KILGORE MEMORIES OF CHILDHOOD TOYS

The mind is a strange, but very important, part of who we are.  The mind remembers some things and suppresses others.  The memories from the far distant past many times may seem like dreams—an early morning fog, or a mist falling during a dark night.  Such is the case when I reflect on my childhood.  My memory is not the best, so my recall of many far distant occurrences is lost.  It is with some assurance though that I can recall some significant toys from my childhood. 

Childhood play is an important part of a little one’s existence.  Playing in the dirt and mud with siblings; playing “Annie, Annie Over” and “Red Light” with cousins; and playing “Hide and Seek,” using the big oak in the front yard as “home base” are all special fun activities that were part of our play as children.  Now that I am a sixty-eight year old man, I sense deep, deep within me still the young child that I was then.

As a child, I thought I had very little at the time.  That was really far from the truth. My mind can remember some special toys that I played with as a boy. The first toy that comes to mind is one I know I had fun with.  I know that because it is captured in a photograph.  I have no real memory of it, but the picture says it all.   The photograph shows me riding a little rocking horse.  On the back of the photo is the date-- October 17, 1947.  I would have been three years old.  The photograph captured the moment—my appearance, our home in the background, and the fun I was experiencing as I rode that horse. 

I suppose the experience of riding that little horse stayed with me because as an older boy, I wanted very much to have a real pony.  But that was a gift I never did receive.   I do not recall the reasons Daddy had for thinking the horse was not a good idea. As a side note, when my baby brother, Ricky, was a boy, he got that pony.  I never could understand what changed in Daddy’s eyes that he agreed to allow Ricky to have a pony.  But I am sure that Daddy had his reasons.  He always did.  Maybe Ricky did not have a rocking horse at age three.

The second toy I remember is a pedal car.  It was a “cool” toy.  You actually sat it in and pedaled away as the wheels moved, propelling you forward.  It was so much fun to ride in that little red pretend car.  To make it go faster, my brother, Mike, and I would take turns pushing the car from behind as the other one steered and pedaled.  There is an interesting story that occurred centering around that car.  I posted the story on this blogspot site under the title, “My Aunts, My Uncle, and My Dad” dated March 30, 2012.  I would like to include that same story for this post.

There was a time when we did not go to church on Sunday nights. One Sunday night, my brother, Mike, and I begged Daddy to take us to church, but to no avail.  I had a little pedal car at the time, so we told our parents that we would just go to church any way and we would go in the pedal car.  It didn't matter to us that it was nighttime and it was very dark outside.  We were probably 5 and 7 years old at the time.

Daddy told us to go ahead, and so we did!  I would pedal a while and Mike would be behind the little car pushing.  Then Mike would pedal while I pushed.  As we were approaching Granny Kilgore's house, Mike and I saw a faint figure down the road ahead of us.  We could not make the figure out, but it was making some scary sounds.  Instead of running away, we pressed on down the road, pushing and pedaling.  We soon saw the figure clearly--a ghost, white sheet and all.  We just pedaled faster and pushed harder, hoping to quickly pass the ghost so we could get to church.  The ghost, seeing that we were not changing course, took the white sheet off, and said, "Come on, boys!  Let's go back home."   It was Daddy. We turned the little car around and headed home, relieved that the ghost was friendly, but disappointed that we had not been able to get to church!

The third toy that is so clearly etched in my memory was a Christmas gift when I was older (perhaps 11 or 12 years old).  It was a bicycle—a beautiful blue and white bike with a big round headlight on it.  It was a bike for grown ups, so at first, it was more bike than I could handle.  My legs were barely long enough to reach the pedals!  It was also what we called a “girl’s bike.”   What made it a girl’s bike?  The bike did not have a connecting support piece of metal from the seat to the steering wheel frame.   My cousins had a great deal of fun at my expense because of my riding a “girl’s bike.  I know my Daddy had his reasons for buying this kind of bicycle.  Certainly it was safer to ride for a youngster in the event of an accident. 

