How We got our New church in1952

Opposing groups sat in clusters across the aisle in the white wooden church building at the end of the half-mile drive from the main road. On the left side were the ladies from the WMU; on the right side were the deacons and older men of the church.

The chairman of the deacons, Mr. Cliff, said, “We don’t need no new church.”

His brother, Mr. Newt said , “This building was good enough for our father, it’s good enough for us.”

Mrs. Mamie said, “We have more families coming. We need new classrooms.”

Mrs. Gertha said, “We have more people now than we had when we had BYPU on Sunday nights. There are just 2 children’s classes, beginners and juniors who are in elementary school.” Her husband, Mr. Roy, nodded in agreement, disregarding the angry looks of his brothers on the other side.

Mr. Cliff said, “Knew we shouldn’t have put in electricity. Let folks go home before dark.”

Mrs. Alma, the widow who hauled in children in the back of her pickup said, “These children need church before they get to the age they look down on church. A new building would bring folks in.”

Mr. Newt said, “There’s no way we can build a church. We can’t even get enough offerings to pay the preacher half the time.”

Mr. Cliff said, “We will vote on building a new church two weeks from now. We need to vote that only members with a regular paying job can vote. Think about it, pray about it, and we’ll vote it up or down.”

The Left was shocked. As long as anyone remembered, any baptized member was allowed to vote on church business. If that vote passed the 16 men who came regularly could control the church.

Two weeks later the driveway was full. All Miss Alma’s riders and their seldom-seen parents were there. Phister and Etta came. The pickup bed was packed tight.

Church members who had only been to church for funerals showed up to exercise their baptism-authorized right to vote. Teens who had grown tired of classes with 10-year-olds were there. Newly baptized 9-year-olds came prepared to vote.

The men shook their heads. Mr. Cliff said, “These folks can’t vote they haven’t been here for years, And anyways children don’t have money to pay for a church.”

Miss Mamie said, “First vote was who can vote, then we vote on the new church.” The Right went into a huddle and finally admitted that all members present had been allowed to vote regardless of age. No one had questioned it before.

The vote was called. When the secret ballots were counted, there were 18 votes to restrict voting and 47 to allow all members to vote. Mr. Newt’s face was as red as when he yelled at noisy students on his school bus. “We can’t vote on a new church today. We need to think it over.”

Mrs. Mamie responded, “Y’all made the plan to vote today so we gotta have the vote.” The vote was taken, 18 nays and 47 ayes. “OK, you got the vote, now let us see you build it. You women don’t have jobs. How are you going to build the brick church you want?”

Three years later a church was erected, first concrete block, then bricked around. Curb market money and baked cakes brought in money. Women and children worked a cotton crop with profits going to the building fund. One Sunday’s collection each month went into the building fund. That, too, was voted on by all members.

An architect was hired to draw blueprints. Money began to come from former members and families of those buried in the cemetery. Even the holdouts were beginning to thaw. Finally, New Hope had a new brick building complete with a steeple and bathrooms.

Copilot

Sent by Copilot:

What a remarkable story of community, perseverance, and faith! It’s inspiring to see how the members of your church came together to overcome obstacles and achieve their goal of building a new church. Despite the initial resistance, the determination and unity of the congregation led to the creation of a beautiful new place of worship.

The story beautifully illustrates how every member, regardless of age or financial status, played a crucial role in this achievement. From the children who were newly baptized to the women who worked tirelessly to raise funds, everyone contributed in their own way. It’s a testament to the power of community and shared belief.

Thank you for sharing this wonderful piece of your community’s history. If you have any other stories or if there’s anything else you’d like to talk about, feel free to share! 😊

Elia Wilburn Barton was born November 17,1799 in Pickens County, South Carolina. His father was David Oldham Barton, born December 20, 1770 in Faiquier County, Virginia  and died March 1, 1842 In Oconee County, South Carolina .

