We took three weeks out of school through fodder time. We’d pull fodder. Back then, that’s all the thing we had to feed the cows on. Poppy would go along and cut the tops off the cornstalks and lay ’em down in a pile. We’d come along and pull the fodder from the ear down to the ground. We would tie it up with our hands and hang it on a stalk where he could cut it off, right above the ear of corn. He’d have to turn ’em back and tie them tops up in a wad. We’d tote ’em up for him. He’d shock ’em up five in a place and tie ’em. A stalk ’round the top of ’em would keep the rain off.
We pulled tanbark and Paul Foster would haul it. We dug that sassafras root and we’d take it home, lay it out and let it dry. We’d have to turn it over every day, so the sun could dry it. Paul Foster had a store and he’d buy it. He had a old model ’28 Chevrolet truck and he’d load that truck up, and it would take him all day to go to Murphy [North Carolina] and back. Me and his twin boys went with him. They’s a watering tank right this side of Murphy where people watered their horses. It was a great big tank full of water and it poured off in there just as pretty. We stopped there and got us a drink of water.
Paul sold his bark and he bought some bananas, first ones I’d ever seen or the twins either. Well, we come back to that watering tank and he divided ’em, gave us all one apiece. I didn’t know what to do with it. Nary one of us knowed how to eat ’em. I just helt mine around awhile and directly one of them boys just took ’im a big bite off his, hull and all. Paul said, “Oh pshaw, son, you’re s’posed to peel that thing before you eat it.” It was pitiful at the time. Then I peeled mine and ate it. I was sharp enough to wait and see how it was done. Then we came on home—took us a night to come in.
Papaw told us different things that he and his brother and sisters did when they were growing up—mischief they got into, other experiences they had together and with their friends.
I had a sister that was two years younger than I. My daddy sent her and me after some wood one time. We had to go about a quarter of a mile, way across the creek over onto a hill. When we got there, I picked her out a stick that was little that she could carry, you know. I got me a bigger one. She was mad because she had to go. I never paid no attention to her and when we got back to the house, she had a stick bigger than I did. She told Poppy that I made her tote that big stick of wood. She commenced a-crying, said I made her do that. Poppy kept on till he made her own up that she lied. She got the whupping—I never got one. She was mean. You couldn’t touch her—she’d cry every time that you touched her. She was awful.
PLATE 373 Mr. Dayton with Kim Hamilton.
I never heard tell of any robbing and stealing. They’s one breaking-in ever I heard tell of from Paul Foster. He stayed there at his store all of his life and somebody broke in it one time. Now, we lived right over the hill. Paul Foster had twin boys, and me and them twins run around together. We decided one day that we’d go in the window, so I helped ’em up to the window. They went in and got some candy. Paul Foster heard about it and caught us somehow or other. I told my daddy, “Well, I didn’t go in.”
He said, “But you was there with ’em. You was just as bad to blame as they was. You stood and helped ’em in.” That night I got a switching and them twins got one, too. We never did break in anymore.
When I was a little bitty boy, I got what they called a panhandle knife. It was about so long and had a tin handle. My granddaddy called ’em a panhandle. They cost a dime. Now they’d cost at least fifty cents. That’s the only one I ever had—was little old bitty. You couldn’t cut nothing with it.
Bosh Kimsey gave me the first haircut ever I got and it cost twenty-five cents. My mommy had cut it for ages and that was the first ’un I ever had to pay for. He’s still there today cutting hair for a dollar. He’s been there sixty years, I’d say. He cut it for a quarter for ages and ages. [Lots of folks] are charging two dollars and a half for a haircut now. Bosh is a good hair cutter. I still go to him. Give him a dollar ever’ time I go.
Sometimes I stayed with my granddaddy, and we had to go from Scataway across the mountain over to the highway to get our mail. I had an old mule that I rode across the mountain. Once when I was visiting him his sister, my Aunt Sally, came to see him all the way from Idaho. I remember she took my picture sitting on that old mule—ol’ Kate I believe was that mule’s name. It was cold and I had an ol’ ’boggan cap on.
