Paula Goff Christy's Blog

Is There Such a Thing As Revisionist History?

2011-08-23T13:16:00.009-04:00

Worthy Lee Christy, ca 1901, courtesy Mary Cervantes

Anybody who has studied history at the collegiate level has heard this question: Is there such a thing as revisionist history? Answer "no" to that question and fall quickly into the trap that discredits new research and new conclusions drawn from such research. Revisionist History gets a bad reputation when an historian rewrites certain events to prove a question not previously asked, such as, Are white European settlers responsible for building New York City when it was actually built by slaves? That gets a lot of people's goats. I don't know why. We can't deny that slavery existed even in the Yankee north. We can't deny that history was written by the educated and affluent, the victors, if you will, and those people were not slaves. Well, duh, guess who got the credit.

Revisionist History is necessary. The big picture will remain the same, but that which was witnessed from ten feet away is subject to change. That which is seen with a jeweler's eye will show many facets, and those facets keep history from being static.

I had a boss once who refused to hear me when I offered history as to how certain issues arose and why. He only wanted to know what the issue was and how to fix it, claiming the rest was wasted time. Then when he would go ahead with his idea of the solution to fix the problem, he often found himself digging a much bigger hole, exacerbating an issue that might have been mended by a needle and thread if he had only understood the nuances that would have come from knowing history.

All this being said, I bring you to an example drawn from my genealogical studies. I have been researching my husband's family. His father was orphaned when he was twelve years old. He and his siblings were farmed out to relatives, friends and orphanages. Their mother, Etta Poe Christy died after childbirth in 1932. Their father, Worthy Lee, for some reason gave up the children, remarried and started a new life. The presumption of Etta's family was that Worthly Lee was worthless, a drunkard, a lazy low down rotten scoundrel void of any redeeming qualities. Research, however, has revised the circumstances in which Worthy Lee Christy was weighed in the balances and found wanting.

Remember this was the height of the depression. The stock market crashed in 1929. Franklin Delano Roosevelt was elected President of the United States in November, 1932 and didn't take office until January, 1933. History shows that sometime between 1929 and 1932, Worthy took his family out of the rolling hills of Kentucky that offered little for a city man trained as a freight hauler. Worthy and Etta settled their family in Cincinnati, where he took what work he could get and Etta took ill during her pregnancy. When Etta died, how was Worthy to rear a family?

There is no evidence that Worthy became a drunk. There is evidence that he became a diabetic later in life and lost both his legs. He died in the Drake Hospital in Cincinnati of complications of diabetes on December 18, 1962. It is true that he died indigent. Hamilton County took him back to Bracken County, Kentucky, to be interred next to his first wife, Etta. The only "mourners" were his son, Bernard, and his wife, Lucille.

We know now that Worthy Lee was not totally estranged from his children. One child, Bert, was adopted out of the Methodist Children's Home in Versailles, Kentucky. Evelyn went to live in California. Patty was adopted by Oakley and Pauline Poe in Brooksville. The other boys remained in touch as much as possible. We know now that Worthy lived with each of his children from time to time, but we also know that wasn't the optimum situation whenever he did. He did seem to have trouble keeping employment even after the depression.

We don't know if Worthly Lee suffered from mental illness, although I think he did.. We don't know what was on his mind or in his heart when his family was broken apart, but it isn't hard to surmised that a man whose own father died when he was 7 would have been a tad dysfunctional and rightfully so. The point is - he wasn't the man of ill repute the Etta's family made him out to be. He wasn't a one dimensional man.

The Poes were well to do even by depression standards. Why is that only one of Etta's siblings stepped up to give her children a home? Why is they didn't want Etta's children? Is it possible that their history of Worthy Lee was written to masque their own ineptitude toward their sister and her children? Could it have been easier for them to point the finger at Worthy Lee rather than step up to the plate with Christian charity and do what they should have done?

The Poe family cannot be written as one dimensional either. We haven't yet delved into that family history, but these are questions for the revisionist historian. They may never have answers, but they have to be asked none the less.

Leave It to the Professionals

2011-08-18T13:47:00.002-04:00

Once upon a time I went to an NGS conference with a very bad attitude. Having a bachelor's in history, I thought I already knew how to do research. I knew my way around courthouses, libraries and archives, so what could they possibly teach me that I didn't already know? OMG! Was I ever wrong?

With the first seminar hosted by Barbara Vines Little, my eyes were opened and I felt like Alice stepping through the looking glass. There were more possibilities than I had even imagined. Class after class, my enthusiasm for my amateur sleuthing was growing to the point I thought I just might burst. Traipsing through libraries and courthouse vaults has now become a passion.

I do, however, have one little bone to pick with about three genealogists and I'm not sure if they will know who they are. Somebody suggested on Facebook that if she never heard another story about the research of an amateur it would be too soon.

Wait! Weren't you supposed to be a teacher? Isn't that why you teach conferences, to inspire and nurture the novice? Look, I know you're tired. I know you've been doing this a long time and a beginner's little escapades mean nothing to you, but do you have to make it so obvious? Are you truly the professional you claim to be?

Madeleine Albright once said, "There is a special place in hell for women who will not help other women." Well I think that might be true for anyone who is in the position to help someone and chooses not to do so because she thinks the person needing the help is somehow beneath her.

Barbara Vines Little is AMAZING! Her enthusiasm is infectious, and I hang on every word she utters. She is a GREAT teacher! She is great because her students become great at what they do.

Are you a great teacher like Barbara Vines Little? Do you inspire? Do you encourage? Do you stay and answer each and every question no matter how benign? If you answer no to any of these questions, please don't teach anymore. You're a waste of time and oxygen. Leave it to the professionals.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-08-17T12:01:00.000-04:00

Found Poe Creek

2011-08-12T17:14:00.005-04:00

It was easier than I thought. It is off Cumminsville Road, close to where I was when I took the previous picture. In fact, I was right - that is the creek, but Poe Creek was (or is) an actual place and not just a tributary to the Ohio River.

This is still going to require more legwork to the PVA office, and probably the county clerk's office to view tax records and deeds. This part is loads of fun, and actually getting to Poe Creek might require a horse. I know I'm from Kentucky, but I'm afraid of horses. This might be an assignment for my daughter, Miranda. I'll let her use my camera!

Could This Be Poe's Creek?

2011-08-12T13:34:00.004-04:00

It's a mystery, really. Where is Poe's Creek in Bracken County? Most people think it is south from KY 1159 going toward Cumminsville, but nobody knows for sure. It's an opportunity to explore some historical, or do I dare say, hysterical maps to see if I can find exactly where it is.

Clues: According to family lore, the Poe family, along with the Cummins family, donated land to Concord Methodist Church for construction of a church and cemetery. This is why most people assume that behind the church is the likely site.

Some people I've talked to think it could be behind the Christy house on KY 1159. There used to be a horse path beside the Christy property that is mostly covered over; but just in front of the creek is the footprint to an old log house. Is it possible that this was the place where George Harvey Poe and Stella Cann reared their family? This requires a trip to the Bracken County Property Valuation Administrator's office.

This is the fun part of genealogy research. Next week we shall embark upon what is shaping up to be a very interesting journey.

Worthy Lee Christy

2011-08-10T15:14:00.006-04:00

Having hit another brick wall while researching my own family, I decided to work on my husband's side of the family. Phil's father was orphaned at eleven years of age and sent to live with the Askins family on the Belmont Road in southern Bracken County. For all of my husband's life, he only knew who Bernard Christy's parents were. He knew very little about them until now.

Bernie's mother was kind of easy because she was a Poe, and anybody from Bracken County knows that Poe is a very common name in these parts. Christy, however is not a name that goes back centuries in Bracken County. The best I can deduce is that the name Christy was introduced to Bracken County when Etta Poe married Worthy Christy.

Worthy Lee Christy was born on December 18, 1896 in Huntington, West Virginia to a James W. Christy and Frances Priscilla Bush. He is listed in the 1900 and 1910 U.S. Census for Huntington's Ward 4. By 1920, however, Worthy resided in Brooksville, Bracken County, Kentucky, according to the U.S. Census for Bracken County, Kentucky. He is also in the 1930 Census for District 7, Bracken County.

At this point in my research, it is not known where or when Worthy Lee Christy married Etta Nevada Poe. It is unknown why he migrated from Huntington, West Virginia to Brooksville, Kentucky. The Census gives James W. Christy's (Worthy's father) occupation as "Teamster," and if that means in 1900 what it means today, Worthy's father would have been among the first in the country. Given the violence of the early labor movement, could Worthy have left West Virginia to avoid it? He would have had to come west on a train. Did he get off at the old depot in Brooksville, meet Etta, fall in love and decide to stay? These are questions that cannot be answered given present research.

Worthy and Etta had six children, Harold, Chester, Bernard, Royce, Walter and Patsy. Etta died in 1932, leaving Worthy to finish the child rearing. As history has recorded the children were farmed out to relatives, friends and orphanages.

Worthy was a diabetic and in his later years became an amputee, losing his right leg to the insidious disease. From the time Etta died, however, Worthy was in and out of hospitals. Unable to hold gainful employment, Worthy lived off and on with his children, but ultimately, they'd get tired of him and put him to the street.

Worthy died at the Drake Hospital in Cincinnati, Ohio on December 18, 1962, from complications of mental illness and diabetes. He is interred next to Etta in the Concord Methodist Cemetery in Bladeston, Bracken County, Kentucky.

Foster's Chapel Methodist Church

2011-08-03T14:39:00.003-04:00

This is a picture of Foster's Chapel Methodist Church. It is a new old church nestled in the hills of Robertson County, Kentucky. The significance of the church is not the structure or the beautiful woodworking within; nay, it is the story of theresilience of its members.

On May 15, 2009, miles away from a water mainline, let alone a volunteer fire department, nearby residents stood in anguish and watched their beloved 141 year old church burn to the ground. Members of the Case and Insko families have been parishioners of Foster's Chapel since it's original founding in 1868. The final resting place for those earliest families surrounds the building like a soft warm blanket.

There was but $65,000 worth of insurance protecting the building that burned, and anyone familiar with church construction knows that is not enough for most to consider rebuilding. Any other church would embark on a building program where parishioners commit to tithe greater than their normal capacity over a long period of time. These parishioners did something different. They built the church themselves.

Using the insurance money for materials, parishioners and local trades persons donated all the labor, including but not limited to plumbers, electricians, carpenters, drywall technicians and painters. They managed to get pews donated from a church in Lexington, song books donated from a church in Tennessee and hardwood floors and curtains donated from local merchants. An anonymous donation even came in for $10,000.

Services were held in private homes until it reopened its doors in the July, 2010. The white framed church once again keeps watch over its parishioners sleeping on the hillside, shaded by the hickory trees and tall oaks. It once again holds Sunday School at 9:00 on Sunday mornings followed by church services at 10:30. The sign out front says, "Everyone Welcome."

Unseemly Findings

2011-08-02T14:31:00.002-04:00

As an amateur genealogist, I still get excited about turning over stones and finding something unexpected. Sometimes, I also do not know what to do with things that I didn't expect to find or that don't seem to fit into my fairy tale notions of my own family history.

For example, it jarred my senses to imagine that my great-grandmother Mary Ellen Stephens Goff could have been married before she married my great-grandfather. I don't know why. My great-grandfather had been married before, and I can't even find his first wife. So why the double standard? Why was I so incredulous to the notion that Mary Ellen was a happy divorcee prior to getting hitched to Richard Goff? I haven't the foggiest.

Likewise, when researching my great-great-grandmother, Martha Webb, I uncovered more unseemly matter than I'd ever dreamed was possible. The family had always handed down the story that Martha was raped, and our great-grandfather, John Henry Webb, was the product of that incident. John was reared by Martha's parents as their own child following her death a number of years after his birth. The family always said that Martha "willed herself to die," because of the shame she bore from being raped. This is history handed down through the family.

What was not handed down through the family was the fact that Martha's father, Willis Webb, had two families. Not only did his wife, Margaret, nee Stewart, spend nearly twenty years of her life bearing children, but Willis' mistress also bore him several children.

When I think of the rural setting in which the Webb family lived and the sprawling farmland they made into a home, it shouldn't surprise anyone that Willis needed sons to help work the land. What does surprise me is that Willis' other family appears to have more information about his legitimate family than I've been able to uncover from any other source!

My mother is beside herself with embarrassment over these findings; while I, on the other hand, have embraced my new extended cousins with open arms, because they are, in fact, related to me by blood. The Webb family has always been a stalwart of grit and self sustenance, pillars of the community; so the idea that there are these skeletons in the closet is, in my mother's eyes, something one should not talk of in polite society. She would prefer I sweep these things under the rug or out the door and forget them, but blood can't forget blood - at least mine can't.

I am very curious how other genealogists have handled these situations when they uncover them. Do you add them to your tree with caveats? Do you hide them away as improper like my mother would prefer? Or do you do what I did and embrace a new set of cousins.

As a footnote of sorts, it is important to note here that documentation on "the other family" and the information they had about the "legitimate" family has not yet been verified; however, what I have seen and heard from them is consistent with the history of the time and family folklore.

Cousins

2011-08-01T12:06:00.002-04:00

This is a picture of three first cousins, my stepdaughter, Miranda, on the right, and Stacey on the left with Faith in the middle.

I've written about Miranda before. She's a successful attorney in Nashville and married to a delightful young man.

Stacey is a single accountant living in Lexington, and Faith is a school teacher, living in Stamping Ground with her husband, Ken, and five cats.

2011-07-27T13:54:00.001-04:00

The North Fork of the Licking River at Milford, Kentucky.

Abel Goff

2011-07-27T13:41:00.002-04:00

Abel Goff was born April 2, 1930 in Ludlow, Kentucky. His father, Andrew Goff was a foreman on the Southern Railroad, and his mother, Nellie nee Hughes, was a homemaker.

In high school at Ludlow High School, Abel excelled in football and wrestling. Following graduation, he enlisted in the United States Marine Corp and served in the Korean Conflict.

Abel married Cora Hall on March 22, 1955 in the parsonage of Ludlow Baptist Church with Richard and June Goff bearing witness. The couple settled in Covington, Kentucky where Abel worked as a Covington firefighter for 28 years. They had five children, Shirley, David, Steven, Kathy and Tim. He also had nine grandchildren.

Abel died in 1992 at the age of 62. He had been on kidney dialysis for five years and succumbed to renal failure while a patient at the Veteran's Hospital in Cincinnati, Ohio. He was laid to rest in Independence Cemetery, Independence, Kentucky.

This Old House

2011-07-22T15:40:00.002-04:00

This old house sits on Asbury Road in Bracken County, Kentucky. I drive by it at least once a week, and each time I do, I wonder what its story is. Who lived here? Who died here? Did children play in the front yard, and was it once alive with azaleas and junipers? What happened that it fell into such disarray?

It's so sad now and cold like death. Termites have feasted until barely a skeleton remains. Yet it still has a story. I just don't know what it is.

Cora Hall Goff

2011-07-11T14:28:00.003-04:00

Cora Sue Hall was born May 10, 1934, in Hindman, Knott County, Kentucky. She was my aunt by marriage, being the wife of my father's younger brother, Abel. They married on March 22, 1955 in the parsonage of Ludlow Baptist Church, Ludlow, Kentucky. Together they had five children, Shirley, David, Steve, Kathy and Tim and brought up their family in Covington, Kentucky.

Aunt Cora was a real country cook, making the best pot roast anyone ever ate. She loved crocheting, knitting and loved her country music. She was always laughing, and she loved her children and grandchildren more than anyone could ever know. It didn't matter what anyone ever did, if you were her family she loved you - end of story.

Aunt Cora died on March 30, 2011. She was interred next to Uncle Abel in Independence Cemetery, Independence, Kentucky, on April 2, 2011.

The Loss of a Giant

2011-07-09T11:26:00.006-04:00

Richard Goff was the third child born to Andrew and Nellie (Hughes) Goff on November 17, 1924. The Goff family had migrated to Cincinnati from Somerset, Kentucky, and Richard was the first baby born in the city.

He started school in Cincinnati but transferred to Ludlow Independent Schools when Andy moved his family into what was known as the Section House, a place owned by the Southern Railroad. After graduating from high school, Richard enlisted in the U.S. Navy.

Richard Goff was a purple heart recipient for his service upon the U.S.S. Morrison. The Morrison, was sunk by a kamikaze at the Battle for Okinawa on May 4, 1945, killing 152 men. Richard was blown away from the destroyer, and grabbing a nearby life jacket, he watched as the ship plunged beneath the surface of the Pacific. Richard spent nearly a year recovering from his injuries, and he never mentioned the horrors of war.

Richard married June Hammond Perkins on June 10, 1950. The couple reared four children, Sherry, Sheila, Bruce and Richard, Jr. He worked as a tool and die maker at R.A. Jones in Erlanger, Kentucky for more than thirty years. The family resided in Covington, Kentucky until his retirement in the 1980s, at which time they moved to Palm Coast, Florida. He lived in the Sunshine State until his death from lung cancer on February 17, 2009.

Richard loved to camp, and he also loved boating. He was a member of Ludlow Baptist Church and was a third degree master Mason.

Richard was my father's older brother, my uncle. He was always larger than life to me and one of the funniest men I ever knew. He would run up to me as fast as he could with his fists clinched, saying, "I'm gonna punch you right in the nose." Of course I would run and scream, and he would pick me up and throw me over his shoulder and kiss and tickle me. With the exception of throwing me over his shoulder, he still did the "punch in the nose" routine until the last time I saw him, which was July, 2006, just before my father lost his battle to lung cancer. For the Goff family, Richard was the last of that generation to move on, and losing him was the loss of a GIANT.

Hello Again!

2011-07-08T13:24:00.003-04:00

Has it really been a year and a half since I've been here? When I started this blog I remember how excited I was to tell all about my family, our lives and the lives of our ancestors. I am still excited about my family, and I've actually been spending time with family, as well as writing on a novel that I intend to finish one of these days.

Time marches on, however, and since I was last here, the Goff family lost two more from the greatest generation. I will post their stories in the coming days, and I will also recommit myself to telling the family stories here. Come back and see!

Sam Dodson

2009-11-01T23:30:00.003-05:00

This is a picture of my gg-grandfather, Sam Dodson. Sam was born in White County, TN, exact year unknown. He was married to my gg-grandmother, Emily Bolin. Sam's lineage is said to go back to the Jamestown Settlement, but I have not seen the documentation that proves it. Sam was also 3/4 Cherokee, and likewise, I have not been able to document that either.

The latter legend, however, I do believe to be true if not totally accurate. My g-grandmother, Belle, talked often of growing up in "Indian Territory," where Sam and Emily ran a boarding house. (It was there in Oklahoma that Belle met the love of her life, Lonnie Grimes.) Belle also talked about how her father spoke fluent Cherokee.

Oddly, Belle wanted no part of her Cherokee roots. I now wonder if Sam's ancestors were among the assimilated Cherokee who married among Europeans and did everything they could do avoid the round up that lead to the Trail of Tears. There is absolutely no way to prove that without further research.

There are way too many legends that come with the name, Sam Dodson. I'm just beginning research into this interesting man, so there will be more to follow.

Emily Bolin Dodson

2009-10-30T02:13:00.003-04:00

Emily Bolin was my great-great grandmother. She was Belle Dodson Grimes McCloud Cole's mother who was the mother of my grandma Virgie Grimes Webb.

I know she married my great-great grandfather, Sam Dodson, in the late 1880s. (I found the exact date in a marriage index, but I haven't seen a marriage certificate.) Not much is known about Emily.

When Belle became widowed in 1914, she moved from Whitwell, Tennessee to Sparta, Tennessee to live with Emily. Belle had two children, ages four and two, and one on the way. The one that was on his way is the lad in this picture, my great-uncle, Lonnie Edward Grimes. Uncle Lonnie looks to be about three or four in this photograph, so that puts the year about 1918.

