FIRST GRADE EXPERIENCES OF JOHNNIE KILGORE

PREFACE

I wish to thank my wife, Pat Colvin Kilgore for assisting me in this article with her editing skills.  I  typed down my thoughts as they came to me, resulting in a  somewhat rambling storyline.  With my wife’s input, you, the reader, reap the benefit of a more coherent treatise.  I trust that this story will bring to mind other stories from those of you who also attended Poplar Springs Grammar School.  Those were the days!

THE BEGINNING 

May, 1952

WeekThirty-Five--Last Day of School 

Riding the School Bus to School

    I had begun my school years at Poplar Springs Grammar School...a rural two-room school housed in a white building, eight miles south of Double Springs and less than a mile off Alabama highway 195, near the Prestridge grocery store. Now I had come to the end of my very first year of school.  How special and wonderfully exciting the last day of school was for me.  I was a happy child because  of my promotion to the second grade for the next school year. But for  the immediate time, I was elated about the end-of-year school picnic.  

     The picnic was an  off- campus outdoor event in and around some tall bluffs on private land in the woods near Clear Creek. I had never been there before, but it made little difference to me. I knew that it was a grand place by the description given by my first grade teacher, Mrs. Johnson.  It sounded like a magical place one only experienced through the imagination of make-believe books and in those books, sometimes illustrated to aid a child’s imagination. 

     Riding the school bus from my home to Poplar Springs Grammar School was especially exciting on this last day of my first grade year because my mother permitted me to wear my new dungaree overalls, which she had recently purchased.  This permission was granted  with the stipulation that I should not get them dirty.  Daddy backed up the request with the promise of spanking me if they did get all messed up.  I was so happy that my parents had agreed to my wearing my new clothes that I did not understand the seriousness of the responsibility I was assuming.  However,  I was soon to find out.  

     But this final day of my first year of school was a  grand day for me, riding along on the bus, anticipating the joy and fun of  the picnic, imagining what the place would look like, and really thinking back over the  year and remembering all the new experiences that had become part of my young life.

          * * * * *

  

Mid-August, 1951

Week One--First Day of School

First Grade Enrollment

     On the first day of my first grade experience, I did not ride a school bus.  Because I needed the security and assurance of my parents,  I entered that little school room  accompanied by my mother.  She held my hand as we stood near the entrance of the room with other parents and their children.  The teacher, Mrs. Johnson, met each parent and child individually. Then she assigned each child their place around a table on the far side of the room, while parents filled out the necessary information for enrollment. Mother and I were the last ones to meet the teacher.  When Mrs. Johnson pointed to my assigned place at the table, I didn’t want to leave my mother’s side.  My diffidence was magnified by the unknown and the uncertainty of it all.  

      After some prodding from my mother,  I went with the teacher to the rectangular table where all the other first graders, all strangers to me, were seated.  As I sat down, I saw that the other students were printing their names.  After insistence from the teacher, I acquiesced to taking out my pencil and school tablet.  As I was watching what those around me were doing, and then trying to do the same,  my mother slowly left the room.

     I did not notice her absence at first, but it wasn’t long before I realized she was not around.  I felt alone and trapped. Then a sense of self-conscious failure enveloped me because I could not print my name.  I looked at the papers of the children sitting next to me, which did not  help at all.  I did not know how to spell J O H N N I E.  I felt inadequate and certainly unprepared for first grade.  

     As a diversion,  my eyes wandered around the room itself.  On the opposite end  from where I sat, there was a long  and tall blackboard across the entire wall overlooking “Little House on the Prairie” -style desks. The single school desks were for the second and third grade students, since three different grades met in that one single room.    Everything in the room appeared to be dark, both in color and in atmosphere.  The ceiling was unusually high, and the front exterior wall was interrupted with high glass windows. The floor--dark brown wood,  oily and soiled-- converged with the natural wood walls. The room was filled with children, none of whom I knew except for my first cousins who attended the school. It was certainly evident that I was beginning a new, and on that day an intimidating,  journey  called “school.”

          * * * * *

August, 1951- May, 1952

Week One  thru Week Thirty-Five Overview

First Grade Experience

     Mr. Johnson was the principal of the school and taught the older children in grades 4, 5, and 6.  These older grades met in a room on one end of the facility, which was divided by a center entrance foyer that had big double doors at the front main entrance way.  Mr. Johnson was called “Red” Johnson because he had red hair.  Though that may not be true, it was the reason I thought he was called “Red”.  He was tall and slender, and was definitely the man in charge---a strict disciplinarian with a stern and expressionless face. 

                                                                                                                          

 

     His wife was my teacher. Some students called her “Pug Nose” Johnson behind her back 

because her appearance had that kind of unfortunate facial look, much like a bulldog. Her 
appearance looked as if her face, with it’s rather flat nose, may have been a result of some medical issues that had resulted in nose cartilage removal.  Children know little of those things, and I was only six when I first met Mrs. Johnson.  

     In contrast to her appearance, she was kind and caring.  At the same time, she had a major task  teaching grades 1, 2, and 3 at the same time.  We all required much more individual attention than the older students who met across the hall.  The way Mrs. Johnson handled the different levels was by assigning practice problems to two grades, much like homework,  while the remaining grade received instruction.  Also, many times, Mrs. Johnson encouraged and selected a fast learning student to help those children who had difficulty learning a particular lesson.

