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My Waterford Virginia Years in the Thirties
Written by William Benton Virts
This article was extracted from the Wurtz
family web site.
Imagination and improvisation were early learned by Waterford youngsters
in the thirties. The creek became a mighty river upon which to sail
our self constructed boats. Fallen trees became ambush sites or perhaps
pirate ships. The old mill race at the foot of our property became a
trench form which we waged warfare with imaginary Indians or maybe Yankees.
Across the street from the house was an old stone mill which had used
the same race for power. I'm not sure what was produced there, but in
my youth it was the site of Tom Corbin's blacksmith shop.
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Tom Corbin's blacksmith shop
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I can recall the smell of soft coal and the hammering that accompanies
that work. Tom earlier had shoed a lot of horses and repaired farm
implements, and at one time operated a store there. Later as farm
activity decreased and the throw away generation evolved, Tom began
making trivets, flower stands, and various wrought iron items which
appealed to the new generation just then engulfing the town. Tom lived
with his brother Earnest and two sisters, Lena, and Mrs. Edith Hough.
All were in their seventies when I was young.
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Tom Corbin's home next to his shop
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Earnest had returned to Waterford, leaving his job and family in the
Washington, D.C. area. He was a handy man type, afflicted with Epilepsy.
Lena was the youngest and Edith the one who seemed to hold things together.
She was the final survivor. At her death in 1946 the property was sold
to Ed Beans who separated it into two parcels. The house was sold to
Mrs. William Ashbrooke, later to become important in my life, and the
Blacksmith was converted to a combination antique shop, residence operated
by Mrs. Fox who previously lived in the Clara Divine house. Stuart reports
that Tom carried on a twice a week, twenty year, romance with a Mrs.
Clara Mock. I don't remember too much about that but I do remember that
long term romances were the rule in the country.
Harmony was not always the rule at the Corbin's. On at least one occasion
Lena came rushing to our homes seeking sanctuary where she was taken
in by Aunt Emma. Apparently she thought that Tom was out to do her
in but after several of these forays our father told her she'd have
to
find relief elsewhere. Aunt Emma is a shadow character to me but is
remembered affectionately by Stuart. He reports that she was active
in church, teaching Sunday School and singing in the choir. An excellent
cook, seamstress, always willing to help those in need. She also pushed
him to excel in his school work and he has vivid memories of her reading
from the book "Titanic", which I still have. Money was not plentiful
in Waterford in my youth. It was primarily a survival society, but
as
John Divine told Stuart, Connie and I on October 8, 1987, at his home
in Leesburg, "Hell, we were all poverty stricken, we just didn't
know it".
Food 
Food is always foremost, and in our largely cashless economy most was
self provided. We had chickens, a cow, and usually two pigs, which made
up most of our protein intake. A large garden and plenty of fruit trees
combined with wild blackberries and an occasional rabbit satisfied most
of our needs.
Fall butchering was a big time with Uncle Flave and his wife Lucy coming
to help. Lucy was my father's sister. Uncle Flave would come down from
his farm near Rehobeth Church, shoot, scald, and clean the pigs on one
day. Hang them to drain overnight, and cut them up the next day. The
shooting part was never very pleasant for me who had slopped them since
spring, but I managed to eat the meat during the winter. My father would
buy the pigs from a spring litter, feed them until November, when they
had reached butchering weight of about 200 pounds. The hams, picnic
shoulders, and bellies were preserved by either sugar or salt curing.
they were hung in the smoke house during the process. the bellies were
separated into bacon and salt pork. They usually hung or were stored
on racks until used. The loin, rib and tenderloins were cooked off,
cut up and stored in the cellar to prevent spoilage. The intestines
were turned inside out and scrapped clean on a special metal tube jig,
woman's work, which I was not permitted to do because of fear that I
would cut the skin.
As I recall Aunts Emma and Lucy wouldn't permit my mother to do this
either because she was not skillful enough due to her genteel upbringing.
All the scrap meat was ground into sausage, cooked and packed in similar
fashion to the loin meat. After it had been stuffed into the intestines,
that is. Lard was rendered in the old black pot, and the skin scraps
were pressed into cracklings. Definitely the forerunner of Doritos.
Souse and ponhaus were made from the jowls, and nothing was wasted.
So we had 4 hams, 4 picnic shoulders, about 40 pounds of bacon, and
salt pork, about 36 quarts of assorted cooked meat, and about 10 gallons
of lard. And that was our pork inventory for the winter.
We always had a large garden. It seemed
immense to me as a child when I was forced to hoe and weed, but it produced.
We would get 20 bushels of potatoes, which were stored in the cellar
of the old house. Tomatoes, corn, string beans, cherries, berries, pears,
apples and other items were all picked, peeled, shucked, canned and
stored for winter. Wood and coal were ordered, and stored. The fodder
from the garden was tied and racked for the cow, but there was not enough
of this so supplementary purchases had to be made. Our father had many
friends in the town. The wonder bread delivery man was a Mr. Fogel,
whom Father knew from his many years in the corner store. Mr. Fogel
would stop and sell us bread at cost. He would often leave it in our
mail box, and I would be dispatched to fetch it to the house.
Rosey, an old black man, stopped by when the peach and apple harvest
was complete in July, and November. He drove and old model T ford truck,
and always left several bushels of each fruit. It was then peach and
apple pie time. Plowing in spring was an anticipated event. This usually
occurred in April, when the ground had dried sufficiently. For many
years this was done by Uncle Charlie Mallory and his horse Colonel.
When Uncle Charlie became too old other local farmers performed the
task. One of the last was Ray Peacock. We then had to break up the remaining
clods, smooth and plant. This was not a highlight with me. About one
bushel of potatoes were retained from the prior years harvest to use
as seed stock. These were cut, usually into quarters, and planted about
two feet apart. We had a hand operated plow and with it we made twenty
rows the length of the garden. Our father's rule was one bushel of seed
potatoes and twenty rows produced twenty bushels of potatoes. A dipper
of water was inserted, the rows were covered and hilled.
Seed was purchased for the other items, excepting tomato and cabbage
plants which came from Bruce Eamich's greenhouse. This was located next
to the colored school house on Second Street. Mr. Eamich would grow
the plants from seeds in his greenhouse. Our father would go, pick them
out and they would be planted in a similar fashion to potatoes. Mr.
Eamich was an enormous man, around three hundred pounds, with an odor
to match. He had two sons, Walton and Mervin. Walton was six or seven
years older than I but he and I played around together at the conclusion
of World War II. He had the car. Walton was plumber, learning the trade
from Paris Coleman. He was know as "Gump", a some what indelicate handle
given to him by the girls in grade school. One of my first real jobs
was weeding for Mr. Eamich for the princely sum of ten cents per hour,
later raised to twenty.
Diabetes
Eggs also were a big part of our diet. No fear of cholesterol in those
days. Diet was important to our father who had become ill with diabetes
at about age forty, and was ultimately hospitalized in George Washington
Hospital under the care of Dr. Mallory. His illness had gone undiagnosed
for many years and finally diet was prescribed to control the diabetes.
