Miz Harrison's Expertise in Student Control

Ivy and I were cut from different cloth. She was lithe, able to turn one cartwheel
after another. I was tubby, unable to complete one cartwheel. She took lessons as
tasks to be done as quickly as possible so she could play with others. I played
with words and numbers so I could avoid playing with others.
Hence the  predicament she created for herself. It was arithmetic time - multiplication
for me- division for Ivy. But Ivy was not dividing. She was playing tick/tack/toe with
Cordell Davenport, who was in the third grade for his third time.
Miz Harrison pounced like a hungry eagle on a rabbit. In one fluid speechless movement she
motioned Ivy and Cordell to the blackboard. She drew two circles-- nose high for each.
"Nose in circle", she said
Ivy and Cordell stood for what likely to them seemed an eternity. Back in their seats they
practiced 'dividing' under the admiring eyes of classmates and the watchful eyes of Miz Harrison.

The Talents Of Miz Harrison

24. A book – nay- several books- could be written about Miz Harrison and her impact on our family—and every family in the community. The first is as our teacher. For Ivy and me she was a godsend after our introduction to our new school via the Oakes young man.  In so many other ways Miz Harrison was to become central to our lives.

The following stories are not necessarily in chronological order.  I write them as they surface in my memory. My first story is of  THE GREAT SNOWMAN WAR.

It was one of the snowiest winters our neck of Tennessee had recorded in more than a decade. School did not close. When students and teacher walk to school snow accumulation is irrelevant.

For days we devoted our recess time to making a giant snowman. We rolled and rolled and rolled a big snowball for the base. Believe me when I say it was big. On its top we piled four smaller—yet not tiny—snow balls which we patched into one with added and patted snow mortar. The head—so high that to place it we had to drag a ladder out of Willie Davenport’s shed, just across the road from the school. Coal from the school yard supply made remarkable eyes and a charming smiling mouth.

Three days of recess time.

A spectacular snowman.

Then the squabble.

One of the Davenport boys – exactly which one was known to all the boys but kept secret from the girls- hid Jeannette’s gloves and would not return them.

Next day’s recess began the SNOWMAN WAR.

We girls with the ability of a well trained army attacked the snowman. With the adrenaline fix of severe anger we threw coal missiles at the snowman’s face. Piece of coal after piece of coal flew until the poor Snowman’s face looked a horrid victim of leprosy. The boys became wild men, vowing to kill us girls, chasing us as we entered the school and the protection of Miz Harrison. Whispered, mouthed threats flew like darts in a pub. Cordell Davenport swore they would kill is once school was out.

Miz Harrison, with calm and demeanor, conducted her afternoon classes. At 2:30 she said, “Now Girls. Get on your coats, get your lunch pails and go directly home. If I hear that any of you lingered I’ll speak to your parents.” That meant we went straight home.

She held the boys until 3:00. The GREAT SNOWMAN WAR was averted.

A Brand New School With A Brand New Teacher.

23. We were in our new house. Confined for the meantime to the bottom floor with its three big rooms, each with a heat source. Daddy explained to Ivy and me that come Monday we would go our new school. It was not, he said, as big as our old school. It had only one room. But the teacher was very good and very nice. He and Mommie had met Miz Harrison. She lived down a side road behind our property and said we were close enough to come to her house if we needed help.

Monday Daddy drove us to the school in the Model A. He left us to go into the school alone. Carrying our lunch pails, we entered the school with a mixture of fear and anticipation to find the chaotic activity of about 20 students running around the room, throwing paper balls and worse paper wads.  At the desk in the front of the room, the teacher, a young man in dungarees and a chambray shirt, sat looking on the frenzied activity but saying nothing. Pure chaos reigned that whole day. Then without having opened a book, or written on the blackboard we were dismissed and sent home.

So much for an elderly Miz Harrison who would help us if we needed it.

What a relief when we discovered that Miz Harrison was sick and the young man was Mr. Oakes, who had several years before been one of her students and lived just down from the school. Miz Harrison would be there tomorrow.

Exceptional Stock.

I have been remiss in writing. But in my defense I have had dual problems. Not only am I getting myself and my beloved dog Madigan adapted to an equally beloved dog, Nora, but a dear couple with whom I have been friends for more years than I can remember is in crash mode. I have tried to be of help.

That being offered as as excuse for not keeping up with my blog, I now return.

I have decided it is time to take stock of my family's strength. Survey of birth records of my grandparents has been eye opening. Survey with me those records and I assure you, you will impressed with their reproductive health.

My Grandma Neely gave birth to nine children between 1905 and 1924 (one every 2.1 years).  A tenth came along in 1930 (what was called then a change of life baby).