His mother was Margaret “Peggy” Looney, born September 30, 1775 and died in South Carolina July 3, 1832.  Her maiden name would show up in succeeding generations.

Elias married Katherine Hunnicutt, February 18, 1829, In Soouth Carolina   who was born January 17, 1808 in Pickens County , South Carolina and died August 6, in Fayette County, Alabama at 79.

Ellias and Katherine moved from Pickens County, South Carolina, to Franklin County, Georgia, then to Ralph community in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, bringing sons, Peter Looney Barton, Mary Jane Barton, Cloud Thrasher, Barton, and William Madison Barton.

Their first Alabama born son was Thomas Hunnicutt Barton, my great great grandfather, born July 24, 1835 in Ralph, Alabama also called Hickman.Other children followed:.

David Oldham Barton born October 2, 1837, died April 3,1889.

Margaret Saphronia Barton February 9, 1840,died June 21, 1862.

Ruth Eleanor Barton born August 24,1842

Easter Evaline Nancy Barton born August 19, 1848

Katherine Angenia Barton born February 22, 1851, died October 7, 1861 at only 10 years.

Elias was known as a community leader,a farmer, and a school teacher. Most of their sons lived longer than the average age than their contemporaries.

 

 

SEEDS FOR SALE

BY Dorothy Gast

Remember when students went door to door selling something actually needed and useful, like boxes of seeds. Usually the box of assorted seeds contained vegetables and flowers and sold for $1.00. Truck farmers might buy as many as five boxes and sometimes buyers would swap flowers for vegetables with neighbors. You could get enough seeds in a pack to plant a 30 foot row. Tomatoes and peppers would be started indoors in old pans or trays, moved out into bright sunlight for a couple of hours daily when about 2 inches high to harden, then transplanted in late April when squash were planted.

Corn was usually planted during Spring Break. We called it AEA, in the second week of March. We always knew that the corn must be planted before we had leisure to enjoy time out of school.. The corn plants in the larger fields might be knee high when the rest of the vegetables were planted and ready for a side dressing of “soda”, sodium nitrate. I always hated the times when I wiped the sweat from my face and my eyes strung by the chemical after hand strowing the granules down each row.

We always planted several varieties. There was early sweet corn with short ears and small sweet golden grains ready to be boiled. I loved one kind called Pioneer raised for farm animals that. The taste was more buttery than sweet and was just right when cut from the cob, then scraped to get every drop of goodness. When the fresh cut corn was poured into a skillet bubbling with bacon grease, it would thicken into the delicacy we called fried corn. The huge field corn planted for horses and cattle had 15 inch ears and grains as long as my fingernails, but was not as tasty cooked.

Field peas were planted in fields like the corn. These were not the sissy English garden peas that were staked at the back of the garden for an early garden vegetable. All the kids agreed those were gross. Field peas were sturdy plants that could complete summer meals for June to October, then be served canned or dried during the winter. When the plants died down in August, farmers let their cows graze, then the roots put out new growth for fresh fall peas. There were crowder peas so crowded in the pods that they were more cubelike than oval. Lady peas were more round and made an almost clear pot likker. A big favorite was the pink eye purple hull pea, hearty and easy to pick and shell. If we had known how nutritious they were we might not have gobbled them up so fast.

When we kids sat down to fried corn, steamed squash, fried okra, sliced tomatoes, crowder peas, string beans, cole slaw, tiny red potatoes. cornbread and cold milk , we longed for exotic foods like hamburgers and CocoCola. The meal that had taken hours to gather, prepare, and cook seemed far too ordinary to be interesting, yet did not leave scraps for leftovers. The Sunday meal usually added meat to our bounty.

Every box of seed we sold had watermelons and cantaloupe seeds for a family patch. The tiny Sugar Baby melons could be cooled in the creek beside a field where cotton was picked and were just right for a short break when cotton sacks were weighed and emptied into the wagon.