The bicycle provided hours and hours of enjoyment for me and also for my siblings.  We would ride up and down the graveled road from the house to the main road.  Because of the poor traction a dirt road provides, I was instructed to be cautious about the speed while riding the bicycle.  But I loved to go as fast as I could.  On one fine, summer day, this need for speed resulted in a nasty spill on the road next to Jess Lawson’s place. I had a scar on my left leg for a very long time as a result of that painful accident.  But most of my memories of that bicycle were good ones.

Johnny Kilgore, author

edited by Pat Kilgore

MY DADDY, THE SOLDIER

Many times in our lives, perception and fact merge into an assumed reality.  We accept our thoughts as truth when many times they are not.  In those times we may not know or have all the information to come to a proper judgment or conclusion.  This was certainly my case when it came to my father, Cecil Kilgore.  Although I was his oldest child, I knew little of Daddy’s “comings and goings,” except that he always stayed close to home.  Then years later, I discovered that what I had believed was not factual at all, that he had never traveled outside the southern United States. 

 While I lived at home, from 1944 to 1963, my family rarely traveled beyond the concentric circle of a 20 miles radius.  When we did travel outside this self-imposed distance, it was usually to visit aunts and uncles.  There was Ruby and Johnny Chadwick who lived in Birmingham, Ruth and Ted Spain who lived in Guntersville and Sis and Jerdy Romans who lived in Muscle Shoals.  The visits were rare, but when they did occur, they were special events.  Those visits allowed me to see beyond our rural existence to a different place, and a different world.  

During my teenage years, the family actually took a vacation—Panama City Beach, Florida.  It was so unlike my daddy to take us anywhere, and we were going to the beach! What a treat!  What a great time we had!  Daddy, Mother, my two brothers, my sister and I were all cramped into a small family efficiency rental, located right on the beach. I remember that the mayor of Panama City Beach owned and operated the property.  It had a kitchenette where we prepared our own food.    We actually did this a second time within those teenage years. 

But the highlight journey, totally outside our twenty-mile radius, was a trip to Miami, Florida.  My father’s youngest sister, Lorene, and her family lived there.  That trip was framed as a vacation, but it also served a greater purpose.  Lorene and her family were going through some difficult times. Daddy wanted to go to see if there was anything he could do.  For us, it was a win-win situation.  A long trip to what we considered an exotic place we had never seen, and at the same, a visit with some dear cousins we loved very much.  I always thought that our trip to Miami was the fartherest distance from home that my daddy had ever experienced. 

Daddy was known as a “home body” and he just did not enjoy being away from his own bed.  Even over the years, when my brothers, sister and I were married and established homes and families of our own, it was uncommon for Daddy to visit and stay overnight.  On occasion, he would, but it was a rare occasion.  Staying overnight and being away from home was not a part of his DNA.

Daddy lived to be 91 years old.  During his last years, when I visited my parents, Daddy shared things from his past that he had never mentioned to me before then. During one of those visits, he told me the story of traveling back home from Wisconsin.  Then and there, I realized that I did not know much about the places my daddy had actually been during his life.  I had mistakenly believed that he had never been outside the southeastern states.  I wanted to know more.  I began asking questions.

Why was Daddy in Wisconsin?  When was he in Wisconsin?  The answer can be simply stated—World War II.  During the early years of the war, Daddy was deferred from military service because he worked at a strategic manufacturing company in Birmingham that had contracts with the navy.   Daddy worked at Continental Gin Company with the job title of machinist.  His job description was: “an apprentice operated drill press; engine and turret lathes; milling machine; sharper in machine shop; reads blue prints; used micrometers.” Working for Continental Gin for three years, with severe sinus problems, affected his health. A doctor advised Daddy to move back to the country.  He and his young wife, my sweet mother, moved back to Nauvoo to help his dad out on the Kilgore farm.  Since this affected Daddy’s draft status, some friends of the family went around the community asking for signatures stating the importance for Daddy to continue to be deferred because he was needed on the farm.  He helped farm 37 acres that produced general crops.  At that time, Papa Kilgore was in his middle sixties and was not in the best of health.  For a while, the local draft board honored the deferment request, but by June 1945, Daddy was drafted into the army. 