And Granny Cardwell gave 6 live births from 1910 to 1924. Calculate that activity, and you will be impressed.

That's pretty damn good stock-- but it's only half of the story. Of those 16 births not one had physical or mental handicaps. We pass over that some of them have minds of their own and they do not always agree with each other. But facts are facts. They were remarkable.  No wonder the Neely-Cardwell alliance was dominant in that small rural community near Tazewell Tennessee.

A Brand New House In A Brand New Place

21. I can’t remember whether Ivy and I knew what “We might move” meant. Until we moved. Mommy and Daddy left in the Model A with Arville and Diane. Ivy and I stayed with Granny because as Daddy explained “You have to go to school.”

Two weeks later Daddy returned—not with Mommie—not with the Model  A—but  with Uncle Lawrence and his three quarter truck. We were moving. Not just down the road or over the hill but far away to a place called Crab Orchard.

Ivy and I returned from our last day at school in Tazewell to Granny’s house to the truck loaded with all our worldly goods, which were not that many.

Long after dark and a long ride we arrived at the house. A  mansion.  It was the most fantastic house I had ever seen. A large white two story house with shutters and a porch along the whole front. I was so glad we had moved. Ivy and I agreed that it was a good thing to move.

 But this was not our house. This house belonged to Uncle Lawrence.

The next morning we saw our house—not too shabby compared to the little house in the Basin, but nothing as grand as Uncle Lawrence’s and Aunt Mirtie’s house

My Grandmother Cardwell (Granny) Was Remarkable

21. It is time I get back to Granny. She was a remarkable woman who lived a hard and at the same time a happy life.  I saw a picture of her when she was young.  She was tall with upswept hair framing her big eyes, small nose and full lips. Long before my time—learned from tales of family members-- I recount.

At a young age Granny – whose name was Symintha  (commonly called Mint by friends and family)—married Sam Davis. By that marriage she had a daughter, Lily.  As the story goes Sam came to a bad end.

Sam was on his way to the store to buy nails for a project he was working on. On his way he met Fain Minton who invited him to his house.   For some reason never explained to me they had a heated argument.  When the argument  came to blows Sam left the house.  But he tripped going down the steps and fell. Fain running after him saw his advantage.  He picked up the ax near the porch and struck Sam several times.  The hit to the neck, nearly severing  Sam’s head caused death.

Fail Minton was arrested and sent to jail where he served time until 1917. Granny then married James Anderson Cardwell, who was my grandfather.  That story I will continue next.

Toads Are Cute Forever; Chickens Are Cute A little While; Goats Are Goats

 The following is again a fictionalized version of Goat (From ALL ROADS LEAD SOMEWHERE). But he was real and a part of our lives. As they say on Dragnet, "The story is true. The names have been changed to protect the innocent. Goat indeed twirled Arville around on his horns.  

                                                                   GOAT

        Opal sat on the chopping block in the chip yard until the goat pushed her off.  She uprighted herself and scratched his neck. He nuzzled closer to her. He was a wonderful goat. He walked around with his head lowered, butting his big horns gently against anyone who came near. Even though he had never hurt anyone Opal's mother was afraid of him. But Opal and her sister Kaye and her brother, Carl, knew Goat only wanted to be friends.

            "Op--al",  her mother called as she looked out the kitchen door. "I sent you to fetch wood, not to play with Goat." Opal tried to pretend she had not heard her mother, but to little avail. "Now you quit playin' with Goat and git that wood in here."

            Opal gave Goat a gentle push and began to collect the wood. But Goat,

unimpressed with the immediacy of her task, wanted to play. He butted her in the rear, causing her to drop her armful of wood. "Now Goat, you stop that. I mean it.  If you don't you'll git me a switchin', and then I won't play with you no more."

            Goat stood with tilted head and watched as she picked up her wood again.  He followed her to the house and would have entered with her had not Marthie, standing near the stove, said, "Opal, don't you go lettin' that nasty goat in this house."

            Opal closed the door in Goat's face. "You go pester Kaye a while," she said. The goat with no intention of leaving stood with his nose against the screen door. Opal shook her head, and feeling that Goat was not impressed she shook her finger. "Now you better wait right there," she commanded. Then to her mother she said, "Mommie, he ain't no nasty goat.  He's a nice goat."

            "It ain't fittin' for a goat to be hanging around a house like he was a cat or dog.  Goats is farm animals and  they belong out in the pasture or in the barn like other farm animals."

            "But Goat's different.  He ain't no plain animal."