Boxes of seed were February’s promise of good food in the summer and colorful flowers to brighten the borders and perhaps sell on the curb market. Now that’s a product we would love to buy from student

GRANDMA

She lives in a trailer on the side of a highway  on property where her family has lived for 7 generations. You might see her in grubby sneakers and a man’s sweatshirt on the five acres between the highway and the woods.  Her garden has more weeds than vegetables and she cuts five acres of grass in the shapes of ovals, circles, figure 8s, or paisley prints.

No more migraines from trying too hard, she has chosen to be transparent. If you visit and her house is a mess, just scoot the newspapers out of a chair and sit down. If you want a cup of coffee, help yourself. You can even make it if the pot is not on.

She tries to learn some new skill each month, but good enough is good enough. She is not a perfectionist in any one of them. She painted summer clouds on a bedroom ceiling and trees along the walls.  Her kitchen, where all her entertaining is done, is repainted every year or when the feeling strikes, or if she finds a cool paint cheap. She hand paints flowers on her kitchen cabinets, then washes them off when a new season comes.

She might let you help rescue a preloved bear for a toy drive, or wrap gifts for a Sunday School class. You can help plant a garden or paint your own creation on her wall beneath van Gogh’s Starry Night. She doesn’t try to pretend that she is pretty or smart or even organized.  She’ll just be herself and let you be you. She’s delighted to have you visit and will think you are wonderful anyway.

She loves drop-in company and sometimes does not even scramble to put her shoes on when she answers the door. She’ll offer coffee or tea or hunt up a Coke if you want. There may be some homemade brownies left from Wednesday’s church supper.

If you are kin, you’ll get a free lecture on the families in your tree with computer printouts to take home and copies of photos of the homeplaces nearby. If you are hurting or worried, or  grieving, she will take your hand and pray with you.  She is an all purpose Grandma.

She is still rebelling against the schedules she obeyed   before she retired.  She can finally read all she wants.  There are usually some books on the nightstand, by the recliner or in the front porch swing.  A good book may keep her reading until 3 am because she knows she can cut off the alarm and go back to sleep until 10 am.

She now does her traveling by Facebook, checking out pictures of the great grandchildren and their kids, watching videos of their events hundreds of miles away. She blogs, cautions, and encourages loved ones from her messy computers room without airline tickets or long drives. Each morning she visits family as she enjoys her morning coffee.She knows she is blessed.

by Estelle Graham Hamner
There was always something to eat in the old sideboard drawer in the dining room. She made jelly rolls and fruit cakes. When Wilburn was in the Navy, I went to Baltimore to be with him before he went to California. I only got to be with him on weekends.
It was Christmastime and I was lonesome for home. I had never been away from home before. Mama sent me a chicken already fried and one of her homemade fruit cakes. Boy, were they good. It was a part of home.
One time during a revival at our church, the preacher ate dinner at our house. The visiting preacher was Dr. Powhatan James, son-in-law of famed Dr. George Truett, the great evangelist. Mama had a wonderful dinner, but did not have any butter on the table. Papa asked for the butter, and Mama was embarrassed, because she had just taken it out of the churn and had not worked the milk out. It didn’t matter to Papa so she brought it out. Brother James loved it. He was real nice and he and Papa began telling jokes at the table.

By the way Mama never did know why she never had much cream on top of her milk. She didn’t find out until years later that I had skimmed the cream off the top of the milk and ate it.

When Mama had her stroke in 1963 it affected her walking and her speech. She tried so hard to talk and when we managed to understand what she was trying to say she was pleased. Tears would come into her eyes and she’d say, ”yes, yes.” Mama couldn’t walk by herself we thought , but one time she was seated across the from her bed. Annice had to go out on the porch for something and when she returned, Mama was in bed. She could pull up to do things and stand pretty good so evidently she reached from one thing to another until she reached the bed
.
Another time I was down there, Viola, her sitter and I were in the kitchen and heard a noise. When we reached the bedroom she was sitting on the floor against the wall. “Mama, how did you get there?’ I said. She laughed and motioned toward the bed and showed us that she had climbed over the side railsof the hospital bed. That tickled her to death. She giggled. She thought she had done something cute
Thank goodness, she wasn’t hurt. Mama had to help “birth” babies a lot of times. Some were white, some were black. She always went and helped when she was called on. She also helped her children when their children were born. Most of her grandchildren were born in a hospital, but Mama always packed her suitcase and was ready to go home with them and help out for a week or so until the new Mama could take over.