Daddy had to travel to Camp McCoy, Wisconsin.  I do not know if he traveled by train or by bus. He  had one-month basic training there.  Because it appeared the war might soon come to an end, he served three additional months at Camp McCoy as a duty soldier, whose responsibilities were to serve as a mess attendant.  This involved making coffee, clearing the tables, cleaning the floors, and anything else asked of him.  His rank was Private 3^rd Class.  

To find out more about Camp McCoy, you can go to the following Internet address:

http://www.mccoy.army.mil/vtriad_online/90th%20Anniversary%20Triad/chronicle%201940s.htm

You can also google the words, "Fort McCoy, Wisconsin"  and discover different sites  that will give you information about the place. The name was changed from Camp McCoy to Fort McCoy sometime in the 1970s.  Now back to the story.

My daddy died in April 2012.  A few weeks prior to his death he talked to me extensively about my taking care of a military bronze marker he wanted at the foot of his grave.  He already had in his possession the granite slab on which the foot marker would rest. My daddy was always one who believed in having things in order.  Although he did not know when he was to die, he sensed it would be really soon.  His health had deteriorated badly during those last few months of his life.  He was weak and tired and knew he was not going to be any better.  

Daddy thought carefully about the facts that should go on the foot marker.  The first thing was his name-- Cecil W. Kilgore.    He said,   “No service rank by my name.”   He explained that he was only in the service for five months because World War II was concluding.  The second fact he talked about was his date of birth and his date of death.  I asked him, “Do you want the month, day, and year, or just the year?”  He said to keep it simple.  The next fact was his branch of service -- US Army.  He mentioned putting the date that WWII ended on the marker also, but I chose not to do so because of wording limitations.  The final thing to go on the marker was his term of duty, which he pondered over because he was in the army for only a very short time—all within the year 1945.   I wrote everything he said on a piece of paper and placed it in my billfold, not realizing I would be pulling it out only a few weeks later.  I asked Daddy how I would apply for the acquisition of the bronze military marker and what the cost would be.  He replied, “The funeral home will take care of it, and the government will pay for it because I am a veteran.”  When we met with Kilgore Green Funeral home in Jasper, I asked the funeral home representative about the marker.  He told me that I would need to go to the Veterans Administration office, which I did within a week of Daddy’s death. With mother’s approval, I decided not to make any reference to Daddy’s induction day, but only to say, “Honorably discharged October 1945.”

In Daddy’s military papers, there are some interesting facts about him.  His height was listed as 5” 8”. He must have grown two additional inches after his military service because I knew him to stand 5’ 10” tall.  I am 5' 8" and Daddy was taller than I.   His weight was listed as 146 pounds and his eyes were listed as brown.  Daddy was always a trim and fit kind of guy.  He took pride in his appearance. The military enlistment record lists two dependants—no names.  But those dependants were, of course, my mother and I.

I was born December 10, 1944, six months prior to Daddy’s induction.  On the Enlistment Record, it is stated that Daddy was inducted the 13^th of June 1945 at Fort McClellan, Alabama.   Daddy had his immunizations on July 9, 1945. His total length of service was 4 months and 10 days.  His mustering out pay was $200.  He was issued a lapel button with “no time lost under AW 107.”  The disbursing officer, J. G. O’Rourke, Captain FD, issued a payment of $100.00   The Separation Classification Officer was W. H. Arrington, 1^st Lt. AC, Asst. Adj.  The honorable discharge certificate was signed by Stanley G. Eaton, Lt. Colonel Infantry, Executive Officer. 