     I soon acclimated myself to the first grade, and all the things first graders did at the Poplar Springs Grammar School--learning the letters of the alphabet, learning the meaning and use of simple numbers, and reading from the beginner “Dick and Jane” books.  I was one who required assistance from both the teacher and the faster learning student.  One such student helper was my classmate, Deloria Pope,  who sat next to me and assisted me when I needed help. Deloria was a very close school friend for all my twelve years of grade school.

     For the most part, my months in the first grade were uneventful.  It was the daily grind of getting up early, riding the bus to school, learning  the required lessons,  enjoying recess, eating my sack lunch, resting and napping in the afternoon, doing homework, and then riding the school bus back home. After a long, monotonous day, the school bus ride home was a time of letting loose.  I would always sit in the back of the bus with my cousins.  Being older than I, they would put me up to doing things that usually resulted in my getting into trouble. My name was called  by the bus driver, Mr. Wilson,  many times, which resulted in my having to move to the front of the bus to sit in the seat immediately behind the bus driver.

          * * * * *

October, 1951

Week Nine-- A Special Evening at School

First Grade Highlight--The Box Supper 

     

     I acclimatized socially to the school routine and expectations very quickly,  and by the time the first few months of school had passed, I had a special girlfriend who had caught my eye, as well as my heart.  Her name was Pat Young. To me, she was the most beautiful girl in the world, especially in my world--big brown eyes, long black hair, a fair complexion, and an infectious smile.  She was one grade ahead of me because her birthday fell before the cutoff day, while my December birthday fell after the date.  This girl who had  stolen my heart also liked me  in a very special way.  This was a strange new experience for me as a young boy, but one I experienced thereafter, many times.  Our mutual attraction and “puppy love” relationship was demonstrated especially at the school’s annual Fall Festival. 

    The Fall Festival was held at night for the entire community.  It’s  purpose was to raise money to aid in the financial needs of the school, as well as raising community morale and pride for the school.  It was a festival in every sense of the word, with different fun-filled activities -- cake walk, bingo, bobbing for apples, fishing booth, musical chairs, and more.  The little two- room school was buzzing with activity. The festival was well attended by both parents and children. The selling of tickets for each activity also made it a very  successful event financially  for the school.  

     The evening was topped off with a box supper, the main money raiser.   Much thought and work went into the box supper.  Boxes, decorated in all kinds of fancy paper and ribbon, would be on display and given a number. Everyone would have time to look the boxes over and choose the one that caught the eye most. At the appointed time in the evening, all in attendance would bid for the box they wanted.  This was done without knowing who brought the box and made the food which the box held.  All boxes were prepared by the parents of girl students, and contained a full home -cooked meal inside. There would be a bidding war among the parents of the boy students for the  box they wished to purchase,  usually based on the appearance of the box.  The boy whose parent won the bid, got to eat with the girl who held the corresponding number to the box.

     With great excitement,  I enjoyed the entire box supper experience--the beauty of the boxes, the excitement and zeal when bidding on the boxes, and the anticipation of winning the bid on  a specific desirable box. The whole procedure was done with great speed. 

     The auctioneer began with a suggested bid after describing and promoting each box in flowery detail.  

     “Let’s start the bid on this beautiful red and white box--box number one. Let’s say a dollar to start the bid.” 

     From the floor, “One dollar.”

     “ Do I hear two dollars?”  

.  “I have two, can I hear three?”

     Everyone was tightly squeezed into this one small room-- standing room only-- while one gentleman said, “Three dollars!!”

     “How ‘bout five dollars?”

     The bidding continued.

     “Six dollars!”

     ”Eight dollars!”

     “Do I hear nine dollars?” No one responded. 

     “Going once, going twice, sold for eight dollars.”

     Then the person who won box number one came up to the front of the room and paid out the eight dollars, got the box, and at the same time, found out who prepared the box. In numerical order each box would come up for bid as parents from all around the room  raised the bid until the final bid purchased the box. As each box was sold, the two students, one a girl and one a boy, would sit down together in the room next door designated for eating the boxed meal, with the boy opening the box to feast on the food he shared with the girl whose box he had won. Oh, so much fun all away around!  But what I loved most was getting to be with my girlfriend, Pat Young. 

     Although I wasn’t supposed to know, my girlfriend would always tell me which box was hers before the bidding, and I in turn  would tell my daddy.  Daddy would always win the bid.   Pat’s mother was an excellent cook. The box usually contained fried chicken along with other offerings like potato salad and chocolate cake.   I truly felt like I was on top of the world --a winner in every way. There was something special about my daddy putting out more money than anyone else in that crowded room in order for me to have a meal with my girlfriend.  In my child’s mind, I thought it was just for me, but as I got older,  I realized that it was for the school as well. But for me, the box supper made lasting memories of my first special girlfriend.

          * * * * *

Mid-May, 1952

Week Thirty-Five--Last Day of School 

End-of-Year Picnic Disaster

     

      As I rode the bus this last day of my first year of school,  remembrances of the  year resulted in a personal childlike appreciation and satisfaction for having passed the first grade.  It had been difficult at times, but I had made it through. I had experienced difficulties in the long nine months of school, but I also had some new friends, and I had learned to spell and print my name. These were big things for me on that final day of the school year.   No more daily grind.  No more books.  Just report cards.  And today, just  fun.  I was so proud to be wearing my new deep blue overalls for the first time at  the school’s end-of-year picnic.  The only concern I had was trying to  keep them from getting dirty.  