This picture was given to me by my great-aunt Lena in 2004, the last time I saw her. She gave me this picture and a couple of pictures of great-great grandfather Sam Dodson. I love knowing where my mother got her high cheek bones. We always assumed it was from Sam Dodson, but now I see they were a gift from Emily. My mother also has Emily's eyes, set deep and close.

It amazes me that all the summers I spent in Crossville, Tennessee at great-grandma Belle's house with my grandma Virgie, nobody ever mentioned Emily. It never even occurred to me that this woman existed until I became interested in genealogy, yet I most surely carry her Mt DNA as it passed from her to Belle to Virgie to Reba (my mother) to me. Emily's life matters now. It is her existence that ties my life to a greater purpose. Although, she was of simple means and certainly not one for the society pages, Emily was here, and I hope I can honor her.

Angels in the Midst

2009-10-20T02:42:00.003-04:00

I am just so happy! I'm happy as a pig in slop! I have a ten year old laptop computer that has about four years worth of research on it that has been dead for over a year. Talk about losing inspiration!

Finally, one of my husband's friends (and yes he has a few) said, "Paula, if you want, I can take the hard drive out of that laptop and see if I can retrieve your data."

Uh, what was that? Did the sky just open? I really thought I heard the sound of wings, because this little offer has changed my life - or at least the life of my research. In fact, this single little act brought my research back to life. I am no longer shackled with the notion that I will have to retrace my steps through history in order to retrieve the 24,000 plus names in my database. I have birth dates, death dates and burial information. I have pedigrees and registries. Where once I was lost, I have found my citations and they are complete.

Burdens have been lifted from my shoulders by my husband's friend. It just goes to show, there really are angels among us.

Random Thoughts About My Father

2009-09-29T12:35:00.005-04:00

This is a picture of my dad, Paul Martin Goff, born June 12, 1927. Dad was the fifth of six children, born to Andrew M. Goff and Nellie Hughes. The back of this picture says 1950, and I think it may be in front of the cabin in the Smokies where Mum and Dad stayed on their honeymoon. It appears he was reading a map, something of a foreign concept to the man I knew.

My dad was always neat. He wore only certain kinds of clothes, and the only time he wore blue jeans was when he was working. He has more hair in this picture than he ever had after I came along. There are more pictures of his wavy auburn hair, but I remember that he kept it very short.

Dad was one of a kind. I'm sure everybody says that about their parents, and I'm certain that in all cases it is true. Dad was a strict Southern Baptist. My parents insisted that I was in church every time the doors were opened, and as a teenager, I balked consistently and was consistently overpowered!

Dad loved his bluegrass music. He would drag me around to bluegrass festivals, and I didn't really learn to appreciate the music until I was up into college and recognized what an art it truly is. Since my grandfather played several different instruments, dad always encouraged my music. He bought me a guitar when I was about seven and a 5-string banjo when I was 9. He bought me a flute when I was old enough to join the school band. He paid for voice lessons. Ha, I think if I had just listened to Dad more often, I could have learned how to sing just from hearing him do it. He was an awesome singer, even if the only song he ever sang all the way through was, Froggie Went A-Courtin'!

Dad worked for the railroad for 37 years! The longest I've ever been on a job is five. He loved trains, and after he retired, he would buy and watch all these videos of different trains around the country. I used to tease him that the trains weren't really moving, they just moved the background. He'd get so ticked, and I'd laugh and laugh.

I was an only child, and I was definitely Daddy's little girl in every sense of the concept. Dad brought home my first cat when I was two! It was a black and white cat that he brought in under his railroad jacket. It had a litter of kittens, and he took all of them off, including the mother, except for two little grey ones. Then he accidentally ran over one of those with his car!

He also raised collies. We had one collie that he named Boy, and Boy was my buddy. One time I made my mom really angry, and I couldn't have been more than five or six years old. Well, I knew my mom was going to spank me, so I let Boy loose, and he cornered my mom between the propane gas tanks and the back wall of our house! I was standing back saying, "Good Boy! Yeah!" My mom was yelling at the dog and me, and when Dad got home from work, he was pretty livid. I remember that particular spanking, and I never tried that trick again. (It is pretty funny though, isn't it?) We had lots of different dogs, including a beagle named, Peanuts, and a toy poodle named Trampy.

I miss my dad more than I could ever express. When he passed away on August 13, 2005, time stood still for a long while for me. Paul Martin Goff had fought a twenty year battle against cancer. He had lost his voice to carcinoma in 1986. He fought diabetes, skin and prostate cancer. In 2002, we thought we were losing him to congestive heart failure, when a wonderful doctor finally suggested sending him to the University of Kentucky for an experimental defibrillator. By God's grace, that defibrillator bought him five more years of life. In fact, Dad used to tell people, "I've got the kind of defibrillator Dick Cheney's got, only mine is better, on account it came from the University of Kentucky!"

He fought small cell and non-small cell lung cancer valiantly and with great strength and dignity, not that there is much dignity in dying. When he breathed his last breath, Mum and I were both at his side. I remember telling him in those final hours, "Dad, when you meet your gg-grandfather, (whom we call Richard 1810,) will you tell him to send me some clues?" He was really sick and in a lot of pain, but he laughed and promised to do it. I'm still waiting for the clues, so maybe he hasn't met him yet. Maybe he's still at the feet of Jesus praising Him for the fact that Paul Martin Goff has his voice back.

A Poignant Story Dying to Be Told

2009-09-28T13:56:00.005-04:00

In my Webb research, I have confirming documentation as far back as my ggg-grandmother, Margaret Stewart Webb, born in 1826 in Morgan County, Tennessee. Margaret's mother, Nancy Stewart, is listed in the 1830 US Census for Tennessee as head of household with one son and one daughter. Nancy shows again in the 1840 census, also listed as HOH, with her name spelled "STUART," and living with a son, Hiram, and a daughter, Lindsey. While there are many family legends surrounding Margaret and her "Molly Brown" type strength living in perilous times of civil war, famine and disease, very little else has been found on her mother, Nancy, who may have been the among the strongest women on the planet. I'm starting to think that Nancy's is a poignant story that is dying to be told.

I received an email from a very nice woman in California who is also a descendant of my ggg-grandfather, Willis Webb, Margaret's husband. What she has learned through other "Webb cousins" is that Nancy arrived in Tennessee alone except for her son, Hiram, and was very likely pregant with Margaret during the voyage. She believes, but offers no documentation, that Nancy and son arrived in America through the port at Philadelphia. She does not know if Nancy embarked upon the ship across the Atlantic alone with her son or if she had a husband who either perished at sea or simply did not make the voyage at all. I do not have a name for a potential husband, but this very nice woman did tell me that Nancy's maiden name was Davidson. What would have been reasons a woman would migrate to lands unknown without a male chaperone? Was that done in the early 1800s? Could her husband have already been here, and could he have perished before Nancy and his son arrived? It's fun to conjecture all sorts of things such as this, but there is no shred of proof... only questions with no answers.

I have found a couple of Nancy Stewarts on ship manifest indexes published on OliveTreeGenealogy.com, but the ages don't really fit. Is it possible that I have a preconceived notion as to what was common in the early 1800s? Is it possible that Nancy could have been in her forties when she migrated to America? I don't think this is really plausible since the 1840s Census lists yet another daughter. She would have been in her late fifties! I'm in my fifties, and I'm way too tired to be having a baby!

If anybody who may read this has any suggestions on how to narrow my search, please share. I would be very grateful, because I think this lady has a story that needs to be told. From what little I have on her, it shaping up to be quite poignant.

Cousin Martha & Aunt Lucy

2009-09-27T02:39:00.003-04:00

These are pictures of my cousin Martha and my Aunt Lucy. I have a picture of Martha's grandmother, also named Martha, who was an older sister to Aunt Lucy. I can't get the clarity I want when I crop Aunt Martha's picture to a head shot, but we can still see the Webb DNA marching on through time.

Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds

2009-09-24T14:34:00.007-04:00

Lucy Webb Bieber was born March 17, 1906, the fifth child of John (Spoony) Webb and Sarah Hamby. Lucy was quite possibly the strongest woman I've ever known and way ahead of her time.

Lucy was born in Glenmary, Scott County, Tennessee. The Webbs were a strong, self-contained family on a large farm where the hill dropped off drastically on one side, but the views were magnificent as the land ran adjacent to the Emory River. They raised their own garden and canned vegetables to sustain them through the winter. The Webbs raised their own hogs, and slaughtered and butchered their own pork. Like their ancestors before them, they also raised their own sheep, carded their own wool and made their own blankets. The Webbs were always well dressed, and yes, they sewed and tailored their own clothes.

Lucy learned all these life-sustaining chores very young, but Lucy excelled at all of them, a quality that would make her self-sufficient in an age long before women went into the workforce.

When Lucy was 15, she went with a boy from Glenmary by the name of Roger Human. Family lore has it that she had a baby out of wedlock, and the boy refused her. The baby died of unknown causes, and Lucy thought her life was over. She blamed Mr. Human for "ruining her life" and said she would never marry. She would take care of herself!

Lucy migrated to Erlanger, Kenton County, Kentucky in 1932, following her brothers, Will, Jim and John. She settled into a little house on Kentaboo and proceeded to raise chickens in the back yard. Lucy had quite a list of clients who bought her chickens, and she peddled them to restaurants up and down the Dixie Highway. My uncle Buddy remembered being in grade school and spending weekends with Aunt Lucy because she put him to work. He said she always paid him, but she demanded a lot of work!

Lucy sewed for people too. She made beautiful clothes and had steady clientele. She made blankets and quilts that the city people bought. Yes, my aunt Lucy seemed to be able to do it all. During the height of the depression, she was able to help her brothers by sewing clothes for their children and canning vegetables and drying beans.

Even with all these money making ventures of her own, Lucy also worked a job at Holiday Cleaners in downtown Cincinnati. She rode the Greenline bus from her house on Kentaboo into the Dixie Terminal and walked to the cleaners. It was at Holiday that she met her husband, Fred Bieber, a retired postal worker. She and Fred married in 1933, when Lucy was 36 years old. Fred had a son and daughter and was a widower. His son was a medical doctor.

Lucy and Fred lived in her house on Kentaboo for a number of years, but in 1950, they moved to Florida to enjoy their retirement. They lived in and around the Tampa area. I recall visiting them in Plant City, and the last place they lived was in a house in Holiday, Florida.

Uncle Fred preceded Lucy in death. Aunt Lucy died on May 10, 1978. She was 72. She is interred at Hillsborough Gardens in Brandon, Florida.

I loved my aunt Lucy. I thought she could just do anything! She was a snarly old woman by the time I came along, but for some reason, she loved me. She tried to teach me how to knit, but that never stuck. She used to crochet vests, hats and sweaters for me. In fact, even when I was up into high school, Aunt Lucy was still using colors she used when I was in grade school. I didn't appreciate them when I was sixteen as I had when I was six. I still loved her though!

Aunt Lucy embroidered by hand all the tea towels my mom had when I was little. She made these beautiful quilts that kept me warm, and she made clothes for my Barbie dolls that nobody else had! Whenever we visited her and Uncle Fred in Florida, Aunt Lucy always had watermelon for me. I remember how we used to play Yahtzee!

When we would go to the beach, Aunt Lucy would always go along, and I knew she didn't want to be there. She went because family do things for and with one another just so they can be together. She would pack lunch and make a day of it. I was less interested in spending time with her then, as I wanted to be in the ocean. Uncle Fred would walk out to the water's edge with me and show me how to look for shells. Together, they made beautiful seashell jewelry that I still treasure to this day. I never wear it, as it's too fragile, but I take it out of its box every so often and just look at how intricate the artwork is.

Uncle Fred also painted. I thought he was wonderful! He painted churches and barns. I guess that's where I learned to love taking pictures of churches and barns. My mom got all his paintings after Lucy died, but I'm not sure whatever happened to them. I inherited Aunt Lucy's diamond ring. I've worn it everyday since May 21, 1978 when my mother let me have it on my twentieth birthday.

Aunt Lucy was a wonderful woman, full of life and mischief. Hers was a life of extreme highs and plundering lows, but she never seemed to have a bad attitude. She was always jovial and happy to see us. She was a woman of faith, but she didn't wear it on her sleeve. She believed faith had to manifest itself in works, and she worked hard in life. I expect I will see her again someday. I hope she reads this.

Linda Buring

2009-09-22T16:10:00.002-04:00

Linda Buring was born in 1938, the first born child of my aunt Thelma Goff.

Linda was long gone by the time I came along, and I only met her once. My father carried this picture of her in his wallet most of his life, along with photos of her half-brothers, Billy and Donny. When Linda came to visit, I must have been in junior high school. She came to dinner with her sister, Brenda, and Brenda's first husband, Bob Kemp. I can't remember if Aunt Thelma was with her. In fact, I don't remember very much about the visit at all, other than the fact that Linda was very beautiful.

Linda looked just like Aunt Thelma. Her hair was coal black, and her skin was like ivory, a trait belonging to the Goffs. I don't think Linda ever identified with the Goffs, however, but she was never forgotten by them.

Linda was sent to California when she was a young girl to live with her father. My mother remembers how my dad cried when Aunt Thelma put her on the train. My parents would have only been dating at the time. I think (but don't recall for sure) that Linda was around ten years old when she left. So the one time I met her, she would have been in her forties.

I found what I believed to be Linda's death certificate online. I don't want to be too specific, because, I haven't sent for it yet, and if it isn't her, well... On the document, her mother was listed as Thelma Somerset, which of course, is wrong. Thelma Goff was born in Somerset, so her children filled in only what little bit Linda had told them about her life.

If anyone has any information about this first cousin, please feel free to share. Her children and grandchildren remain estranged and unknown to us. I would love to meet them if I only knew where they were.

Grandmother & Granddaughter

2009-09-21T13:23:00.003-04:00

End of Summer Musings

2009-09-21T02:26:00.003-04:00

I took a little sabbatical of sorts through the spring and summer months, but now, I find that I am ready to resume writing about my crazy family. The summer of 2009 has been relatively peaceful. I was able to visit with my cousin, Sherry Goff Turner, and her husband, Ron. My first cousin (once removed) on the Webb side was married earlier this month, and so, I was able to visit with many extended family members whom I only get to see on such rare occasions.

Amidst all the visiting, one thing struck me as very poignant, and that is how much my mother is beginning to look like my Great-Grandmother, Belle. I've written extensively about Belle here on this blog. I loved her dearly, as she always seemed the great paradox. On one hand, she was the epitome of strength and independence; yet on the other, she was very dependent on the men in her life.

My mother carries that trait. She has always been incredibly strong, with a mind of her own. Yet, she loved my dad more than life itself. Losing him changed her in ways she can't even see, but I can. She has developed a love for my dad's dog and cat. One of them sneezes, and off she goes to plunk down money that she really does not have to care for animals that she always said she would get rid of the first chance she got. Well, that didn't happen. My mother made a promise to my dad, as he lay on his death bed, that she would look after his pets, and keeping that promise is akin to keeping her wedding vows.

Belle always had a cat around her house. I remember how she would sit on her front porch with an old black cat in her lap, and how she used to talk to it and love on it. Watching my mother love on her cat is like watching history repeat itself. I've seen that movie before, and even though these women are three generations apart, they look nearly identical now. Their mannerisms, their voices (minus Belle's thick Tennessee hill country accent,) and even the way they can tell the same story over and over like it's the first time we've all heard it... just like Belle.

So, it's my desire to keep writing about the people whose DNA I carry. It's time to get to it, now, isn't it?

Aunt Lucy & Uncle Fred

2009-02-15T18:35:00.001-05:00

Aunt Lucy Webb Bieber and Uncle Fred Bieber

Thanksgiving Day, 1954

St. Petersburg, Florida

The Good Old Days When Times Were Bad

2009-02-12T10:32:00.003-05:00

People have no idea what things were like during the Great Depression. They think now if they have to give up cable television, they're sacrificing, but during the depression, there was no money.

Daddy did whatever he could do. Every morning, he'd walk from Linden Street down to the railroad bridge where it cost him a penny to walk across that bridge to get to downtown Cincinnati, where he'd look for work. If he didn't have a penny, he'd hop a train. Sometimes Daddy would sweep floors, haul ice or throw trash. It didn't matter. There was no shame back then in the work a person did; It was all honorable. Sometimes Daddy would make a couple of dollars a week.

Mom worked too. She would take in laundry for people or ironing. She did whatever she could do to bring in money. She worked in Nell Donnelly's store and even owned her own store, but that was later. Mom could squeeze a dollar out of a nickle, but getting the nickle took a lot of ingenuity. I don't remember Mom or Daddy standing in the bread lines, but they might have. Mom always had a pot of beans on the stove, and we ate our fill of jowl bacon.

I helped Mom around the house. Mom would let me scrub the floors or fold laundry. I'll never forget the time Mom had washed the quilts and hung them outside on the line to dry. I brought them inside, folded them and laid them too close to the fire. They went up in a blaze, and Mom screamed and cried, "Reba's burning up. Reba's going to die." I didn't die, of course, because when I saw them burning, I ran outside and down the street. Needless to say, after Daddy put the fire out, he was waiting for me when I came home. Oh, I'll never forget that spanking, and I never made that mistake again.

Christmases weren't like they are today. There was no money, so we would get pennies from Daddy to buy Mom candy, and we'd get pennies from Mom to buy something for Daddy, usually a railroad handkerchief. I remember one Christmas, Buddy got a harmonica and I got paper dolls. Well, Buddy and I got into a fight, and I threw his harmonica into the fire. He just stood there and looked at me. He didn't say word, but I felt so bad about it, that I picked up my paper dolls and threw them into the fire too. Buddy finally said, "Now that was stupid." Yes, it was, and I never got over it.

The Earls lived next door to us. Mr. Earls worked for Baldwin Piano Company in Cincinnati. Baldwin Piano didn't lay anyone off during the depression. They cut hours way back, but they stood by their employees. Anyway, whenever the Earls kids got candy, they always gave us some. Mr. Earls would say, "One for Margaret, one for Millie, one for Buddy and one for Rebie." Whenever they got to go to the movies, they'd take Buddy and me also. We took many a supper in the Earls' home, and they were like family to us.

That's the thing most people today probably can't understand. We live in subdivisions now where children go home and play video games. Back then, we played on the streets. We knew our neighbors and people in the community looked after one another. We depended on one another. We had to because the times would have been unbearable without friends. Everyone was poor, but everyone was proud. We were scarred for life by the poverty, but we all survived.

Reba Webb Goff

February 10, 2009

Great Aunts on the Webb Side

2009-02-08T23:09:00.003-05:00

I'm not 100% certain about the ladies in this picture. You see, the problem is that all the Webb girls looked a great deal alike. I think this is Laura Webb Kittrell and Bertha Webb Buchanan. It is taken at the old home place in Glenmary, Scott County, TN.

I'm guessing it was taken around 1920. The Webbs made all their own clothes, and by the looks of this photograph, the hemlines had started coming up from the ground. I never knew Aunt Laura, and I met Aunt Bertha only once when I was very young.

Legend has it that Aunt Bertha moved her family to Illinois in the 1950s. Apparently, there was some dispute between her husband, Fred Buchanan, and Annie's husband, Doc Beatty, that resulted in Mr. Buchanan being shot by Uncle Doc. I'm told Uncle Doc wasn't one to mess with; He apparently had the law and the southern powers on his side. There is absolutely nothing to prove nor disprove this story, but it's the kind of legend that adds seasoning to one's family history.

I know that Aunt Laura died in the mid-1940s, but I'm not sure when Aunt Bertha died. I know she was still living when Aunt Lucy died in 1978. My mother was the executor of Aunt Lucy's estate, and there was supposedly bad feelings about that. C'est la vie.