I was ten months old when Daddy returned home from service.  His journey home was one that he wanted to happen as quickly as possible.  He took connecting buses on the way home from Wisconsin, going from Chicago to Nashville.  When he arrived in Nashville, his connecting bus was not scheduled to leave until the next morning.  He was so anxious to get home that he decided to hitchhike home instead of waiting a day for the bus.  He was sure he could make it home sooner by “thumbing” a ride.  It was not as easy as he thought.  Without sleep, he arrived in Double Springs the next day, about the same time the bus from Nashville had arrived.  Needless to say, he had a loving wife and a little son eagerly awaiting the homecoming of my daddy, the soldier.

  

YOUNG MAN, VIRGE

PROLOGUE:  Recently a cousin posted on the Internet a photograph of my daddy’s father as a young adult.  It was a picture that I had never seen of my granddad as a young man in his twenties.   The grandchildren only knew of PaPa Kilgore when he was much older.   I was five years old when my grandfather died. Truthfully, I had never even thought of him as a young man just starting out in life.   Seeing that photograph got me to thinking, and inspired me to write this narrative.  It is a subjective discourse, imposing some of my own thoughts and feelings about what the early life of this man and his family  might have been like, based on real facts and assumed facts.  In some cases, I was not sure of the timeline of things.   In other cases, sentiments expressed are only conjecture on my part. But who is to say they are not true?  I would appreciate my cousins who knew PaPa Kilgore better than I did to add to the discourse. We all do know that he was quite a man, and he has influenced our lives through the lives of his children.

  

At the edge of the winding country road, the trees and undergrowth obscure a single dirt road that leads to the open fields where the old home place sits.  It has been years since the land has been cultivated.  The fields during bygone days produced corn, hay, cotton, peas, potatoes and other vegetables.  The land also provided grazing for cattle, pigs and chickens.  Fruit trees dotted the fields separating the land as the trees furnished apples and plums for the taking.  Today sage grass and fire ant hills are the products of the fields.  Today there are woods surrounding the fields, defining their presence.  Within those borders lies the sacred old Kilgore homestead. The 100-year-old house stands as a testament to a man called Verge.  His full name was John Wesley Virgil Kilgore.  Virge was the affectionate name people used when addressing him. 

Virge was of Scott-Irish descent.  He came from good, hard working stock.  Standing less than six feet tall, he was handsome to the eye.  His words were few.  When he spoke, people listened.  He was a God-fearing man who displayed his faith through his actions.  Liquor did not touch his lips; cursing did not come from his mouth.  His Scott-Irish temperament was that of a strong, self-sufficient working man.  The underlining motto for his life was “idle hands are the Devil’s workshop.”

The love of his life was Sarah Louiza Martha Tabitha Noles, a tall, large- framed young lady with beautiful black hair. To those who knew her, she was called Sarah.  Sarah Noles was the daughter of Tom and Martha Jane Noles of Nauvoo, Alabama.  The family attended the small rural church of New Oak Grove.  When he could, this was also the church that Virge attended. 

New Oak Grove had a circuit preacher who went from church to church preaching the Gospel.   Same preacher –different churches--Baptist—Methodist—Nazarene—it made no difference. Those who attended New Oak Grove came from all over the community by foot or by wagon.  They traveled on dirt roads, crossing creeks and going up and down ridges to get there.  Attending church was an escape from the daily hard life that most people experienced in rural Alabama in those days.  The church provided the social setting for meeting folks.  But more important, church provided a moral and religious compass for the lives of those who attended.  Virge was no exception.  He was a good and honorable man, clothed in humility. 

Virge was a farmer by trade.  He married Sarah, who knew what it meant to be a farmer’s wife, and a home maker-- cooking meals from the fireplace or on a wood burning stove, heating water for washing dishes, keeping a house in order, sweeping the yard with a brush broom, planting and harvesting a garden, gathering eggs, making soap, washing clothes in a big black pot over an open fire and then hanging them on a clothes line for the sun to dry, drying apples, curing meat, vegetable canning, making hominy, sewing, quilting, and what ever else was needed to be done.