However it was not until Dr. John Gibson of Leesburg introduced insulin,
then in the experimental stages, that he resumed a normal life. He
was required to take two insulin shots each day which were administered
by mother. He hated them but she would not let up and forced him to
submit. Although mother tried very hard to keep his blood sugar level
balanced, occasionally it would get off. This was critical as he could
quickly go into shock, with the real possibility of death. I remember
most vividly low sugar caused by excessive insulin, or lack of food.
He would act as if intoxicated, resisting any advice or suggestions.
The solution was to force a high sugar substance into his mouth and
force him to drink. Mother most often used orange juice fortified with
sugar. After about ten minutes he would usually calm down and go to
sleep. This experience was very hard on him and he was usually bedridden
for several day thereafter. Our mother administered those two shots
daily and cared for him from the time that he contacted the disease
in his forties until he died in 1949 at age seventy. Greater love has
no man, or more properly in this case, woman.
These events made a great impression on me as a child, and I have
always been in horror of this disease.
Cash
Cash was always a problem, but more later that in those early years.
Then our father would work occasionally as a clerk for Piggy Paxson
in his store on Second Street. Piggy was a local character. He had
peddled ice, coal or anything that he thought he could sell from a
huckster wagon prior to entering the store business. He lived with
his wife Mary and children Harold, Dorothy, Virginia, Taylor and Francis,
who later married Leo Merchant. Piggy would go on "Toots" translated
as prolonged drunks, sometimes for weeks at a time. Our father would
cover the store during those times and generate a little money. Also
Uncle Charley was a sometime carpenter and brought in some cash. A
big boost was provided by the new deal work programs, PA and CPC projects.
Road repair and construction was funded by these Federal programs and
Charley obtained work there. For a while things were better but then
this all changed due to three events. 1) Charley fell off the Methodist
Church roof where he was working, injuring himself severely. 2) Piggy
Paxson went on one toot to many and never returned, ultimately causing
the store to close, and 3) our father developed cataracts on his eyes
which required an operation at Johns Hopkins Hospital. This combined
with and actually caused by the diabetes, was too much for him and
he seemed to give up. So the burden fell totally on mother. She kept
body and soul together in several ways.
The cobbler Uncle Lloyd Curtis was a great friend of our father. He was the son
of a former slave, and the town cobbler and caner. His shop was in the
front part of his house located on the big hill across from the Methodist
church. His work bench was under the window looking out on the street,
and I recall my father taking me there to get my shoes half soled, which
seemed to occur frequently to a small boy. I would sit there in my sock
feet, while Uncle Lloyd attached my new soles, and he and my father
talked about the old days. I always liked the smell of the new leather,
but my shoes pinched for a while until I could get them broken in properly.
Not as bad as new shoes though. I hated them, although as I recall there
were never very many pairs.
Being poor
By now it was the mid thirties. Aunt Lucy had died in 1931 and was
buried in Leesburg Cemetery. Uncle Flave took up with another woman
which pretty much removed him as a source of help. Ultimately his farm,
which had come to Flave and Lucy via the legendary "Bachelor Billy Virts",
went to the other women. Aunt Emma died in 1935 and was buried in Hamilton
Cemetery. So to generate some cash mother became a Zanol salesperson.
Zanol was somewhat like Avon. She would trudge around the countryside
knocking on doors peddling soap and whatever. She would hopefully collect
the money, return home, order the products and when they received, trudge
back and deliver it. I primarily remember the trudging part. Stuart
reports that he often was on the delivering end as mother would appropriate
his red wagon, load it up and hitch him to it. Mother was pretty good
at hitching rides also, and would often be returned home courtesy of
the person to whom she had sold the goods. More often than not she would
have a bag of tomatoes or something else as well. She solicited her
family. I'm sure that this was painful but she was good at it. At one
point following Charlely's death, she took in a boarder, Miss. Clara Divine. Miss Clara had previously lived in her home near us on High
Street. She was the owner of the famous cow "Babe", that for a time
was driven by Stuart from her pasture, twice a day, to Miss Clara's
house to be milked. Babe was pastured where ever Miss Clara could get
the best deal, so the drive might be 100 yards or a mile. Babe would
only allow herself to be milked by Uncle Charlie Mallory, this attested
to by both Stuart and her nephew John Divine. For this fourteen times
per week operation Stuart received $1.25 per month.
And so it was tough, but as John Divine said, we didn't even know it.
Mother painted, wrote poems, taught Sunday School Class, belonged to
a homemakers club, and ultimately in 1938 with the help of Mrs. Josephine
Carr of Waterford became a member of the Blue Ridge Chapter of The Daughters
of The Confederacy. Mrs. Carr took us back and forth to get the documentation
together. I had frequent bouts with croupe as a youngster. Dr. Caldwell
was the local Doctor. His usual solution for me was a bilious appearing
green pill which could only be swallowed with the help of honey or some
such substance. There was some castor oil and gallons of cod lever oil,.
Mother was convinced that enough of that would solve any problems. She
also discovered "Ipecak", a horrible tasting substance which calmed
the hooping, and of course there was Vicks and mustard plasters liberally
applied around the neck at bed time. Couple this with a hot iron wrapped
in an old blanket at my feet and the germs didn't have a chance.
A wonderful gift of nature is that we are permitted to grow up when
we are young. Our accumulated experiences certainly help in avoiding
mistakes, but they also most certainly stifle inquisitiveness. As a
youngster growing up in Waterford in the early 1930's I had no such
inhibitions. I realized that we didn't have certain things that others
did, such as an automobile or an indoor toilet. But those deficiencies
surfaced only at specific times. For example on Sunday afternoons when
all the car owners took their families for a ride, or on a cold December
evening when a trip to the privy was required. There was not tarrying
then when a brisk north wind whipped up through our standard one holer.
But spring was better at our privy. It was shielded from the house and
general view by an enormous lilac bush, at least 10 feet high. The fragrance
from that bush is with me to this day. As a matter of fact any time
that I smell lilac fragrance I think of that old privy. Such are the
associations that we make. Some of my other memories of those days.
Our postman was Louis McGavack. He drove a model A ford, a two seater.
Even in those pre-auto transmission days he was proficient at driving
from either seat and on either side of the road. Everyone gave him a
wide berth when he drove into view as he wasn't noted for looking before
he turned. Our mail consisted of, letters from Mothers relatives, hopefully
with checks enclosed, packages from a big fan of Monkey Ward, and bought
everything from my cod liver oil to a kerosene oil cooking range from
them. She believed in buying my clothing at least two sizes too large
and everything was rolled up for the first few wearings. I never heard
of Sears, Monkey Ward was it. Only two bills came through the mail.
The electric bill which was about $1.00 per month, and the Real Estate
Tax which I think was about $1.25 per year. There was no mortgage, the
house was owned outright. The mail box was used by others also. The
bread man would leave the bread there, and often there would be fruits,
vegetables, church bulletins, almost anything. Sometimes there wasn't
room for the mail, and Mr. McGavack would blow his horn so that someone
would come and unload. He lived on a farm out to the west of town and
had a beautiful daughter named Betty.