Children Of A Younger Day

2009-02-06T01:30:00.003-05:00

This a picture of Lucy Webb (on the right with the bow in her hair) and Martha Webb. Lucy appears to be about 12 here, which would make the date of the picture, about 1915, or thereabouts. It is the only known picture that I have in my collection of Aunt Martha, who died in the mid-1930s.

Martha was born in Glenmary, Tennessee, to my great-grandparents, John "Spoony" Webb and Sarah Hamby Webb, in 1889. Martha was the first daughter and the third child. She married Clarence Hurt, and they had three children, Homer, Eunice and Sarah. Martha was named after John's mother.

Martha died of cancer. Her daughter, Eunice, died shortly thereafter, in the early 1940s, leaving one daughter, Joyce.

Martha is interred in the Webb Cemetery, Glenmary, Scott County, Tennessee.

Unknown but Unforgotten Webbs

2009-02-05T00:44:00.000-05:00

Belle and Children

2009-02-03T15:45:00.003-05:00

This is the last known picture taken of Belle Dodson Grimes McCloud Cole. Belle was born in 1889 and died in 1986. I remember taking this picture, and I think the year was 1980.

Pictured from left to right are Lena Grimes, Lonnie Grimes, Belle, Hubert McCloud and Virgie Belle Grimes Webb. Uncle Lonnie died in 1993. I am not certain of when Uncle Hubert died. Grandma Virgie died in 1996, and Aunt Lena died in 2008.

Grandma Virgie

2009-02-02T20:58:00.002-05:00

I love this picture of Grandma Virgie. She is holding my mother, Reba, and my Uncle Buddy. It was taken in the cornfield of the old home place in Glenmary, Tennessee. Buddy was born in March, 1931, and he looks to be under six months old here, dating this photograph to the same year. Grandma would have been 21.

I love the handmade dress and her ankle-strapped shoes. Grandma was always so beautiful to me. She didn't have a gray hair until she was 80, but that isn't a gene I inherited from her.

Grandma hated the winter time and would have hated the ice storm that recently blanketed Kentucky.

Virgie Belle Grimes Webb, b. June 2, 1910, d. Dec. 6, 1997

We Don't Know Things When We're Seven

2009-02-01T23:49:00.006-05:00

John "Spoony" Webb & Sarah Hamby Webb

Grandma & Grandpa Webb

It was cold in Ludlow, Kentucky that winter, 1937. There really wasn't much anybody could afford to do. Every morning, Pop had paid a penny each day for six years to walk across the railroad bridge that spanned the Ohio River. Stepping onto the shores of Cincinnati, he searched for work. The days were long, and Pop did whatever he could to earn money. He swept floors, carried ice, hauled lard, whatever anybody was willing to pay him to do, he did.

Then the floods came. We lived up on Linden Street, so we didn't have flood water in our house, but so many of our friends did. Then Grandma Webb took sick. She came down with pneumonia and died that year. Grandma and Grandpa had moved up here from Tennessee, but there was never a question about where either of them would be buried when it was their time to go. So we boarded a 'troops' train' that carried troops going off to the military. Grandma's casket was in the baggage car bound for Glenmary, Tennessee.

It was cold and snowing, and there wasn't anyway were were going to get Grandma to the Webb Cemetery if we took her to Webb Mountain to be laid out in the parlor of the old home place. A lady in Glenmary let us lay her out in her home at the foot of the hill. I wish I could remember who she was. It was custom that when someone was laid out in the home, someone had to stay with the body at all times; so mom and I stayed up watching Grandma sleep all night.

The next day we had Grandma's funeral. The roads were bad and the undertaker said we couldn't get a hearse up the hill. Uncle Doc, Uncle Jim, Homer and Pop spent the night digging Grandma's grave. I'll never know how they were able to do it with the snow coming down. When Pop came inside the house, his hands were red and nearly frozen. Mom ran warm water over them and applied lineament to ward off frostbite.

The undertaker had the men load Grandma's casket onto a flat wagon, and a mule hauled her body up the hill to Webb's Cemetery. The family walked behind the wagon all the way up the hill. I remember being so scared that Grandma was going to slide off the wagon. The snow was merciless, and the mountain seemed so steep. When they went to lower Grandma's casket into the grave, Uncle Doc fell in! Buddy started to laugh, and Mom reached down and yanked him back to silence. I started crying because I thought Uncle Doc was going with Grandma, and it was bad enough losing her.

After the funeral, we did go up to the Webb farm. Uncle Doc and Aunt Annie were living there then. I remember Aunt Annie made pallets on the living room floor in front of the fireplace for Buddy and me. After everyone had gone to sleep, Aunt Annie came walking through the room, and Buddy reached out and grabbed her ankle. Aunt Annie screamed and woke up everyone in the house. Buddy got his bottom smacked, but Aunt Annie was so timid. It really didn't take anything to scare her out of her wits. She was very kind and gentle.

When we all came back to Ludlow after Grandma's funeral, it was still cold, and we were still poor. The thing was, everybody was poor. Nobody had any "extra" money. Grandpa Webb went back to his house, which was right across from the Baptist Church. Grandma and Grandpa always went to church. Grandpa never went out of the house that he didn't have on a nice pair of pants with good shoes and nice shirt. He nearly always wore a jacket, and he used a cane and sometimes wore a hat. He was a very dignified man, and people probably thought he was better off than he actually was based on how he dressed.

I remember later in the summertime, one time Buddy and I were playing with our friends in the street. I don't even remember what we were playing, but Grandpa came walking down the street. He hollered, "Rebie, come over here. I want to see my grand baby."

Buddy ran over to him, but I was too busy. At first I ignored him. Then I finally, said, "Grandpa, I'm playing." He talked a little bit to Buddy and then he went on back home, and I watched him walk into the house and close the screen door. I've never forgotten that, and I've always felt guilty about it. All he wanted was to see his grandbaby, and I acted terrible to him. I just wanted to play. He never said anything else about it. Buddy and I never talked about it. I was a kid, and kids can be mean. We don't know when we're seven what we'll regret when we're 80.

Grandpa died in 1941. We took him back to Tennessee on a train too. It was nearly a repeat of Grandma's funeral, but we laid Grandpa out in the Webb house; however, we did carry him to the cemetery on a mule-pulled wagon. Mom, Aunt Lucy, Aunt Annie, Sarah, Joyce and I stayed up with the body all night, while the same men who dug Grandma's grave dug Grandpa's. Things were very different then, very different.

Written by Reba Webb Goff

February 1, 2009

Aunt Lucy & Aunt Annie Early 1900s

2009-01-26T19:07:00.001-05:00

Automobiles and Train Stations

2009-01-26T01:44:00.002-05:00

I love this old photograph. From left to right is Aunt Lucy Webb Bieber, Sarah Hamby Webb, Virgie Grimes Webb and John "Spoony" Webb. The children are Reba (my mother) and Buddy Webb.

My mother was born in 1930 and Buddy in 1931; and given that Buddy looks to be about four, I'd mark this picture as having been taken in 1935. I'm not certain of the setting, but it looks to be the old rail yard in Ludlow, Kentucky, during the height of the Great Depression.

I know that my grandfather did not have a car, because I have heard my mother talk about how Pop had to pay to walk across the railroad bridge to get to Cincinnati in order to look for work. I've never heard mention Spoony Webb having an automobile; although it is quite possible that Aunt Lucy's husband, Fred Bieber, may have had one. It is entirely possible, even probable, that they merely had their pictures taken in front of these cars because they were "just there."

Every picture I have ever seen of Spoony Webb, he is wearing a tie. Sarah is always wearing what appears to be a cotton house dress. "Presentable" is a word that comes to mind. The Webbs were poor during the depression, but the entire family had moved from the farm in Glenmary, Tennessee to Ludlow, Kentucky. Being in the city provided comforts not afforded to them in Tennessee; so the little they had was more than they had left behind.

Having said that, they must have longed for the farm and the old home place. Sarah and Spoony are buried in the Webb Cemetery in Glenmary, Tennessee, where four of their children rest nearby. When the railroad came through Glenmary, it opened the world for the Webb family. They left Tennessee on a train; and when they took their last ride home again... well... it was on a train.

Grandma Webb

2009-01-20T14:34:00.002-05:00

This is one of my favorite pictures. It's about 30 years old and probably taken at Christmas. This is my Grandma Virgie with four of her grandchildren. That's Virgie Grimes Webb on the left. Seated on the floor are Rhonda Webb and me. Jeff and Steve Webb are seated on the couch. Jeff was in from the service; Rhonda was still in middle school; Steve was married to Sandi, but I don't think Brian and Jonathan were here yet. I was home from college at Morehead State.

I love the innocence on our faces. We weren't shackled by mortgages, tuition, jobs we didn't like. We still understood what it meant to live in the moment.

Holidays found us gathered around the table for a huge meal, followed by presents, and usually, games. We played lots of games like Trivial Pursuit, Monopoly, Euchre and Pictionary. If Grandma played, she usually won. Grandma Virgie taught us all how to play Chinese Checkers. To this day, nobody in my family will let me play Chinese Checkers because, just like Grandma always won, well, let's just say, she taught me very well.

This picture was taken when I still felt close to my cousins. I idolized Steve, and Jeff was more like a brother. I miss those days, but I'm so grateful to have had them. I miss Grandma Virgie more than words can say. She would have been exceedingly happy today, watching history unfold as we usher in a new era for American democracy.

Southern Authors

2009-01-16T14:15:00.003-05:00

I am going to take the time to write about something other than family history today. I'm going to use my blog as a place to vent about a trend that is bothering me. Southern Writers.

I long for southern writers like Eudora Welty, Jesse Stuart or William Faulkner. I don't understand why so many southern fiction writers go out of their way to make southern people look silly. Most of the southern people I know are wonderful. They are smart, funny, educated. Even the ones who aren't particularly well educated are perfectly delightful people whom I am proud to call family and friends. Unfortunately, I can't say the same about some of the characters in some of the books I've read lately.

I was reading Margaret Maron's book, Death's Half Acre, and found rum runners, white folk who live in the big house and black folk who live in the sharecropper house. I realize this may have been the way it was even 50 years ago, but is this truly the way the south should be depicted now? I am reading Sandra Brown's book, Witness, and it is filled with racist creatures who won't invite the town "colored folk" to a wedding, hill jacks who take to vigilante justice when the courts don't suit their liking. This last one is a filled with suspense, and I think there is at least a repudiation of that backward way of living; and the protagonist is a southerner herself. Thus, Brown's book has a redeeming quality.

Please don't misunderstand what I am saying. I love the south. My family hails from the south! But for crying out loud! The war is over. The powder is no longer burning! Every state that tried to succeed from the union has had full representation in government since the day Lee signed the surrender at Appomattox! Can't we please move on?

I want to read about the struggles of the southern people, but I don't want to read the stereotypes that for far too long we have allowed to remain part of our daily education. I want to read about the descendant of slaves who became a stalwart of the community. I want to read about the white/black conciliation, and the journey toward understanding. I don't want to read anymore about rum runners who are powerful because folks are still afraid of them! I don't want to read a chapter about how to fry pork chops unless I'm reading a cookbook. I want to read about southerners from an author, an wordsmith, who truly respects the culture, where it has been, where it is now and where it is going.

Thank you ever so much for allowing me to use this forum to vent. I welcome comments and discussion.

Margaret Stewart Webb

2009-01-15T15:31:00.004-05:00

I've posted this picture before, but I'm bringing it back because I have recently become acquainted with a lady who had information about Margaret Stewart Webb that I didn't have. Although I have not documented this, and I am trusting her that documentation exists within the Morgan Co./Scott Co., TN Historical Societies, I am posting it anyway. The reason I do so is because her story rings true to what has been handed down through the generations from my family.

Margaret Stewart was born around 1828 in what is now Morgan County, Tennessee. Her family was of very humble means. She met Willis Webb while in school, and they married in 1941. Willis and Margaret moved from the Webb homestead to a hillside where they Willis built her their first home, wherein she gave birth to her first five children, William, Samuel, Hiram, Martha and Nancy. (Martha is my gg-grandmother.)

She had a sheep that she kept for wool. She would shear the sheep herself to make clothes. One night she spent all evening carding wool, and the next morning all her wool was gone. She finally found it under the floor of the house where a pack rat had carried it. She had to dig a place under the floor so she could crawl under and get her wool. She could not afford to lose it. (Flo Zimmer)

My great grandfather was known for his sheep and the wool from it. I have several blankets that were made from carded sheep that were raised on the Webb farm.

In 1853, Willis built the family a home made from chestnut logs. The house in this picture is that old homeplace. The Webbs lived here until the the farm was sold in the 1970s.

During the Civil War they lived on the borderline between Yanks and Rebels. Willis left to join the Anion Army. He had their home nearly finished (this must be the house you were talking about of chestnut logs) except for the doors and windows and the neighbors helped her put them in. Then eldest son Samuel was 18 and he and some neighbors sons hid out in a cave in the hills to avoid being forced into the Rebel Army. At night when her other children were asleep, Margaret would slip out, get on an old white work horse and ride through the woods to take food to the boys. She had to be careful and not run into any Rebel soldiers, who would raid the farmers for food, clothes, cows and horses. When the Rebels were in the area she would hang her red petticoat on the line to show the boys there was danger. When it was safe she would hang her tablecloth on the line to invite the boys for food. She had to keep her horse hidden. (Flo Zimmer)

My family has stories identical to this one that have been handed down from generation to generation. It is known by the Webbs that Margaret kept her children safe, but the cost of the war on her family was tremendous.

One experience she had was with a neighbor (last name was either Redman or Hinchae). (I looked and in the census that lists Willis Webb...there also in that area was Redman's and Hinchae's). This neighbor was too old for the Army and was told that the Rebels killed men too old for conscription. When he heard they were coming this neighbor and his wife hid out in caves. When the Rebels found them gone, they told a negro slave of theirs that if they were not back by morning their home and barn would be burned. The slave didn't know what to do and came to Margaret Webb for help. She went and got her old white horse from it's hiding place and was able to bring the neighbor home just before sun-up. The Rebels let him go and didn't burn his house because he had came back. Another time when Rebels came to burn Margaret's house, she invited them in and offered them what little food she had. They searched her home and took what they wanted, but didn't burn it because of her kindness. (Flo Zimmer)

Up until this time, I did not know of the Webbs having slaves. This is something new to me, particularly since Willis chose to fight for the Yankees. I had heard stories, however, from my family in Tennessee about how the Rebels would come through and kill anybody they thought might be hiding people from the war.

When anyone died they used grandma Margaret's parlor to "lay out" the body. It did not seem to bother grandma and she'd go right to sleep, but to Siddie the thought of a dead person in the next room terrified her for weeks after --giving her nightmares.Even at 84 years of age her (Margaret's) mind was clear and bright as when she was young. On her death bed, she was able to recall for her neighbor the date her neighbor had bought his own farm and what he had paid for it. This neighbor was about to lose his farm, as the heirs of the former owner were trying to take it. She died three hours later, so to the very end of her life she served and helped her fellow man. (Flo Zimmer)

There have also been stories of funerals that took place inside the old homeplace handed down through the Webb generations. My grandma Virgie, often told of how they would "dress" the body for viewing, then "lay it out" on a table in the parlor. Somebody would have to stay up with it all night, although I'm not sure why, and if anybody knows, please enlighten me.

Margaret died when she 84 years old on her bed in the old homeplace. The year was 1912. She is buried next to Willis in Carpenter's Cemetery in Glenmary, Scott County, Tennessee. She surrounded by her children.

I loved learning this about my ggg-grandmother. It rings true with the legends handed down through my family, and I cannot wait to start documenting these very things.

Ram Shackle Paradise

2009-01-13T14:23:00.002-05:00

The woman in this photograph is my great grandmother, Belle Dodson Grimes McCloud Cole. The older child is my mother, Reba Webb Goff. The three children are my my second cousins.

My mother looks to be about nine or ten years old, so that dates the picture around 1940.

I love it because they look so happy. My great grandmother didn't have hot and cold running water in her house until she was 92, so this truly was what one might call a "ram shackled house." Yet, in the summers, I loved to visit her. This picture doesn't show the cornfield we had to go through to get to the privy. Nor does it show the chickens pecking around on the ground. In fact, what little Belle did have in material possessions is not seen in this picture, but when I look at it, I see love.

2009-01-13T01:15:00.001-05:00

Aunt Thelma and Uncle Bud

Look back at the picture of Bill. Can you see why I say I always knew him? DNA really does matter.

My Cousin Bill

2009-01-13T01:03:00.006-05:00

I didn't get to meet Bill until I was in my mid-thirties. We met at Todd's wedding. Todd is Bill's nephew and my first cousin once removed, the son of Bill's sister, Brenda.

Bill is the eldest son of my aunt Thelma Goff Buring Jeffers Buring. One could not deny that DNA matters when comparing a picture of my aunt with that of her son. I knew what Bill looked like as a child, because my father carried his picture around in his wallet all his life.

Bill was estranged from the family for most all my life. A product of divorce, Bill and his brother, Donnie, lived in the custody of their father. (I have not met Donnie to this day, although I am happy to say that my father was reunited with him prior to my father's passing in 2005.)

Having said all that, I have never not known Bill. I knew him before I knew that I knew him. Before being introduced, when I saw him across the room at Todd's wedding, I knew who he was. When he spoke, I had heard his voice before, and when he laughed, well, I you get the picture. I don't know how these things happen, whether it is the DNA that passes from one generation to the next that causes knowledge of such things, or if it was merely Bill's striking resemblance to his mother that sealed the acquaintance. Whatever it was, it was very special.

I see Bill now, if I'm lucky, about once a year. He's married to a beautiful woman, Jan, and they live not far from my mother. I love Bill. He is my cousin. He is my blood. I'm so thankful we met in this lifetime, but I would have known him in Heaven.

John Milton Goff

2009-01-10T15:49:00.002-05:00

John Milton Goff was born June 20, 1915 in Strawberry, Pulaski County, Kentucky. He was the second child born to Andrew Montgomery Goff and Nellie Hughes Goff.

When Johnny was seven years old, the family moved to Cincinnati, Ohio where Andrew became foreman for the Southern Railroad. Johnny grew up in Ludlow, Kenton County, Kentucky, the oldest of five surviving children. When Johnny was ten, he came down with rheumatic fever, and although it left scars on his heart, he would grow up to serve his country in the U.S. Navy during World War II.

Johnny married Helen Elizabeth Houston on June 19, 1937. They had four children, Tommy, Ronnie, Darlene and Donna Sue. The family settled in Independence, Kenton County, Kentucky in a white frame house that Johnny built. His children went to Simon Kenton High School, and the family held membership at New Banklick Baptist Church, where Johnny served as deacon and lay minister. Johnny inherited his musical gene from his father, and he played the guitar and sang. Johnny and Helen traveled throughout Kentucky, Ohio and Indiana singing and preaching the Gospel.

Johnny was my uncle; my father, Paul, and he were brothers. I remember being at Uncle Johnny's when I was young. I can remember Uncle Johnny standing me up on the piano bench and saying, "Sing, Paula Kay. Sing." I can remember him playing the twelve-string guitar and he and my dad and I sang convention songs from what we called the Red Back Hymnbook. Aunt Helen always had a Broadman Hymnbook, and occasionally we'd sing from that.

Johnny died in April, 1972, at the age of 56. He joined his brother, Herbert, who had died in infancy a year before Johnny was born. They are together in that great cloud of witnesses watching the rest of us finish the race. Sometimes, I think I can almost hear the strum of the twelve-string and a far away fiddle making joyful noises to the Lord.

2009-01-09T02:11:00.002-05:00

Photo by Paula Goff Christy, 2002

Somewhere in Texas

Thelma, the Prodigal Daughter

2009-01-07T12:17:00.004-05:00

Thelma Goff was born in Somerset, Kentucky on February 12, 1920, the third child and only daughter to Andy and Nellie Goff.