The marriage of Virge and Sarah took place on March 30,1902.  Virge was 22 years old.  Sarah was 19 years old.   By any standards of their day, Virge and Sarah were mature adults who knew what they were getting into and what they would be facing.  They were hopeful and secure in the establishment of their life together. 

Prior to the building of the house presently standing, Virge began married life in a smaller place located further in from the main road on his property.  He, with his young wife, was homesteading half a section of land in the southern part of Winston County, in northwest Alabama.   That meant Virge’s tract of land was 320 acres—rather a large portion to work and develop.  There was little time to do anything else except work the land from sunrise to sunset.  Sarah admired the stamina and the strength of this handsome man she had married.  Virge admired the help and devotion of his devoted wife, who was strong in body and in spirit. Virge was not an affectionate man, but he cared for Sarah very much. 

A year into their marriage, Virge and Sarah were excited about the prospect of having a little one in their home.  Sarah was pregnant with their first child.  With great anticipation as the baby grew within her, Sarah carried out her many chores. The pregnancy was not an easy one, and heartbreak was ahead for the devoted couple. Their infant child was stillborn.  The sadness of the occasion was shredded in silence.  Virge and Sarah had a private burial for their child in the cemetery of Old Union Baptist Church.  This church was the closest one to their home, and for that reason, it was the church they also attended.  

Another year passed, and this time a happy occurrence entered their young lives. Sarah was 21 years old and was now the mother of a beautiful, healthy baby boy whose given name was William.  William was a significant family name because Virge’s father was named William, and so was Virge’s grandfather.   Little William’s middle name was Grady.  Grady would be the name he was called by everyone who knew him.  

As the years passed slowly and the land was being developed, Virge and Sarah were blessed with more children.  There was Lou Etta, Dolly, Ruby, Johnie, and Lois in a span of ten years.  Six children in 14 years of marriage meant a lot of mouths to feed.  But it also meant a lot of hands to help work the land-- to help drive the mules, to plow the fields, to clear the land, to harvest the crops.  There was always work to do. Getting an education was also important, but did not interrupt harvest time.  The children walked to school during the school term, carrying their syrup buckets, which held food for their lunches--a breakfast biscuit, some fried pork when available, or some peanuts or apples from the field.  They never went hungry because everything they had to eat was grown on their land.

The children assumed the characteristics of their parents—outspoken, determined, self-reliant, hard working, and God-fearing.  The girls were beautiful in appearance.  The boys were likewise handsome.  All had strong personalities. They were a close and tight-knit family, drawn together by blood and by farm life.

At times, it was difficult to make ends meet.  There would be good harvests some years, and meager harvests during other years.  During the most difficult time, to meet the needs of the family, Virge decided to sell a small parcel of his 320 acres to a friend.  Jess Lawson was practically part of the family any way.  His brother, Richard, had married Virge’s sister, Minnie.  Virge made the sale with some regret, but it was a necessary solution for the time.   

With six children, the Kilgore family had outgrown the house in which they lived.  It was also Virge’s desire to be closer to the main road from Poplar Springs to Nauvoo that went through his property.  As he walked his land, Virge began selecting trees to be cut for the new home he would build.  He found large sandstone rocks to be used for the foundation and for the chimney.  Virge planed heart pine boards in his mule-driven sawmill. He also made the oak shingles that would cover the roof of his new house.

The house was built as a two-room house with a front porch and a dogtrot.  As the family grew and times changed, a room was added to the house.  This room actually began as a porch but was converted into a room.   During the earlier days after the house was built, the wood -shingled roof caught fire from some embers coming from the family fireplace. Virge replaced the shingles with a tin roof. Eventually, the dogtrot was enclosed and the house then had five rooms and a long, narrow hallway.