I previously mentioned Tom Corbin the blacksmith. Attached to his shop
was this old store. It was fascinating to me. The show cases were still
there with merchandise on the shelves. The place was dust covered with
stuff everywhere. I remember many old guns sitting around, chamber pots,
implements of all sort. It seems that they just closed the doors one
day and never touched the place again. I don't know why.
Doctors
I mentioned Dr. Caldwell, the local GP, but there was no Dentist in
town. My father had false teeth. His originals had been removed years
before in Frederick, Maryland, and he replaced them periodically with
the mail order variety, probably from Monkey Ward. When the time came
for Mother to get teeth she went to a Dr. Detweiler in Herndon, Virginia.
There she had all of her teeth removed, and both uppers and lowers
fitted in one day. Today that process would take six months if one
could get it done at all. I often wondered why she bypassed Leesburg
and selected Herndon as our dental department. Stuart straightened
me out on that. He says that Dr. Detweiler came via Uncle Flave and
Aunt Lucy. Uncle Flave, who was so tight he squeaked, had determined
that Detweiler was the cheapest, and he and Lucy used him. So Mother
made her reservation by mail, and off we went courtesy of the Washington
and Old Dominion Railroad. Going to the dentist was an all day event
and not a very pleasant one at that. The train ran from Rosslyn to
Bluemont, Virginia. One trip per day, down in the morning, back to
Bluemont in the afternoon. We had to get to Paeonian Springs, a distance
of about 3 miles, to catch the morning run at 8:00 a.m. That required
hitching a ride. Mother arranged it. The train was a one or two car
affair, powered by electricity, similar to an urban streetcar. It
seemed to stop at every farm in route to pick up something, but usually
milk or cream, which was contained in 10 gallon galvanized cans. This
was unloaded either in Leesburg or Alexandria, to be processed into
butter or other milk products. The farmer would have contracted his
production previously with the plant and the train crew was responsible
to get it to the proper platforms. The train also
handled mail and other freight, so we usually were stopped longer than
we were moving. Anyway we finally got to Herndon, and walked to the
Dentist's office. That operation hasn't changed much over the years,
excepting that either was used for serious events. Filling teeth was
not considered serious. After that it was back to the train station
to reverse the morning trip. As I recall the afternoon train arrived
in Herndon about 3:30 p.m. Flave and Lucy's cousins Cable and Mable
Stevens lived in Herndon, and we would visit them on occasion, during
the trips.
School 1932 arrived and I was off to first grade. First though shots were
required, duly administered by Miss Gully, the county nurse who arrived
on schedule to perform this fearful task. Not a happy day. Waterford
then had eleven grades culminating in a high school degree. It served
a surrounding area of about ten square miles. I don't recall the enrollment,
but it was probably under two hundred. My teacher for the first three
grades was Miss Harley, who I believe lived in Round Hill, Virginia.
She arrived in style each day in her Model T. This was a radical departure
from custom as teachers usually boarded in the towns where they taught.
As Stuart reminds me, on every possible occasion, I arrived home on
the first day with a bloody nose courtesy of Charles Mitchell, son of
either the Baptist or Methodist Minister. I announced that was it for
school so far as I was concerned, but Mother arranged an amnesty and
life progressed. People were not as mobile in those days. I began school
and graduated with, Morris Nix, Eleanor Livingston, Dorothy Russell,
Francis Arnold, George Rollison, Mary Frances Hickman, Jimmie Comphor,
Freddie Donaldson, Arthur Peacock, and perhaps others that I've forgotten.
Lupton Simpson was the principal. He had lost the use of his legs from
polio and was required to use crutches, but as Stuart can attest there
was nothing wrong with his arms when he wielded a paddle and dished
out retribution. Spare the rod was not yet part of the curriculum.
My fourth and fifth grade teacher was Miss Orrison. She had replaced
the legendary Miss Minnie Russell, who brought fear to every students
heart, but who also taught a lot of English and Arithmetic. Miss Minnie
would walk through her classroom looking for talkers and dreamers.
When she spotted one she would crack them across the knuckles with
a wooden ruler that she kept at the ready. Stuart, in a sudden fit
of genius, cut and brought her a large stick one day. As is to be expected
he was the first recipient. At least that's the story that he tells.
Miss Orrison was our teacher and it seemed to me that she had trained
at Miss Minnies knee. She was a heavyset, maiden lady, who drove into
Waterford each day in her ford coupe from her home in Milltown. She
taught me to concentrate and stick to whatever I was trying to accomplish.
I
was pretty good at school. I learned to read early, and enjoyed adventure
and action stories. I still do. This is a legacy from my mother.
Mary Francis, Eleanor, Morris, and I sort of became the top the class.
We and Dolls, and the Minuet. Not a highlight with me, but Mother loved
the ladies class and one of the members of that group was Mrs. Nix.
The Nix's Farm The Nixes had arrived in Waterford, I suppose around 1930, and purchased
a farm which lay on the West flank of the Catoctin mountain range about
three miles northeast of Waterford on the Taylorstown road. The family
consisted of Captain Nix, a retired Army officer, Mrs. Nix, and three
children, and older brother Robert, middle sister Mary, and youngest
child Morris, who was my age. He and I were first buddies. While I could
walk to school Morris needed transportation, and this was provided by
his faithful pony Trixie. No carpools in those days, which in part was
caused I recall by the condition of the drive way into the Nix farm
from the main road. By any standard it was impassable, and many Waterford
vehicle undersides bore testimony to that fact. Morris and I visited
often and I can recall many happy times at his farm. Their home was
an old, high ceiling's Colonial, complete with pillars, a entranceway
staircase, library and formal dinning room. I recall vividly Captain
Nix in his study, and the formal meals where various topics of the day
were discussed. Everyone was expected to participate, and I remember
being intimidated, as a six or seven year old, by this extreme contrast
to the situation in my home. I do believe though that these early experiences
helped shape my interest in wide ranging subjects, and in leisurely
discussion filled meals. However at the time my interests were more
focused in two other directions.
The Nixes had indoor plumbing. Huge, high ceiling bathrooms, with exposed
pipes, and a footed bath tub. No matter that the ever present hard water
rings were present. I was issued a towel, and expected to draw and take
a bath. A bath at home consisted of heating water on the range, or drawing
it from the reservoir which was part of each of these stoves. The pouring
the water into our galvanized tub which consisted of a seat and lower
portion where the water was contained. As a child we sat in the lower
portion and as we grew, on Saturday night, and positioned in the middle
of the kitchen. The bath then was completed in less than complete privacy.
Imagine the culture shock that ensued from finding myself in a large,
usually cold room, with copper knobs that delivered the hot water. Mrs.