Night had not yet come to the Cumberlands in 1920, so the Cumberland River had not yet been damned. The family lived on the outskirts of town, where Andy worked for the Southern Railroad, and Nellie kept house. When Andy accepted a foreman's position, the family moved, by train, to Cincinnati, Ohio, eventually settling into the section house, owned by the Railroad in Ludlow, Kentucky.

By all indications, Thelma was the wild child of the family, head strong and beautiful enough to keep the family in turmoil. Although Andy and Nellie were both short and Irish in appearance, Thelma inherited the Dutch Irish genes. She was tall, with coal black hair, skin like porcelain and black eyes that could look through a person, no doubt she could stop traffic.

Thelma ran away from home when she was 14, which would have been 1934, the height of the Great Depression. Knowledge of her "lost years" is practically non-existent, but when she came back to Kentucky, she was married. Her daughter, Linda, was born during her lost years. Linda was a beautiful child with dark hair, like her mothers and piercing eyes. When Thelma and her husband divorced, Linda went to California to live with her father.

Thelma, later remarried and had two children, Donnie and Bill, by her second husband, William Jeffers. That marriage was short lived, and Thelma remarried. Her third husband was Albert "Bud" Buring, a cousin to her first husband. She married February 28, 1946 in New York City. Bud was in the U.S. Army, and Thelma lived the military life until her daughter, Brenda Jean, was born on April 5, 1947. Upon Bud's discharge from the service, the family settled in Ludlow, Kenton County, Kentucky. Albert Jr. was born on February 22, 1952.

The marriage couldn't have been easy, as Bud suffered from tuberculosis and underwent a stay in a sanitarium in Phoenix. Bud suffered an aneurysm in 1968, and remained incapacitated until he passed away in 1975. This, however, was the marriage that lasted for better or worse, and literally, in sickness and in health. For Thelma cared for Bud all his life.

Thelma Goff Buring Jeffers Buring was certainly worrisome for Andy and Nellie. They were strict Southern Baptists, and Thelma was their prodigal child. She returned to the fold in her later years, however, having made her profession of faith in Jesus Christ at the Covenant Christian Church in Newport, Campbell County, Kentucky. When Bud passed away, Thelma moved into Andy and Nellie's home in Covington, where she remained until her own health forced her into a senior citizen's apartment in Florence, Kentucky. Thelma suffered from lung cancer, and moved in with her daughter, Brenda, in Florence until she passed in September, 1986.

Thelma remained estranged from her daughter, Linda, and son, Donnie; they never reconciled in her lifetime. Bill and Thelma, however, had reconciled prior to her death. Brenda and Albert remained devoted to her throughout her life.

Thelma is the perfect example of Nellie Goff's understanding of child rearing, "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart." Proverbs 22:6. She did come back to the Lord. She did come back to her family. She was a wonderful aunt! She always had a warm hug for everybody. She was strikingly beautiful, but in her later years, it was an inner strength that made her radiant. She is among that great cloud of witnesses watching us run our race, and she will be among the first to greet us at the gates of Heaven and tell us all about it.

Andrew & Nellie Goff

2009-01-06T14:30:00.006-05:00

Andrew Montgomery Goff was born June 28, 1892 in Burnside, Pulaski County, Kentucky. Richard Goff was married to Mary Ellen Stephens, and Andy was their first child. Richard had five other children by a previous marriage.

Andrew was born into a family of farmers. His father farmed; his grandfather farmed; and his great-grandfather farmed. The family was not one that was well to do, and when Andy came into the world, the Tennessee Valley Authority had not yet damned the Cumberland River. Power was still a luxury in the Cumberlands, and the railroad was still young.

Nellie Hughes was born July 10, 1892, also in Burnside, Pulaski County, Kentucky. Nellie had a twin sister, Ida, but the girls were separated at the age of eight when their mother, whose true identity is currently unknown, died of a snake bite.

It is known, through tax and property records, as well as census records, that the Hughes' farm and the Goff's homestead were in close proximity. It is unknown how they met, but Andrew Goff and Nellie Hughes were married in Huntsville, Tennessee on the 29th day of April, 1913, by Justice of the Peace, James McDonald. They returned to Burnside where they set up housekeeping and Andy got a job with the railroad.

Andy and Nellie had six children. Herbert Goff was born February 28, 1914 and died March 21, of the same year. On the 20th day of June, 1915, John Milton Goff was born in Strawberry, Pulaski County, Kentucky. Thelma was born on February 12, 1920 in Somerset, Pulaski County, Kentucky.

By 1923, Andy was established in his job with the Southern Railroad. Andrew accepted a job as foreman for the company, and that required a move to the Cincinnati area. Richard Goff was born November 17, 1924, in Cincinnati, Hamilton County, Ohio. By the time Paul Martin was born on June 2, 1927, the family had moved into what was called "the section house," in Ludlow, Kenton County, Kentucky. The section house was owned by the Southern Railroad, and it was there that Abel was born on April 2, 1930.

Andy's job required him to be away from the family a great deal. Nellie had only a second grade education, and her method of child rearing came straight from the Book of Proverbs, "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it." (Proverbs 22:6, KJV) She adapted her methodology straight from the King James Bible. It is safe to say that execution of her methodology would probably not be tolerated in today's society. She was tough, and she meant what she said.

Even though Andy did have steady work, the family was among dirt poor. Nellie took in laundry and ironing to help offset the expenses of a large family. Following the bombing of Pearl Harbor, Nellie watched her sons, one by one, go off to war. Richard served in the U.S. Navy aboard the USS Morrison which was struck by a kamikaze. Richard spent a great deal of time in the VA Hospital in Columbus, Ohio before being honorably discharged for his service to his country. Paul enlisted shortly after Richard was injured. He served in the U.S. Army in the military police at the fall of Italy. Abel enlisted and served in the Korean conflict. The Goff brothers never spoke of their military service except in the context of family history.

Andy and Nellie were active members of the First Baptist Church of Ludlow, Kentucky. Andy wore a Sunday School for 30 some odd years of perfect attendance. Each of their children came to accept Jesus Christ as Savior and Lord.

When Andy retired from the railroad, they bought a house on East 18th Street in Covington, Kentucky. The house is still standing to this day, although, the years have not been kind to it. If the grandchildren could walk inside, they could still probably remember the aroma of Andy's pipe, or feel the hunger pains from the smell of Nellie's chicken and dumplings on the stove. They might even feel the warmth emanating from the wood stove that took up half the living room or the coolness of Gramma's venetian blinds masked by the softness of the white curtains that hung in front of them. They could probably hear the willowy whine of the fiddle strings being tuned up and primed for a little Ragtime Annie, or the tinny clang of the claw string banjo as Andy plucked out choruses of Cotton-eyed Joe.

Nellie's health was poor throughout her autumn/winter years. She succumbed to colon cancer on December 4, 1972. Nellie was interred on December 6, 1972 in Floral Hills Cemetery, Kenton County, Kentucky, to be joined by Andy on May 16, 1976. Reuniting with Herbert, they have since been joined in Heaven by John, Thelma, Paul and Abel, as well as two of their grandchildren, Ronny and Darlene.

Perhaps the greatest lesson derived from the lives of Andy and Nellie is to live in the moment. They were contented to be in the moment and each had a deep abiding joy in the depths of their souls. Knowing this world is temporary, their treasures were surely laid up in Heaven. Perhaps their greatest reward is knowing their whole family will someday be reunited.

Happy New Year!

2009-01-05T15:06:00.002-05:00

I promise to return to this blog! I know it has been since Thanksgiving since I posted anything, but if you'll bear with me until I can get my scanner fixed, I promise to return to telling the stories of our family members, those still here and those already gone to be with the Lord.

Happy New Year! 2009 is going to be a great year!

Thanksgiving 2008

2008-11-29T20:58:00.002-05:00

For the past two years we have celebrated a "blended" Thanksgiving, and it's been wonderful both years. The Paul Goffs and the Buddy Webbs gathered, and The Phil Christy's gathered; In-laws and out-laws around one table. Miranda and David came in from Nashville to join us. It was special.

This marked the first year that Uncle Buddy wasn't with us. I suppose he's gathered with the great cloud of witnesses, happy that we are still together. I can't say it wasn't difficult, though, to look over at the blue leather recliner in the corner and not see him sitting there. As hard as that was for me, I'm sure it was even harder for Aunt Dorothy and Rhonda. We missed him, but we know where he is, and for that assurance, we gave thanks.

Helen Elizabeth Houston Goff

2008-10-01T14:13:00.003-04:00

Helen Elizabeth Houston Goff was born on February 6, 1920. She was married to my father's oldest brother, John Milton Goff. This post is solely for the purpose of remembering one of the finest ladies I have ever known.

Aunt Helen was perfect for riding shotgun to my Uncle Johnny. Neither of them ever met a stranger, nor did they ever meet a person they couldn't like. I cannot recall a time when I walked into a room occupied by Aunt Helen when she didn't greet me with, "I love you, Paula Kay. Where have you been?" I never left her presence that she didn't say, "I love you, Paula Kay. Come and see me."

Uncle Johnny died in April of 1972 when I was 13 years old. I have fond memories of him playing the guitar and singing. My parents always told me that Uncle Johnny and Aunt Helen traveled all over Cincinnati and Northern Kentucky singing in churches. I remember Aunt Helen's lilting alto, and I have to say that besides my father, Uncle Johnny and Aunt Helen were the first to encourage my love for music. Uncle Johnny used to lift me up onto the piano bench and say, "Now, sing, Paula Kay, just sing." That was when I was four years old.

I stayed with Uncle Johnny and Aunt Helen when my mom's father was in the hospital dying of a cerebral hemorrhage. I remember sitting at the piano and pounding the keys like I'd seen Liberace do; then I'd turn around and say, "Clap everybody." The strange thing is that everybody would, and if I drove them crazy, nobody let on.

Uncle Johnny and Aunt Helen had four children; Tommy, Ronnie, Darlene and Donna Sue. I loved going to their house when I was little because Donna Sue was so utterly beautiful. She let me get away with nearly anything. Tommy was the photographer, always taking pictures of family events. I always loved Tommy too. (He's the one person I know who actually read the Encyclopedia Brittanica! Who does that?) We didn't have enough of those family events.

Aunt Thelma had a gathering at her house in Ohio in the fall of 1971. That particular gathering marked the last time the entire Goff clan would be together in one place. It was the last time Uncle Johnny and Gramma Goff would be with us. Uncle Johnny played a 12 string guitar, THE instrument of the early 70s. We were gathered around the dining room table, and Aunt Thelma had an old Broadman Hymnal, and Dad had brought along an old singing convention songbook with the shaped notes. Of course the only ones who could read the shaped notes were Grampa and Aunt Helen! Anyway, we had our own little singing convention, and Dad kept getting on me about staying on my part. Aunt Helen stopped everything and said, "Paulie, leave her alone. She'll figure it out." I don't know that I ever did, but I'll never forget how loved I felt at that particular moment. I remember leaving Aunt Thelma's house that night, and Uncle Johnny told Dad that he probably wouldn't be around at the next reunion, but he surely enjoyed this one. Dad never got over that, because Uncle Johnny died a few months later. Aunt Helen continued to come to all the Goff gatherings. It wouldn't have been the same without her. She called on every holiday just to tell us that she loved us.

Aunt Helen continued to be active in New Banklick Baptist Church. She and Darlene loved going to gospel music concerts, and she loved the Gaither Homecomings. When I gave a concert at my own church in the mid-90s, Aunt Helen brought her whole family! I looked out and half the sanctuary was filled with my family all because of Aunt Helen. Then she made sure that I was invited to her church to do a concert, and yep, once again, her family filled the pews. She was like that for everybody though. I wasn't special. Everybody in her life was special to her.

Aunt Helen went home to be with the Lord on September 17, 2008. Heaven welcomed the gentlest soul and kindest heart that ever lived. Although we'll miss her, she is no doubt singing alto in that Heavenly choir. The years that stole her legs, hearing and eyesight are long behind her now. She's already reunited with Uncle Johnny, her children, Ronnie and Darlene, my dad, Gramma and Grampa Goff, Uncle Able and Aunt Thelma. I know without a doubt that we'll see Aunt Helen Goff again. Until then, we'll go on singing.

Rebecca

2008-09-03T13:19:00.003-04:00

Rebecca Ann Gover was born November 1, 1835 in Pulaski County, Kentucky. She was the first of eight children born to Samuel D. Gover and Elizabeth Jasper, a family that settled along Pittman Creek at the turn of the 18th century. Brothers, John and Samuel, moved their family from Pittsylvania County, Virginia. Samuel D. Gover's grandfather, John came to America from England in 1750. According to Immigrant John Gover and Wife Elizabeth Duvall and Descendants, written by Rose and Bess Gover, published in 1982, the Govers are of Scotch-Irish descent. The family were devout Methodists, and according to the Gover sisters, freedom of religion was the primary reason for the Govers move to the new world.

Land records indicate that John Gover and his wife, Polly Dyer, bought land from Francis McWilliams in Elihu, Pulaski County, Kentucky in 1819. "Old timers do remember that John and family lived in a two-room dry cave for a time after moving to Pulaski County, presumably while a home was being built." (Gover, 1982) John and two sons, James and William drowned in Pittman Creek on July 1, 1821. Surviving sons were John Jr., Samuel and Wesley.

Samuel married Elizabeth Jasper on December 30, 1834. Elizabeth gave birth to Rebecca Ann, Mary Catherine, John Thomas, James William, Samuel Wesley, George Alford, Elizabeth Polly and Milton Parker. Samuel Gover was a farmer who accumulated a modicum of wealth, as property records show that the Govers owned approximately six slaves. The records do not indicate what the slaves were used for, but it can be surmised that they were used in the tobacco fields as well as in the house.

Rebecca married William Monty Goff on November 20, 1853. Legend has it that the Govers were not pleased about this union. It is known that William Goff's family was not as well to do as the Govers, but that is probably not the reason for the grief. Rebecca would have been 18, and it may have been her youth that gave her family pause.

Rebecca gave birth to three children, Richard in 1855, a daughter in 1856 who was stillborn, and Samuel in 1857. Rebecca never recovered from giving birth to Samuel. Her death record indicates the cause of death was "a cold," however, it was very likely complications from childbirth. Rebecca died August 20, 1857, just three months shy of 22 years old. Her infant son died five days later. Presumably, Rebecca is buried in the Gover Cemetery in Elihu, Kentucky, however, there is no record to prove this.

Rebecca Ann Gover was my great-great grandmother. There are no surviving pictures of her. We don't know if her Scotch-Irish descent manifested itself in fair skin and strawberry blond hair. We don't know if she was musical or otherwise artistic. All we know about Rebecca is that she lived and died.

James Lonnie Webb

2008-08-30T12:47:00.004-04:00

James Lonnie Webb was born March, 1931, in Glenmary, Scott County, Tennessee. He was the only son of John Henry Webb and Virgie Belle Grimes, the middle child. The Webbs moved to Ludlow, Kentucky shortly after Buddy was born. Although he was named after his parents' brothers, his sister called him Buddy, and that's what stuck.

Buddy lettered in varsity football, but he wasn't a particularly great student in school. He graduated from Ludlow High School in 1950, and shortly thereafter, he married his high school sweetheart, Dorothy Reeves. He joined the U.S. Marine Corp right after high school and served his country in the Korean conflict.

Buddy and Dorothy had three children; Steve, Jeff and Rhonda. After Buddy got out of the Marines, the family settled in their hometown of Ludlow, Kentucky. Buddy took a job on the N&W Railroad where he worked until he retired some thirty years later, true to his railroading heritage.

Buddy was a member of the First Baptist Church of Ludlow. He was a very well read man and loved a great debate. Sometimes he would take a position just to get everybody riled up, and then he'd walk away laughing. He was always something of a prankster.

Following a tornado that damaged his sister's house in 1972, Buddy was the first person on the scene. He was the first person the following morning to start with the clean-up. He remained close to both his sisters, Reba and Shelba.

Buddy was my uncle and in many ways, my second father. He died from complications that followed a stroke on April 6, 2008. He is interred in the Hebron Lutheran Church Cemetery, Hebron, Kentucky.

Sam Dodson

2008-08-29T15:56:00.002-04:00

Sam Dodson was my great-great grandfather. He was born in White County, Tennessee, June 2, 1831. He was married twice, the second time to Emily Bolin. Together they produced my grandmother, Belle.

Sam is the son of Jesse Dodson of White County. The Dodson clan goes back to the Jamestown Settlement, or so legend has it. Actually, it does go back deep into the foundation of Virginia, but much has not been documented.

Another such legend is that Sam was 3/4 Cherokee. From 1895 until 1903, Sam ran a boarding house in what was Oklahoma (Indian) Territory. My grandmother, Belle, spoke often about her days living next to "the reservation," and it was there that she met her first husband, Lonnie Grimes. However, at this point, our Cherokee heritage has not been documented. It isn't hard to imagine it, though, when one looks at his deep set dark eyes and enormously high cheekbones.

To date, we have not found any documentation as to where Sam was during the Civil War, although, he would have been of age to have served. Sam had a son, Frank, from a previous marriage, and Belle and Frank were close until his death in the 1970s. Emily Bolin Dodson raised her children in the Baptist tradition. It is not known whether Sam Dodson had any tradition of religion. Sam Dodson died on June 22, 1908 and is buried in the Bon Air Cemetery, White County, Tennessee.

Aunt Lucy!

2008-08-28T15:15:00.002-04:00

This is a picture of Aunt Lucy and Aunt Annie. Lucy is on the left and Annie is on the right. It's amazing how these faces keep repeating themselves. I have two cousins, one who is spitting image of Lucy and the other, Annie. My mom looks exactly like Annie.

They are great-aunts on my mother's side, sisters to my grandfather, John Henry Webb. I think every family in the south has an Aunt Lucy! Lucy was born March 17, 1906 in Glenmary, Tennessee. She died on May 10, 1978 in Holiday, Florida.

Aunt Lucy was a character! She could do anything. She sewed beautiful clothing. She could knit and crochet and was an avid quilter. I have some beautiful quilts that she made. I don't know anything about quilts, except that they are beautiful.

Lucy married Fred Bieber in 1937. Fred was a widower and 13 years her senior. Lucy had never been married. Fred was the perfect uncle! He was a talented painter, and in his later years, he made jewelery. He used to make necklaces and earrings our of sea shells. I have so many of them in my jewelery box, but none of the earrings are for pierced ears.

Lucy moved to Northern Kentucky in the 1930s with her mom and dad. It was there that she met Fred. They lived in Erlanger, Kentucky, where Lucy raised chickens. Legend has it that she supplied several restaurants with fresh chickens. She loved dogs and hated cats, a trait that I did not inherit. (I love cats.) The Biebers moved to Florida in 1955.

We visited Lucy's house every summer. My mother and I took the train from Union Station in Cincinnati to Columbia, South Carolina. My aunt Shelba would meet us at the station and we'd spend a week at her house in Charleston. Then my dad would come down and we drove down to Tampa and onto Lucy's house in Plant City. Lucy would have supper waiting, and she always had watermelon! That was the main thing.

I didn't see as much of Aunt Lucy in her later years after I got up into high school. She died when I was in college, and I didn't get to go to her funeral. She left me a ring that I wear on my right hand and will someday pass down to one of her great-great nieces. Lucy is interred beside Fred in Hillsborough Gardens in Brandon, Florida.

Wealth Is In the Spirit

2008-08-25T13:00:00.002-04:00

It has occurred to me on several occassions that Belle Dodson Grimes McCloud Cole may never have realized how impoverished her family truly was. If ever there was a spirit filled with love, grace and joy, it was Belle.

You can see the little ramshackeled shack where she lived. Notice the windows had no glass! This was in Cumberland County, Tennessee; Winters do not pass over Crossville.

However, there was a wood stove in the middle of her living room and in the winter time, it provided just enough warmth. The stove in the kitchen was archaic, and used wood in its belly to heat the top. The wood stove in the living room was used for baking pies or cakes. Cornbread was usually fried in a cast iron skillet on top of the stove. If you got baked cornbread, you were very special company.