With the arrival of three more children, the family members now numbered eleven. The last three children were Ruth, Cecil, and Lorene.  As time passed when some of Virge’s children married, they too settled on the land originally owned by their father.  That is how Grady, Ruth, Lois, Ruby, and Cecil and their families came to live near each other through the later years of PaPa Virge’s life. 

At 59 years old, Virge experienced the lowest point in his entire life. His son, Johnie, was accidentally killed in a motorcycle accident.  Johnie had already left home to work in Birmingham.  Virge was no longer a young man, and his son’s death reminded him of the precious gift of life, his love for his family, and God’s grace during difficult times.

Ten years later, the family would experience death again.  Virge died on December 25, 1949 at the age of 69 years old.  At the time of his death, Virge had eight living children, twenty-five grandchildren, two great grandchildren, and his precious loving wife of forty-seven years.  To Sarah, he was still the young, handsome man she had married many years before.  

   

QUEST FOR THE HIDDEN CEMETERY

During the year 2012 I have posted photographs, grave locations, and information on the Kilgore family’s burial sites.  Those sites included three major locations where our loved ones are buried: Bennett Cemetery, Old Bethel Cemetery, and New Oak Grove Cemetery.  Then I expanded my information to include the burial sites of our loved ones who have been laid to rest in cemeteries throughout Alabama.   

On a day back in early fall, I was standing in the yard of Granny Kilgore’s place, after repairing the front door of the old house. The door had been damaged in yet another break-in at the house. I called my cousin, Jimmy Kilgore, to ask a favor.  I knew he came down often to hunt on the property.  I called to ask him to walk around the old house and check it out when he came down to hunt on the property.  During our conversation, he mentioned a memory he had of going with his dad into the woods behind his home and searching for some graves of our relatives.  He thought that they were the graves of Granny Kilgore’s grandparents on her mother’s side.  Granny’s mother was Martha Jane King.  I alluded to these facts in one of my blog postings when featuring the family graves throughout the state. 

During the last months of 2012, Jimmy and I have been doing some searching on foot for the Kings’ graves.  During that time I was on two excursions with Jimmy.  Also during that same time, Jimmy took one additional search by himself. 

Our first excursion was on Wednesday, October 31.  Jimmy and his wife, Sandra, arrived at Mother’s house about 10 AM.   We three got into Jimmy’s truck and traveled on Winston County Road 21 toward the county line.  Near the line  on the right traveling toward Nauvoo is a logging road where we began our journey.   A few yards off County Road 21, we saw some large trees cut down over the path. One of the trees was posted with a sign that read “Doe Branch Hunting Club”. We climbed over the trees and began our trek.  Not far in, we a crossed a small stream in a ravine.  Then we began our climb up a steep ridge.  When we reached the top of the ridge breathless from walking up such a steep incline,   the path came to a T split in the road.  We had a decision to make whether to go left or right.  

I knew our cousin, Trish McKeever Phelps, had made a similar journey some years ago in search of the hidden cemetery.  When I called Trish on my cell phone (can you believe we had service out in the remote woods of Winston County), she told me that she remembered crossing a stream, going up a ridge, and turning left at the top.  So Jimmy, Sandra, and I did just that.  We were looking for a tree that looked like it belonged on an old home place.  We soon discovered that there were multiple logging roads going through the woods.  We eventually did find some large old oak trees surrounded by numerous pines and undergrowth.  It did look as though it could have been an old home place of by-gone years, but there was no sign of any graves. 

   

Not sure of the location, Jimmy mentioned that a friend of ours, Jerry Prestridge, had also been to the lost graves in the woods.  Jerry was related to those buried in the woods in some way.   We called Jerry and found his information was very similar to Trish’s.  We walked back and forth on the logging trails and in the woods, but to no avail.  By 12:45 PM, we gave up for the day. Our adventure had failed to accomplish its goal, but the day had been very enjoyable.  The weather was perfect, and the woods were a wonderful escape from the city.