Nix solved my initial lack of technical expertise by having Morris and
I share the tub. She claimed this was to save. water. I suspect it was
to assist me in getting up to speed on the procedure. Anyway it added
to my store of experiences and expectations
The other area of great interest to me was the farm itself. It had
been the location of several Civil War engagements and the trenches
were still visible. Captain Nix was not a vigorous farmer and much of
the land was wooded. This suited Morris and I fine and we engaged in
many Tarzan, and other adventures on those hillsides. I had learned
the Tarzan yell from Stuart, and could practice with reckless abandon.
Occasionally we would use Trixie in these activities, but Mrs. Nix gave
Trixie the weekends off, and that generally eliminated her as a partner.
About this time I attended my first movie. It was a school event and
we were carpooled to Leesburg to see Treasure Island. The real one with
Wallace Berry and Jackie Cooper. Although Stuart had been attending
movies for some time, that's where he learned his Tarzan yell, and had
duly reported their wonders, I was unprepared. The suspense was unbearable,
and for weeks afterward we constructed ships, fashioned swords, pistols
and muskets, and engaged in pirate and good guy activities. My ship
was a large tree which had fallen on the lower part of our property.
I removed some of the limbs, used others for masts, and mounted discarded
sections of iron pipe for cannon. This pipe was about four inches diameter,
three feet long, with connection flanges on one end. They served the
purpose admirably. My dagger was a silver serving knife which I had
surreptitiously removed from the dinning room server. It was unceremoniously
reclaimed by Mother when she discovered it's absence.
Religion We were Presbyterians. I've wondered about that. The original Wurtz
were Lutherans. Our Grandfather Abraham and Great Grandfather William
are buried in a Methodist graveyard. My Mother was Episcopalian, and
our parents were married in that church. Yet here we are Presbyterians.
I suppose she made that election because she couldn't get to Leesburg
where the closest Episcopal congregation was located. While I do not
recall this, Stuart says that our Father served as deacon and was active
in this local Presbyterian Church. He was also registrar for the Jefferson
voting district and served at the polls each election day. I recall
Arthur Godfrey coming to our house to register and listing his occupation
as farmer. The going fee for this service was $1.50. This is the famous
poll tax later much debated by press and court. Didn't seem like a bid
deal to me at the time.
Churches were an integral part of the social fabric in small towns
and it was so here. The annual church picnic was highlight. In early
years it was held in the woods at the top of the hill leading to the
Donaldson farm. The Waterford Cornet Band picture was taken there. Then
we graduated to the Braddock Heights, Maryland amusement park. Here
were many other delights. I would save my money for this event, and
remember swinging out with reckless abandon to retrieve the gold ring
from a bronco on the merry go round. As always we had to hitch a ride,
and I recall one trip in the back of Smoot's truck. It was very hot
and Mother got sick. This may have been following her teeth extraction
ordeal. One other occasion we went with Doug Myers. Doug was the Sunday
School Superintendent, and in charge of the event. We stopped in Leesburg
to pick up the Dixie cups and pack them in large insulated bags, with
dry ice. We were told not to touch the dry ice because it would burn.
Forty years later, at FFK, the same style bags are still in use. So
much for technology advance. A Deciding the picnic location was a exercise
in democracy. A vote was taken, and the majority ruled. While I had
no vote, I always lobbied for Glen Echo. I had heard that it was wonderful
place, and my first visit did nothing to dispel that view. A roller
coaster and rides of all sort. We only went there a few times, it apparently
didn't appeal to the congregation, but it was a magical place to a small
boy from Waterford.
Another church activity that was fun was the annual Church camp school
at Massanuttan Springs, near Harrisonburg, Virginia in the Shenandoah
Valley. This was a big journey, almost one hundred miles. I believe
that the stay was one week, although it could have been two. We were
housed in barracks type buildings, and were responsible for certain
chores, etc. A counselor chaperon accompanied us, usually Freda Myers,
Doug's wife. There we were with children form other areas. We attended
bible classes but there was great deal of sports activity thrown in,
and the competition was keen. One of the highlights was the evening
campfire sessions, where we would compete with yells. I remember one
of our winners was,
Chicka Racka, Chicka Racka, Chow, Chow, Chow,
Booma Racka, Booma Racka, Bow, Wow, Wow,
Sis Boom, Sis Boom, Sis Boom, Rah.
Pawnees, Pawnees, Rah, Rah, Rah.
Obviously I was Pawnee.
Preaching is always good business in the country, and Mr. Fry, the
barber, started the local Nazarene branch. Their demonstrative worship
procedure did not set well with many of the more conservative residents,
but he developed a constituency and the church seemed to flourish.
We youngsters used to peer in the windows hoping the worshippers would
roll on the floor, as holly rollers were supposed to do, or that the
women would bear their bosoms, as we had been told they would do. But
alas they never did and ultimately we tired of the game and left them
alone. I've since wondered why there was such local resentment which,
I add, included our Mother. I can only conclude that it was fear. Fear
of something different, which would mean a change. In some ways the
Nazarene procedure resembled Negro worship of that day. Very demonstrative,
and somehow threatening. Swimming The creek was a big draw for a small boy. Stuart and Hendrix Hickman
were adept clubhouse builders. They constructed one on the Catoctin
tributary below Doug Myers house. It was magnificent affair on an eddy
in the creek which had dug out a hole deep enough for swimming. That
was my first swimming pool. Unfortunately a heavy summer thunder storm
flooded the creek and carried the clubhouse downstream. The next step
in the swimming process was to the chute. The chute was part of an elaborate
engineering project designed ultimately to deliver water to the grist
and flour mill on the northwest end of town. It apparently was built
in the early days of the town.
The meadow surrounding the mill area is flat, and even though the
Catoctin Creek is near, with adequate water volume, the fall is insufficient
to generate enough speed to turn the wheel. It was necessary to go
up stream about two miles to find adequate elevation. A straight line
mill race was desired to reduce the amount of digging. That straight
line intersected the tributary that was mentioned previously. So two
dam structures were required. One on the main Catoctin, to provide
adequate volume of water and a second on the tributary, to act as
a holding or pass through dam. This second dam was called the chute.
Both of these structures were of local stone. There was an intake
gate above the main dam, the mill race ran for about a mile down to,
and dumped into the tributary, and was held there by a second structure.
The chute had a series of wooden gates which could be adjusted to
regulate flow and bleed off water in time of flood. There was a wooden
spillway over which the water shot, hence I supposed the name chute.
The last miller was Mr. Smote, who lived in the large house overlooking
the mill subsequently owned by the White's. The mill operated in my
younger days but I don't remember much about it. I remember the chute
as the swimming hole. It was deep, accommodated diving, and was the
scene of many Saturday and Sunday outings. At that time the meadow
and creek in which the chute was located was owned by Ed Beans. He
permitted the chute to be used Sunday's could see many vehicles parked
there as the owners cooled off. The Stabler's owned an adjacent meadow
which was used by the local baseball team, but more on that later.
Graduating to use of the chute was a big step and a milestone in a
small boy's growing up.