     Once the bus had delivered us to the school, we had to wait for an hour or so for some of the parents to come  to transport us to the location for the picnic.  The parents also served as our chaperones, as well as providing and cooking the food as planned by our teachers, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson.   

     When we arrived at our picnic destination, the setting was just as I pictured it would be, but even more so in its beauty.  The bluffs were enormous and did seem to be magical -- tall overhanging rocks, acting as an umbrella over the  space underneath where active children could run and climb and jump about.  It was an open cave-like shelter surrounded by trees of oak, fir, hickory, and cowcumber,  as well as huckleberry bushes and clinging vines. The black, moist dirt floor had little growth because of the lack of sunlight, but held passageways, carpeted with ferns, mosses, and decaying logs covered with  greenish-gray lichens and brownish white mushrooms. There were  boulders scattered around in various sizes, and a small trickling stream of water.  The water divided the space somewhat down the middle, paralleling the large rock formation overhang, running in the center of the open cavern at its lowest point, and creating a muddy and slippery area to cross.  On the front upper end where forest and bluff meet, an area had been set aside for a campfire and food preparation-- a wiener roast with all the trimmings. 

     While the food was being prepared, we all had free rein to roam about, climb up the 

boulders, and play hide and seek.  At the same time, I was mindful that I had to keep my new overalls clean.  I was diligent in trying to doing so.  Eventually, we heard the school bell ring, indicating it was time to eat.  Everyone stopped what they were doing, and ran like ants from all corners up the hill towards the food.  I didn’t want to be last, so I followed suit, and ran as fast as I could.  Not paying attention to my steps, as I got to the small stream, I lost my footing,  slipped, and fell.   

     The worst that could happen did happen.  There was mud all over my face, hands, and feet.  But worst of all,  my brand new overalls were covered from top to bottom with mud.  I was in tears.  And those tears were amplified by the fear of what awaited me when I get home. I was going to get exactly what was promised me. 

     Some adult chaperones came to my aid, and cleaned me up as best they could.  There was no way they could get all that mud out of my overalls. The mud dried in my hair, and on my clothes. The rest of the day, I was in misery.  When the school bus came to pick us up to carry us home, the bus driver asked me what happened to me. I was embarrassed to tell him. Some of the older students made fun of me.  I just clammed up and sat down  in a seat all by myself.  I was deeply upset, my head looking down toward the floor.  My stomach was all in knots.  One of my girl cousins came up to me, sat down beside me, and attempted to comfort me.  I withdrew into my emotional shell. Although the ride home was only a few miles away, it was as if time had stood still, and eternity had begun  with me in my own personal hell.  All in one day, I went from elation to despair, from joy to pain, from peace to inner turmoil, from self-consciousness to fear, and from laughter to reticence. Resolution awaited me.  

     When I got home, it wasn’t as bad as I imagined it would be. Not at all. My parents were wonderfully understanding, cleaned me up, and took my brand new overalls off me to be washed.  Mother’s pleasing and reasurring voice calmed me down. There was no spanking, just love. What a day to remember, to be etched in my mind forever--an emotional roller coaster.  So went the final day of my year in first grade at Poplar Springs Grammar School.

     I was greatly influenced and guided in that first year by new friends, older cousins, my teacher,  and by circumstances and lessons learned.  But most of all, I was especially influenced by the wisdom of my parents, who supported me on that first day of school and who loved and forgave me on that last day.  I was enriched by the experiences I’ve share with you, and they helped me, as a sensitive seven year old boy, to be astute to the growing pains of childhood.  And the first grade was only the beginning.

EPILOGUE

     
     In the first grade, I spelled my given name with an "I - E", hence, the reason for the spelling in the title of this post.  I changed the spelling to J - O - H - N - N - Y sometime after attending Double Springs Elementary School, and officially changed the spelling on my birth certificate when I applied for my driver's permit at 15 years old.
     The Poplar Springs' school building is presently privately owned, and is in better condition right now than it has ever been.  In the 50's the school grounds served as our playground--dirt and gravel as the surface.  There was no indoor restroom.  Instead, we walked around a circular path to an outhouse. Also, I failed to mention that in each room there was a pot belly stove for heating.  As I stated in the Preface, "those were the days."
     Because of my slow start in school and the setting in which I found myself, I was just an average student.  It wasn't until the fourth grade, with the motivation and insight of Mrs. Blake of Double Springs Elementary School, did I begin to excel as a student.   

A STRANGER PASSED BY by Johnny W. Kilgore

                                                                                       Preface

The following story is based on actual happenings. Little Johnie is yours truly, whose name is now spelled  J  - O  - H -  N -  N -  Y. The dialogue is presented to move the story forward. But in no way do I remember everything  as presented in the story. Also, many things are presented as a little child would view them, and may, or may not, be the way things were in reality.  This is part of my personal historical memory when I was very young. 

I appreciate those days as a child, and the special people who were a part of my life.  My life was made rich because of the loved ones mentioned in this blog post, as well as from those in my larger, extended family who are not mentioned here.     

In a recent reading of the mystery book entitled, Citizen Vince, written by Jess Walter, and published by Harper Collins, Regan Books, there is a quote found on page 91 which I noted on a scratch pad because it resonated with me.  It reads, “Being able to remember--that is what makes a people.”  It is my desire that this short story will help to “make a people” as we journey together through the memories and emotions of a sensitive, young boy.