The bed linens were heavy cotton; the quilts were all handmade by Belle or her mother, Emily. The blankets were made from the wool of a neighbor's sheep. The shaving stand in the bedroom was where a person bathed for every day. On Saturday nights, the boys would carry enough water from the well so everyone could take a bath in a tub that was hidden away for the rest of the week.

The well water was ladened with iron and turned everything yellow. It tasted of sulfur and smelled like rotten eggs. It tainted nearly everything that came in contact with it, everything except her food. For some reason, her pinto beans were always mountain perfect, no doubt from all the salt and pure lard. The iced tea was loaded with sugar to camoflage the sulfur. Bottled cokes were usually on hand.

She did have electricity, because she had a Zenith console television in the corner of her living room. One had to look around the stove to see it, but it didn't matter because it was never turned on. There was a huge picture of her youngest daughter, Rilda Dean, hanging over it. Rilda was beautiful, and Belle was immensely proud of her.

The inside of Belle's house was always spotless clean. She swept her house daily and dusted habitually. Dishes were always washed and put away immediately following a meal. Clothes were always clean. The smell of clothes drying on the clothesline in the noonday sun could make one forget the outhouse which was at least 50 yards away from the house, but in the summer time, when the wind blew just right, sittin' on the front porch, one could get a wiff of it. It stunk to high Heaven! It was made of pine with three ports, two tall and one small.

Belle loved children, and there were always plenty around. From three marriages, Belle had five children, twelve grandchildren and twenty great-grandchildren. She loved being around the children, and she would coddle and feed them. She'd laugh out loud, and when there was music, she would dance a jig. Literally, it was a jig, something never seen on Dancing With the Stars.

When Belle was 90, she moved into Crossville's City Limits, into a house that her son, Hubert, owned, not far from the hospital. It was the first time in her life that she had hot and cold running water, which meant an indoor bathroom. She left the farm and her little ramshackeled shack with her cornfields, chicken coop and outhouse; and she traded it for the modern conveniences of an electric stove and windows with glass.

If Belle knew how poor she was, it never showed. If she knew there was no money, her grandchildren who stayed with her in the summer time never knew it. We ate more than our share. We went to church on Sundays. We played in the cornfields and ran through the house with abandon. We used the outhouse and complained, but we still used it.

Grandma Virgie was Belle's first born, and she rarely spoke of her early life in Tennesee. She never wanted to go back and cried her eyes out when I moved to Nashville. Her memories of abject poverty stuck in her mind like peanut butter on a horse's tongue. When those memories surfaced, it took genuine fortitude for her to swallow them. She knew poverty. Virgie understood how hard she had worked to escape it, and Virgie always feared having to back.

Yet, she did go back every summer, often with me in tow. When I visited Great-Grandma Belle, I always slept with Grandma Virgie. When we were going off to sleep, Grandma would ask, "Did you have fun today?" For me, going to Belle's was an adventure. I loved riding the pony, chasing the chickens and running back and forth to the outhouse. I loved pumping water from the well and carrying it into the house. I loved sleeping in a bedroom where the windows were completely opened.

I didn't know Grandma Belle was so poor. It wasn't until she died that I really understood that. She didn't represent povery for me. She represented an adventure. Now, in my memories, she represents a very wealthy spirit. When she met the Lord, she knew that she had lived a very full life, measured by the love she had in her heart. She had children who had children, and all the children loved her. What's so poor about that?

The Future That Was?

2008-08-25T02:43:00.004-04:00

Do you have one of these in your town? This little machine has its home inside of Dean's Pharmacy in the heart of Brooksville, Kentucky. For a quarter, you can get a character reading and at the same time find out about your future.

I haven't dropped my quarter into it. What if it says I don't have any character? That wouldn't be good.

I don't know how old this machine is, and neither does the pharmacist. It was here before he took over the store, and he just kept it, probably because he didn't know what else to do with it. It'll probably be in the building for another 85 years. Things change very slowly in Bracken County, Kentucky, USA.

Knowing that, I wonder if this little machine ever predicted the end of the Cold War, or the Beijing Olympics? I wonder what the future was that it predicted? I wonder... but I'm really afraid to ask.

Aunt Annie & Uncle Doc

2008-08-22T16:56:00.003-04:00

Aunt Annie was born in 1908 and was the youngest daughter of John "Spoony" Webb and Sarah Hamby. She was the second to the last baby, born when Sarah was 43. That may not sound very old, considering women are now having babies well into their late forties. However, Sarah still had one to go!

Annie married Doc Beatty, but I have not confirmed the year yet. They married in Glenmary, and Doc was older than she by twelve years.

Family legend has it that Uncle Doc was big into the KKK, but he also considered himself a devout Southern Baptist. He attended church on a regular basis, using a mule and carriage to often take the family over a rising creek and down the mountain to get there. Now, I am sure the latter tale is true, because my mother often accompanied them in that carriage. However, I'm not sure I could ever find tangible proof that Uncle Doc was in the KKK; I thought that was a secret society.

This brings me to the point of this post: When you find out something about a family member that is this atrocious, do you hit it head on, as I just did? Or do you sweep it under a rug and look for evidence of his life elsewhere?

From what I've gleaned from family members, Uncle Doc is sort of a legend unto himself. He was the sheriff of Scott County at one time, which mean he had been sworn to uphold the law. Does that correlate to being a member of the Ku Klux Klan; or was that a normal occurrence for that part of the country? Oh my God! Did I just ask if that was normal? I hate it when historians make allowances for bad behavior by saying, "that was the way it was at the time." Have I now just had to confront my worst fear by uncovering that which I would prefer not to know?

Uncle Doc died in May, 1958, the same month I was born. Aunt Annie came to stay with us for a while when I was very little. I remember her as being very gentle, and I think I was very much a brat for her. Annie suffered from dementia in her later life. She was found hiding under the church steps, homeless, and a parishioner took her in and gave her a room. It's the family's understanding that Annie lived out her days here in the care of a stranger.

At Home in Glenmary

2008-08-21T15:20:00.002-04:00

At first I thought this picture was taken around the turn of the century because of the dress that my great-grandmother, Sarah, is wearing. However, the younger daughter in this picture is my great-aunt, Lucy, who was born in 1906; and she appears to be about ten in this picture. Thus, I'd say it was taken around 1916.

I love this picture because this is the only picture I have found that shows Grandma Webb at a relatively young age. Since she was born in 1865, if this was taken in or around 1916, she and Grandpa (John "Spoony" Webb,) both, would have been 50 (ish.) Standing on the porch above and behind Spoony and Sarah are my great-aunt Laura and my great-aunt Lucy.

The back of this photograph says, "At Home in Glenmary," so it's safe to assume it was taken at the old home place. One can see the knots in the old chestnut logs, used to build the house. I would love to have the rocking chair and can visualize my great-grandfather sitting in it and looking out across the land.

The Webb farm, in Tennessee, was in the family for nearly a hundred years. It is the same property that John and Nancy Webb settled in what was Roane County. Then Willis, my ggg-grandfather, built his house on the farm. By that time, Morgan County came into being. When John "Spoony" Webb married Sarah Hamby, they moved in with Willis and Margaret. Willis died in 1890, and Margaret remained in the family home until her death in 1912.

Brenda Jean & Tom

2008-08-20T16:06:00.002-04:00

I don't know why my dad called Brenda "Jeanie;" he just did. Jeanie is my first cousin, the daughter of my dad's sister, Thelma. She is a little older than I am but not by much.

I remember when I was in grade school, Jeanie came out to my house and helped me with my algebra homework. A lot of the answers were wrong. Whatever! So math wasn't her strong suit either.

I also recall her and her brother, Al, throwing darts with me and playing with me. Al used to call me brat all the time and sometimes still does, but Jeanie always took up for me. If I was a brat, she'd never tell on me. Jeanie gave me a hamster once. It died of old age.

Jeanie is married to Tom. He's a great guy, smart and soft-spoken. He teaches Sunday School, and they're both devout Christians. They love cats and have two beautiful black "Halloween" cats. They also have a son, Todd, who is married to Mindy. Jasmine is a beautiful little granddaughter.

Jeanie and I may have the most in common of all the Goff cousins. We have many of the same afflictions, bad kidneys, arthritis, fibromyalgia. We can talk for hours laughing - that's right! laughing - about our pain. Nobody wants to hear us complain. God has been good to both of us, and we have a huge family that loves us. I'm thankful Jeanie is in my life though.

My First Pet

2008-08-15T15:31:00.002-04:00

I don't think I was two years old yet, but I remember my first cat. My dad brought it home from the railroad; he had it under his coat. He pulled it out and held it up, and it was the neatest thing I'd seen up to that point. That started my love affair with the cat.

All Aboard!

2008-08-14T19:41:00.002-04:00

My family is a railroad family. The railroad is "in the blood," so to speak, on both maternal and paternal sides of my family.

My mother's parents moved to Northern Kentucky for the railroad. My father's parents moved to Northern Kentucky for the railroad. My uncles worked for the railroad, and I have cousins who work for the railroad.

My grandpa Goff was a foreman on the Southern Railroad. My grandpa Webb was a yardman on the Southern Railroad. My father was a pipe fitter for the Southern and then the B&O Railroad, which eventually became the Chessie System, which eventually became CSX. My uncle, Buddy, was a yardman for the N&W Railroad, which later became part of Conrail. My cousin works for CSX in Jacksonville, Florida.

When my father retired from the railroad, he began building an N-gauge model railroad. It takes up half of my mom's basement! We don't know what to do with it. My dad loved the railroad. He used to buy video tapes of railroad history. I used to tease him that the train wasn't really moving; it was really the backdrop. He'd get really mad.

Many of my dad's friends were also railroaders, and they often travelled together to visit railroad museums and displays. Whenever I see a train, I think about my family - a true railroad family in every sense of the word.

Mary Ellen Stephens

2008-08-13T01:27:00.007-04:00

Mary Ellen Stephens was born on the 11th of June, 1861, the first child of Andrew Jackson Stephens and Susan Smiley of Pulaski County, Kentucky. Mary Ellen is my great-grandmother on my father's side. Her son was my grandfather, Andrew Montgomery Goff.

The Stephens family is an interesting one to study, because the Stephens and the Smileys appear to be so different. Susan's father was a Baptist preacher, Eliphalet Smiley. Her mother, Eleanor (nee Holmes,) must have been the classic preacher's wife, moving with him from Virginia to Kentucky to plant churches and spread the Gospel.

Andrew's father, Ebenezer Stephens, however, was entirely different. Ebenezer apparently couldn't be without a wife. He married often and always younger. On his deathbed, Ebenezer sent a letter to the Justice Of the Peace to hurry on to his house so they could get the marriage on with, because he was too tired to make the trek into town. I'm not entirely sure yet who Andrew's mother is. I'm still working on that one.

Andrew, however, by all indications was a strict disciplinarian with the children who came after Mary Ellen; however, the war would take him away the following year, and he would not return to Somerset until the Civil War was over. By that time, his one and only child, Mary Ellen, would have been five years old. From that point on, family lore has it that Mary Ellen was demonstrably spoiled.

Mary Ellen was married a first time to a man from New Jersey, an apparent travelling salesman. This was a shotgun wedding, but I have not been able to document what exactly happened to her son. I do believe that Andrew and Susan reared him but as yet cannot prove it. The family is also not sure what happened to her husband. She left the state for awhile, but she came back and married again. That marriage ended in divorce.

Mary Ellen married my great-grandfather, Richard Goff, in 1891. She gave birth to Andrew Montgomery on June 28, 1892 and Icy May in 1984. I remember my grandfather talking about his mother. His father, Richard, died on November 23, 1906, when he was 14. Mary Ellen moved back in with Andrew and Susan. Andrew played the fiddle, and he's the one who taught my grandfather to play. They were very poor, and that was their only form of entertainment.

At some point, Mary Ellen started taking her children to church at Pittman Creek Baptist Church. The lived in a little patch of dirt called Strawberry, Kentucky. When Andrew turned 16, he got work on the barges moving on the Cumberland River. Icy married Colonel Heath in 1910. Andrew married Nellie Hughes on April 29, 1913. I know from my father's recollection that Mary Ellen became ill in the fall of 1917 and died on January 3, 1918.

I have only superficial documentation of her death, at this point, but she is interred in Love's Cemetery next to her mother and father. However, this is a detail that puzzles me. The only reason I can think of why she isn't buried along side of her husband is that he is buried along side of his first wife. This would be reasonable if we knew that Richard's first wife, Dicey, had died and was buried in Rushbranch Cemetery. This throws a wrench into the idea that Dicey divorced Richard and moved to Iowa. Regardless, Mary Ellen is interred in Love's, and the name on her tombstone says, Stephens, not Goff. I can only suppose that since her mother outlived her, Susan put her name on the stone, not thinking it should have said Goff. I can't really be sure until I find more documentation. The last time I visited Love's Cemetery, however, Mary Ellen's tombstone had been damaged by a falling tree. Sadly, I'm certain it has not been repaired.

Mary Ellen, by all indications, was a head strong woman with a mind of her own. Andrew and Susan spoiled her, and she probably spent more time that most building her Christian testimony. Legend has it that she was musical like her father and son, and she could also read and write. I can also see that Mary Ellen is where Dad got his square jaw and ears that stick out at the top. I can't wait to meet her someday soon.

That DNA Thing

2008-08-12T17:12:00.002-04:00

I'm a little blogging challenged today in that I could not seem to get three pictures into one post. I'd go to move one around and then lose it. When you get past 45 it happens.

Anyway, the point I was going to make in one post is this: That DNA thing sure is something, isn't it? I was looking at these pictures and was suddenly shocked to see the face that kept repeating itself.

I never knew my great-grandfather, and I was four when my grandfather died. I do remember him. He sat in what seemed like a big comfy chair by the door of grandma's living room. Grandma kept magazines inside the footstool that went with the chair. We called him Pop! Whenever I would run in the door and try to run past his chair, he would always grab me and kiss my face. He'd turn me upside down, and I remember laughing and screaming.

Uncle Buddy was a wonderful uncle. He would always talk politics or history with me, and he never ever made feel bad if I disagreed with him, unlike a couple of his kids. I always knew he cared deeply for my mom and her family. Our families always spent Thanksgiving and Christmas together, and when I was younger, we would always try to get together several times during the summer. I always felt close to his children; his daughter, Rhonda, was the matron of honor at my wedding. I would post a picture of Steve, Buddy's oldest son, but I haven't asked him for permission yet. That Webb face continues to repeat itself.

That DNA thing surely is amazing.

"Spoony"

2008-08-12T16:45:00.001-04:00

John "Spoony" Webb, father to John Henry Webb, grandfather to Buddy Webb.

John Henry Webb

2008-08-12T16:41:00.003-04:00

Uncle Buddy

2008-08-12T16:39:00.001-04:00

James Lonnie (Buddy) Webb, son of John Henry Webb.

Where Is Dicey?

2008-08-11T15:08:00.005-04:00

My great-grandfather, Richard Goff, was born in 1855, the only surviving child of William Monty Goff and Rebecca Gover. Rebecca died in 1857, five days before her infant son, Samuel died. Rebecca's death certificate says that she died of a cold, but since she died five days after Samuel's birth, in today's vernacular, we might say that she died of complications from childbirth. Rebecca is presumably buried in the Gover cemetery outside of Somerset, Kentucky. However, there is no marker and no way to pin point where she is interred.

Richard was two when William married Lucinda Cash, and from all indications from family members, he grew up a healthy, happy person. Richard married Dicey sometime around 1872; he would have been 17. They had five children, Barbara Ann, b. 1874, Mary (Mollie,) b. 1876, William G. (Willie,) b. 1877, Rebecca, b. 1880 and Oscar Eli, b. 1882. The 1880 U.S. Census, shows Richard as head of household, with wife, Dicey, and four children. The 1890 Census shows Richard with five children. Richard married Mary Ellen Stephens in 1891. Mary Ellen gave birth to Andrew Montgomery in 1892, and Icy in 1894.

The burning question is what happened to Dicey, and who was she really? One family historian says she was Dicey Stephens, but the only records I have found on Dicey Stephens were one born in 1830 who would be too old, and one born in 1875, who would be quite young. Although the latter Dicey Stephens would be a possible mate, it is unlikely, because she was the younger sister of Mary Ellen, Richard's second wife, and she would have been 15 at the time Richard and Mary Ellen were married.

Another family historian says emphatically that she was not Dicey Stephens. She was Dicey Emeline Ping. I tend to believe this historian who says Dicey left Richard for another man and migrated with him to Iowa, never to be seen nor heard from again. This is a plausible theory, but it's only that, culled from old legends as to what might have actually happened.

Andrew Goff was, of course, my grandfather. He remained somewhat close to Eli until Eli's death. My father, Paul, remained on terms with Charles, Eli's son, until my father died in 2005. My father and Uncle Richard had vivid memories of Willie paying visits to their home in Ludlow when they were younger. Yet in all their memories, none of them knew anything about Dicey. Charles knows nothing about Dicey, and she was his grandmother. He'd like to know.

There is no marriage record or divorce record for Richard and Dicey. There is, however, a marriage record for Richard and Mary Ellen. I asked my father if he thought it was possible that the travelling preacher just never made it through Burnside to "legally" marry Richard and Dicey. My father thought that was possible but not likely, since at that time, the Goffs were members of the Central Christian Church in Somerset. When Richard married Mary Ellen, the Goffs entered the Pittman Creek Baptist Church. Neither church has records of Richard and Dicey, but Pittman Creek has records of Richard and Mary Ellen.

The Goffs and the Pings are intertwined throughout family history. Two of Richard's aunts were married to Ping brothers. Richard's great-grandmother, Matilda, married a Ping following her divorce from John Pointer. (That must have been a scandal!) I do believe Dicey was a Ping. I believe that, however, with no shred of legitimate proof! Fortunately, for my line, it doesn't really matter, as my great-grandmother was Mary Ellen. I just want to know!

The Olympic Games Are Open

2008-08-09T00:49:00.003-04:00

How many of you watched the opening of the Olympic games in Beijing? I admit I was glued from beginning to end. The site of all those young people with the ancient drums mesmerized me with their synchronization. I loved the ballet artists painting as they danced, and the artistry of the Tao chi. I loved the costuming and fireworks. It was all amazing, and I found myself being sincerely happy for the Chinese people.

I was fortunate to have been able to attend an Olympic event outside of Atlanta back in 1996, the kayak and whitewater events in Chattanooga. I remember how genuinely connected the people were, yet from all over the world. We all sat there as one audience. When one athlete suffered a mishap, it didn't matter where he or she was from, what mattered was their safety. Were they okay?

A group of Slovenian nationals sat immediately behind my friends and me. Slovenia had recently separated from Czechoslovakia, and there were Czech Republic nationals near us as well. The Slovenians couldn't remember their national anthem, so they sang the old Czech anthem. The Czech visitors joined them, and it was truly a moving moment, that transcended the long security checks that had preceded the start of the games and the $5.00 Cokes!

For a brief moment, the world seemed very small. Not small in the way the Internet makes it small, but small in the way God made it small. The same God that I worship here in the United States is the same God that created the rest of the world, and some would say, long before He created this little part of it. What I am trying to say is, that in that moment, that brief little moment, the brotherhood of man was not just a noble idea, but it was reality. If only that reality existed between Olympic games, wouldn't that be a wonderful thing?

William Monty Goff 1833 - 1900

2008-08-07T20:15:00.006-04:00

William Monty Goff was born August 17, 1833 to Richard Goff and Nancy Goff (nee Pointer.) Pulaski County had been carved out of Lincoln and Green Counties in 1799. The frontier was still untamed, and the Goffs lived on the south side of the Cumberland River, in the little village of Burnside.

The Goffs were farmers, and William was taught to work the land. William was the first of seven children. The family was probably not poor but was certainly not wealthy. They eked out an existence, and the children were educated at least to the sixth grade.

