Above, Jonathan on east hillside, house & store in back.
I don’t remember the beginning of the Second World War. As I came to consciousness, it was just there, part of what was. I did not recall a time when there was no war. Always
Germany was bad. Japan was bad. Italy seemed oddly mixed. When we kids would play war games, the enemies were always Tojo, Hitler, and Mussolini. We’d shoot
them and they’d fall down. No doubt anticipating Quentin
Tarantino!
I don’t remember the beginning of the Second World War. As I came to consciousness, it was just there, part of what was. I did not recall a time when there was no war. Always
Germany was bad. Japan was bad. Italy seemed oddly mixed. When we kids would play war games, the enemies were always Tojo, Hitler, and Mussolini. We’d shoot
them and they’d fall down. No doubt anticipating Quentin
Tarantino!
I loved doing things for the war effort. For instance, my mother
would remove the paper from and wash out tin cans and I learned how to use the can opener to take out the bottom of the cans and then step on them and squash them flat for recycling. How did they get to the next stage? Did somebody come by to pick them up? That part of it has vanished. (And in my cynical old age I wonder: was that metal important? Or was it just a brilliant mechanism to engage the populace?)
would remove the paper from and wash out tin cans and I learned how to use the can opener to take out the bottom of the cans and then step on them and squash them flat for recycling. How did they get to the next stage? Did somebody come by to pick them up? That part of it has vanished. (And in my cynical old age I wonder: was that metal important? Or was it just a brilliant mechanism to engage the populace?)
All sorts of things were saved to Help Our Boys Overseas! I can remember that we would peel the tinfoil off chewing gum wrappers and save that. My daddy being a country storekeeper, I found lots of discarded wrappers to peel.
Ration stamps were fascinating to me. I loved the little books
they came in and it was most interesting to me that my father had to collect them in our country store as part of the payment for certain items. I remember signs posted in the store, usually with Uncle Sam pointing a finger, about rationing as well as his need for YOU! What with Prohibition being over, alcohol was rationed along with other items. We never used the alcoholic beverage ration
stamps: they were saved for Mr. Will Lunsford, who lived at Umbria, the big neighboring plantation, who had cancer and was in pain and alcohol helped.
they came in and it was most interesting to me that my father had to collect them in our country store as part of the payment for certain items. I remember signs posted in the store, usually with Uncle Sam pointing a finger, about rationing as well as his need for YOU! What with Prohibition being over, alcohol was rationed along with other items. We never used the alcoholic beverage ration
stamps: they were saved for Mr. Will Lunsford, who lived at Umbria, the big neighboring plantation, who had cancer and was in pain and alcohol helped.
Butter was replaced by oleo margarine. It came in a soft pack and it was white, and there was a small plastic button
in the corner that you crushed with your fingers to release the yellow food coloring and then you squeezed the packet over and over between your hands to make the color uniform. That was real fun.
in the corner that you crushed with your fingers to release the yellow food coloring and then you squeezed the packet over and over between your hands to make the color uniform. That was real fun.
My sister, a few years younger than I, remembers being frightened when
airplanes would fly over. She thought bombs would fall. Me, I was more excited by the prospect than frightened.
I remember listening to war news on the radio with my parents. It was serious and exciting. Better than The Hit Parade and the stories. Life Magazine and newspapers were filled with war photographs, and before I could read I loved looking at them. (I remember that when I realized the war was over, I fretted because I thought that the newspapers and Life would all close down because there was no war to keep them going.)
airplanes would fly over. She thought bombs would fall. Me, I was more excited by the prospect than frightened.
I remember listening to war news on the radio with my parents. It was serious and exciting. Better than The Hit Parade and the stories. Life Magazine and newspapers were filled with war photographs, and before I could read I loved looking at them. (I remember that when I realized the war was over, I fretted because I thought that the newspapers and Life would all close down because there was no war to keep them going.)