Of course we a had a gang. Mine was comprised of George Rollsion, whose
father was the local watch maker, Arthur Hawes, who's father operated
a store on Front Street directly across from Uncle Spence and Aunt Nina's
house, Obbie Hough, whose father was a carpenter, but who also doubled
as a sometime preacher and lay leader of the local Methodist Church.
Occasionally the group would include George's cousin Phil, whose father
ran the local garage, and Hendrix Hickman, whose family operated the
corner store. George became a contractor and still lives in Waterford,
Obbie became a minister, and Arthur died many years ago. Other characters
on the local scene included John Henry Furr, the Donaldson brothers,
Bobby and Freddie, the Myers girls, Doris, Janet, and June, daughters
of Leslie, Ellen Faith, daughter of Doug, and the Livingston girls,
Eleanor and Phillis. John Henry had one deformed arm, the result of
an improper break set when he was a child. It did not inhibit his ability
to play ball and he was a star on the local team for many years. I played
with him, and he introduced me to the wonders of Saturday night in Leesburg,
which often included a jug of Muscatel wine. We would often walk home
from Leesburg, a distance of seven miles and think nothing of it. But
all this was much later.
Overturning outhouses and other pranks The Waterford tradition was to overturn outhouses, remove gates so
livestock could escape, and remove property so the owner would have
trouble locating it. Those who preceded us left a weighty tradition.
Installing a buggy on the roof of Harvey Parker's blacksmith shop was
probably the greatest achievement of those who went before, but we struggled
to keep up. The residents of course were familiar with this fun filled
activity, and would remove their gates for safe keeping. Some of them
guarded their property with a shotgun, which called for caution on our
part. We did get our share of gates though, and released the brakes
on a few old cars so that they would drift down the hill. But overturning
an outhouse was one of our major goals, and by the time I was eleven
or twelve years of age we had one in our sights. It was located at the
rear of the Livingston home, now know as the Shawn House, on Second
Street. We scouted it out prior to the big night and were all set. We
arrived on the scene sometime after dark, and put our shoulders to the
task. It didn't budge. We tried again with the same result. Fearful
of discovery, but still wanting to accomplish the task and get our names
in the record book, we opened the door. They had filled the outhouse
with bricks, and were storing bricks there, or if they filled it to
foil us. Anyway we never got it overturned. All of this activity, which
we would now call vandalism, seemed to be taken in stride by the residents.
They didn't like to go looking for their property, or repairing the
damage, but they seemed to accept it as part of the growing up process.
No outside authority was called upon to protect anyone's rights. No
one was sued. It just blew over.
Rattle banding and snipe hunting were other examples of this tolerance.
Newly weds were regularly harassed on their wedding night. It was a
great game to locate where they would spend that night, get together
a group of people, and serenade them with wash tubs, drums and anything
that would make a racket. The noise did not cease until they appeared
and provided food for all present. Snipe hunting involved taking an
innocent person out at night to capture an imaginary snipe. The system
was to go to some dark, remote place where snipes were alleged to reside,
give the victim a burlap bag, and instruct them to hold the bag so that
the rest of the party could drive the snipes in. Then we would spread
out in the darkness and make weird noises for awhile, ultimately leaving
the victim alone, to slowly figure out that they had been duped. Almost
everyone was caught by this gag, I know that I was, but no one seemed
to resent it. We didn't get mad, we just got even. Perhaps it was cruel,
but it seems to me that it prepared us to take action on our own behalf
and to look for solutions within ourselves, rather than look for big
brother to solve all of our misfortunes. Anyway that's the way it was
in Waterford in the 1930's.
The first public haircut is a big event. Mine was administered by Mr.
Fry. He was a painter, in addition to barbering, and ultimately went
into the preaching business. He conducted his hair cutting operation
one night each week, Saturday I believe, and the room was filled with
customers and observers.
Wealth and privilege Waterford had a population of about three hundred, fifty in my youth.
Half were Negroes, who were definitely second tier citizens in that
community. They were not treated with disrespect by the whites, merely
with difference. I can't recall hearing the word nigger until I went
to New Hampshire at age seventeen. The primary word used when I was
a child was colored. Since we have progressed through negro to black.
The issue then, as today was access to economic opportunity and precedent,
with precedent coming first. In our community one was either in or
out
of the economic opportunity arena. Entrance into that select group
was usually by birth, but could be forced by an aggressive few. No
blacks
made it to my recollection. Few whites, including us, made it either.
Everyone in their place and no boat rocking. You see it everywhere
in
the world today, it has always been so, and will not change. Privilege
is not surrendered gratuitously.
I recall a camping trip to the Skyline Drive when I was about nine.
Mrs. Clendenin and Miss Eleanor Chamberlin lived on a farm on Route
662 about one mile south of Waterford. They were sisters of Edward Chamberlin
who owned adjoining Greystone. Stuart had worked for the two ladies
who lived there, and our Mother knew them also. Their grandson came
to visit occasionally during the summer, and I was dispatched by Mother
to provide companionship. Here I was introduced to a new environment,
the landed rich. While the Clendenins apparently were not rich, the
Chamberlins definitely were. Edward was the patriarch of the clan and
his brother Roy lived nearby. They had a stable of fine riding horses,
hunting dogs, the first private swimming pool and tennis court in the
area, and had a triple A financial rating, or so it seemed to me.
The Chamberlins had entered our lives previously. Our Mother was employed
by them as a governess for Eleanor, Edward's daughter. She came there
upon her return from England when she was eighteen, and it was from
there that she met and married our father. All of that was of no consequence
to me at the time. I had discovered a new world. We camped at Big
Meadows
on the Skyline Drive. The Drive was still under construction at the
time by the Civil Conservation Corp., one of the New Deal make work
projects. We cooked out, hiked up Old Baldy, fished and had a great
time. Back at the farm we explored, rode the farm wagons and horses,
swam and played tennis. I remember that Laura Chamberlin, later to
play a part in Stuart's life, taught us to ride. I had all ready
mastered swimming at the chute. I later worked during one summer
break for Edward
Chamberlin, Jr. He, by then, had married and was running Greystone.
I was in the lawn care business, and acquired the job from Ira Jones.
As I recall, Greystone took two or three days per week and I had other
accounts including Dr. Bran's in Leesburg. Dr. Bran now was our Dentist,
and I got the job initially to work off a bill. Dr. Detweiler and Herndon
seem to have disappeared. No that I think of it I believe that the
reason
for that was that the W O &D had ceased to function.
The first radio A big event in our lives was our first
radio. It arrived from Montgomery
Ward sometime in the early thirties courtesy of I believe Cousin Georgia.
At that time I was performing after school chores which included hauling
out Aunt Nina's slop bucket and replacing her wood and coal supplies,
and the same activities for Ed Myers, Doug and Leslie's father. Fortunately
the Myer's had indoor plumbing and I was spared the slop jar routine
at their house but I fear that I was lax in that department. All of
this work interfered with my after school sports activity, but fortunately
my buddies had the same problem. All that is except Arthur Hawes, who
never seemed to have to do anything except watch his father's store
occasionally. That was a big mistake on the part of his father, as Arthur
spent most of his time eating those little individual fruit pies and
drinking R.C. colas. We would get a free one infrequently as Arthur
was afraid that his father would notice if the inventory became too
depleted. When the radio arrived it was installed on the round oak table.