A week later, in the middle of the week, Jimmy came back to do more inquiry and searching.  He had contacted Trish again, and she came over to Mother’s house with pictures she had taken of the lost graves almost over 25 years ago.  These photos may be found in the photo album by going to the following address: www.facebook.com/groups/kilgorecousins  

Jimmy had also contacted Jerry Prestridge.  Jimmy found out some helpful information from Jerry and also by going to the Winston County Archeological Library across the street from the county courthouse in Double Springs.  He discovered that the graves are actually a registered cemetery in Winston County.  The cemetery is simply called the King Cemetery.  Jimmy took a look at a map and the location of the cemetery to discover that in our initial search we did not go far enough into the woods.  He did not follow the hunting and logging roads.  Instead, Jimmy decided to go into the woods walking up and down the ridges themselves.  When he did, he eventually came out on another logging road two ridges over from where we were on our initial trip.   Jimmy followed the road around using his knowledge of the map he saw and where he thought the county line was.  He did not find any graves.

On Saturday, November 10, Jimmy and I met again and began another look for the hidden graves.  We entered the woods in the same location as we did the first time. We followed the logging trail, went over the same small stream, up a ridge, to the T-split in the road, turned left and followed the path of the road, This was the same path taken before, but this time we took the longer road to the right which wound around the ridge and circled down into another ravine where a larger stream was located.  I have discovered since then that this stream is called Indian Creek, and it flows into Black Water Creek.  We crossed the stream by tiptoeing across an old plank, and up another steep ridge.  When we got to the top of the ridge, it leveled off into a plateau.

Continuing on the path, we passed a path with the number 32 beside it.  There were numbers beside different roads to aid the deer hunters who had access to the land to hunt.  At one point, the logging road would take a sharp curve to the right with a side road going off to the left much like a Y in the road. We kept to the right going to the area that Jimmy had visited a few weeks before.  We began looking in the woods off the path knowing that everyone who had been to the graves previously said they were not far off the road next to the big tree.   We did not find any graves so we headed back out of the woods.  Pictures of that second trip can be also found in the photo album on the Kilgore Cousins group facebook site.

During the search for the hidden graves, Jimmy, with the help of his wife, Sandra, contacted a relative of Jerry Prestridge to obtain any additional information.  Sandra forwarded the information to me, and I include it now.

 From: Jessie Hearle <jessiehearle@bellsouth.net>

Date: November 16, 2012, 8:27:22 AM CST

To: Sandra Kilgore <srk1028@me.com>

Subject: Re: Information on King Family, relatives

On 11/12/2012 7:38 AM, Sandra Kilgore wrote:

I am sending this email for my husband, Jimmy Kilgore. His friend, Jerry Prestridge gave him your name and email address. Jimmy's grandmother was a niece to H.W. King, her name was Sarah Noles.  Jim and his first cousin, Johnny Kilgore have been in the woods west of hwy 21, north of the Walker county line. They are searching for the graves of Henry Wilson King and Mary Jane.  Would you have any information that might help them find these graves?  You can call Jimmy at home, (256-xxx-xxxx) or cell (256-xxx-xxxx). If you would prefer to email us, just reply to this.

Thanks, Sandra Kilgore

Sorry to be so late replying, I have a new computer and my email was different to what I was used to.

So happy to hear from you.  Unfortunately, I can't help much with the cemetery--I have never been.  The best contact may be some of the Noles family who lived by Old Union Church.  One of his sons or sons-in-law told me several years how to get in from the Old Union side.  It has been over a year since I was at Old Union, but because of the stripping in that area, Ii think it would be hard to find without a GPS--some cell phones and digital cameras have GPS.

King Cemetery

33°59'52"N -87°26'31"W

Cemetery

http://www.freestateofwinston.org/latlon.htm

Peter J Gossett and the Winston county Genealogy society has the GPS points for it, and picture.

http://www.freestateofwinston.org/cem_king.JPG

There is ANOTHER cemetery near there that has the grave of Henry Wilson King and Martha Jane King Noles parents and some siblings.  It has been a LONG time since I was there, 25-30 yrs, and I have never been able to find the place back. It was on Oscar Bailey's farm, his widow walked us back behind her house and pointed into the woods.  She remembered "Uncle Will King".  There are also some Stewart's buried there.