                                              

Time: Second Week of September, 1951

Place: Granny Kilgore’s House

Fearful Sighting of a Stranger 

       It was one of those early September days when the sky is blue, the sun brilliant, and visibility nearly perfect. In the early morning, a 6 year old boy, three months shy of being 7 years old, sat perched on his grandmother’s front porch. 

     His grandmother was a tall lady who was fearful of many things-- being by herself,  living alone, hearing and experiencing storms with thunder and lightning, crossing bridges, and seeing snakes. She was a woman with conservative views of what a good Christian lady should look like in her appearance--- no makeup, long hair concealed styled into a bun on top of the head,  and plain dresses which covered the arms and extended to the ankles.  The legs were usually protected by heavy, brown nylon stockings.  She was a farmer’s wife, and she looked the part. She was also a “stay at home” granny. 

     Granny’s home had been a house filled with children since the early days of the 1920’s and 30’s.  Granny had reared nine living children in that small framed farmhouse, constructed from heart pine--plain and rustic.  It was built by her husband, John Wesley Kilgore, better known as Virge.  The day of his death was Christmas day, 1949. Granny had not been left alone at night since then.  Some of her children lived with her, or came and stayed overnight with her during the grieving period. The support she had was ever present in order for her not to be alone.  Her grandchildren were also involved in keeping Granny company.  

     Johnie was one of her grandchildren, among many grandchildren, a small boy with big brown eyes and dark brown hair, who stood on her porch, looking down a curvy country road.  Normally, he would be attending school which began the middle of August.  Although the school year had commenced a short two weeks earlier, it was already time for the annual fall break.  A school break of two weeks was set aside in Winston County each fall so that children might help with the harvesting of the cotton on the farms. For children who did not live on farms, or who did not have family or friends to help with the cotton, this was a little vacation each fall.  During this break time, Johnie was visiting with his grandmother who lived across the hollow from his parents, and whose ancestral home sat beside the main road--the road where his eyes were now keenly fixed. 

     During this particular early morning visit, something, or someone, caught little Johnie’s eye, as he stared down the dirt road covered with red rock. The road connects the communities of Poplar Springs and Nauvoo in rural, northwest Alabama-- the only artery to anywhere in that area. There was a sense of uneasiness that captured his thoughts because of what, or who, Johnie saw coming his way, trekking on the edge of the road.  It was possibly an insidious culprit approaching the porch where he stood.  But who could it be?  There was definitely someone walking toward Granny’s place. Someone he didn’t know. A stranger.  

     Johnie was not alone in wondering who was coming his way.  There was also his younger brother, Mike, and his cousins, Carolyn and Charlie, on their grandmother’s front porch that day, collectively taking notice, and wondering who it might be walking toward them. There was only  five years age difference between Carolyn, the oldest,  and Mike, the youngest, with Johnie and Charlie in between. Their squirmishness was likely due to their ages, and maybe, more so, due to what the four saw with eagle eye-- an unknown man walking on the edge of the road, coming closer and closer by the minute.  Soundlessly, the stranger was walking toward them, heightening their fear. They didn’t know who he might be, and what he might do. 

     Johnie and Charlie stood on the edge of the highly elevated porch while Mike opened the screen door to go back into the house, frightened by the thought of a bogey man coming to get him. However, Granny sent little Mike back out to play with his brother and cousins.  Although there was a sense of fear that overtook the children, Charlie knew there was safety in numbers, and displayed an air of toughness often common to his demeanor.  

     Defensively, the children decided to ignore the man approaching them, as they continued their play time.  The large swing seemed to swallow little Mike, as he pulled and crawled up into it.  He waited for someone to propel him back and forth because his legs were too short to push off unassisted.  
     Since no one stepped forward, Mike began begging repeatedly in his childish voice, “Help me swing. Someone help me swing. I need someone to push me off.” 
     Carolyn, being the only girl, as well as the oldest in the group, responds as a mother would to Mike’s plea.  “I’ll swing you.  Stop your whining now.  Besides, I don’t have anything better to do.” 

     The swing was located near one end of the porch, and Carolyn stood behind it, anticipating the return of the swing as she pushed it in rhythm back and forth.The activity aided in easing some of the discomfort because of the stranger’s suspicious approach. Charlie and Johnie continued to stare down the road as they speculated on who it might be. The stranger was just a speck when they had first noticed him, but as he drew near, ever so near, they saw a weathered old man, hat on his head, and cane in his hand.  Could it be Claude Green?  All the children-- Mike in the swing, Carolyn behind the swing, and Charlie and Johnie on the porch’s edge--were looking askance. It might be Claude Green! That possibility bothered them greatly, and an emotional fear swells within them all.  

                                                                      *   *   *

Time: Week prior, First Week of September, 1951

Place: Rural Nauvoo Community 

Murder of Mrs. Boshell

                                                         

     A fear had swept the entire community since Saturday, September 8,1951, a week before the children were gathered on the porch.  Mrs. Ada Boshell, age 77 years old, had been brutally murdered in the early morning hours.  Her bloody, tortured body was found lying on the floor near the front door of her home, a mile up the road from Granny Kilgore’s house.  Claude Green, alias Cotton Green, a known alcoholic, was the culprit who had been seen in the vicinity during the time of the hideous crime.  He was at large now, hiding in the woods where no one in the area could find him.  