William married Rebecca Ann Gover on the 20th of November, 1853 when he was 20 years old, and Rebecca was two years his junior. Their first child, Richard, was born in November, 1854, but he lived for only a few months. One year later, Rebecca gave birth to another son, whom they also named Richard. The couple had one more child, Samuel, who died five days after his mother, on August 25, 1857. William was alone with a two year old little boy.

The Cash family lived north of the Cumberland River, closer to what became the Rockcastle County line. It is unknown how William made the acquaintance of one Lucinda Cash, but he did; and they were married on February 14, 1859. Lucinda gave William twelve more children; Andrew, Elvira, Nancy "Nanny," Malvina "Vinnie," Alice Belle, Wiley Addison, Amanda Sophia, Cordelia, Johnny, Elizabeth, Harvey and Sarah.

William and Lucinda worked the land that lies just south of the Rockcastle County line. Goff descendants still reside on their farm, and the footprint of their log cabin remains. William Monty Goff can be found in the U.S. Census from 1860 through 1890. Evidence of his life is also available through birth records, marriage records, tax records and death records.

William died on September 13, 1900 and is interred in the Mount Pleasant Baptist Church Cemetery. Lucinda rests beside him. Their son Andrew lies beside Lucinda. All of William's children are interred in cemeteries in Pulaski County. Richard Goff is buried in Rushbranch Cemetery outside of Burnside. However, there was no tombstone, and his grave has not been located.

William's descendants are farmers, bankers, railroaders, machinists, doctors, lawyers and college professors. Although he lived a modest life, that was tragic in many respects, he gave his children a proud and noble heritage. The Goff family is scattered across the lower 48 states, but Kentucky will always be home.

Webb Ancestors at Home Reprise

2008-08-07T17:50:00.007-04:00

I love to visit cemeteries, especially old cemeteries. The Webb Cemetery is not easy to get to, it's on the side of a mountain in Scott County, Tennessee, in the heart of the Cumberland Mountains. I couldn't begin to tell you where Carpenter's Cemetery is, but it's close to the Webb Cemetery. I've been there, but my father was driving. If I had to, I might be able to get there again.

My great-grandparents are buried in the Webb Cemetery, as are my great-aunts Laura, Martha and Annie. My great-uncles, Wil, Jim and Benny are also buried in the Webb Cemetery.

My great-great-grandparent, Martha Webb is buried in Carpenter's Cemetery.

She's actually buried in an old-style top of the ground crypt, with this lonely marker at the head of her grave. It simply says, Martha Webb, born, April 10, 1845, died 1876. The exact date is not decipherable. We know, however, that this is Martha the Mysterious because she is buried next to Willis and Margaret, her parents.

It was sad to find the graves of my ancestors in such disrepair. The stones are falling away from the walls. The pompous grass planted at the foot of each grave adds an element of hope, an exclamation mark that proudly says, "We are not here!"

I hold to that promise that I will meet them in the by and by, and we will know one another as family. All those things that fall away and decay will no longer stand in the way. Praise God! I can't wait to give them all big warm hugs and tell them how I do love them.

Morgan's Raiders Historical Marker

2008-08-06T11:29:00.000-04:00

Welcome to Augusta!

2008-08-06T00:53:00.007-04:00

I thought I'd take a moment and write about my hometown, Augusta, Kentucky. Augusta is located on the Ohio River, 35 miles to the east of Northern Kentucky, and 12 miles from Maysville, Kentucky. Although it's the largest city in Bracken County, it is not the county seat, that would be Brooksville.

Augusta was settled in 1781 as part of a Revolutionary War Grant by Virginia to Captain Philip Buckner. Buckner returned to Virginia, however, but came back to Augusta in 1796 with 40 families. In 1795, the Kentucky Legislature incorporated the City of Augusta, and trustees were established. Buckner deeded the City 600 acres.

Augusta was the county seat of Bracken County until 1830, when it was moved to Brooksville. The original courthouse is still standing and currently inhabited. In the early 1800s Augusta became a popular river port, with hemp, tobacco, corn, livestock and wine being its top trading commodities. The ferry service is one of the oldest operating ferries in the country, having been in operation since April 2, 1798.

In September 1862, Colonel Basil Duke led 350 of Morgan's Raiders against the city of Augusta with Colonel Joshua Bradford leading 150 of the home guard and three gunboats in the harbor. The gunboats, however, abandoned their posts, leaving Augusta vulnerable to the raiders. A hand to hand battle ensued in the middle of town where 35 men lost their lives. A monument to the 11 unknown Confederate Soldiers was erected in town.

More recently, Augusta has been a sleepy rural town. The ferry still operates, but it is no longer the trading port it once was. Agriculture is still king in the county, but tourism accounts for the largest part of the city's annual revenues. Clopay owns a manufacturing plant in Augusta and is a major employer.

As much as the river has aided in the development of Augusta, it has also been detrimental. The floods of 1937 and 1997 are far from memories. While many homes were washed away, the city held onto its character, turning much of the remaining green space into parks. The old southern architecture along Riverside Drive has been restored. The Rosemary Clooney Museum has been opened to the public since 2006 and draws thousands of tourists each year.

This is my hometown, Augusta, Kentucky.

Sarah Hamby Webb

2008-08-04T23:23:00.005-04:00

Sarah Hamby Webb was my great-grandmother, although I never knew her. She was born in 1865 and died in 1938.

Sarah was born to Elizabeth Cromwell Hamby and William Hamby at the end of the Civil War. She married John "Spoony" Webb about 1883, and she gave birth to Will, Jim, Martha, Laura, Lucy, Bertha, Annie and John Henry. John Henry Webb was my grandfather, my mother's father.

Sarah is described by the people who knew her as "a gentle soul" filled with grace and kindness. Not much is known about her childhood, except that she was raised on Hamby Mountain, and was probably no better or worse off than any of the neighbors around them. Bill Hamby was a farmer and Eliza was a homemaker. Sarah moved into the Webb family home when she and "Spoony" were married, and it was there that all her children were born.

Sarah & Spoony moved to Ludlow, Kentucky in 1930 to be closer to their children who had already migrated in search of work. Sarah moved on to be with the Lord in the spring of 1938, and she boarded a train one final time. The Southern Railroad that brought Sarah to Northern Kentucky took her home. Sarah lies in repose in the Webb Cemetery in Glenmary, Tennessee.

New Look For an Old Soul

2008-08-04T15:04:00.005-04:00

It had never occurred to me that white print on a dark blue page would be difficult to read, and for that I do apologize. Sometimes I forget myself when I see something that resembles Kentucky Blue.

I may change the look some more before I get something that I really like, but ya'll, please hang in there with me. I got plenty more to say about the Goffs, Webbs, Grimes, Dodsons, Hambys, Cromwells, Stephens... oh my... I just might get back to Abraham iffin I keeps this up!

Webb Ancestors at Home in Glenmary

2008-08-02T15:16:00.004-04:00

Glenmary, Tennessee is a small patch in the road. Located in the Cumberland Mountains, drive too fast, blink and you will miss it. I've only been there once in my life, but let me tell you, it is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen.

Visiting the cemeteries where my ancestors are interred has to be one of the more emotional moments in my quest for family history. Standing there in Carpenter's Cemetery, looking at the graves of my gg-grandmother and ggg-grandparents, distant cousins, I had this sense that they knew I was there. No, I'm not talking about hearing voices or disassociating from my self. I'm talking about this serene feeling that I was standing in the presence of that great cloud of witnesses, and they were pleased that I paid them a visit.

This photograph is of my family in front of the old Webb home place in Glenmary. I haven't been able to date the picture yet, although I'm working on it. My mother and my aunts believe this is the only remaining picture of Margaret Webb (nee Stewart.) For that to be true, the picture must date back to the turn of the 20th Century, because she died in 1912. That would have been two years after my grandfather was born, and my mother believes that her aunts and uncles knew their grandmother, for she raised their father. My own grandfather would have been too young, of course, but his siblings were were much older than he.

My hope and prayer is that by putting this picture out there on the Internet, my extended Webb family, whom I've never known, may recognized someone in the photograph and get in touch with me. I want to know more, and I can't know enough or too much about these people who watch me run my own race.

Legends

2008-07-31T15:32:00.006-04:00

The one think that makes for a love/hate relationship when researching ancestors is a legend. Every family has legends that surface every time there is a reunion. Sometimes legends have more than one protagonist, several antagonists, and several sub-plots and plot twists.

One such legend that always surfaces among the Goffs is, "When the pilgrims were landing on the Mayflower, the Goffs were already here." This is probably true, but proving it is another matter. Since nobody has actually documented the parentage of my ggg-grandfather, Richard Goff, it is pretty hard to document how we get back to the Jamestown Settlement from here.

Another such legend is that of my gg-grandmother, Martha Webb. Martha was born to Willis and Margaret Webb (nee Stewart) in 1845. My great-grandfather, John "Spoony" Webb, was born in 1865. There are all sorts of tales about how Margaret Webb hid her children away inside of caves so that the Yankees wouldn't shoot her boys or rape her daughters. The east Tennessee hills must have been a horrible place during the war, particularly since the volunteer state was the first to fall to the Yankee juggernaut. However, legend has it that Martha was raped by a soldier boy of Cherokee descent who had worked for her father as a farm laborer prior to the war. After his treacherous deed, the boy went off to war, and did not return to make an honest woman out of Miss Martha. Consequently, the legend says that Martha willed herself to die after her son was born, leaving John "Spoony" to be reared by her parents.

Now, none of this story can be documented. Even though it is the story that has been told since 1865! We know the Civil War ended in 1865. John "Spoony" was born in May of that year. It is possible that his father went off to enlist. It is also possible that such a story was invented so as to disguise the promiscuity of Miss Martha. The only thing we can know for certain, is that Martha died and is interred in Carpenter's Cemetery outside of Glenmary, Tennessee, resting quietly next to her parents. Her tombstone displays only her name, Martha Webb, and the word "daughter."

Legends have no place in serious genealogy, unless, of course, they can be proven by documentation. Legends, however, are the very things that make family history exciting. They give poignancy to otherwise very ordinary existences. History is written by scolars while ordinary everyday people are making it every single day. We need the legends and the oral histories of our parents and grandparents, because we need to know the people who made the way for us. It would just be a whole lot better if they could be easily proven.

It Is Well With My Soul

2008-07-31T00:46:00.000-04:00

Richard Goff (b. 1810)

2008-07-29T01:55:00.002-04:00

Richard Goff was born in 1810 in Pulaski County, Kentucky. He married Nancy Pointer in Pulaski County, on March 25, 1831. Nancy's mother, Matilda Bradley Ping, put up the bond. This is the only record that's been found of Richard Goff's existence. There are several possibilities as to whom his parents might have been, but the stone that holds the Excalibur of knowledge has not yet been revealed.

Richard and Nancy had seven children, William Monty, Andrew Jackson, Alvin, Almira, Fountain, George and Matilda Frances. Records exist for all of Richard's children. Tax records, land records, births, marriages and deaths, all testify to the fact that Richard Goff's children were here. Andrew died in Missouri at the start of the War Between the States. George could have been a victim in an Agatha Christie novel; "George Goff disappears following the death of his wife. What happened to him? Is he alive? Is he dead?" Nevertheless, there is a record of George having been born, living and being wed. William married twice and spawned twelve children. His descendants are sprawled across the continent. Fountain also married, as did Almira, Alvin and Matilda. There are records proving they were here.

Richard (1810) is how this man is known among his descendants. We know he died in 1865, but we don't know where or how. We know this because of one reference in an old family Bible. We know that he and Nancy were buried side by side in a cemetery that no longer exists today. It was among many whose residents were disinterred by the Tennessee Valley Authority to make way for Lake Cumberland. Many of those were re- interred in other cemeteries, but we suspect that Richard was probably buried in a pine casket with no vault. There was likely no tombstone, and identification of remains from an unmarked grave would have been impossible in those days.

He was a son, a husband, a father, a grandfather, a great grandfather. He was loved, possibly hated. He was a farmer. Richard (1810) truly belongs to the ages, but he did exist.

West Texas Highway

2008-07-27T13:47:00.000-04:00

The Launch

2008-07-26T15:46:00.000-04:00

Belle

2008-07-23T15:33:00.008-04:00

Rebecca Belle Dodson Grimes McCloud Cole, better known as Belle, was born May 15, 1889, and died March 25, 1986. Belle was my great-grandmother on my mother's side. By the time I came along, Belle was already an old 69 years, a hard fiery Cherokee woman with a heart as big as Oklahoma. This is her story.

Belle was born in White County, Tennessee, the first child of Emily Bowlin Dodson and the seventh child of Sam Dodson. Legend has it that Sam was 3/4 Cherokee, and judging by Belle's dark piercing eyes, high cheekbones and porcelain skin, there was probably an element of truth to it. Growing up poor on the plateau of the Cumberland Mountains, Belle's education was sparse. She did, however, finish grammar school, which at that time, was the sixth grade.

By the time she was 15, Belle was living in Oklahoma Indian Territory where Sam Dodson was running a boarding house. It was there, outside of Broken Bow, that she met the rogue and rounder, Lonnie Grimes. Being that it meant one less mouth to feed, Sam and Emily, gave their blessing to a marriage that sent Belle back to Tennessee.

In 1907, Belle boarded a train with her new husband and travelled to Whitwell, Tennessee. Lonnie Grimes was a player, however, and it didn't take long for Belle to figure out that he still had some running around to get out of his system. Lonnie travelled around by horse and carriage or by train, going from one depot to another, one poker game to another, and Belle had had enough. Belle used to say, "That Lonnie Grimes gambled away half of White County before he finally give it up."

Belle was hanging laundry outside on the clothes line, when one day, out of nowhere, her husband showed up at her gate. All set to ask for an annulment of her marriage, a storm blew up, and they went inside their little shack. Lonnie Grimes never left home again until he died of typhoid in February 1914.

Belle gave birth to her first child, Virgie Belle in 1910. Lena Mae came along in 1912. Lonnie Edward was born in June 1914, four months following the death of his father. Alone with no money, Belle boarded the train back to White County, where her mother, Emily, was now living. She moved in with Emily and set about doing odd jobs - ironing clothes, baking pies, cleaning houses - to make a little money. She married Casto McCloud sometime around 1918 and gave birth to Hubert in 1919.

Casto worked in the coal mines all along the Cumberland Plateau. He drank heavily and often took out his rage on Belle and her children. Belle and Casto divorced sometime around 1935. It was the height of the Great Depression, but for Belle, that would not have meant anything, because she had known no other way but dirt poor. In 1938, she met Elmer Cole, a widower with a six month old daugther. Belle and Elmer married, and Belle suddenly had another daughter, Rilda Dean.

Elmer Cole gave Belle the one thing in life she had never had, a peaceful home. Elmer was a quiet mountain of a man who worked in the coal mines. He moved his family to Crossville, Cumberland County, to a little asbestos shingled house on the outskirts of town.

I spent many summers at Grandma Belle's house in Tennessee. Her home is a series of snapshots in the my mind that I'll never lose. That little blue-green house had a front porch with a rocking chair. Out in front of the house was a little vegetable garden, to the side, chickens pecked the ground. A cornfield was in the back of the house and beyond that was the outhouse, a tiny building of aged pine, with three depositories. That outhouse stunk to high heaven, which is why it was so far away from the house!

Upon entering the front door, was the living room, small and painted an olive green. A long couch was against the front wall, while Elmer's brownish red vinyl recliner (usually with Elmer in it) was positioned immediately across from it. A coal stove took up a huge part of the living room, but it rarely burned in the summer time or early fall. There was an old Zenith console television that was never turned on, and just above the rabbit ears was a picture of Rilda Dean hanging on the wall.

Off to the right were bedrooms and to the back was the kitchen. There was a picture of Sam Dodson over the kitchen table. In Lena's bedroom, which became the guest bedroom whenever Grandma Virgie and I would visit, hung a portrait of Lonnie Grimes. The walls in the bedrooms were papered by newspaper, but the beds were pure feather down with heavy wool blankets and homemade quilts.

I remember the smells that emanated from Grandma Belle's kitchen. She always had a pot of pinto beans on the stove, sometimes cooking with a ham in them, other times just a slab of fatback, but they always tasted as good as they smelled. Since Belle's family went to the bed with the chickens and got up with the roosters, breakfast was the big meal of the day, but all the meals were meant to sustain a person through the work that needed doing.

Elmer Cole died in the early part of 1979, and Belle left her little farm and moved into the Crossville city limits. At 90 years old, Belle finally had hot and cold running water. She had three bedrooms and an indoor bathroom, but she wouldn't enjoy it long. In 1982, Belle broke her hip and never recovered. Her memory slowly but surely faded away as did her strength and zest for life.

Belle died on March 25, 1986 at Cumberland Medical Center, leaving behind, two sons and three daughters, 12 grandchildren, 20 great grandchildren, and six great great grandchildren. Belle lies beside Elmer at the Green Acres Memory Gardens in Crossville, Cumberland County, Tennessee. In spite of the hard times that Belle knew all her life, she remained a devout Christian. She is undoubtedly among the Great Cloud of Witnesses watching her descendants run our races and cheering us home.

Andy & Nellie

2008-07-22T13:18:00.003-04:00

Andrew Montgomery Goff was born, July 23, 1892, and Nellie Hughes Goff was born, July 10, 1892. Andy was the son of Richard and Mary Ellen Goff (nee Stephens,) of Somerset, Kentucky. Nellie was the daughter of Bud and Mattie Hughes, also of Somerset.

Andy used to talk about the first time he saw Nellie in almost fairy-tale prose. She was running across the meadow with her long red hair blowing in the wind, and she was the prettiest thing he'd ever seen. They eloped to Huntsville, Tennessee and were married by Justice of the Peace, James McDonald, on April 29, 1913.

Andy found work on the river barges, moving coal up and down the Cumberland River, while Nellie set up housekeeping. Their first child, Herbert, came along on February 28, 1914, but died on March 21, 1914. John Milton Goff came along on June 20, 1915, followed by Thelma, born February 12, 1920.

By 1920, Andy was working for the Southern Railroad, and he moved his family to Ludlow, Kentucky to become a foreman. They moved into the section house, a home owned by the railroad. Nellie would give birth to three more children, Richard on November 17, 1924, Paul Martin on June 12, 1927 and Abel on April 2, 1930.

The child rearing and discipline fell to Nellie, as Andy's job took him away from home five days out of the week. The depression hit the Goff family hard, as they were beyond poor but still had it better than some, since Andy always had work. Five children tried the patience of the fiery redhead who was known for her Irish temper. Nellie sometimes took drastic measures to keep her children in line. One legend that surfaces at every family reunion is about the time she tied Johnny to a tree to teach him not to run away from home!

Andy and Nellie were strict Southern Baptists. That defined who they were and how they lived their lives. Andy believed in the cooperation of churches to advance missions. He believed in that old fashioned, soul saving grace. Members of the First Baptist Church of Ludlow, Kentucky, Nellie attended as often as she could when her health permitted. Andy sported a perfect attendance pin 35 years of faithful service. They reared their children in the church, and when they were grown, they too reared their families in the church.

Andy retired in 1955, and with all his children married and on their own, he and Nellie bought a little home in Covington, Kentucky. The house on 18th Street is where they were living when I would come to know them. I can remember walking up the steps and into the front door. On the left was their master bedroom. Walking past that, the living room was a big open room with two huge windows that Nellie had covered with venetian blinds and white lace curtains. There was a couch on the front wall, and two chairs on both side walls. The main attraction, though, was the huge black iron wood stove with the smell of Andy's cornbread emanating from within.

The kitchen was simple with linoleum floors, white walls. It was very utilitarian with a stove and refrigerator and a table with six chairs. Nellie's signature dish was chicken and dumplings, and that is what she served whenever the family gathered there for dinner. Dinner was often followed by Andy playing his fiddle or banjo.