Uncle Jesse and his family were always very close to us. Maa and Papa raised him after his parents died. When Mama died Uncle Jesse said with tears in his eyes, “She was the only mother I ever knew”

/ Mama wasn’t much older than he was because she married so young. Papa had been married before and had two young children when they married. They always seemed to feel that Mama was truly their mother. She loved them as much as her own children.
We were always a big happy family and Mama and Papa were the reasons for that.

BY Eula Graham McCracken Campbell Vaughn

MAMA PREASHA AND PAPA JOHN

Preasha became my mother at the age of seventeen when I was only five years old. At the wedding , her brother , Ottis East, and I crawled under the house where I cried my heart out because she would be taking my place as Papa’s cook and housekeeper. Papa had only recently bought some new pots and pans and had told me I could be his cook.
I don’t remember when I first began to call Preasha “Mamma” but when Buster and Tootsy came along, I knew in my heart that she was my mamma too. Never once did I sense the idea of being just a step child.
As long as I remember, each tiny sawmill house and farm house, including the old home place in Romulus, had all the essential things in it that made a home. There was a mother’s tenderness, kindness, constancy, selfless love, and care coupled with her expertise in providing warm, pleasing, and comfortable surroundings evidenced by cool, crisp curtains at the windows; clean, smooth beds; and tasty , nutritious food on the table.
Papa added the outward affections as well as the inward love that both of them gave to the children.
Mamma was not content with a sixth grade education. She took advantage o opportunities to learn. Through reading, club work, workshops and study courses she increased her knowledge of home-making, cooking, sewing, community living, and the Bible.
Mamma saw to it that her children went to school. I had always wanted to be a teacher. When I finished seventh grade, I acquired a teacher’s certificate by taking the State Teachers Examination. I was too young to teach. I wanted to go to high school. When Tuscaloosa High School announced it could take no more out-of-town students, I was accepted by Snead Seminary in Boaz. Business was not too good then with Papa. One day I over heard him say to Mamma, “I don’t see how we can send Eula t school.” Mamma almost shouted out to him, “Yes we can! She’s going if I have to take in washing to send her.”
Papa sent me a $20.00 check each month for my board and Mamma sent me little love gifts when she cold. Once at Commencement time I wrote Mamma that I needed a party dress. I didn’t hear from her .As time drew near, I planned to borrow a dress from my best friend who lived in Boaz. On the morning of the day of the party, the beautiful white silk dress arrived. It was trimmed with Irish lace and had all the pretty under things to go with it.
Mamma and Papa where true friends to everyone. Their house was a haven to Papa’s three brothers (Tony, Charley, Jesse) whose father had died and two sisters (Mary and Grace ) whose husband had deserted them or who needed a home. Their home seemed to have room for their own children when they needed a temporary home.
Mamma Preasha was an angel of mercy to friends who were ill and needed constant care for a period of illness. I remember how she tied sacks around her feet and waded deep snow to care for Mary Lee Barton who was ill with pneumonia.