I went coon huntin’ when I stayed at my granddaddy’s. And the first year I was there, I went squirrel huntin’. I kept a count of’em. I’d get up before daylight and be away on the head of Scataway. I was just a boy then and I killed forty-two squirrels that fall and they ’uz pretty good, too.
I hardly ever went fishing as a boy. The lake here comes right down in front of the house and I’ve fished there one time in the last five years, I guess.
I’ll tell you about two dogs we had when we were living in Scataway for Vogel Lumber Company. We had a little yellow feist about two foot long and a big old cur we called Buttons. We’d be out a-working somewhere and directly we’d hear that little old feist go to baying at something. When that old big cur heared him bay, he’d go to him. When he got there, he went in. He’d have a snake—a rattlesnake, any kind, didn’t make no difference. He’d kill that rattlesnake. He got bit four or five times. We’d have to put lamp oil on his head and this wild touch-me-not [flower], it’s got some kind of milk in it that we’d feed to him. He’d lay around a day or two till he got well. That cur would know just as well when that little old feist barked. It’d trail ’em up and bay ’em by itself. The cur wouldn’t trail ’em up but when he heard him bark he went right to him. When he got there, he went in and got that snake—didn’t make no difference what it was. He’d shake it and break its neck. It’s pitiful at th’snakes they was up in there then. We was all lucky we never did get bit by a rattlesnake. I’ve seen ’em four inches through, big ’uns.
One time my mommy and brother was out in the fields picking blackberries. It was all growed up and they was pushing through the briars. Mommy looked down and there was a rattlesnake. She said it was quiled up as big as a half-bushel tub in its own quile. It was so big she couldn’t kill it. She just eased back out and when Poppy come home, it’d left. Clyn was too little to kill it so they left that snake, a great big ’un. Poppy was off a-ditching. If he’d been there, he’d went and killed it.
Clyn had a little steer just so big, and he had him learnt to pull a sled. Everybody was gone but me one day and I hooked him up. I thought I’d ride the sled. I did—I got on him and away I went! Come down to the creek and had to cross. The bank was kinda steep, and when that sled went off into the creek, I went right in front of the sled, right between the steer’s hind legs. He pulled the sled over the top of me and me in the creek, but it never hurt me a bit. All I was afraid of was going home wet. I stayed out a long time trying to get my britches dry. The steer was easy caught. He was tame, you know. He didn’t stop when I went off over the sled. He just drug the sled right over the top of me.
Clyn was a lot older than I was and he was breaking little bulls to ride. He’d hold the little bull by the horns till I got on. Then that bull locked down and he bucked me off. I went over his head and one of his horns stuck in right there (below my lip). My daddy was gone to work, a-ditching. Vogel Lumber Company had a telephone so if a fire got out, we could call ’em and tell ’em that a fire was in the woods. They was another one over at John H. Corn’s where my daddy worked and my mother called over there. She told him about the bull and he understood that it’d hooked me in the mouth and tore my mouth open. Here he come! When he got there, it wasn’t too bad—just made a scar.
I never rode a train in my life. Never rode a airplane and don’t never aim to. First airplane ever I seen was so high I could just barely see it. I’d heard about ’em. If one ever passed over here, it didn’t get down low like they do now. They was up yonder and we could barely see ’em, but now they’re getting down low.
I
was about twelve years old when I saw my first car. Me and my brother was walking from the house at Scataway to Paul Foster’s. There was bad curves in the road, and I seen a car a-coming around a curve. I didn’t know how in the world he’d ever get around that curve. He made it, though. I thought he’d have to go straight but he come around that curve.
They told this on Max Shook. I don’t know if it was so or not. I imagine it was the first car he had ever seen. The old A-Model had a little bitty horn: “Urrrk, urrrk.” It was kind of like that roadrunner I had. Max seen that car a-coming and he outrun it. The cars had wooden wheels then. Max said it went hicky, hacky, hicky, hacky, ooork, ooork. He mocked it a-running. The people in the car blowed the horn at Max. He outrun it to where he got to the end of the road and he turned down to the trail. It was so. I’m satisfied it was so.