Nellie died on December 4, 1972, five months shy of being married sixty years. After Nellie died, Andy moved in with his youngest son, Abel. Abel's wife, Cora, took care of Andy when Andy could no longer care for himself. In the four years following Nellie's death, Andy got weaker and weaker until congestive heart failure finally took him home in May, 1976.

Andy and Nellie are together now in Gloryland. They watched the big Goff Reunion of 2004 from the Great Cloud of Witnesses, and must have been overjoyed by those of us who came together. Strangers met at Appalachian Park in Renfro Valley and came away family. Relationships were made that will endure forever, despite distance and absence. The Goff legacy is well established.

The Good Life

2008-07-19T00:36:00.000-04:00

Miranda

2008-07-17T23:54:00.002-04:00

Miranda is Phil's daughter and my step-daughter. When Phil and I met, she was still in college at KY Wesleyan. Then she went on to Vanderbilt for her MTS, and she eventually graduated from UT Law School. In 2006, Miranda married David Head, and they live in Tennessee, where Miranda practices law.

This young lady is one of the most focused, driven persons I've ever known, and she has her own mind with the courage to give it voice. She plays the piano quite well and continues to study. Apparently, she is also quite the golfer and plays regularly.

We are extremely proud of Miranda for the way she chooses to live her life and the light she brings to the world.

The Great River

2008-07-17T13:53:00.004-04:00

This is the Rio Grande, the photo taken standing on the dam outside of Del Rio, Texas. The right side of the river is Mexico; the left is Texas.

Standing on the dam, it is easy to imagine standing on a bridge that crosses Jordan. Loved ones are on both sides, those we leave behind, and those standing in that great cloud of witnesses. The bridge across Jordan is a bridge built by love, not that we loved Him, but that He loved us.

Kids Upstage the Preacher

2008-07-17T01:32:00.004-04:00

This has to be every performer's worst nightmare, to be in the middle of a performance and be upstaged by a kid. Vacation Bible School began yesterday evening. Following the parade of classes and the pledges to the flags and Bible, Rev. Tony spoke to the children about Jesus. He used a "rubics" cube of sorts to explain the redemption story.

At the first the cube displayed a picture of a man in the dark and a very bright light, meant to be God. Then he showed Jesus on the cross. Then he showed the tomb with the stone in front of it and the Roman soldiers standing guard. Then he showed Jesus on the outside of the tomb.

Suddenly one of the boys shouted, "Wait a minute! How'd he get past those guards?"

It's Time to Discuss Phil

2008-07-16T12:31:00.006-04:00

Philip Andrew Christy is the one and only reason I would have ever moved to Bracken County. We met while I was leading the music at the fall revival of First Baptist Church of Augusta in October, 1999. Yes, that was the revival that would change the course of my life.

I didn't like Phil very much when I first met him. He was arrogant and something of a smart Alec. On our first date, we went to Tumbleweed in Florence. Dinner was awful, and we argued the entire time. Phil, being a pilot, kept telling me how I would eventually want to learn to fly, even though, I kept telling him that I had absolutely no more interest in flying a plane than running my fingernails down a chalkboard.

When he took me home, he told me he was going to Texas for a week, and would I call him while he was there. I remember saying to him, "Are you crazy? I wouldn't call you if you were in Kentucky, and I'm surely not going to call you in Texas." The week went by, and I didn't call him, nor did he call me. When he returned to Kentucky, however, he did call and asked if I'd like to get together. I told him I didn't think we had very much in common and we probably shouldn't pursue anything.

Then I had to get together with my friend, Susan, who proceeded to tell me that I was being a stubborn and spoiled brat; and if I wasn't going to call Phil back, she would! So, from Susan's house, I did call him back, and the rest, as they say, is history! Phil and I were married on January 9, 2000, at the First Baptist Church of Augusta. We moved into a really nice apartment in Florence, and I became Property Valuation Administrator for Boone County the very next day. Phil continued to work for Comair.

The first year of our marriage was tricky because we were both so busy. During that year, 2000, I got married for the first time, accepted a public job that would be scrutinized, (or so it seemed,) by the world, bought a house, and ran an unsuccessful political campaign. Phil accepted a new job, bought a house, and watched me run an unsuccessful campaign. Somehow, we got through it.

We've been married 8 1/2 years. Phil hated Boone County, so we bought a farm and built a house in Bracken County. I don't hate Bracken County, but it will never be home. All that aside, I love Phil with all my heart. There are times I really hate him, but thankfully, those times are few. Fundamentally, we are the same. We're both Christians. We both believe in the infallibility of the Bible, although we sometimes interpret it very differently. We laugh together, and Phil puts up with my "stuff."

He accepts that I fight with Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Fybromyalgia. He accepts that I'm a diabetic and an asthmatic. He accepts my migraine headaches. He accepts my two dogs and five cats (although the cats come in and out of his grace.)

My house is something that Phil built with his own two hands. Every nail that's hammered in this house was put here by Phil or his brother, John. He is in the process of building a deck. Phil is second most talented man I've known, the first being my dad. He is intelligent beyond belief, although he was not so successful with his own education. He can read for a flight exam and pass it with a 99% grade! Currently, he drives a truck for a living, which he says he hates, but he works because I can no longer. That isn't something he signed on for, but he's here.

Virgie Belle Grimes Webb

2008-07-16T01:57:00.011-04:00

Virgie Belle Grimes was born on the 2nd of June, 1910 in Whitwell, Tennesee to Lonnie Grimes and Rebecca Belle Dodson, the first of five children. Virgie and her sister, Lena, barely got to know their father, as he died in February, 1914 when Virgie was four and Lena, two. Lonnie Edward Grimes, the baby, was still on the way.

So, Belle packed up her girls and boarded a train for White County, Tennessee. Moving in with her mother, Emily, Belle set about making a way for her family. Emily Bowlin Dodson, was a widow, herself, as Belle's father, Sam Dodson, had died in 1908. Lonnie Edward came in June.

White County is in the heart of the Cumberland Mountains, as Virgie's memories were of coal mines and company stores. Education was hard fought, as Belle's children would walk to school every day. Their homestead was miles from town, and the roads were dirt. Virgie was a straight A student and graduated at the top of her class from the 8th Grade. High School was a luxury unavailable to Virgie, but she made the most of what she had.

Virgie met John Henry Webb, from over in Glenmary, Scott County, Tennessee, sometime around 1927. They married in 1929 in Jamestown, Tennesee. John was from a family with ties to the land nearly as ancient as Virgie's. A family whose farm had been in the family for four generations, surely looked like security to her. They set up housekeeping on the Webb Farm, and she would give birth to Reba and James Lonnie.

The world around the Webbs had already shifted on its axis, as the stock market had already crashed, and the depression was well underway. Virgie, was used to being dirt poor, but the Webbs began migrating to Northern Kentucky in search of work. First, Will Webb, accompanied by his wife, Ina, moved to Covington, Kentucky, to take work with the Southern Railroad. Then Jim Webb, accompanied by his wife, Christy, came to Northern Kentucky to work for the same rail. One by one, the Webb family migrated. John Henry moved Virgie and his family to Ludlow, Kentucky, a small town on the Ohio River, in 1933, and the depression was raging.

Virgie would take on odd jobs to make extra money for the family. She would do laundry, iron clothes, whatever she could do. John Henry looked for work. During much of that time, John would haul ice, work for the railroad, and for the WPA to keep his family from starving. The family held its breath after December 7, 1942, as John Henry faced the draft board, but he returned having not been in good enough health to fight in a war.

Ironically, life began to change for Virgie and her family. The WPA brought steady work, and her children were involved with school. As poor as she had always been, she must have started feeling rich, as much in spirit as in wealth. The 1940s and 50s were good for Virgie. She worked in Nell Donnelly's grocery store and eventually took it over from Nell. She ran her business, and for the first time, Virgie didn't have to worry about having rent money. She saved every nickle she made, and she could stretch a nickle into a mile. Although, it's important to note that Virgie never owned her own home.

In 1950, Reba got married, and James Lonnie was married in 1951. Virgie got her first grandchild in 1952, followed by two more in 1958. She would have three more by the end of the 1960s. In 1962, however, Virgie would face life alone, as John Henry passed away in May from a cerebral hemorage. She buried him in Forest Lawn Cemetery, in Erlanger, Kentucky, and at 52, she was a widow.

Virgie worked for Dolly Madison in Cincinnati, Ohio until she retired at age 60 in 1970. She remained active in the First Baptist Church of Ludlow, Kentucky until she could no longer live by herself. When she was 86, Virgie moved to Burlington to live with her daughter, Reba. She would join John Henry in Gloryland on December 6, 1997.

Virgie Belle Grimes Webb was a tower of strength. Whatever she set her mind to do, she could accomplish. She read the Bible every single day. It was hidden in her heart, to spill out whenever she felt threatened by the devil. She worried about her family, her children and grandchildren, sometimes to the point of overkill; but they always knew they had that hedge of angels around them because of the prayer warrior that Virgie was.

Virgie couldn't always remember her grandkids' names, and she would often get them confused. She would cook dinner for me using Rhonda's favorite foods. She would call Scott "Sparky" instead of his name. Sparky was the dog. Virgie was more than offended the year Scott and I made name tags for Thanksgiving dinner. She didn't take jokes well, but she liked games. She would spend hours playing Old Maid or Go Fish! She beat everybody at Chinese Checkers.

The legacy that Virgie left behind is well established. All of her grandchildren went to college. That was very important to her. She went to my graduation when I received my master's degree, and she probably shed more tears of pride and joy than anybody. Virgie's great grandchildren are functioning members of society. She didn't live long enough to know my family, but she would have approved.

Virgie is always here at every holiday gathering, at weddings and funerals. She meets us where we need her in dreams or prayers. She'll always be in our hearts.

I was with Virgie on her deathbed. I told her I wanted her to get well and come home. I'll never forget her words to me, "I'm going home. It won't be long, but I know I'll see you there."

No, it won't be long at all.

Farther Along

2008-07-15T00:22:00.009-04:00

There is an old gospel song called Farther Along, by R.E. Winsett. The words are as follows:

Tempted and
tried we're oft made to wonder
Why it should
be thus all the day long
While there are
others living about us
Never molested
though in the wrong

Monday afternoon, I had to go into the city and decided I'd come back along the river so I could take advantage of the sunshine and take some pictures for another website. Augusta has this one intersection that is really tricky, and if I live here for 100 years, I'll never get it right. There I was sitting in the middle of the intersection waiting for two other cars to make their moves. Suddenly they both started beeping their horns. Then there was a car behind me too, and I'm reasonably certain that poor women must have been deaf because she was using sign language to communicate with me. Finally, after a moment of shear dread and panic, I realized that I was the only person without a stop sign.

Then just as I put my foot on the accelerator and started to make my turn, the car coming toward me decided he had waited long enough and turned right. I nearly hit him and slammed on my breaks. Looking in my rearview mirror, that poor deaf lady was signing me again. You know that sign that said Welcome to Augusta right before I got to that intersection? Well, Augusta really didn't seem all that welcoming to me today.

As if that wasn't bad enough, I drove on down Main Street whereupon I saw the meanest lady in the town unpacking her car. Now this lady, Sandra, opened a new restaurant in town, which I'm sure is excellent. (Just because the lady is mean, doesn't mean she can't cook. I've tasted her food and it's usually very good.) Sandra has a new vehicle. Last year, she drove a Ford; this year, she is driving a BMW!

Why does it always seem like people who are mean to us get so many blessings? Oh I know the answer. It's because their blessings aren't really blessings. They are material things that will bloom and fade, but once they're gone, well.. they're gone forever. As a Christian, I'm laying up treasures in Heaven. Sure a BMW would be nice but I'll never have one, and I'd probably wreck it if I did.

I admit that I have prayed for Sandra for about a year now. I want God to bless her and her family, because at one point Sandra was my friend. I should look at that BMW as an answer to my prayers for her (but I admit I'm not quite there... yet.) I do want those drivers who were impatient with me to have a little more patience in their lives, to have a bit more grace. I want those things for myself.... not patience. I don't want patience.

Farther along,
we'll know all about it.
Farther along,
we'll understand why.
Cheer up my
brother. Live in the sunshine.
We'll understand it all by and by.
.

The Old Home Place

2008-07-14T12:49:00.007-04:00

This is a picture of my mother's old home place in Glenmary, Tennessee. It doesn't look like much, does it? I'm told it was made from old chestnut logs cut from ancient trees that grew right there in Scott County.

Of course, Scott County was at one point Morgan County, and Morgan was once Roane. The map just kept changing around the old Webb farm, but the old Webb farm never moved. Webb ancestors raised sheep and chickens. They planted the gardens that sustained their families through the changing seasons. They forged shelter in the caves during the civil war. God surely blessed my ancestors with the old home place.

I never got to visit the old home place. Most of the family had moved north during the depression. At one point the farm had to be sold to pay the taxes, but family bought it back. For more than a 100 years, the old home place kept faith with the Webb family. Finally, they sold the old house, and it was dismantled as the old chestnut logs were carried away one by one down the mountain, probably to be used in a new log home to sustain a new family. I like to believe that anyway.

The Webb and Carpenter Cemeteries are providing temporary residences to all my great grandparents (going back through four generations) and aunts and uncles, cousins I only meet through census reports and paper trails. Someday though, I will meet them all on the streets of Glory. In that day, when we all see the Lord... when we're all on our knees thanking Jesus for our salvation... In that day, I will also be able to thank all my ancestors for the home place deep inside my heart.

Lead Us Not IntoTemptation

2008-07-13T19:28:00.004-04:00

This morning Rev. Tony preached what he said will be his final sermon on the Lord's Prayer. His text, of course, came from the Sixth chapter of the Book of Matthew, verse 13. "And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil..." (KJV) Actually, there is another sermon in that verse, as it goes on to say, "for Thine is the kingdom and the glory and power forever. Amen." (KJV) However, Tony ends it here.

Today's premise is that the word temptation is defined in this situation as "test." When temptation comes our way, it is not from God, because God cannot lead us into evil. He can, however, allow tests that will shape our character. We can be tested during emotional highs and extreme lows. When we fall into one of these tests or "traps" (my word,) we do so because of the lusts in our own lives, as he paraphrased Chapter 4, Book of James.

From here, the good reverend explained that there is a very real adversary working against the children of God, and we need rescuing. "Deliver us from evil," is a cry for rescue from that which causes pain and trouble in our lives. When we pray, we are to pray for individuals. The church is brick and mortar, but the people in it make up the body of Christ. He said that when we ask God to keep us safe from those tests of evil, we "win," because through Christ Jesus, we have been delivered.

I told Rev. Tony, coming out of church today that I thought his sermon was concise and to the point. I had to think about it for awhile to really be able to comment, and believe it or not, the only comment I have is as follows:

I agree wholeheartedly with Tony that as Christians we will go through tests, and as such, we learn lessons from resisting temptation, and sometimes greater lessons when we don't.

The Apostle Paul is very clear in the Book of Romans that the Spirit will help us with our prayers. Romans, Chapter 8, verse 26, "Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered." (KJV) We have to be very careful not to burden our brothers and sisters in Christ with expectations of perfection that are not manifest to our human eyes. We should not instill a "fear" into our congregation that if they should "fall prey to any test because of their own lusts, then they would be out of the will of God." That is simply not true. To suggest otherwise is to negate the entire redemption story.

Case in point. When Peter walked on water, where was he in this test? When he took his eyes off Jesus, was he suddenly out of God's will? The answer is clearly "NO." Didn't the Savior reach out His hand for Peter and tell his disciple that he should have more faith? Clearly, the result of this test was Peter learned a valuable lesson about who commands the seas and who is worthy of his service and worship. Most tests that we face are like this. They are tests of faith, and we are reminded over and over that the source of our faith is God.

Sometimes we stumble publicly in ways that embarrass us and call our character into question. Once again, Peter denied Jesus three times. He was, however, never "out of God's will," as Jesus had already told him he would be the rock upon which His church would be built.

We have to remember that God has called us to Him. He will qualify us according to His plans, and even though we may stumble, forgiveness is available to us. Every Sunday, and today is not different, Tony talks about standing in judgement. We cannot say to our fellow Christian, "you will have to answer to God for your sin," for if he is saved (and only God can truly know,) then Romans 5:9 states that the believer is "...now justified by His blood, we shall be saved from wrath through Him." (KJV) Our mortal lives may face the consequences of our missteps, but our eternal lives are never on the line when we are covered in the blood.

Rev. Tony was absolutely correct when he proclaimed, "We win!" Those headlines have been written in RED.

Life With Sam

2008-07-12T23:53:00.004-04:00

Meet my German Shepherd, Sam. Sam just showed up on my porch one Saturday in October 2005. He scared us to death, because the coyotes around our farm are really brave. They'll come within ten feet of people and stand there as if to say, "I was here first!" We thought Sam was a coyote.

He was skinny when he walked up onto the porch. Phil opened the front door, and I sat down in the floor of our foyer and just looked at this poor dog. At first, he was timid and unsteady as he stepped onto the hardwood floor, but he did come inside. I just sat there and he walked over and laid down, putting his head in my lap. I loved this dog immediately.

Phil and I walked all over the hills where we live to see if anyone had lost a dog. Sam is definitely a purebred German Shepherd of German stock. You can find dogs like him for sale on the Internet for tons of money, but nobody would claim this dog. We put an ad in the local weekly newspaper, and at the time, I had a small gift shop in town, so I put signs up there. Thank God! Nobody else wanted this dog.

Sam belongs to me now. He's my pet. He's my friend. I had him microchipped. He has saved the life of my pekingese so many times. They are brothers. I have three young cats who look to Sam like he's "dad." He watches out for them, even waiting until they've tasted his dog food before nudging them out of the way. At night, he herds the cats into the bedroom. If he hears one in another room, he'll go get her and bring her to us. We didn't teach him that; he's a dog filled with love.

If Sam had to choose between eating and being with me, he'd choose me. He came knowing how to walk behind me, to stop when I stop and to lie down on command. He is now a 90 pound dog, so he can't turn around in our hallway very easily. That's usually when I fall over him.

He's great at fetch, but he doesn't always bring things back. I quit with the Frisbee because I kept hitting him in the head, but he always forgave me and was willing to keep on trying.

I take Sam almost everywhere. He rides in the front seat beside me, or sometimes he'll lay in the back seat. He is a great dog, and he was free! I wouldn't take a million dollars for this dog! I love my dog.

The Beginnings of Discussions on Theology

2008-07-12T00:50:00.004-04:00

I have always been fascinated by theology. It's a very dangerous topic and not one I visit lightly. I'm not a theology scholar, although my daughter has a masters degree in it, and she is always sure that the rest of us have misinformed opinions. I study theology because I want to know God. So many people seem to know a great deal about God, but I'm often bewildered by the fact that they do not KNOW God. They do not appear to have any kind of personal relationship with Him; the concept is not logical to them. They question how something supernatural can have a "relationship" with someone in the natural. It tests the limits of their imagination.

I've been studying Calvinism over the past several years. Ten years ago, I thought Calvinism was reserved for people who, well, let's just say see themselves as set apart from the rest of us. I've learned over and over all about God's sense of humor that's wrapped up in that marvelous irresistible grace that is always sufficient. Thus, today I see this form of theology as very liberating. It gives back to God what has always been His.

We know that we are born into sinful world, that even in the innocence of infancy, we are sinful merely because sin has separated us from God. We know, as Christians, that He calls us to Him with no conditions. He doesn't call the qualified but qualifies the called. Unless we embrace universalism, atonement is limited to those who repent of our sins and call upon Him as Lord. His grace is irresistible, because He is all powerful. He rules the universe, and in so doing, how can it be possible to ignore His call? Finally, for those who are covered by the blood of Jesus, losing our salvation is just too much fathom.

The an acronym for Calvinism is T.U.L.I.P..