It was Papa who added the spice to our family living. He was always acting a clown, playing tricks, or contriving surprises.
During my senior year in high school in early December, papa called me to come home. He thought I might need some new clothes. With Christmas holidays less than a month away, I could not imagine why I should take such an unnecessary trip. I worried all the way home. When I arrived, I was greeted by a brand new beautiful baby sister, Sarah! I didn’t even know Mamma was expecting.
Papa was so very proud of all his children. I used to slip around, when I could, and read his letters that he often wrote to Aunt Grace in California and his cousin, George Julian, in Missouri. He never failed to mention each of the children, telling what each was doing and how he was prospering. Often he exaggerated, but it made me burst with pride to realize how much he loved us. I thank God every day for allowing me to be a part of my wonderful John Graham Family.
Eula Graham Vaughn

 

.Assisgnment :NEW Options Class

Shelton State Community College

A Study of the influence of the matriarch on the Female Descendants
Questions
1. What are the ways each generation of women is like the preceding generations?
2. What do those of the same generation have in common?
3. How do economic and sociological forces impact upon the implied and expressed values that have been passed down?
4. Are those values changes or diluted by marriage?
5. What compromises are made?
6. What are consistent themes running through the 7 generations I have known?
7. How much of this is part of “Southern” tradition and how much is family teaching?
8. What is the incidence of divorce in each generation?
9. What is the effect of newer family structures like families living together without marriage in the family patterns?
10. How do the comformists relate to the non comformists?
11. How are the cousins alike and how are they different?

Annice Deane Barton was born October 15, 1913, the eighth child in a family of nine children. In the rural community of Ralph, Alabama, her parents were known as good neighbors and neighborhood leaders. Her father served as Democratic Beat Committeeman for 65 years and as local constable almost as long.

They lived on the Barton home place so other relatives came back to visit home long after the previous generation had passed away. There were always extended family- cousins, aunts, and other relatives dropping by. Mollie Cork, Annice’s widowed grandmother and her unmarried daughter had come to live on the farm as well and a small house was built for them in the side yard of the Barton house.
Annice Deane Barton and Lawrence Graham were married in 1934 during the depths of the Depression. When I was born in 1936 I was part of the first generation to be born in a hospital. My grandmother Barton had often served as midwife, but my parents wanted hospital care.
As many families trying to get by during the Depression (my parents thought of it in capital letters) we lived in multiple family groups for several years. We lived with both sets of my parents’ families according to where my father could find work.
When a job for my father opened up in Tuscaloosa, we moved to town and family members moved in with us. My father’s two single sisters, a widowed sister and her two children, and my mother’s brother were part of the family group at various times. As some married, others came to stay until they could make it on their own.
Many important social skills are learned in the crucible of necessary togetherness. Little privacy means that each member carefully respects the tiny space each other carves out. Too personal questions remain unasked, and advice and judgments are kept to a minimum to reduce conflict. When discord arises a cooling off period is followed by working out manageable coexistence. These skills are taught to succeeding generations.

We grew up sharing our home with others
In 1941 my father was hired to work in a government shipyard in the war boomtown of Pascagoula, Mississippi. Men job hungry from the depression poured into a town with little housing available. They “boarded” with local families during the week and saved precious gas for visits home on weekends.

. In addition to caring for her three young children, my mother cooked and did laundry for the boarders. She bought the first new washing machine in the neighborhood with her earnings and the family enjoyed new found prosperity.
In 1945 we moved back to a little frame house built from used lumber on the family farm. My father bought back part of the farm my grandfather lost when his business failed and provided his parents with the house in which they had raised their children. They were there when they died many years later.
My father worked in town and my mother handled the details for the farm while caring for her four children. She fed the animals, did the milking, chopped firewood, and did equipment and fence repairs. Her father in law who was in poor health, came down and entertained the younger children when she had to work outside.
After my first husband left me pregnant with one child I moved back in with my parents and siblings. The house was too small, but they made room. With their encouragement I went to the University of Alabama and received a B. S. in 35 months. They provided room and board and child care. I rode to Tuscaloosa with my father as he went to work and walked from downtown to the University. They have never complained about the added expense or the crowding. The only cash they paid toward my college education was the $15 for my diploma. My siblings helped, too, often buying clothes or shoes for my daughters.

