My Mother 2: The Depression Years

My mom passed away this morning, August 3, 2024. I started this series of reminiscences about her life here. Continuing...

6. In the summer of 1933, R. G. Flexon asked my grandfather to go to Virginia to pastor a Pilgrim church in a new sawmill town called Bacova, Virginia.

Bacova was a town built by a company around a sawmill. The houses were all the same with a wooden sidewalk connecting each house. For the first brief time, my mother had an indoor toilet. The lid would pop up to make it flush when you stood up. My mom wouldn’t have an indoor toilet again until high school.

The church in Bacova (named from the first letters of BAth COunty, VA) was a community church, not tied to any one denomination. However, during the week, my grandfather would preach at a Pilgrim church in the mountains, with kerosene lamps in the windows to light the service. My mother remembers one weeknight when they came upon a group marveling over a huge rattlesnake the mailman had killed. Her father in fact would preach the funeral of a boy who died from a rattlesnake bite that summer. Let’s just say she was rather afraid of snakes.

On a sidenote, a snake (non-poisonous) somehow got into her house in Lakeland last year. They had found one in the garage they thought had come in because of hard rains, but this one was in the back hallway near where she slept. At one point she said, "I see something in the hallway," but they thought she was seeing things. But, lo and behold, they found a snake in the back bedroom. It was removed without her knowing the operation was going on.

Back to Virginia. On the midweek evening trip to the Pilgrim church in the mountains, my mother remembered that they could see lights in the distance where prisoners were building a road, probably today’s US 220. This was a “chain gang,” probably consisting entirely of blacks arrested under Jim Crow laws.

7. Come fall 1933, the call came for my grandfather to teach at another Pilgrim school in Kingswood, Kentucky. At the time, Kingswood was one of the decentralized headquarters for the Pilgrim church. There was also an orphanage there. As usual, my grandfather also pastored a Pilgrim church, located upstairs above a store.

My mother had fond memories of the year there, from 1933-34. They had no electricity but a big, bright Aladdin lamp. Apparently, my grandfather gave considerable attention to cleaning the globe of the lamp. I’m guessing it was so he could read. My mother and her brother Paul played church in the tabernacle. Paul was the preacher. Mom pretended to play the piano, and their friend Velma (Snider, I think) was the shouter, a testament to the nature of Pilgrim worship at that time.

My grandmother was ever creative and resourceful. My grandfather could hardly have made it without her. As an example of her creativity, she used the ice from a nearby waterfall to make ice cream for the kids (although perhaps this was a common practice before refrigerators?).

Apparently, there was a cliff behind the cottage where they lived. Kids would crawl through a crack to get to the bottom of the cliff. Not my mother. The rattlesnakes she remembered from Tennessee and Virginia convinced her otherwise.

8. Finally, they returned to southern Indiana. In early 1935, they were living in Burns City, Indiana, pastoring. It was the first place where my mother attended a public school, which was right across a field behind the parsonage. They had hardly any furniture, maybe one chair. When people visited, they would ask if they were just moving in or just moving out. They slept on straw mattresses on the floors upstairs. 

Then from 1935-37, my mother’s father pastored a circuit in Elnore and Epsom. They lived in Elnore, the bigger town. My mom attended school across town from where they lived. It was apparently a rather harsh winter of 1935-36. One day when it was well below zero, my mother forgot to wear her gloves. Her dad set out to meet her on her way home from school but while he went through town, the shortest distance, she took the longer way around the edge of town.

By the time they met up, her hands were frozen. They quickly stopped at a family’s home that attended the church and ran cold water over her hands. It was apparently very painful, but her hands probably survived because of it.

She remembers another day when they ran out of gas as they were returning from the Epsom church, about an 8-mile drive. They waited a long time while her father walked to Elnore to find gas. Her ever-resourceful mother always kept a blanket in the car for such an occasion.

9. New Year’s Eve 1935 was the day my mother’s Grandpa Rich died (Oscar Rich). He was driving around collecting rent. He apparently had a heart attack and drove into a tree. They had been planning to go to Indianapolis to his house for Christmas, but the snow was so deep they had postponed it.

Finally, with a sense of urgency on my grandmother’s part, they went on New Year’s Eve. She got those sorts of impressions. When they arrived, her mother was in tears because Great-Grandpa Rich should have long been home before then. They retraced his steps until they found him in the morgue, and my grandmother had to identify him, an unfortunate task.

Meanwhile, my mother was sad that she had not been able to go with them. School was starting and she would have exams that week. They had left her behind in Elnore with a woman from the church.

She has fond memories of Elnore. She remembers her mom making her own soap. She remembers that there was a railroad track behind their house and that coal would sometimes fall off trains. They were allowed to pick it up and use it in the cook stove for heat or for cooking. (I can see my grandfather agonizing over the question of whether this was stealing.) Apparently, sometimes the coal arrived just in time for much-needed heat.

One memory she had of that time was of some people who visited to repent for doing my grandparents dirty. My mom was supposed to go upstairs but listened in from the top of the stairs. Apparently, there was some property of her grandfather Rich that these individuals had somehow taken over after he died. My grandparents being ever forgiving, this couple left with their consciences clear. But my grandparents didn't end up with the property, of course. 

Another awkward moment came when it was time for my mother’s family to move to the Greenwood church my grandfather had pastored before. The pastor there had not moved out, but a family coming in from Kansas had already arrived. My formerly Quaker grandfather was not one to push back or quarrel. The whole family crowded into one room of the parsonage and the other family, pushier, moved into the rest of the house. The two families occupied the same house for a week or two.

10. They would stay at Greenwood for two years until Frankfort Pilgrim Holiness College reopened in 1939. Mom was now 11 years old. My grandfather’s pay was whatever came in the offering plate, sometimes 50 cents. He tried to work at a local grain silo to make more, but back problems soon ended that. They survived off the tithe of a bedridden World War I veteran with tuberculosis. The man received a $ 100-a-month penchant.

It was at Greenwood that my mother really grew in her ability to play the piano. Her mother washed clothes for a Baptist piano teacher to pay for piano lessons, another sign that her family was low on the totem pole even during the Depression. My mother’s brothers accused Mom of practicing the piano to get out of doing the dishes. Believable.

During that time, my Grandma Shepherd became ill and needed a hysterectomy, which would keep her out of commission for several weeks. Apparently, she had a tumor the size of a grapefruit. My mother's mother had played the piano for church services. Grandma told my mother that she would have to take over for her. This was when my mother first started playing the piano for church, something she would do her whole life. She would even give piano lessons herself as a certified piano teacher after she was married.

My grandmother had some chickens during this time. She was quite creative. Necessity is the mother of invention. It was my mother’s job to collect the eggs. Apparently, she was afraid of the rooster because it would peck her. I believe it was at this time that grandma also gave my mother a little banty rooster. Unfortunately, it perished when it ran into a fire being used to warm a pot. When I called my mother these last couple years, she always asked about the chickens.

To be continued...