My father, as Sawyerville postmaster, had the only telephone for miles around. It was a wall phone hanging in the northeast corner. Long distance to everywhere. The public was allowed to use it, and after each call one of my
parents would check with the phone company to get the toll so it could be
charged to the customer. If someone called long distance person-to-person, my
father would inform the operator that the party would be available at a certain
time, and then he would send word or himself drive to the person’s home to have him or her by the telephone at the designated time. If somebody made a call or the phone rang, it was serious. If the telephone rang late at night, we could hear it in our house next door, and my father would put on his robe and go across to answer it. Good news, you wrote. Bad news, you called. Or sent a telegram. “We regret to inform you” telegrams from the War Department would be received in the telegraph office in Greensboro, and the operator would call my father with messages for people served by his post office. On occasion I would accompany my father when he delivered sad news to families.
parents would check with the phone company to get the toll so it could be
charged to the customer. If someone called long distance person-to-person, my
father would inform the operator that the party would be available at a certain
time, and then he would send word or himself drive to the person’s home to have him or her by the telephone at the designated time. If somebody made a call or the phone rang, it was serious. If the telephone rang late at night, we could hear it in our house next door, and my father would put on his robe and go across to answer it. Good news, you wrote. Bad news, you called. Or sent a telegram. “We regret to inform you” telegrams from the War Department would be received in the telegraph office in Greensboro, and the operator would call my father with messages for people served by his post office. On occasion I would accompany my father when he delivered sad news to families.
Somehow we must have had access to plenty of gasoline, possibly
because we did have a gasoline pump in front of the store, or possibly because as postmaster my father got a supplemental ration. You could get three gallons and some for a dollar, not that most of our customers ever could afford that much at one time. Certainly we made it to Sunday school and church (First Methodist Church of Greensboro) after which we would have Sunday dinner at my Grandmother's house. Frequently we would go to the movies after Sunday dinner (Sunday movies were always good) and then return to Grandmama’s for supper (whatever was left over from lunch had been left sitting on the table
for just that purpose). Afterwards we'd attend the evening church service. Sunday was an all-day affair!
because we did have a gasoline pump in front of the store, or possibly because as postmaster my father got a supplemental ration. You could get three gallons and some for a dollar, not that most of our customers ever could afford that much at one time. Certainly we made it to Sunday school and church (First Methodist Church of Greensboro) after which we would have Sunday dinner at my Grandmother's house. Frequently we would go to the movies after Sunday dinner (Sunday movies were always good) and then return to Grandmama’s for supper (whatever was left over from lunch had been left sitting on the table
for just that purpose). Afterwards we'd attend the evening church service. Sunday was an all-day affair!
Sawyerville tended to be quiet during the week in those days. Our black citizens would be laboring in the fields of some farmer with many acres to plant or in their own smaller patches or (the women) in the houses of white folks. Those in walking distance would come in to check their mail and pick up the occasional item during the week, but the throngs didn’t show up until Saturday. Farmers would often fill up the backs of the trucks with everybody, young and old, who lived on their “place” and bring them out to Sawyerville for big weekend shopping. Black families who had their own wagons (less frequently in those days, a car), would come to town in a wagon pulled by a team of mules. The big field across the road from our store and to the west of Warren Walton’s store and to the east of where Mr. T. and Miss Bill lived would be filled with wagons parked so close together that you could walk across the whole field from wagon to wagon if you were so inclined. Benches in front of all the stores would be filled with, mostly, the older folks, and the Rockola in the Pickens juke joint to the east of Mr. T’s store would be blaring out the black music of the time. And what did they buy? Flour (mostly in printed sacks that could be used to make clothing), sugar, canned milk, fatback, soda, salt, pepper, washing powder, canned peaches, all the standard stuff that any household might need that it couldn’t produce on the place. Some of the larger stores had an assortment of dry goods, and people bought overalls and heavy-duty shoes and caps and big red or blue handkerchiefs. As important as the shopping was the socialization: a grand time was had by all, accompanied by the sometime overindulgence in spirits and the occasional stabbing. Stores would stay open on Saturday until 9, sometimes 10, o’clock, and the partying lasted well on into the night. Excuse this, but it’s too good to keep and does make a point: One Monday morning my mother, no doubt put out by the noise of a late Saturday night, asked Lucinda Howard, who worked for her, just what black folks got out of all the loud merrymaking. Lucinda told her, “Miss Annie Lee, if you was ever a n----- in Sawyerville on Saturday night, you’d never want to be white again!”