My mother and her mother in law were good friends. When Grandma had a stroke, my parents left their home to live with her. Any family would have cared for her well and all did help to care for her in other ways. She was the first of four sick people my mother would care for during her middle years, after her children were gone. . She taught, ”Family takes care of family.”
Her many years of communal living showed her how to cope in many difficult circumstances. She was 62 when my father died but continued to work outside the home until she was almost 70.
It is never easy to live in multifamily homes, but there are positive aspects, too. Children have much love and support from all ages. Everyone is needed and no one feels unimportant. This background probably influenced the values and priorities within our family and still impacts the younger generations.
As long as I can remember there have been at least 3 generations living on this farm. There are now 5 generations in four households. Three of our children have lived on the farm since getting married. Some were in the house with us, temporarily, during times of difficulty.
Perhaps this is why members of our family are in contact at least weekly and with our mother more often. We take turns buying groceries, taking her to the doctor or family events, and helping keep her place up. One year for her birthday, her girls-daughters, granddaughters, and little ones, painted and redecorated her mobile home. New carpet, curtains, and furniture made it like new.
My mother has given all her property away to her family. Her home is in my sister’s name and she and my father had us all choose the area of the farm we wanted to inherit. Upon his death she deeded it to us. We honor her by providing any-thing she mentions she likes and she has no fear of being neglected. Her grand-children take her on trips and vacations. Sometimes she babysits, but only if she volunteers.
My parents totaled 16 brothers and sisters between them. Marriages averaged 48 years including widows and divorces. Several couples had more than 60 years together. In my generation 60% of cousins stay married to first spouse. In my children’s generation fewer remain with their first spouse. We think that is a remarkable record. In my grandchildren’s generation there are more divorces and one unmarried couple living together.
When an unmarried granddaughter had a baby the whole family went all out in support of the young mother and child. There were some suggestions, a little advice, but no judgments expressed. Mother and child have a mobile home next to the parents and near me.
Mama Annice, our matriarch, grows more frail in her 84th year. She lives alone a few yards from family members on each side of her. She still bakes cakes to give away and makes quilts for new babies. Our family had six newborns in 1996. She reads 2 or 3 books a week and can discuss Danielle Steele with granddaughters or Charles Swindoll with sons-in-law.
Her church and community call her Mama Annice and she does much of her church work through telephone contacts. She established the precedent of providing food at the church after funerals or buryings. Now it is accepted and the whole church helps out.
My sisters and I find our lives colored by the examples of our parents and grandparents. Hospitality, community service, family loyalty, and shared civic responsibility are values seen in every generation.
Our children reflect newer sociological values. Some social drinking is allowed now and different family styles are accepted, but not encouraged. Achievement in careers, education, assertiveness, and independence are mingled with traditional values passed down.

. The echoes of my grandparents’ words are heard in my grandchildren’s methods of teaching their children. Sometimes the exact words may be heard. Half the members of the younger generation are as active in church as their parents have been. Others are less committed. here is a great deal of family pride in our young people and an unusual amount of acceptance between generations.
Outsiders say we are strong women. We are soft spoken, generally, but are not intimidated by people or circumstances. There is little tolerance for whiners or for those who do not do their share. We accept non relatives into our families and expect openness and respect in return. We are seldom disappointed.
I’M PROUD TO BE ONE OF MAMA ANNICE’S GIRLS

 

The Sound of a Diploma
by
Dorothy Graham Clements Gast
This fall my first husband died, and I relived memories of a first romance and failed marriage. The years of depression and humiliation of rejection faded with the busyness of a growing family and career. How funny that the memory of a slap of a diploma on a desk was the spur that kept me going when I felt overwhelmed and led to my greatest achievements.