My listening schedule began at five thirty each afternoon, and concluded
at six forty five when Mother and Father took over to listen to Lowell
Thomas. Hearing his broadcasts from all over the world was a daily highlight
for them. In my wildest dreams I would never have imagined that a few
years later I would be sitting in a ski lodge in New Hampshire drinking
hot buttered rums with that same Lowell Thomas. But in those days I
was more interested in my adventure programs, which included, Buck Rogers
in the Twenty First Century, Jack Armstrong the All American Boy, Tom
Mix, and Flash Gordon. Once a week Mcgee and Molly, Jack Benny, and
Fred Allen. Our father's favorite were Curley and Slim, country singers
who broadcast over the Monacacy Broadcast System in Frederick, Maryland.
They put on a show at the High School Auditorium once which was a big
event for Waterford.
Sports
Sports were high on our list of priorities. We all dreamed of being
a major leaguer. My favorite teams were, the Washington Senators,
then housed in Griffith Stadium on Georgia Avenue, the Washington
Redskins, and Notre Dame, not necessarily in that order. Cecil Travis
was my favorite number one Redskins, but the entire 1937 team of Riley
Smith, Cliff Malone, Wayne Milner, Turk Edwards etc., with Ray Flaherty
as the coach, were aces with me. The Redskins had moved to Washington
from Boston at the conclusion of the 1936 season. The Notre Damers
all seemed to have multi syllable Polish names none of which I can
recall at the moment. Waterford fielded a baseball team while the
high school was in place, all though it was never very successful.
Due I suppose to the small enrollment. John Henry Furr would attend
school just enough to be eligible to play, then disappear. After a
while, Mr. Simpson called that off. I never attended high School in
Waterford, so I had no opportunity to add to that dubious record.
The town did have a team, which played each Sunday, against teams
from surrounding towns. This was source of civic pride but on very
shaky grounds economically. There were no uniforms unless the individual
could supply their own. It was tough enough to acquire balls and bats.
James Hamilton provided the sariatorial highlight for the team. James
father Harry was operating the Burch dairy farm adjacent to our property,
having moved there from Purcellville, Virginia. James was a star player
who had attended the Ben Blue baseball school near Washington, D.C.,
hoping to make it professionally. He didn't make the pros but he kept
his uniform which had Ben Blue displayed across his chest. The other
players had bits and pieces of uniforms, but that in now way diminished
enthusiasm or support. Some of the players were, Herb Edwards, catcher,
Doc Merchant, pitcher, Leo Merchant, first base, John Henry Furr,
center fielder, and James Hamilton, short stop. Enter Vincent Zoll.
Vincent was the fiance and later husband of Moselle Virts, second
daughter of Nina and Spence. Nina and Spence spent the summers in
Waterford, which led to my previously mentioned slop jar activity,
and Moselle would visit them on weekends. Vincent got into the local
scene. Vincent had to be center stage where ever he was, and the Waterford
baseball team was right up his alley. He would arrive with a dozen
new baseballs, bats and even provided some uniforms. His car was available
for transportation, and he provided verbal support. All this got him
elected manager, which role he fulfilled for awhile until his interest,
and or finances waned. At that time he was about half way through
a twenty year courtship of Moselle, which apparently didn't wane,
although Moselle's sister Marian said on many occasions that she wished
it had. I thought that he was the greatest thing around. I had never
seen a dozen baseballs in one place before.
Grocery stores Waterford in those days had four grocery stores, Hawes Piggy's, the
Corner Store, run by the Hickaman's and James Meat Market, run by Minor
James and his wife Clara. They had one son, Dick who took over the store
when Minor died. Minor and Dick were great hunters and fisherman. Minor
also used to do some slaughtering, primarily calves and hogs, at the
rear of his property. As this was upwind from town all were treated
to the aroma. Minor was a heavy drinker, in addition to being handy
with a gun, and this combination kept the citizens at bay for awhile,
but finally a delegation convinced him to cease this activity. Not without
some anxious moments however. I learned about mountain oysters from
Minor and Dick. They comprised the local Boar Hog castration team, which
was undertaken when the animal got too cantankerous. I assisted them
in one such action and then gave up that career.
Hunting One career that we pursued for a time was as a hunter. There were several
old ladies in town who liked frogs legs and squab. Hendrix Hickman and
I went into partnership. We shot frogs during the day with 22 caliber
rifles, but hunting was better at night. For one thing more frogs were
out, and they could be gigged using flashlights. This was a surer method
as we would sometimes lose them using a rifle. Squab hunting was easy
if the odor could be tolerated. The only problem was to locate a barn,
where a lot of pigeons roosted. Unfortunately the nests were always
a the very top of the barn and guano covered every rafter on the way
up. Once there we would put the baby pigeons in a sack and deliver them
to our customers live. The frog customers only wanted the legs so that's
all we delivered. As I recall we got twenty cents a pair. We also hunted
squirrel and rabbit but only for our own consumption. There was no market
for them. There was a market for game birds, quail primarily, but an
occasional pheasant also. We ate a lot of rabbit caught in traps by
our father. He would set the traps up in the garden and the rabbits
could not resist the enticing carrots that he would place inside.
Rabbit fever was a big thing and he would examine the liver for enlargement.
I guess it worked because we never got sick. But then I cannot remember
him ever throwing a rabbit away either. We did some trapping, Stuart
more than I. Mink were scarce, so it was primarily muskrat and skunks.
This required a trap line, either on the creek for the rats or near
a grain field for skunks, which had to be serviced every day. The
catch was disposed of, brought home, skinned and stretched on a board.
Our father usually got the skinning duties. They were not cured, simply
left in the cold for preservation until they could be sold. Stuart
reports that he and Walton Eamich were in this business for a while.
Walton's father Bruce acted as their sales agent. Max Davis, a junk
and miscellaneous dealer in Leesburg was the buyer, and negotiations
were brisk. No. 1 all black pelts bought $3.00. No. 4 with striping
$1.00. Stuart did most of this and we had some lively odors around
the house for a while. I did more night hunting. We would use hunting
dogs to trail and three the quarry. There was some coon hunting, but
we primarily went for skunks. There were more of them. We would get
to the hunting area, give the dogs the scent from a sack or pelt,
and turn them loose. You could tell by the dog's bray what type prey
they were on, and when the continuous wail broke up into yelps we
knew that they had treed. It was important to stay close to the dogs
because skunks are not tree climbers, and would be brought to bay
on the ground. The dogs were so excited that they would get too close
to the skunks, attack them, and damage the pelt.
A more likely occurrence was that they would get sprayed which would
end that dogs skunk hunting career. Dogs will not track skunks once
they have had a taste of that perfume. Our system was to take the skunks
alive. When we caught up to the dogs and located the skunk the tricky
part began. A skunk cannot spray when it's feet are off the ground.