We did have family involved in the war. My father, being too
young for the first war and too old for the second, was spared from service, although he did contribute by serving on the Selective Service (or Draft) Board. (That's him, on the right, receiving a commendation for his service when the war was over.) The Draft Board met in Akron over Mr. Will Ramey’s drug store. My father would let me accompany him, and when I got bored upstairs Mr. Will seemed delighted to have me come down and sip cokes while sitting on those old drug store chairs with the curved metal backs and reading comic books from the rack.
young for the first war and too old for the second, was spared from service, although he did contribute by serving on the Selective Service (or Draft) Board. (That's him, on the right, receiving a commendation for his service when the war was over.) The Draft Board met in Akron over Mr. Will Ramey’s drug store. My father would let me accompany him, and when I got bored upstairs Mr. Will seemed delighted to have me come down and sip cokes while sitting on those old drug store chairs with the curved metal backs and reading comic books from the rack.
Uncle Porter was in the Navy, having joined in peacetime when he was only 16. In 1941, my mother and I went by train from Sawyerville (well, from Akron, that’s where passengers got on) to Norfolk, Virginia, to visit him and Aunt Agnes because by then it was thought that the United States would be going to war and the Navy (and Uncle Porter) heavily involved. I don’t remember the train ride, which is surprising. The only memory I have of that trip was being on the beach and a child stepping on a piece of glass and cutting her foot and a lifeguard helping her. I do recall that my mother liked to tell later of the conductor on the return train being worried that she and her son would be getting off the train in Akron at 9:30 at night! “Nothing there but hoot-owls and possums!” But my mother assured him that her husband would be meeting her. I seem to remember getting home that night, a very vague memory of undressing in front of the fire in the coal fireplace in the family bedroom, happy to be home and the family all together again.
My mother's 4 brothers. From left, Howard Fletcher, King Gladys, David Porter, and James Clyde (my grandfather was King David, which I loved, but the name got split between two of his sons). In the backbround, a glimpse of Old Sawyerville acoss the road from our house. Far left, Mr. M.T.'s brick store. Next to it, Johnny Pickens' juke joint. Sitting back behind that a storage building. Uncle Porter hides our front gate and the old grist mill across the highway. To Uncle Jimmy's right, a building used as a church.
I believe that Uncle Porter served primarily in the Pacific, which led to his and Aunt Agnes relocating to Long Beach, California. His specialty was operating large cranes, a talent much needed on the Pacific islands. I can recall military mail from him to the folks at home, mostly to my grandmother, and whenever she got one she would share it with the rest of the family. I was fascinated that military mail looked so different from regular mail. And of course I remember the starred flag that my grandmother was allowed to display in a front window because her son was in the Service.
Uncle Jimmy went into the Army, and I believe most of his service was in Germany at the very end of the war.
I believe that Uncle Porter served primarily in the Pacific, which led to his and Aunt Agnes relocating to Long Beach, California. His specialty was operating large cranes, a talent much needed on the Pacific islands. I can recall military mail from him to the folks at home, mostly to my grandmother, and whenever she got one she would share it with the rest of the family. I was fascinated that military mail looked so different from regular mail. And of course I remember the starred flag that my grandmother was allowed to display in a front window because her son was in the Service.
Uncle Jimmy went into the Army, and I believe most of his service was in Germany at the very end of the war.
