Aunt Lucy & Aunt Annie Early 1900s

Automobiles and Train Stations

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

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

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

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

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.

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.