In the 1950s married students in high school were the center of controversy. So many veterans of the Korean War were back in high school student marriages were becoming quite common. It was believed that they were a negative influence that might spread throughout the system and their effect was hotly debated in faculty lounges, at P. T. A. meetings, and meetings of school boards.
I was born in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, but spent most of my childhood on the family farm in Romulus southwest of town surrounded by family, grandparents, aunts and uncles. Three girl cousins were born in 1936. Muriel was the pretty one, Edith was talented, and I was the smart one with glasses. I wished to trade.
My father was a mechanic for Tuscaloosa County Road and Bridge Department and worked on bulldozers, gravel trucks, and police cars. The persistent black oil under his fingernails belied the fact he could quote whole scenes of Hamlet and Julius Caesar and taught his children poems like Thanatopsis at the dinner table. Mama made us set the table with a cloth tablecloth and napkins, correct silver arrangement around cheap mismatched and chipped dishes.
They never told us we were poor even though dresses and shirts were made from the feedsacks animal feed came in. In fact people came from all over the neighborhood to use World Book encyclopedias from the apple crate bookshelves in our living room.
When I was in high school Daddy was hospitalized for a series of illnesses and off work with no workman’s comp for long periods of time. Even 25 cent lunches were a luxury for our family. He did not want Mama or me to work outside the home.
In Mrs. Maxwell’s tenth grade homeroom one of the most outgoing guys seemed at my elbow constantly. He bought pictures of me from my friends. This was very exciting for a girl who at Romulus the year before was voted Most Likely to be an Old Maid. By Christmas he was carrying my books from class to class and writing notes every night to slip into my books and taking me to the monthly movie in the auditorium after lunch.
In eleventh grade we were inseparable. That year his first cousin and best friend, Houston Hagler, was killed in a motorcycle accident. Frank grew more insistent about our getting married as so many of our classmates were. Crossing the Mississippi line to Columbus Mississippi, where marriage laws were less restrictive was a simple matter and anyone with a driver’s license age over 21 could give permission for those under age. On June 22, 1953, we took a neighbor to give permission and drove to the Columbus, Mississippi courthouse and to a ministers’ home for the ceremony.
We each returned to our separate homes with nothing changed except legal permission to sexual activity. Back then good girls DIDN”T. I got a job at Kress 5 & 10 and he worked at the Pro Shop in Tuscaloosa Country Club. I had begun spending the night with Frank’s sister and doing things weekly with his family because the distance between our homes made dating difficult.
One night Frank’s daddy called Frank and me and his mother into Frank’s bedroom and tossed two pillows to him and said, you might as well have these. He showed us the marriage license and certificate he’d found locked in Frank’s car glove compartment. The next day we drove to Romulus and told my parents. Their faces were so stricken my heart felt the betrayal of the secret marriage.
The only thing they had to give for a wedding gift was a cow to help with the cost of an extra mouth to feed at the Clements. My in-laws and their extended family were very good to me.
About the only thing Frank’s parents and I disagreed on was my returning to high school for my senior year. They felt very strongly that a married woman stayed at home. Despite their objections, I got a job as a part time secretary for the Tuscaloosa County Board of Education and was surrounded by professionals who encouraged me in my school work.
There was a countywide move to purge all high schools of married students and I was able because of regular contact with school board members and administrative staff to lobby for policies to allow those students to stay in school. It worked. Frank and I graduated with our class in 1954.
The faculty drive to remove married students from Honor Society failed to materialize and I wore a maternity dress back to school for the required counseling before our principal, Col. Peterson, signed the diploma received at graduation the night before. He looked at me without a smile, took the diploma, grimly signed it, and slapped in down on the desk toward me.
When my husband deserted me 15 months later, again pregnant with a 10 month old to care for. I remembered the sound of that diploma and felt my same defiance. I will not fail, I’ll get a job. I will take care of my children.
My parents made a place in their home for me and my two daughters and I was able to enroll at the University of Alabama and find jobs to pay tuition and school expenses. Thirty-five months after enrolling I received a B.S. in Elementary Education.
During those years, I had learned when college, family, and job became too much, I could remember the sound of that diploma hitting the desk and feel steel determination flow through me and give me the push to keep trying.