     The murder of Mrs. Boshell overshadowed the community like a dark, heavy lingering summer storm.  Unlike a storm though, the murdering effect was not going to “pass over” or “play out.”   Instead, it was fresh in the hearts and conversations of the citizenry.  The horrendous crime was more like a tornado passing through.  Because of all the nefarious events which surrounded the tragedy, a communal sense of security and safety had been replaced with a sense of fear, resulting in a haunting silence.  The world of crime and evil had invaded the community of religiously good folks who lived there. 

     For the most part, the children were left in the dark concerning the mysterious death of Mrs. Boshell.  All they knew was one basis fact according to the consensus of the community-- Claude Green did it.  In such a short time, his name had become the designated name given to the bogeyman when parents wished to entice their children to behave. (*See postscript)

                                                                        *   *   *

                                                                          

Time: Two Years Prior--Late Fall, 1949

Place: Cecil Kilgore Home

Meeting Mrs. Boshell

     Mrs. Boshell was a neighbor of the Kilgore family--Cecil and Beatrice, and children, Johnie, the oldest,  Mike, the middle child, and Becky, the baby.  Although Mrs. Boshell lived nearby, less than a mile away, Johnie remembers only meeting her on one occasion.  The encounter occurred two years prior when he was around 5 years old.  Except for that one occasion, Johnie’s world and Mrs. Boshell’s did not intersect. His knowledge of Mrs. Boshell before that encounter was in context of adult conversations he had overheard.  In those conversations, she was portrayed as an eccentric old lady, both strange  and mysterious-- different from others.   

     Little Johnie’s singular meeting with Mrs. Boshell  seemed to vividly support what he had overheard. It was a cold, late fall evening, normal in every way, when he heard a knock at the backdoor of their small four room house, located off the beaten path for anyone--especially someone visiting at night.  His younger brother, Mike, was in the front room playing, and his baby sister, Becky, was asleep. It was unusual for someone  to knock at the backdoor, and not the front.  Even more so, it was unusual for someone to knock on any door after dark. It was usually a sign for concern. 

     Johnie’s father entered the small kitchen, where the source of heat-- a wood burning, pot belly stove, was located. The backdoor, where the knock came from, was the entrance to an enclosed tiny back porch. It was of minuscule size and dimensions--barely enough room for one person to move around in. Besides being an entrance way, there was  an enclosed well, the family’s source of water, in the floor of the enclosed porch.  A well bucket, a long slender, cylinder connected to a metal chain used for drawing the water, stood nearby, hanging on a nail from the wall.  The two spaces-- porch and kitchen, were so small, they were as one.

     Johnie called out, “Mother! Daddy!  There is someone at the backdoor.”  

     Hesitantly, Johnie’s mother answered the door, and there stood Mrs. Boshell, in the cold, damp wintery night on the backdoor steps.  By that time, Johnie’s father, Cecil, came into the room. 

     Mrs. Boshell begged in a shivering voice, “Can I come in and warm up a bit?  I’ve been on foot all day, and I’m rather chilled to the bone. I thought I could make it home before dark, but as you see, I was wrong.”  

     Johnie’s father, recognizing the need,  said, “Sure, Mrs. Boshell.  Come on in and warm yourself.”As Mrs. Boshell slowly entered the kitchen, Johnie's mother quickly asked Mrs. Boshell why she was out so late. 
     She replied, “Walked too far today selling stuff. Night came upon me sooner than I expected.  Since you were close by, I reckoned you might let me warm up a bit. Anyway, I was wondering if you would be interested in buying something from me to help me out.”   She stood next to the stove with her hands so close to the stove top that her damp gloves were steaming from the heat.   

     Cecil said with a firm voice, “ I don’t think so, Mrs. Boshell, but you’re welcome  to warm yourself up.  Johnie, go outside and fetch more wood to fire up the stove. It’s a clear night, and the moon should provide enough light to see.”  

     Johnie looked at the old leathery, skinned lady with her hair loosely pinned up....stringy, coarse hair, with mixed colors of gray, white, and yellow.  In his eyes, the lady with a wry smile, standing before him, looked like a witch as depicted in fairy tale books.  Johnie went outside to the wood pile as his daddy commanded. Lazily, he gathered all the wood he could hold in his arms.  He started back into the house, only to see an animal grazing nearby.  He was frightened by the unexpected sight of the animal, prompting him to scurry into the house with only part of the stove wood he had gathered, while the remaining wood fell to the ground. 

     Mrs. Boshell, a peddler who walked about from house to house selling her wares, appeared to be even more strange and mysterious than little Johnie first thought. Now he knew that she walked on foot during the night, and had a donkey as a traveling companion. She also had a stick that was leaning against the wall near the stove. To Johnie, it looked like something he imagined a witch might carry.  He felt very uncomfortable in her presence.   After warming up a bit, Mrs. Boshell thanked the Kilgore family, headed out the backdoor,  took the reins of her donkey,  and headed up the moonlit dirt road towards home. After her leaving, Johnie felt at ease and was happy she was on her way.  That evening was his one remembrance of Mrs. Ada Boshell.