But all four must be off. If the animal finds purchase on anything,
a branch, pants leg, even a twig it will let lose and heaven help you
if your are in the way. Society won't accept you for weeks. The system
was to get the dogs on a leash so they could be controlled. Then one
person would hold the dogs and direct a flashlight at the skunk. The
animal would face the dogs and be blinded by the light. It could twirl
in a flash however. The other person would circle, approach from the
rear, and pick the animal up by the tail which was raised in the attack
position. This was no time for indecision. You had to pick that rascal
up right now and get all four feet off the ground, all complicated by
the fact that the skunk would usually barricade himself in underbrush.
Assuming all this went satisfactorily the next step was to get him into
a sack, and not let his feet catch the sides in so doing. Once confined
in the sack the skunk would not spray. This hunting was done in September,
October, and early November. The idea was to feed them up in captivity
and let their winter coat develop prior to selling. Seems cruel to me
now but at the time I never gave it a second thought. They were a means
of improving economics.
Cider and other drinks Fall was also cider item, and I mean real cider not the bland stuff
now found in the stores. Cider was produced by the orchard owners and
there were a lot of them in the Waterford area. They would press the
apples and age the juice in wooden casks usually stored in the basement
of the farmhouse. A relatively stable temperature of around forty degrees
was fermentation. Raisins were widely used. They added flavor, had the
sugar and were relatively cheap. Unfortunately there was no way to impede
the process. Once fermentation started it continued until vinegar was
developed, so most of the cider was consumed by January or February.
I mentioned Ira Jones before. Ira and his wife Alice lived in the little
cottage adjacent to the grist mill. It had two rooms down, the living
space in front and kitchen, work space in the rear. Sleeping was in
the loft. Ira was the resident expert in wine making, and liquor distillation.
I could never handle the corn liquor, favored by many local residents,
but he could distill that cider into a fine brandy which he called Jack.
He made wine from almost anything. Grapes of course, but also blackberries,
raspberries, gooseberries, strawberries and dandelions. All this is
Alice's kitchen at the rear of his cottage. My mother was great friends
with Alice, although I don't believe that she was a wine customer of
Ira's. Years later, in 1977, I visited Waterford during festival time,
and there was Ira sitting on his front step with Alice. My mother had
been dead for twelve years and they didn't know it. Alice took me into
the familiar rear room and there on the wall was a picture that my mother
had painted and given to her many years before. She prized it highly.
The next time that I visited Waterford they were both gone.
Ice
Another career that I had in those pre-high school years was as ice
man. Actually I was an assistant. Refrigerators were not common. Most
people had ice boxes, as we did, which needed regular replenishment.
A. A. Painter provided the delivery service, or rather his sons did.
A. A. had operated a wood yard, complete with saw on our property
in the early thirties. I recall the howl of the saw as it cut through
the wood. But back to the ice. He had an old model T black truck with
an open wooden bed. On the side of the cab he had lettered A. A. Painter
- The Honest Man. The locals had some doubts about that statement
claiming that his scales were at least five pounds off in his favor
and some had their own scales to check up on him. To me it seemed
to be how business operated. In any event the system was to go to
Leesburg ice plant in the morning and load the truck. The ice was
covered with canvas to retard melting. Then we would run the route
selling off the back of the truck. The ice was in blocks of I believe
fifty pounds, and if the customer wanted less we were required to
split it out. Then it would be weighed on the famous scales hanging
on the rear of the truck, picked up by tongs and delivered to the
ice chest.
Recollection of residents
Other people that I recall in no particular order. Dr. Burger, husband
of Happy Russell, who sewed up my mouth with eighteen stitches when
I fell off the school house privy one Halloween night. Bob Compher,
Jimmie's and Ross's father. Margaret Hickman who married Ross. Callie
Comphor, Bob's brother who lived on the Taylorstown road. Junior Cooley,
whose father was assistant sheriff for Loudoun County. Brooke Stabler.
Andrew Mcgavack, Doug's predecessor at the Loudoun Mutual Fire Insurance
Company. The Dulin's, The Hutchinson's, The Rust's, Jim and Josephine
Carr and their children Albert and Emma, Charley Virts, John Henry's
grandfather. Also Tots, Edwards and Scoopum Mallory.
I remember that Stuart got fifty cents to mow Leslie Myer's lawn, and
Janet told us they now pay fifty dollars. Some of our Relatives are
buried in the Quaker Meeting House graveyard, I'm told. I don't know
who. Mrs. Maggie Brown often provided taxi services for our mother.
I recall that she always called mother Mrs. Virts and mother always
called her Mrs. Brown. Not the famous Book Club which included in
it's membership the local "Rich and Famous". The home Ec operation was
kind of a second tier deal. Mrs. Brown was twice widowed, having married
Luther Brown upon the death of her first husband, Wally Comphor. Wally,
Bob, and Callie were sons of Bumble Bee Comphor, who had acquired several
farms in the Waterford area and who's name Bumble Bee attested to his
skill in stinging his business opponents. Mrs. Brown's farm came to
her via Wally. They had four children, Millard, who committed suicide
in 1956, Marvin who became a Presbyterian minister, Johnnine who worked
the farm, and Marie. Actually Fenton Pollard, a black man, ran the place
for them. Johnnie was called "Stinger", a tribute to his inherited gift
from his grandfather. Their farm was located a the intersection of Rt.
662 and Rt. 9. Apparently an inheritance came to the children at age
twenty one, and the manner in which they spent it became a matter of
much local discussion. My most vivid recollection of Mrs. Brown is that
she weighted about three hundred pounds and made the worst pie I had
ever eaten. She would give me a big hug and I would be squashed barely
able to breath, against those monstrous bosoms. The pie was solid lard.
Their farm was purchased by Author Godfrey upon her death. The Raymond
Peacock farm adjoined Mrs. Brown's. Raymond was the father of Arthur,
who was in my class. I recall going to the Peacock's place with Mother
to pick tomatoes for canning. The Roland Legard's lived on a farm north
of Rt. 9 on the Brunswick road. For some reason they attended church
at Waterford Presbyterian. I believe that one of the sons, Robert later
became sheriff of Loudoun.
Restoring historic houses During the late thirties the Chamberlin's began buying and restoring
homes in Waterford, the beginning of the Waterford Foundation. Apparently
they obtained the idea from The Rockefellers, who were then engaged
in mechanism, available under new deal legislation. They began on Main
Street with, I believe, the Arch House. This was important to us as
it was next door to the house in which Stuart was born. The plan was
to restore the house as nearly as possible to it's colonial condition,
and either sell or rent it to a suitable person. We had our own little
urban incentives. And as has occurred repeatedly since, the result is
to dislocate the existing residents, who in this case were local blacks.
However Martin Luther Kings was not yet on the scene, so that issue
wasn't given much concern. The local response was primarily positive.