Total depravity of man
Unconditional election
Limited atonement
Irresistible grace
Perseverance of the saints

I am going to write more about this as the days go by, to share my thoughts on why I've evolved to embrace this theology. My pastor and I seem to have this discussion every Sunday, and I walk away laughing, while he walks away scratching his head. Here's the key that turns the lock: God is omnipotent. If He is omnipotent and His grace unlimited, God cannot be limited by human characteristics! In the future, I'm going to include Scriptures that I believe support these five tenants.

Again, I am not a theologian or scholar. I'm just like everybody else, waiting on the Lord and walking toward home. I'm hoping people will visit and leave comments so I can learn from them and maybe everyone else can too.

Reba Webb Goff

2008-07-11T14:01:00.006-04:00

Reba Jerleen Webb Goff was born in Glenmary, Scott County, Tennessee to John Henry Webb and Virgie Belle Webb, nee Grimes. She was the first of three children, born during the depression. She had one brother, James Lonnie (Buddy) and one sister, Shelba Jean. In 1932, the family moved from the hills of Tennessee and the land that had been in the Webb family for generations to Ludlow, Kenton County, Kentucky. Reba is my mother.

When John Webb could find work during the depression years, it was often doing odd jobs such as carrying ice and working for the WPA. John's brother, Will, had moved to Northern Kentucky with the Southern Railroad, and eventually, John worked there too.

Virgie always worked, doing laundry for other people or whatever she could to help make ends meet. She worked in Nell Donnelly's store for awhile and eventually bought it from Nell. She carried groceries all over Ludlow, making deliveries for extra cash.

Reba is a product of the Ludlow Independent School system, having graduated from high school in 1948. She has always talked about Anna Jean Fightmaster, whom she said was her best friend through school. There are photographs of the two of them on various trips.

In 1950, Reba married Paul Goff, in a small ceremony in the parsonage of First Baptist Church of Ludlow. The two set up housekeeping living upstairs over Clarence and Gladys Dunnegan's house across from the church. I came along in 1958, and they had moved to Church Street. By 1960, Paul wanted to move to the country. So they borrowed money from Paul's dad for a down payment and bought a house on Bullittsville Road in Burlington, Boone County, Kentucky.

Paul and Reba immediately began attending Burlington Baptist Church to which they eventually moved their membership.

Reba didn't drive in those years. She worked for Reeve's Drive-in in Florence, and Paul would load me into his Impala and drive her to work at 5:00 and go and get her sometime after 11:00. Somehow, they made that work even though he worked everyday on the Railroad.

Reba's house was immaculate. One could still eat a scrambled egg off the floor of her kitchen and never fear (a weird gene that did not get passed to me.) We had that little bitty house, and every 10 years or so, Reba and Paul would decide to paint the walls and try something different. Yet, it was always simple and neat.

It was sometime in the early 70s that Reba went to work for the Boone County Fiscal Court. Her friend from church, Billie Jo Morris, was beginning a juvenile program in Boone County under the auspices of then County Judge Bruce Ferguson. They asked Reba to come to work, an opportunity for which Reba was always grateful.

Reba is two things: a died in the wool Roosevelt democrat and a strict Southern Baptist. I think she has crossed over in her voting a few times, but never in her spiritual life. She's the rock on a Rock. In the late 60s and early 70s, Reba taught Sunday School. (She was my teacher at least three times. Billie Jo was my teacher four times that I can recall, not to mention my GA leader.) Reba was always the realist in the family too. If someone (I) wanted to take dance lessons, Paul was all for it, but Reba would second guess whether it was right. Paul usually won, and when awards or accolades came as a result, Reba was usually all smiles. Yet, having said that, Reba was usually the one who ended up taking her daughter to all those lessons that Paul decided she should have. Tisk, I regress.

Reba has a million friends. No joke. True Friends. .. At least a million. She knows everybody, and everybody seems to know her. All one has to do is be nice to her, and she'll be their friend for life. She builds people up and defends them. She's very naive, but that's definitely worked for her. Her closest friends have to be Bea & Larky Smith, Mabel & Darrell Reed, Frances Love and Billie Jo Morris. She's also close to her sister-in-law, Dorothy Webb, although she gets frustrated when Dorothy gets snippy. (I don't think she means to get snippy, but she doesn't like to answer many questions.)

Reba is now 79 years young and still works as often as she is needed. She loves working for the county, mostly because she loves being with people. Judge Executive Gary Moore and County Administrator Jeff Earlywine seem to take very good care of her. Daphne Kornblum and Robin Curry also look out for her. They pretty much allow her to come and go as she wants, but Reba would never ever take advantage of that. She'll always agree to work longer hours during vacation season and employee illnesses, even at the chagrin of her family and friends who think she ought to slow the pace a bit.

Reba is my mother. As much trouble as I've managed to give her in my life, I thank God for her everyday. She taught her daughter well and made sure she was well rounded in her life experiences and studies. She taught me about Jesus. She made sure I knew (and still know) that I could always come home. No matter what, I could always come home. That is one incredible foundation.

Paul Goff

2008-07-10T15:10:00.004-04:00

Paul Martin Goff was born June 12, 1927. He died August 13, 2005. He was my father. The words come slowly now as emotions work their way to the surface.

Paul's father, Andy, was a foreman for the Southern Railroad. His mother, Nellie, had a second grade education. He had three brothers and one sister with whom he remained steadfastly close all his days.

The Goffs migrated to Cincinnati from Somerset, Kentucky so that Andy could work on the rail. Paul was born in Ludlow, in the section house where his family lived until Andy' retired. The section house was owned by the railroad, and that was a good thing. The depression hit the family hard, and they could never have afforded a home of their own. They lived in extreme poverty, but they had it better than most. Andy, at least, had steady work. Nellie was home alone with the children. She was a strict disciplinarian and was known for her redheaded temper. Times were different then. Things she used to control her children would not be tolerated today, but not to fear, her children turned out just fine.

She believed in rearing her children on the Word of god. The children attended Ludlow School, and were all raised in the First Baptist Church of Ludlow. Andy was a strict Southern Baptist, believing strongly in the need for the cooperative association among churches. Andy wore his perfect attendance church pins proudly. All the Goff children would grow to be avid church going evangelicals, especially Paul.

It's hard to imagine what life must have been like for the Goffs, being so poor. Paul used to talk about the day his elementary class went to the Cincinnati Zoo. He wore a winter wool suit. He said he nearly roasted, and some girls made fun of him because it was spring. He said he cried the rest of the day. It was the only suit he had.

Paul joined the U.S. Army in 1944 after his brother, Richard, was wounded during the kamikaze strike of the U.S.S. Morrison. He entered the Army at 16, and got to see most of Europe. He was an MP in Italy immediately after the fall of Mussolini. That's a subject that was off limits for discussion unless he mentioned it first.

When he came home from the service, he asked Reba Webb to marry him, and after a two year engagement, they married on April 29, 1950 at the First Baptist Church parsonage. Paul worked for the Southern Railroad, like his father before him. During a slow time when he was laid off from the rail, he sold insurance which he hated. When he went back to the rail, he spent 37 years there.

In 1960, Paul moved his family from Ludlow to Burlington. By this time he had a two year old daughter (me.) He bought an 800 sq. ft. red brick house. He fenced the yard, and built patios and flower beds. He planted trees and kept his property looking better than anyone else's in the neighborhood. The backyard was Paula's Playground. At one point, he had built a swing set, a slide, a merry-go-round, two different kinds of seesaws and a swimming pool. There were more toys in our backyard than at the elementary school playground. (I always wondered if other kids came to see me or to just play with my toys.)

There wasn't anything I couldn't get if I caught Paul in just the right mood. His goal was very simple: He wanted his daughter to have everything that he didn't have as a child. He worked everyday so that my life would be easy. He attended every play I was ever in, and he insisted that I learned to read music. He encouraged me in anything I ever expressed interest. Band, drama, choir, dance and baton twirling were all things he supported, emotionally and monetarily. He loved my friends. His favorites had to be Leslie Berkshire, Claudia Nevel and Teresa Smoot. He loved Bonnie Reed too, but she was more like another daughter as her family lived next door.

Paul lived a good life. He said so on his death bed, even though he had spent the last 20 years of it in and out of hospital after hospital. He started out with throat cancer whereby he had a laryngectomy. His beautiful tenor voice was silenced, but he could still coach me. He then entertained a bout with prostate cancer, followed by congestive heart failure and diabetes. Finally, lung cancer took him home.

Even in the last 20 years of his life, although sick and somewhat feeble, he managed to "see the USA in his Chevrolet." Paul & Reba, along with our next door neighbors, Mabel & Darrell Reed, his boyhood fishing buddies, John D. & Frances Love, and Bea & Larky Smith, spent six weeks each summer travelling to different parts of the country. When John D. was the first of the crew to pass away, Paul lost much of his amusement for life.

He rallied in 2000 when his daughter was appointed Property Valuation Administrator of Boone County by then Kentucky Governor, Paul Patton. The night before assuming that position, Paula married Phil Christy. When Phil built a house in Bracken County and the brick was finally on it, Paul could rest easy, knowing he had left Reba in good shape and Paula had Phil. On Saturday morning, August 13, 2005, Paul went to Heaven. He is missed more than any one person should be, but everyone knows where he is. He left the world a better place for having been here. That's more than most people can ever say.

Forgiveness

2008-07-08T01:29:00.003-04:00

This past Sunday, Rev. Tony preached about forgiveness, taking his text from the Lord's Prayer in the sixth chapter of the Book of Matthew, "Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors." Tony brought in the rest of this text wherein Jesus explained that if we do not forgive others, God cannot forgive us. For 35 minutes, Tony drove this home. There was no implied threat here. He was crystal clear that one could not receive forgiveness from God unless one forgives and forgets others for whatever transgression may have been committed.

I totally agree with Tony on this. What's to disagree with, the Bible? I'm not prepared to disbelieve what I believe to be the Word of the Living God. However, I think forgiveness, of ones own accord, is not always possible let alone probable. It is not something that the human condition can bring about without the divine intervention from God.

It is, therefore, my contention that forgiveness comes only in communion with God. By communion, I'm referring to prayer. Praying for our enemies is the only possible way to forgive them. There are wounds that cut so deeply, words cannot describe it. The only balm for those wounds comes from the Holy Spirit. We cannot continue to despise people when we are asking God to forgive them, to heal them, to guide them. We forgive their trespasses, not by our own virtues, for we have no virtues. The Bible is very clear, that there is none righteous.

When we lift our enemies up to God, He calms our spirits and binds our wounds. When we sit quiet and lay the hurt and the venom at the cross, God takes it and casts it into the depths of the sea. When we say, "Father, care for my enemies as you care for me, and forgive my anger." God answers prayer. The hurt may or may not go away over night, but it does subside. It goes away. It's forgotten.

It is my contention that this is the one and only way to get to the point of forgiveness. We have to give it to God. I believe that God is omniscient and knows what we can and cannot do in our state of mortality. I also believe that for a shepherd to admonish his flock for bad behavior without telling it how to correct it is doing only half the job. In this case, Tony's sermon was half of what it should have been. Maybe he'll read this and come back to it next Sunday.

I'm a Born Again Christian & I'm Voting For Obama!

2008-06-25T01:00:00.005-04:00

Dr. James Dobson does not speak for me, an evangelical Christian. He does not interpret the Bible on my behalf. On the contrary, when I think about Focus on the Family and Dr. Dobson, I am reminded of Matthew, Chapter 6, vs. 5, "And when thou prayest, thou shalt not be as the hypocrites are: for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and in the corners of the streets, that they may be seen of men. Verily I say unto you, They have their reward." (King James Version.) I listen to Focus on the Family nearly everyday, and it has occurred to me that whatever message Dr. Dobson tries to convey ends up being a completely self adulating story. Today was the last day I will have listened to Focus on the Family.

When Dr. Dobson rediculed U.S. Senator Barack Obama's "distortion of the Bible," and the Senator's "fruitcake interpretation of the {U.S.} Constitution," he offended me, not as a Democrat, but as a Christian. He offended me as a born again child of the Living God. When did evangelicals relinquish our brain cells? When was it decided that belief in the Holy Bible as the infallible Word of God would be confined to one particular dogma? Hey, I didn't get that memo. Dr. Dobson does not speak for me as a Christian, as an American, as anything. Quite frankly I am ashamed that too many of my brothers and sisters in Christ follow Dr. Dobson blindly down a very broad and dangerous road.

If I wasn't certain prior to today which presidential candidate would ultimately win my vote, I am now very adamant, and ironically, Dr. Dobson can take credit for the epiphany. I will give my vote to the candidate who speaks of healing and peace. I will vote for Barack Obama. If the Lord comes back before I have to cast that vote, all the better.

Oh Yes, Family

2008-06-24T13:15:00.003-04:00

This is my family. My mom and dad are seated on the couch. (That's Myrtle in Dad's lap.) My husband, Phil, and I are standing behind them. This photo was taken Thanksgiving 2004. My dad was gone by Thanksgiving 2005.

I was named after my dad, his being Paul Martin Goff. My mother is Reba Webb Goff. Both my parents are products of Ludlow, Kentucky. Dad always referred to Reba as the "prettiest girl to ever come out of Ludlow High School." She hated that.

My parents were married 54 years. They set the example for commitment. I do remember times they were extremely angry with each other, but they obviously got over them. For the most part, I think they were both happy with their lives.

My dad worked for the railroad for 37 years of his life. He was a pipefitter by trade, although he was very talented and could just about anything he wanted. My mother worked for the Boone County KY Fiscal Court as a secretary, first in the Juvenile Court, and then in the Police Department. She retired from the police department when she was 65. A year later, she went back to work part time. I doubt she'll ever completely retire.

My parents were strict Southern Baptists in the "old" sense of the phrase. That is, they both believe the Bible cover to cover. They believe in the priesthood of the individual believer. They believe in the autonomy of the local church, and they understood the difference between preachers speaking to their own church and tele-evangelists who had a different calling on their lives. They preferred the former.

My parents were also strict Democrats. Even when the county around them was becoming republican, they stayed true to their values. Franklin Roosevelt put people to work. My grandfather (John Webb) was able to work through the great depression, thanks to the WPA. My great-uncle gave his legs at the invasion of Normandy. The DNA spilled on battlefields around the world bought them the right to be Democrats, no matter what those who would call them "demoncrats" would say. To my parents, those people were neocon opportunists who had suddenly gotten two nickles to rub together and had forgotten from whence they came.

To know me is to know that, as much as I might have at one time fought it, I am a chip off the old block! I am that Southern Baptist who reserves the right to interpret the Bible as it speaks to me. I am that Democrat whose core belief is in the responsibility to help those who cannot help themselves.

These are things I have tried to change over the years, but they come to me through DNA. As my parents were, so am I. We can't choose family. We are products of what God sent before us, and even if that weren't so, I don't think I'd want it any differently.

Now an upcoming post will be about my extended family, and that's DNA of a different variety.

Fibromyalgia

2008-06-23T02:08:00.002-04:00

I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia in 1994, back before it became a buzzword for undefined pain. Fortunately, I was being treated by a doctor who was suffering from the same thing, so she didn't look at me like I had three heads when I described what I was feeling.

There is a new commercial out now that shows a woman with deep bruising at places where she has pain. That's exactly how it feels. It feels like there bruises all over my body, extremely painful to touch. Sleep comes very slowly and is difficult at best. Muscles don't relax, and the Robaxin does not seem to help. I lie in bed with my eyes closed, looking into my eyelids for self hypnotic relief. When morning does come crashing in, it brings stiff joints and tension headaches that last for hours.

Some days are better than others, but some days seem like a total waste of time. Today, for example, instead of going to church and taking my corn for the pot luck meal, I was on the couch all day. My head ached, my shoulders throbbed, and when I got up to move from one room to another, my back felt like it had been twisted into a tiny knot and was trying vainly to untwist itself. My knees feel like walking will cause them to subluxate, causing me to fall. My ankles are stiff, and my toes feel like they are splaying, trying to get away from one another.

Fibromyalgia is a chronic pain condition, that the scientific world is just now studying in a serious way. The best that can be done, however, is to treat it symptomatically. There is nothing to prevent it and nothing to stop it. Lyrica has come onto the market, but it's expensive, and my insurance won't pay for it. Even with the discount card, it's more expensive than I can afford.

My hope is that someday, there will be answers for fibromyalgia sufferers. As for now, I hope there are more days like yesterday and fewer days like today.

The Mutation of a Pekingese

2008-06-21T23:48:00.002-04:00

This is my dog, Tex. He is a Pekingese. As you can see, he looks like he ran into a wall and smashed his face. He snorts, sneezes and snores through life.

He has a rolling ambling gate about him. More than that, he waddles, and with his brown bushy coat, he looks like a walking paper bag.

The standard of the breed says a peke should be no more than 14 lbs. Well, let's call Tex a mutation. He's a 22 lb. stocky little dog. He's still short and close to the ground, but Tex is big to be a peke.

If I ever have another little dog, I may name him Napolean, because Tex truly has that complex of thinking he is much bigger than he actually is. He's my watch dog. I have a german shepherd that would just lick a stranger to death. Not Tex, oh noooooo... Tex will take an ankle off if he doesn't like the looks or smell of a stranger.

I love Tex. He's one of the dogs that forgives me almost daily. He's very demanding, so he gets told "no" a lot. He's very persistent, so he gets ignored a lot. He's very loving, and he gets wallowed a lot. Tex would go anywhere with me, and I feel terrible when I don't take him. But, like I said, he's my watch dog.

Everything I Know About Forgiveness I Learned from My Dogs

2008-06-18T01:02:00.007-04:00

Everything I Know About Forgiveness, I Learned From My Dogs!
Sam and Tex are my dogs. Sam is an 95 pound German Shepherd, while Tex is a 20 pound Pekingnese. (Yes, I know, Tex is a large Peke, but he's just a pet.) I love my dogs for one reason: They love me. No matter what I do or where I go, my dogs want to be with me. They are my cheerleaders, my biggest fans. They protect me when they sense danger. They watch out for my cats. Most of all, they forgive me no matter what I do. I love my dogs.

I take them for a rides in my Rendezvous from Germantown to Falmouth, forgetting that windy KY 22 probably isn't the best road for a dog's stomach. Sometimes they get sick, but they forgive me.
Occasionally, I run out of dog food and try to fool them with cat food. They don't like it, but they forgive me.
They must feel abandoned when I leave them home alone, but they forgive me.
Tex gets allergy injections every Saturday. He hates them, but he forgives me.
Sam gets yelled at for jumping into the pond, but he forgives me and jumps in again!
One time I threw the frisbee and accidentally hit Sam in the head with it, but he forgave me.
When Sam came to live with us, he stole all of Tex's toys, but Tex forgave me and Sam.
People say dogs can't rationalize, but I think they can. Why else would mine forgive and forget all the stupid things I do? My dogs love me. Yes, I said they love me, and that is an emotion - not a human emotion attributed to the dogs either. I wouldn't take a million dollars for either one of my dogs.

Brittany

2008-06-18T00:46:00.004-04:00

My Goddaughter is Brittany. She just turned 13, but she thinks she's going on 20. In many ways, she's barely out of diapers. I love Brittany for all the reasons she can drive me nuts. She's beautiful. She's talented. She's smart. She's boy crazy. She's popular.

Brittany is nothing like I was at 13. In fact, I was probably more like she is now (confident, happy, holding the tiger by the tail) at 22 than she is going into adolescence.

I worry about her, because she jumps into things with her heart instead of her head. The little things trip her up and send her into those adolescent rantings. However, she can be the one of the dearest sweetest people I've ever known. Her heart breaks for people who are mistreated, and she defends people who often go unnoticed or misunderstood. She knows she's beautiful, but she's unashamed to befriend other students who don't necessarily fall into the beautiful crowd.

In a world of things that can really bring a person down, I'm so thankful for Brittany. She's somebody who makes me very proud.