                                                                 *   *   * 

Time: Return to Same Day, Second Week of September, 1951

Place: Granny Kilgore’s House

Meeting the Stranger

     The stranger walking on the edge of the curvy dirt road, could it be Claude Green? It had only been a few days since Mrs. Boshell was murdered.  Everyone was fearful, cautious, and uneasy because of  the brutal act of murder that had invaded a safe place.  The community was held captive by a climate of worry and stress because the murderer had not been found.  And on this very day, a stranger was passing by. Claude Green, the suspected murderer, was on the run from the law. Granny was keeping Johnie, Mike, Carolyn and Charlie. “Aunt Timmie”, who was the sister of Granny’s deceased husband, Virge. was also there, staying the week with Granny.  While the children entertained themselves on the front porch, Granny and Aunt Timmie were in the house, working in the kitchen, and afterward, getting off their feet by resting a spell, talking about old times, but mostly, talking about Mrs. Boshell.

     The children noticed that the adult figure moved rather quickly on foot. Soon the suspicious stranger was very close to the yard.  Could it be Claude Green? It was difficult to determine his age, but in the eyes of the children, he was old. Johnie hoped he would pass on by, ignoring everyone on the front porch.  Pretending to not see him, the children’s  plan was to not look up. While standing on the edge of the road directly in the front yard, the stranger stopped abruptly.  He looked up at the front porch where the children were.  He stepped into the yard and moved closer to the porch, near the steep steps that ascended to the front door. There he stood, looking directly at the children.

     Johnie, Charlie, Carolyn, and Mike all froze as they heard the man say, “Hello, kids!  Beautiful day, isn’t it?”  
     Then he looked up into the sunny blue sky, and turned to look around in the yard. The children were speechless as their ears perked up in response to the stranger’s voice. “Is anyone else at home? Are your parents here?”  

     Carolyn answered, “Our grandma is inside.”  
     In a pleasant tone, he said, “Well, I know you don’t know me, but don’t worry. I’m just passing through. I mean no harm. I want to give one of you children a gift, but you will have to earn it.  I’ll give a knife to the one who  will give me a kiss.  Who will be brave enough to kiss a stranger?  A kiss on the cheek, and I’ll be on my way.”
     The stranger with an aquiline appearance, placed his hand in the side pocket of his overalls, and pulled out a small case knife, bone yellow in color with accents of brown.  It was beautiful 

     The knife did not impress Charlie as he immediately shouted, “No way!  No Way!” 

     Johnie thought to himself, “A kiss, huh?” Then he began reflecting on the kisses given and received when attending the special birthday occasions of Grandpa Buttram, his Grandmother Manasco’s father, and his mother’s grandfather, who lived in the town of Nauvoo. 

     Grandpa Buttram was a distinguished looking, affable older man, handsome in appearance, snow white hair, an olive complexion, and a distinctive pattern of speech.  He always loved children, and was demonstrative in showing it. Johnie had ridden on Grandpa Buttram’s knee many times, playing children’s games,  bouncing back and forth.  Grandpa Buttram also showed affection with a kiss. People kissed him--both men and women, boys and girls, and he kissed the little ones in return. Little reticent Johnie was not comfortable with an older man giving him a kiss,  but accepted it because he was too small to do otherwise.  He viewed Grandpa Buttram as someone who was from a different world--an old world , European style of talk and of doing, and of Scottish and Irish descent.   

     Although this stranger did not look like Grandpa Buttram, Johnie wanted that knife, and he knew he would have to earn it with a kiss.  He had never owned a knife before. What a treasure.  It wouldn’t hurt to give the man a kiss if it meant getting the knife. Besides, he had kissed an older man before. Though he did not like the idea, but if it is the only way, he thought, “Why not?” 

     Johnie spoke up loudly, “I’ll give you a kiss!”  
      Overcoming his diffidence, little Johnie descended the porch steps, as he cautiously approached the stranger.  Suddenly, the stranger gracefully knelt close to the ground at the child’s eye level. Johnie  kissed the stranger on the cheek.  The stranger thanked little Johnie, and rewarded the boy with the special gift he had promised--a beautiful pocket knife. The others on the porch were incredulous to what just happened. 

     The stranger wished the children a good day,  and continued his journey up the road toward Poplar Springs, leaving a happy child behind who placed the most  wonderful and deserving gift into the front pocket of his  denim blue jeans.

                                                                     *   *   *  

Time: Present Day, July, 2013

Place:  Johnie’s Home

Summary Lesson--Entertaining Strangers   

     1951 had been a taciturn year--one of silence and fear.  In the midst of that time, A STRANGER PASSED BY.  A knife was given.  A kiss was received.  Obviously, rewarded by a knife, the difficulty of kissing a stranger was lessened by the promise given.  But what good is a promise unless it is acted upon and claimed.  Also, there is a question to be asked.  Who was the giver and who was the receiver?  Both participants were recipients. It was a time remembered with a lesson taught and learned, all in the midst of a season of fear, suspicion, silence, and anxiety, all won over by the resounding request of a stranger.