I have a copy of the King family Bible, and some pictures of the Kilgore family will send separate email.

Thanks so much,

Jessie Prestridge Hearle 

LIST OF THE KING CHILDREN AND THEIR SPOUSES
MARY JANE WAS A TUCKER

During the early part of December, as I was returning to Birmingham from my mother’s home, I had a most providential encounter just before hitting the Winston and Walker County line on County Road 21.  I noticed an SUV parked on the left side of the road.  I looked and saw no one in the vehicle, but I slowed down to look in my rear view mirror. Suddenly, I saw a man appearing out of the woods.  Looking back on the situation, I probably should not have done this, but I turned around and headed back, with the purpose of finding out who the man was and what he was doing there.   I introduced myself. He identified himself as Gary Edmondson from the Doe Branch Hunting Club.  We began talking about the situation with the coal mining in the area.  I told him that my brother, Mike, and I owned the land next to the state land.  He mentioned that his club had received notice that they did not have access to the land for hunting this year because the land had been bought up or leased for coal mining.  He was there to retrieve some equipment the hunting club still had there.  I mentioned that there were some graves in the forest that my cousin, Jimmy, and I were trying to find, without success.  I told him we had already made two trips trying to find the King Cemetery to no avail.  He said he knew exactly where they were and that he could draw me a map.  I got a pen and a note pad and he drew me a map as he identified what he was drawing.

I was glad to know that we now knew where the graves were located.  We had gone to far into the woods on our second excursion.  The marked trail number 32 was the key.   I e-mailed Jimmy about my encounter with Gary Edmondson, knowing that the next trip in we would find the graves.   

It is now January of 2013, and the quest to find the lost graves is complete.  The King Cemetery has been discovered once again.  On Saturday, January 5, Jimmy Kilgore, my brother, Ricky, and I returned to the woods behind Mother's home off of County Road 21, taking the very same trek Jimmy and I took previously.  But this time we had a map indicating when we came to the path marked number 32, we were to turn left on the side path. 

We crossed the first small stream, went up the steep ridge coming to a T in the path, turned to the left path of the T, traveled down a ridge in a semi-circle to Indian Creek.  There had been a lot of rain a few days before, and the creek was really very high and swift.  We saw a long old plank next to the creek that Jimmy and Ricky moved to a narrow part of the stream.  We crossed side stepping on the plank cautiously, and then walked to the path going up a second steep ridge eventually reaching the plateau, We got to trail number 32 and turned left, walked a little over an eighth of a mile, and there the graves were, right on the path next to a very large oak tree. 

We cleaned the graves off as best we could and placed some artificial flowers on the two graves.  There is also supposedly a child’s grave on site also, but we could not determine where it might be.  There was a large rock near the two headstones, which could have possibly indicated the child’s grave.  Jimmy and I were extremely happy because we had finally found the graves of some of Granny Kilgore’s ancestors.   I had previously written that the graves were those of her mother’s parents, but that is not the case.  The graves are of Granny Kilgore’s uncle and aunt--in other words, Granny's mother's brother and his wife.  Jimmy marked the entire area off with bright orange tape.  Photographs of this successful third excursion in may also be seen in a photo album on the Kilgore Cousins group facebook site.  The address is www.facebook.com/groups/kilgorecousins

Our goal was accomplished.  Through investigation and determination, Jimmy and I were successful in discovering the graves hidden in the woods.  We now can guide any interested parties to the missing graves.  It might even be an excursion for those interested in a two-hour walk when we meet up for the next Kilgore Cousins reunion in May 2014.  In the meantime, may this narrative and pictures found on the Kilgore Cousins Facebook group site facilitate the journey in your mind as you read this blog-- QUEST FOR THE HIDDEN CEMETERY.