Trick or treating was about the worst mischief we got into. We would go get somebody’s cow and take it to somebody else’s barn. And take their cow to another barn. Swap all the cows around. The owners didn’t know we was doing it because they’d be in the bed asleep. They’d go out to milk the next morning and they would have a different cow standing in the stable.
Poor old Horace Parton was courtin’ on the head of Scataway. Three or four of us, I don’t know how many, decided to play a trick on him. He took his girl home and come back down to the forks of the road, and they was a pretty sandy place there. We took us a wire and tied it from the fence over to the bank of the road, about a foot high off the ground. We run on back up the road and got us some rocks. We got out of his sight. It was after dark and we started rocking him. We didn’t rock him to hit him, just scare him. He started a-running and when he hit that wire, he turned a somerset right into the road. It was a wonder we hadn’t a’ killed him. He got up from there a-running. We never heard tell of him no more. He wasn’t even at home. We was tickled to death about him a-falling. We went and took our wire down, then set around and talked awhile. Then we went home. Now, we done all such as that to people. It was fun to us. I wouldn’t do it now for no means in the world.
A great bunch of us would get out and pitch horseshoes all day a Saturday and Sunday. That’s two days we got to rest. We had a lot of fun. It was a long sandy place where we’d drive up stobs. Four of us would pitch, and if you got close to the stob, you got one point. If you rung it with your horseshoe, you got five points. If you leant the horseshoe up against the stob, you got three points. Two people were on each team, and whichever team lost would set down, and two more would get up and pitch against the winners. If they lost, they’d set down. That’s the only way you could tell the champions, pitching against each other.
PLATE 374 Dana, Dana’s mother, Maelane, and Mr. Dayton.
We liked especially to go to revivals. They’d have a revival for two weeks back then but other than that, the preacher would only come once’t a month and preach. We didn’t go to church ever’ Sunday then, just once a month. We’d have two weeks’ revival and have some awful good meetings then. They had these meetings in that old log house where we went to school with the chimney to it. We weren’t having school in the fall of the year when revival time came around. We had green beans and roastin’ ears to feed the preacher when he came to preach.
That old log school was called Pine. Grove School House. It was just a big one-room house with a chimney six foot wide. We burnt big wood in it and that’s what kept us warm. Us boys would go out and hunt the wood, pick up what dead stuff we could get. It was located on Scataway about four mile from where we lived. They wasn’t nothing like a bus; we had to walk. Mad dog tales would get out and we’d have to walk to school, us scared to death. I’d pass Jim Ledford’s house and he had an old bull. See, they run outside then. There wasn’t no fence law. Ever’ time we’d pass his house we’d run, afraid that old bull would get after us.
We used to live right over there in the hollow, and go to school right over there. We’d walk back across the hill home, eat dinner, and come back to school.
The meanest thing I done in school was crooking a pin and putting it down on the bench for somebody to set down on. A lot of people set on them. You’d take a pin and you’d crook it two ways. The flat part is what they set on. That part sticking straight up. When they set down, they didn’t stay long. We’d all deny out of all such as that. I never did set on one. I’d do it myself, but I’d always watch. They got to where they would watch where they set. I’ve got whuppings for some meanness. I don’t even know what for, now.
We wasn’t real mean to the teacher. We had a stove made out of a barrel. We kept some water on top of the stove. It kept down headaches, they said. I was putting wood in it one day and she was setting there. I knocked that water off and it scalded her leg. I laughed at her. I didn’t know no better then. I believe she was Mrs. Brown. We just had lady teachers. Our school only went through the seventh grade. Ever’book that I got, I had to borrow from somebody else to read in. They would attend school. Then I’d borrow their book. I’d get my lesson that way.
