest Missouri, most of it in the Seneca area.

“On March 12, 1913 she was married to Dan Sreaves.  To them were born three sons, Harold, Ned, and Floyd;  four daughters, whose names are now:  Mrs. Fred Marble of Hickman Mills, Mo.  Mrs. Garland Macy and Mrs. A.G. Dobbs of Goodman, Mo. and Mrs. Dalton Macy of Wichita, Kansas.

“The deceased was converted at the Hart Baptist Church in her early youth but upon her marriage to Mr. Sreaves, transferred her allegiance to the Methodist Church, to which he belonged.  At the time of her death she was a member of the Swars Prairie Methodist Church.

“Mrs. Sreaves’ final illness began about three years ago.  She died in St. John’s Hospital in Joplin at 1:50 p.m. February 5, 1953 at the age of 63 years, 8 months, and 18 days.  Her husband has been critically ill in the same hospital and is unable to be present here.  All the children survive and are his comfort in this hour.  Two of her sisters also survive:  Mrs. Pete Nunn and Mrs. Earnest Tucker, both of Seneca, and there are 14 grandchildren.  

“Many have commented on the sweet patience with which she endured her long illness, and the confidence which she had in the wisdom of God’s plan.” 

While Dan and Siss were members of the Swars Prairie Methodist Church, both of their funeral services were at the Swars Prairie Baptist Church and they are interred in that church’s cemetery - not far from their son Floyd, his daughter, Debbie, Dan’s parents, Siss’s parents, and even one set of Siss’s grandparents and a large host of other relatives and friends of a lifetime.

They truly are at rest among family, now and forevermore.

Happy Birthday, Tim!

 

by Pa Rock

Proud Father

My favorite Hollywood screenwriter - and youngest child - Tim Macy is having a birthday today, number forty-two!

Forty-two years ago today was a Sunday, and it was the first day of Autumn.  Tim drew his first breath in St. Francis Hospital in Mountain View, Missouri.  The first person he met upon his arrival that day was an exceptional young physician and humanitarian by the name of Jon Roberts.  Today, in retirement, Dr. Roberts has established a free medical clinic in Mountain View, and he organizes and runs medical missionary trips to Haiti.  Babies who were brought into the world by Dr. Roberts had the rare privilege of starting life in the hands of one of its very best people!

Tim and I have "antipodal" birthdays, we are exactly six months apart.  When he is celebrating a birthday, I am having a half-birthday, and vice-versa!.

A friend phoned from St. Louis this week and in the course of our conversation she informed me that both of Tim's movies - "The Brass Teapot" and "Lost Child" - are currently streaming on Amazon Prime.  Either one would go well with a warm bowl of chili and a cool autumn evening!

I am obviously proud of Tim, and I appreciate the care and good judgment that he and Erin use in raising my two wonderful grandchildren (two of six!), Olive and Sully.  I also appreciate the way Tim phones his old dad every few days to see how he is doing.

Happy birthday, Tim!  You are a great son, and I hope that you have a wonderful day!

Ancestor Archives: Nancy Jane Roark (1889-1953) Part One:

by Rocky Macy

(Special Note:   I wrote the following sketch of the life of my maternal grandmother, Nancy Jane “Siss” (ROARK) SREAVES on the occasion of the 100th anniversary of her birth, May 18th, 1989.  At that time it ran in my weekly genealogy column, “Rootbound in the Hills” which was running in several newspapers in southwest Missouri, northeast Oklahoma, and northwest Arkansas.  It is being repeated here today as it originally ran in 1989.  Tomorrow a more detailed profile of my grandmother will run in this same space.)

Nancy Jane “Siss” ROARK:

One of the rewarding aspects of writing this column is having the opportunity to occasionally digress through my own family history.  It is a pleasure and a privilege to be able to highlight the lives of my forebears who did so much, often in quiet ways, for their friends and neighbors and family.

Last October “Rootbound” carried a special remembrance of my grandfather, Dan SREAVES of Seneca, on what would have been his one hundredth birthday.  Now, a scant six months later, comes another family milestone - for it was a century ago this week that “Siss,” Dan’s wife and the center of his life, came into this world.

Nancy Jane “Siss” ROARK was born to Samuel James and Nancy Anthaline (SCABROUGH) ROARK in McDonald County, Missouri, on May 18th, 1889, the middle child of a family of nine.  Though probably sharing the same dreams that many children have of travel and adventure, she and most of her brothers and sisters were destined to spend their lives in the Missouri Ozarks.

Siss met Dan sometime in the early part of the twentieth century.  The couple married in McDonald County on March 12th, 1913, and settled down to the quiet rigors of farm life on a place just south of the Newton County line.  Their married life was happy, lasting nearly forty years and producing seven fine children.

Although life on the farm was agreeable with Siss, early on she showed a preference for indoor work.  Embroidery was one of her specialities, as was cooking.  Siss prepared a big country breakfast and dinner (lunch) each day.  In fact, the first two meals of the day were generally so large that there were sufficient leftovers to take care of supper.

When Siss did work outside, she could often be found in her garden, an attractive mixture of flowers and vegetables.  She was proud of her dahlias, and equally pleased with the fact that much of the family’s food supply was homegrown.  And Siss had definite ideas on when to plant.  The seeds needed to go in the ground on specific days, regardless of the weather or her husband’s friendly advice to the contrary.

Siss SREAVES was a very religious woman and a good neighbor.  She served as a midwife, helping in insure that her friends’ children entered the world as safely as possible.  The SREAVES table was always available to others, especially after church on Sunday when the children took it for granted that their parents would bring home guests for the noon meal.  

It was on a Sunday after church in the late 1930’s when Siss organized one of the biggest parties that the folks on Swars Prairie had ever witnessed.  She and her daughters had picked blackberries that spring to earn money for a very special gift for Dan’s birthday.  They took their secret “pin money” and used it to have an enlargement made of a small photograph of Dan’s mother.

When Dan’s birthday rolled around that October, Siss and the kids were ready!  Using some false pretense, she kept Dan at church after Sunday morning services were over, allowing everyone in the community time to gather at the SREAVES home.  And gather they did!  There are still people around who relate with amazement the stories of all the many neighbors that were assembled to celebrate Dan’s birthday.  The feasting and good times lasted well into the evening.

Siss started suffering mild strokes in the 1930’s soon after he last child was born.  But being the tenacious farm woman that she was, Siss held onto life for another twenty years.  Though often ill, she was able to see each of her children through to maturity, and she had the opportunity to know many of her grandchildren.

I was just shy of being five-years-old when Siss SREAVES passed away in 1953.  And though my memories of the time preceding her death are few and faded, I can still see my grandmother, quiet and caring, sitting down at a family gathering to share a piece of pie with her little grandson.  We ate with our hands (perhaps the table service had already been packed away), and shared a moment - a moment that has stayed with me as a subtle and enduring reminder of a gentle woman who spent a lifetime caring for others.  

It is a legacy that I treasure.