It provided work. I recall Maurice Hough working on those homes, repairing
mantles, replacing plaster, etc. The blacks got some work, and all in
all it was a good deal. What it meant to me at the time was that there
was some activity in town, but I believe that the seed of my personal
philosophy on work versus public hand out germinated in that environment.
Our family had been the recipients of public welfare. It is a humiliating,
degrading experience. I had seen the result of public works programs,
most notably the Skyline Drive. While it was public money the result
was magnificent, and the men who built it were proud of their achievement.
The Waterford project enabled the workers to improve their families
standard of living, and build their own self image. Sure there were
incentives for the entrepreneurs, but without them the capital and talent
would not have been injected. Capitalism does not bestow it's benefits
equally, but it is the only way to generate progress and raise the general
standard of living. The Waterford project's overseer was Edward's brother
Leroy. The story was that the Chamberlin's money came from Edward's
wife who was a Moses. Edward was ill so Leroy came in to manage their
properties. The locals didn't think that Leroy could manage his way
out of a paper bag, but he had the checkbook, and everyone said yes
sir. Leroy's son Wellman worked for the National Geographic for many
years ultimately becoming Chief Cartographer. Some years later when
living at Scott Street in Arlington, I became friends with Bob Nickolson
who worked for Wellman. Apparently World War II intervened in the project
and the Chamberlins only completed a few projects, but the future was
set and Waterford never would return to it's previous isolated status.
The end of the 1930's Stuart had graduated from Leesburg High in 1938, and entered Hampton
Sydney University in Farmville, Virginia that fall. This was a Presbyterian
endowed school. He embarked on a pre med course. I was thirteen years
of age and the things that I remember was the getting together of the
tuition, and his clothing. Occasionally we would get a letter form him,
and once I visited him at school, courtesy I believe of Leslie Myers.
I was impressed by his college mates and their football team.
I entered Leesburg as a freshman in the fall of 1939. It was a big
step. We were bussed from Waterford, a distance of seven miles. Lucketts
had lost their high school at about the same time and we all were consolidated
at Leesburg. This was to become the class of 1943. Our Waterford group
was joined by Bobby Orr, Enos Saunders, Lois Clennons, Tickle Atwell,
Jimmie McIntosh, Stanley Caulkins, Marvin Greene, and Frank Howser among
others. Our homeroom teacher was Mrs. Diedrick, wife of John who was
to become my coach and later principal of the school. That first year
was sort of a breaking in period for me. Lois Clemmons, a local, was
class president. I was kind of overwhelmed by the large school and the
variety of activities that were offered. As consequence I concentrated
on my studies, and become a frequent user of the library. The second
year, 1940/1941 was different. World War II was on in Europe but the
main effect so far as I could see, was that the English money from Angela
dried up. I was earning my own money by then though and the problem
seem to be centered around funding Stuart's school. Morris Nix, a Waterford
local, became the sophomore class president. That spring I went out
for and made the baseball team. It was now 1941. That summer marked
the apex of my lawn cutting career, and the Sunday's were taken up with
baseball.
1941/1942 was a pivotal year for all Americans, including me. That
fall I went out for and made the starting football team. I was primarily
a pass catching end, and kicker. We were champions and topped the season
by traveling to Manassas and whacking them in the season final. Toby
Atwell was the star ably assisted by Marvin Green, Stanley Caulkins,
Bobby Orr, and McDaniels. I was elected class president, and December
7, 1941 arrived. Mobilization and rationing began. Stuart entered the
navy in early 1942, as did practically everyone else of his age. Farming
however was a necessary vocation and Waterford was still a farming community.
Farmers were exempt from service so that food could be produced, and
many hours were consumed in debate at the Corner Store over who should,
or should not be eligible. Families were often split on this issue with
some going and some staying. The Donaldson family was a case in point.
Bobby went into the army and became a pilot, Buck was deferred for medical
reasons, and Freddie stayed to help his father on the farm. Mr. Donaldson
was a World War I veteran who had seen extensive combat in France and
been severely wounded. He had to agonize over this problem. Rationing
of gasoline, tires and manufacture of vehicles severely reduced mobility.
School programs were cut back, and the pace of living slowed. But the
war provided jobs for those capable of performing them.
For many the standard of living improved but not much changed with
us. Leslie Myers had died suddenly of a heart attack, leaving his wife
Carrier and the three girls. Doug, who lived next door, took over running
the family business in addition to his job at the insurance company.
He hired me in the summer of 1943 as a helper at $3.00 per day. His
foreman was Ed Beavers, who even then had three or four children, and
had been deferred for that reason and with Doug's help. Doug argued
and prevailed with the draft board that roofing was an essential business.
The other member of our crew that summer was Albert Spinks. Ed and Albert
made $7.00 per day. Ed actually ran the business, making estimates,
and keeping track of job costs. Doug handled the money. In effect Doug
kept two families afloat during those years. He was really his brother's
keeper, but my interest was the $18.00 per week that I brought in. More
money than I had ever earned. We installed both tin and galvanized roofs,
gutters, and painted roofs. We would cut and turn the metal edges on
the ground, then haul them up the ladder to the roof. The metal strips
were the vertical length of the roof, often fifteen or twenty feet.
We would haul for or five up at a time. Ed worked the eaves end, I worked
the comb end. The strips were attached to the roof with metal cleats.
Albert operated the seamer which double turned, and formed the seam
where the metal strips joined. For the first few weeks I had a very
sore thumb from whacking it with a hammer, but by the end of the summer
I ways very proficient at the job. I preferred the painting. Even though
it was very messy, it was less strenuous. I appreciated in later years
what this physical labor had done for me however. Ultimately Doug sold
the business to Ed, and after the war Ed's brother Merrill joined him,
taking Albert's job. They had an old 1935 for truck, and the inside
of that cab was pretty dicey after a hard days work. Bath facilities
were primitive at our home and a trip to the creek with soap bar in
hand was the normal after work solution.
I was sixteen the summer of 1942 and the primordial urges were rising.
Everything was here and know. Transportation was limited and so our
activity centered on school and Waterford. The Livingstons lived on
Second Street directly across from the Hickmans. Floyd Livingston worked
for the Postal Service. The mail was primarily routed by rail in those
days and Floyd sorted mail aboard the train and threw it out at appropriate
stops. He worked out of Washington and was away from home for extended
periods of time. His wife, Shawn, was kind of a remote, easy going sort
of woman. They had two daughters, Eleanor, my age, and Phyllis, two
years younger. Their home became the scene of much social activity,
as did the Paxon's since Piggy by now had departed. This was very different
from the conservative, early to bed, early to rise, environment at my
home. New vistas were opening for me, and my Mother didn't like it.
I was blissfully unaware of her concerns and went merrily on my way.
1942/1943 was kind of an anticlimactic school year for me. I had been
president of the previous class and that option wasn't open. Sports
activity was limited, and while I was president of the student union,
I suppose the war was just too close. I do recall being elected valedictorian
of the class and giving the graduation address. It was my first public
speech, and I forgot it completely. Very humiliating but a good lesson.
Never again did I try to memorize a public presentation, always there
after working from summary notes.
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