            Goat stood at the door, proving his superiority over ordinary farm animals. What other animal including goats could push open the door at will and enter a house, with no consideration of the damage he might do?  With tilted head Goat watched as Opal dumped her wood in the big box. "And we need to fetch water," Marthie said. She took the wooden bucket and handed the zinc one to Opal.  Goat stepped aside and watched as they went to the well.  Then he gingerly hooked his horn in the screen door handle, opened the door enough to put in his foot and swing it wide open. He went in, as he had done on several occasions, and wandered through the kitchen to the front room where he stood surveying his surroundings.

            He did not see Marthie come in with her water; he did not see her enter the front room with her broom, but he soon learned she was there. For she swung her broom wildly at him and screamed, "Git out'a here. You git out, you nasty goat."  Goat moved aside but Marthie came after him with her broom poised to strike. He jumped on the bed and stood tenuously on the unstable spring and mattress. Spreading his feet and getting his footing he defiantly faced Marthie. She swung her broom at him again and again, but he tossed his head from side to side foiling her attempts to hit him.

            "Op--al," she called. "Go git Daddy right now to git this goat nasty out' a here."

            Opal came at once to see and could not help but laugh, but her laughter was cut off when Marthie gave her a swift swat with the broom. "Now you go git Daddy or git that 'blamed' goat off my bed."

            Opal knew she needed to act for her mother never called anything "blamed' unless the situation was serious. She reached for Goat's horn. He lowered his head and under her urging stepped off the bed and followed her outside. She lectured him for a long time about riling her mother. Goat tilted his head and listened, but he seemed unimpressed.

            When Lester came from his farm chores Marthie, in the middle of frying potatoes for supper, told him in great detail her woes with Goat. "And he was right in the middle of the bed, daring me to try to git him off."

            Opal watched her father and when he smiled broadly she broke into laughter. He joined her. Marthie was not amused. She banged her spatula hard against the cast iron skillet. "It ain't funny."

            "He's just a pet, Marthie. He wouldn't hurt a fly. You know that."

            "No, I don't know nothin' like that. All I know is he's a danger. The way he comes at you, he'd scare the livin' daylights out'a anybody. And he jumped right up on the bed.  And this ain't the first time he done it. You can't tell me there's any goat that's got any business on the bed."

            "Marthie," Lester said, "He does that to you because he knows you're afraid of him. He just does it to you, Marthie. Look at the way he plays with Opal and Kaye and Carl.  Look at the way he picks up Carl on his horns and spins him around.  It's a big game. With everybody but you he's as gentle as can be. Why I reckon he's ever bit as gentle Wimpydog ever was. And you're not scared of him, are you?"

            "And Goat's a whole lot a better pet, even than Whimpydog," Opal said.

            Carl and Kaye,  home from playing in the creek, listened as they wiped mud from their feet.  Carl said as he entered the kitchen, "Mommie, I like Goat.  He lets me ride on his back and he can lift me right off'n the ground with his horns and swing me around like I'm flying"

            "Me too,"  Kaye said. "You ought to see us spin, Mommie."

            Marthie did not need to hear this a second time. "I never heard of anything so ridiculous. You could git hurt doin' that. I'm tellin' you, Lester, that goat is nothing but trouble. And I'm tellin' you another thing-- if he don't stay out'a this house, I'm gonna take care of it myself.  I'm gonna feed him rat poison."

            "No," Opal and Kaye screamed. Carl began to cry.

            Lester said, "Now kids, Mommie ain't really going to poison Goat. But you're going to have to keep Goat out'a the house. Now do you think you can do that?" He smiled weakly. Three children waited for what he would say next.  "Now Marthie, the kids is goin' to take care of him. They're goin' to keep him out of the house. You can quit your worryin'  Ain't that right?." He pointed to the children waiting for their promise.

            Opal and Kaye nodded; Carl lowered his head as if he did not understand. Marthie rolled her eyes and shook her head. Lester said, "Now that's settled. You kids see that Goat stays outside where he belongs.  Right now let Mommie finish supper. Come on. you can feed the chickens while I see to the pigs. And whatever else you do, all three of you, see that Goat does not come near the door."

            No sooner had they left for their chores than Goat came to the kitchen door and stood peering inside. Marthie snarled at him. "Git away from that door or I'll git the broom to you." Goat waited. When Marthie's back was turned he caught the screen door handle with his horn and pulled. He put his foot in the narrow crack and opened the door. Marthie heard the door close and turned. "You kids git in here and git this goat or I'm goin' to put out rat poison," she screamed as she ran at him with her broom in strike position. He ran past her into the front room and  jumped onto the bed where he took his defensive pose and waited until Opal removed him. "I swear I'm gonna feed that goat rat poison," Marthie said as Opal led the goat into the yard where Carl and Kaye began to play with him.