We didn’t keep warm walking to school. One time when I was a great big boy, my britches was tore. It’d come a snow and we was coming down the road from the schoolhouse. Me and John Allen each got us a girl. Then we’d push ’em and slide ’em by their feet down the road. I got Eileen under the arms and here me and her went. I hooked my toe in my tore britches leg and I went flat down. She went on down through there on her back. It made her mad! She thought I done it on purpose, but I didn’t. I don’t remember what she said. She just quarreled me out.
I went to the seventh grade and didn’t know it. The only way I ever learnt anything was when I started a little ol’ store. It was Frank Duckworth learnt me how to figure corn so much a bushel. We’d buy it by the pound mostly then, fifty-six pound to a bushel.
I don’t know why I waited so long to get married. I was bashful, I guess. I didn’t get married till I was twenty-four. When I was about eighteen years old, I got to courting. I went from one house to the other, backwards and forwards.
My daddy had a mule and Jess Ormby had one. Jess didn’t have no stable for his mule, so he put it in my daddy’s stable. Me and Bill Ormby [Jess’s son] would go courting together. When it got dark, we’d go and steal the mules out and ride ’em at night. One night my daddy caught Bill getting his, and it liked to have scared that boy to death. Bill would get on that old gray mule and ride him without a bridle. We’d go somewhere and stay till way in the night, mostly to Ernie Parton’s. He was about the only one that set up real late.
Up till I was twenty years old, I pulled a crosscut saw, cut logs in the mountains. We cut eight-foot logs for a dollar a thousand on thousand-foot log scale. If they was any over eight foot, we got seventy-five cents a thousand. It took us all day with that crosscut saw to get a thousand foot. We’d make seventy-five cents or a dollar a day. That’s all we made.
I put a little store up before I got married. I was about twenty years old and I had thirty-some dollars. I believe I sold a pair of steers for thirty-some dollars and I put a store up in Daddy’s barn loft. He had the barn down below the road and the road was just about level with the door that went in the loft. I done real good. I had lard, flour, sugar, and stuff like that. I would trade all week except on Saturday. My brother had that old ’28 Chevrolet truck, and I hired him to take me to Hiawassee with my corn. They’d bring corn in about all the time. I’d take in corn and buy my groceries from Frank Duckworth. I wouldn’t get ’em wholesale—you had to go to Hayesville to get ’em wholesale. I couldn’t go there, but Frank would give me a discount on the groceries. I’d bring ’em back and sell ’em. I hauled in lots of corn that people traded to me. I made good money.
Later I boxed up one end of Mommy’s old long porch and had my store there. Then I got able to build me one. I built a store eight foot wide and twelve foot long below the road, had a lot of trade there. Then I rented Frank Corn’s house, a big old long house out there. I put a store in one end of it and I lived
in the other end. That’s where I lived when we got married. That’s been a long time ago.
I’d put up that store and I had a little money. My brother had a family and he didn’t have any money. He wanted me to go with him to Clayton and buy a truck in halves with him, where he could get my money. He was a little sharper than I was and I did it. Well, it didn’t turn out right. I couldn’t drive and he kept the truck all the time. He got me out one day teaching me to drive the truck. I run into the bank [of the road] with it and that’s the last time he let me drive. I swapped him my part of the truck for two little steers after that. That was the first time I ever tried to drive.
When I got able, I bought me a A-model and Paul Ormby learned me how to drive. He wouldn’t get in with me. He stood on the fender and told me how to drive. He was afraid I would wreck so he stood on the fender. He should have been in there where if I had started to wreck, he could have jerked it back in the road, but he stood on the fender. I learned how to drive on that A-model. [The next thing we got was an old ’41 Chevrolet truck. I bought it off the county, but they had already wore it out.]
[I learned to drive that old A-model] before we ever got married. I got Frank Burl to go with me to ask for Sadie. He was a way older than I, a great old boy, never did marry. We went in at Sadie’s house and set down. The family was all setting around the fireplace, except for Joe, Sadie’s father. I had a pretty good come-on. I said to Lonnie, Sadie’s mother, “Lonnie, me and Frank come to get us a woman.”
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