     Johnie is now grown.  He is  a designated senior adult, age 68 years olds. Although  this story occurred  more than 61 years ago, he continues to be a recipient of that moment frozen in time, when as a  young child of almost 7, a stranger passed by bearing a gift.  This is the lesson he learned from that encounter long ago: There are always strangers coming and going who cross a person's path. He, likewise, may be a stranger to others as he walks down the road of life.  There is a scripture, Hebrews 13:2, that says it all. “Don’t forget to show hospitality to strangers, for some who have done this have entertained angels without realizing it! (New Living Bible Translation, 2007)

*Postscript:

     The story above occurred just after the murder of Mrs. Boshell, but prior to the arrest of Claude Green.  Immediately after Mrs. Boshell’s murder, many men of the community became part of a search party to find Claude Green who was hiding out in the woods.  Some in the search party had threatened to lynch him if he were to be discovered, while others in the party went searching to prevent such a thing from happening.  At any rate, Claude Green, in fear of his life, surrendered to the law, was arrested, and was tried for the murder.  He denied he was the culprit, and strangely enough, a stick had something to do with the focus of the case. Claude Green was tried by a jury of his peers, resulting in a sentence of life without parole.  After serving some time, his case was appealed.  That story is for another time and another place. 

   

DR. HOWARD J. SANKEY, THE KILGORE FAMILY PHYSICIAN written by Johnny W. Kilgore

Last year, 2012, I  was involved in bringing to the forefront our Kilgore lineage, involving many factual dates centering around births and regrettably, also deaths.  I discovered that the transference of dates is a most difficult task.   First, I saw the need  to consider the source from which desired information was obtained.  In obtaining information from a census or from internet sites such as Ancestry.com and RootsWeb, newspaper obituaries,  as well as from the family Bible,  I realized that any source may have errors.  A “seven” looks much like a “one.”  An abbreviation changes a month from  MAR (March abbreviated) to  MAY.  A number is dropped from a date when the 17^th day of a month becomes the 7^th day of the month.  These examples are only a few that can and did occur.  Certainly, the quest for accuracy is hindered by human mistakes.  In typing and retyping dates, I found that my fingers would go one way while my mind was thinking another.  Even after having someone proof read all our family information for which I was responsible,  inaccuracies were found a month later, and some even later than that.  One  thing I discovered while collecting and posting things about our family, was the fact there was one significant person, more than any other, who influenced our birth records, and that would be the Kilgore family doctor, Dr. Howard J. Sankey of Nauvoo, Alabama. 

 

present day photo of the Harbin Hotel in downtown Nauvoo
and Dr. Howard J. Sankey's office to the right.

Dr. Howard J. Sankey was a very interesting man.  He was considered a genius by some.  He was a very important man to the people of Nauvoo, arriving there in 1903 at the request of an aging doctor for the Black Creek Coal Company, Dr. Whitfield by name.  Dr. Sankey’s daughter Frances laughs, “His first patient at Nauvoo was a mule.”  The mule had suffered a cut from a barbed wire fence.  

I take time now to disclose some interesting background information about Dr. Sankey, which will help us to understand the man.  The source of this information is found in a book  entitled  “Memories of Nauvoo,” by Margaret Earley Lee.   

Dr. Sankey was born in 1875 down in Russell County in southeastern Alabama, near Columbus, Georgia.  He and his six younger brothers and sisters were schooled at home by his mother.  The Sankey family home was a 1200 acre plantation called “Experiment”, near Hatchechubbee, Alabama, which the Sankeys had owned since 1834.  

All the male Sankey ancestors were either physicians or Presbyterian ministers.  Howard J. Sankey followed suit by completing medical school at the University of Alabama in Mobile.    His formal education was attained  at a small Presbyterian school in Clinton, South Carolina, before studying medicine at the old Atlanta Medical School.  Finishing at the University of Alabama in 1901, he joined the practice of Dr. Matthew Turner at Bladon Springs, Alabama.  This was a resort area with a hotel and cabins for rent, located about 80 miles north of Mobile.  It was here that Dr. Sankey met the Marengo County Whitfield family from Demopolis.  More importantly, it was in Bladon Springs that he met and fell in love with Dr. Turner’s daughter, Frances. 

Photo Courtesty of Frances Sankey Ellis of her parents,
 Dr. Howard J. Sankey & Frances Turner Sankey
who are pictured leaving for their honeymoon
in Meridian, Mississippi before coming to Nauvoo.
This photo is from the book, "Memories of Nauvoo."

They were married in 1904 and he brought his beloved bride ‘Fannie” to Nauvoo.  In addition to a busy practice that included tireless rounds of house calls, Dr. Sankey  managed time to work for the community, as well as to be a father to his four children.  Dr. Sankey and Frances lived in Nauvoo for 45 years, until his retirement in 1949. 

Dr. Sankey was part of some “firsts” in Nauvoo.  He was the first mayor of the town when it was incorporated in 1906.  The incorporation of Nauvoo was largely due to his efforts.  Dr. Sankey was the first person in town to buy an automobile.  It was a one cylinder Brush Runabout, a small two seater shipped in by railroad car to the Nauvoo depot from Detroit, Michigan. The horseless carriage was used to make professional house calls.  In 1912 he bought his second car, a 1912 Model T Ford Commercial Roadster at a cost of $590.00.  Dr. Sankey added a second seat to the car, which was a buggy seat. 

 

Photo of Dr. H. J Sankey sitting on the running board of his 1912 Model T Ford.  
Pictured from left to right are Dr. Sankey, his son, Howard "Boots" Sankey, 
his son, Ben Sankey (a professional baseball player),Margie Holland (neighbor), 
and his daughter, Frances Sankey.  His Nauvoo home is in the background.
This photo is from the book, "Walker County, Alabama" by Pat Morrison; 
1st published in 2004, reprint 2005, Arcadia Pub, p. 82 
from Arcadia's Postcard History Publications 

Dr. Sankey was a creative, imaginative inventor, accomplishing unusual feats for his day.  He was usually working on some new venture or idea.  He installed a carbide lighting system in his home and office.  He also set up an air-conditioning system for the  Nauvoo “show house”, which was the local movie theater. This was in the 1920’s, long before air-conditioning was common place in public buildings and private homes. Before the “show house” was built, Dr. Sankey showed once a week silent movies on a tall fence on a vacant lot near his office. He did the wood and column work on his house next to his office.  He did everything with excellence.