My May uncles were all older than my father, and their military service was in the First World War. Two were gassed in the trenches and survived, but it was thought that They Never Got Over It. My sister and I were the babies of the next generation, and many of our older first cousins were involved in the second war. Cousin Thad was in the squadron of planes whose departure from San Diego was delayed and they missed arriving in Pearl Harbor just in time for that particular event.
I do remember the end of the war. It was summer and the doors of the store were open and the big fan hanging from the ceiling blowing, so my assumption is that this was August of 1945. Somebody came in with the news: the war is over! I happened to be playing in a tall cardboard box that individual boxes of ice cream cones came in, and when everybody was exclaiming in excitement and joy, I started to join in by jumping up and down and screaming as well. The box, of course, turned over, and I hit my head on the floor and was knocked out. Celebrations had to be
curtailed so that my mother and father and attendant company could take care of Little Jonathan. When I came to, I couldn’t figure out what that particular part of the excitement was all about.
curtailed so that my mother and father and attendant company could take care of Little Jonathan. When I came to, I couldn’t figure out what that particular part of the excitement was all about.
And I remember the Atomic Bomb! Boy, if you grew up on WW2 explosions in newsreels and news photographs, you really got turned on by the Great Big Mushroom! It thrilled me to see pictures and newsreels of that thing going off. Only later did I get caught up in the fear of the atom.
And I remember the pictures of the liberation of the German prison camps. So many naked people, some of them dead, but they looked so pitiful that their being naked didn’t matter. And so thin. I remember a fascination and a horror, not the thrill of bombs. It made me feel bad and not excited like the bombs and tanks did.
And I remember the pictures of the liberation of the German prison camps. So many naked people, some of them dead, but they looked so pitiful that their being naked didn’t matter. And so thin. I remember a fascination and a horror, not the thrill of bombs. It made me feel bad and not excited like the bombs and tanks did.
After the war, even in the South there were signs of increasing prosperity. Fewer wagons, more cars. People were able now to drive all the way to Greensboro or Eutaw for shopping. Stores no longer stayed open as late on Saturday nights. Sawyerville, very slowly at first, began to wither away. The Callahan filling station closed and nothing took its place. Mr. T, who owned the biggest store in the community, a big brick building that was a local wonder
when it was first built, sold it to my Uncle Murray (Martin, a cousin on the May side who had married my mother’s middle sister). When Uncle Murray moved his business there, he closed his old building down as a functioning store. Electricity and
refrigerators brought about the end of the old ice house, and that small building behind the juke joint disintegrated. Mass-produced corn meal and grits available at affordable prices made George Springer’s old grist mill, directly across the highway from our house, no longer necessary or viable. Isom Mosely became too old to continue his blacksmith’s shop just across the railroad tracks, and with fewer wagons with wheels needing repairing and fewer mules to be shod, there was no reason for anyone else to try to keep it going. Increasingly, log trucks supplanted the railroad as the means for transporting paperwood from the area, and in not too many years the railroad depot was closed, and later the trains were no longer running at all and even the tracks themselves were pulled up.
when it was first built, sold it to my Uncle Murray (Martin, a cousin on the May side who had married my mother’s middle sister). When Uncle Murray moved his business there, he closed his old building down as a functioning store. Electricity and
refrigerators brought about the end of the old ice house, and that small building behind the juke joint disintegrated. Mass-produced corn meal and grits available at affordable prices made George Springer’s old grist mill, directly across the highway from our house, no longer necessary or viable. Isom Mosely became too old to continue his blacksmith’s shop just across the railroad tracks, and with fewer wagons with wheels needing repairing and fewer mules to be shod, there was no reason for anyone else to try to keep it going. Increasingly, log trucks supplanted the railroad as the means for transporting paperwood from the area, and in not too many years the railroad depot was closed, and later the trains were no longer running at all and even the tracks themselves were pulled up.
Little Jonathan, a year after the war.
But at least I got to experience Sawyerville in its prime! It
really was a wonderful place to grow up.
But at least I got to experience Sawyerville in its prime! It
really was a wonderful place to grow up.
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