Present day photo of the "Show Room"
in Nauvoo.  Under the side roof is
the cooling well and the airplane
propellor contrived by
Dr. Sankey for cooling the place.

Entrance sign to the Old Nauvoo Theater

By 1939, Dr. Sankey estimated he had delivered more  than 3500 babies since the beginning of his practice.  Some of those in that count are our relatives--the children of Virge and Sarah Kilgore.   One such person was our Aunt Lois.  Aunt Lois  (McKeever) for many years celebrated her birthday on July 21.  Not until she applied for Social Security did she know there was not a record of her birth on that date.  The state of Alabama Bureau of Records searched and found a record of “a baby girl Kilgore” born on July 14, not on the 21. 

No one knows for sure why the discrepancy.  Joe McKeever, one of Lois’ children, states some possibilities in an article from the Baptist Press News entitled “First Person: What a Glad Reunion, June 19, 2012.” 

 “I’m not sure why, but no doubt it had to do with their being very rural, her being the sixth child in a family of nine children, and the way doctors kept records back then (meaning: haphazardly).” 

Lois’ oldest child, Ronald J. McKeever, states the following explanation. “In all probability, being born at home and Dr. Sankey visiting the home after the birth, they had not named her at the time of  his visit.  Speculate...some time later, Doc’s nurse, who was his wife, said to him...  ‘Doc, you better send those births to Montgomery...they may be important someday’.  He pulled an envelope from his coat pocket on which he had written the info and sent it in.  I betcha a Coke that all kids he reported were born on the same day.  Doc Sankey’s initial was J and Pop (Carl McKeever) had a J after his name and I was given a J.  I believe it all was to honor Dr. Sankey.” 

  

Dr. Sankey's office displays his examining table
and the scales he weighed the Nauvoo quads on in 1940.
This photo is from the book, "The Heritage of Walker
County," 1st edition 1999, Heritage Publishing 
Consultants, Inc., page 284 

On January 14, 1940, Dr. Sankey was placed in the national spotlight with the delivery of  premature quadruplet babies. This was a rare feat for that day and time, and  Nauvoo was also placed on the national map with the birth of  three girls, Faith Hope, and Charity, and one boy, Franklin,  who were better known as the Short quadruplets. 

During the depression years and the WW II years in rural Alabama, most of the time babies were delivered at home.  The doctor would make the rounds, attending to the needs of the birth mothers.  This was the case for  Granny Kilgore when having her children, as well as her children giving birth to us cousins.  Transportation was always a problem, and living in a rural setting meant that it was impractical to journey to the nearest hospital.  The birth would have taken place before arriving at a hospital 20 miles away.

Anyone born in Nauvoo from 1903 until 1949 was most likely brought into the world by Dr. Howard J. Sankey.  I was among that number. I was born during the year 1944 at home on rural route 3 of Nauvoo, Alabama.  I grew up in that same house, and my mother still lives in that house, although the mailing address  has changed from Route 3 to County Road 21.  I was actually born to Cecil and Beatrice Kilgore  in the middle of the night of December 9, 1944, just before midnight with  sixty-nine year old, Dr. Sankey as the attending physician.   

For many years I celebrated my birthday as a child on December 9th, only to finally give in to what my birth certificate had recorded--December 10.  Dr. Sankey had changed my date by one day because of my coming into the world around 11:45 pm.  Based on what I’ve already shared, I would speculate that there may be other examples within our family where Dr. Sankey bore his influence.  I would be interested in knowing of others who acknowledge that Dr. Sankey was the attending physician who brought them into this world.   

Nauvoo was so fortunate to have this wonderful doctor settle, rear his family, and remain in the town. We have been blessed beyond measure because one great man decided to live among us, and serve us.   He retired at the age of 74 years old.   Based on my findings on Ancestry.com, Dr. Sankey died September 2, 1968.  I could not find where he lived at that time, but Birmingham was listed below the date of death.

Present day photo of the front of
Dr. Howard J. Sankey's office in Nauvoo.

 

Dr. Sankey’s legacy lives on in the many lives of those he brought into this world.  The Virge and Sarah Kilgore family and descendants are an extension of that legacy.  How fortunate we were to have a physician serving us for the entire first half of the 20th century--Dr. Howard J. Sankey, the Kilgore family physician.  

Postscript:

I wish to thank the Carl Elliott Regional Library of Jasper, Alabama and their fine staff for their help in my research of a Walker County historical figure, Dr. Howard J. Sankey of Nauvoo. I want to personally thank, Elizabeth Blanton in the Archives section of the library for her personal assistance in digging through old newspapers and special books, and  Stephen Underwood for emailing me some photos he copied from Walker County historical books.  Their assistance was invaluable.  I also gleaned information from my cousins, Ron and Joe McKeever. All my historical material for the most part came from a very informative book, “Memories of Nauvoo,” by Margaret Earley Lee, Copyright 1991; Treasured Memories, Inc., publisher, pp. 23-26.